“It wasn’t your fault, Bill,” Dawkins said.
Dunn met his eyes, but didn’t respond directly.
“How is he?” Dunn asked. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“He died about five minutes ago.”
“Shit! When I was over there, they told me they thought he would.”
“They did everything they could for him.”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of shape are you in, Bill?”
“Me personally, or the squadron?”
“You personally, first, and then the squadron.”
“Except for wishing Charley Galloway was here and not off Christ only knows where, playing whatever game he’s playing, I’m all right.”
“I’m sure it’s not a game,” Dawkins said, a hint of reproof in his voice. “That mission came right from Washington.”
Dunn didn’t reply.
“You’re doing a fine job as squadron commander,” Dawkins said.
“Squadron commanders write the next of kin,” Dunn said. “I’m getting goddamned sick of that.”
“I’ll write Knowles’s family. What is it, wife or parents?”
“He got married at P’Cola the day he graduated,” Dunn said. “And heard last week that she’s knocked up.” He pressed his lips together, bitterly. “Sorry. That she’s in the family way.”
“I’ll write her, Bill.”
“No. I killed him. I’ll write her.”
“Damn it! You didn’t kill him. He knew what the fuel gauge is for.”
“And I should have known that he wouldn’t turn back until he was ordered to turn back,” Dunn said. “Which I would have done had I done my job and checked on his fuel.”
“I’m not going to debate with you, Mr. Dunn,” Dawkins said coldly, breaking the vow he made on the way from the hospital to VMF-229 to overlook Bill Dunn’s habit of saying exactly what was on his mind, without regard to the niceties of military protocol.
“I will write Mrs. Knowles,” Dunn said. “And since I am a coward, I will tell her that the father of her unborn child died doing his duty.”
“You never know when to shut up, do you?” Dawkins flared. But he was immediately sorry for it.
Dunn met his eyes again, yet didn’t reply.
“Nothing happened this morning?” Dawkins went on quickly. “You saw nothing up there?”
Dunn shook his head “no.” “Dawn Patrol was a failure,” he went on. “The Blue Baron declined the opportunity for a chivalrous duel in the sky.”
Dawkins chuckled.
“I used to read Flying Aces too, when I was a kid,” he said. “Who are you? Lieutenant Jack Carter?”
“Captain Bruce Strongheart,” Dunn said with a smile. “Right now I’m getting dressed to have a champagne lunch with Nurse Nightingale.”
“That wasn’t her name,” Dawkins said. “It was… Knight. Helen Knight.”
“You did read Flying Aces, didn’t you?” Dunn said, smiling.
“Yeah,” Dawkins said. “I always wondered if Jack Carter ever got in her pants.”
“I always thought she had the hots for Captain Strongheart. Beautiful women seldom screw the nice guy.”
“Is that the voice of experience talking?”
“Unfortunately,” Dunn said.
“They’ll be back,” Dawkins said, suddenly getting back to the here and now. “I wouldn’t be surprised if in force. How’s your squadron?”
“After Knowles, I’m down to five operational aircraft. By now, they should be refueled and rearmed. Tail number 107 is down with a bad engine. I don’t think it will be ready anytime soon; maybe, just maybe, by tomorrow. Oblensky is switching engines. There are two in the bone-yard he thinks he may be able to use.”
“What happened to the engine?”
“Well, not only was it way overtime, but it really started to blow oil. I listened to it. I don’t think it would make it off the runway. I redlined it for engine replacement.”
“They keep promising us airplanes.”
“They promised me I would travel to exotic places and implied I would get laid a lot,” Dunn said. “I don’t trust them anymore.”
“I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt,” Dawkins answered. “I believe they’re trying.” His mouth curled into a small smile. “You don’t think Guadalcanal is ‘exotic’?”
“I was young then, Skipper. I didn’t know the difference between ‘exotic’ and ‘erotic’ ”
Dawkins touched his arm. “You better get something to eat.”
“The minute I start to eat, the goddamned radar will go off.”