Sugar catches more flies than vinegar. Right now you’ve got him trapped in a corner. Even Pekingese dogs will fight when you get them in a corner, “I’m not sure I’m authorized to do that, give him his freedom without conditions,” Baker said uncomfortably. But Canidy saw that he had not rejected Whittaker’s reasoning out of hand. “And you stay the hell out of sight,” Whittaker said.
“He really hates you. Let Canidy go in there and tell him he’s been sent to get us out of here.”
“Would he believe that?” Baker asked. “Why not? The last time he saw Canidy was after they’d both been left behind in Morocco. And he would probably take his cue from me.”
“And what if he tries to escape?”
“Canidy and I can handle him until we get where we’re going,” Whittaker said. “I’ll have to have permission,” Baker said. “No,” Canidy said.
“If you ask for permission, Doug lass is going to say no. You get on the telephone after we’re airborne and call Washington, and tell them we’re on the way Whittaker’s right, and you know he is. Your coming here was stupid.” Baker thought that over for a moment, then walked to the door and knocked. When the MP opened it, he asked him to fetch the provost marshal. When the provost marshal came, Baker told him that he was serving the court order which directed that Whittaker and Fulmar be placed in his custody. He handed a copy of the court order to the provost marshal. “You have been served, Sir,” Baker said, formally.
“Before two witnesses.” The provost marshal read the court order and then put it in a pocket of his tunic. “Would you have Captain Whittaker’s uniforms brought here, please?” Canidy said.
“I won’t be going with them,” Baker said.
“Can you provide transportation for me to post headquarters? And Major Canidy and the two gentlemen will require transportation to God man Field.”
“Yes, Sir,” the provost marshal said.
“I’ll telephone for another car.” Baker turned and spoke to Canidy.
“Unless you hear to the contrary while you’re en route,” he said, “go to Lakehurst. I’ll have someone meet your plane.
“Jesus Christ!” Eric Fulmar said when Dick Canidy and Jim Whittaker walked into his room.
“What the hell is all this?”
“Mr. Fulmar, Major Canidy,” Whittaker said.
“Otherwise known as the knight in shining armor riding up on his white horse to rescue Prince Charming-the Princes, plural, Charming-from the evil king’s dungeon.”
“No shit? “Let’s go, Eric,” Canidy said.
“We’re getting out of here.”
” Where are we going?”
“Do you really care?”
“I don’t know where my clothes are,” Fulmar said. Before going for Fulmar, Whittaker had suggested that keeping Fulmar in his pajamas and bathrobe-people in bathrobes are less prone to try something foolish, like running away-might be a very good idea.
“We don’t have time for that now,” Canidy said. “Jimmy’s got his clothes,” Fulmar challenged.
“His uniform.” Then he realized that Canidy was in uniform, too.
“You’re an Air Corps major, Dick?”
“He’s an Air Corps major, complete to airplane,” Whittaker said. “On which he’s going to fly us both out of here, presuming we can get you out of here before somebody around here changes his mind, and all three of us are locked up again. Let’s go, Eric.”
“What the hell are they?” Whittaker asked as a Military Police start car drove them onto the ramp at God man Field. “P-38s,” Canidy said.
“New fighter. Fast as bell. High altitude. Long range. Eight 50-caliber machine guns.”
“That’s what I want for Christmas, Daddy,” Whittaker said. “Me too,’ Canidy said.
“But I don’t think there’s much chance of that. We’re both on Santa Claus’s shithst.”
“Could you guys fly something like that?” Fulmar asked. “We’re fighter pilots,” Whittaker said.
“Of course we could.”
“And if you’re a very good fighter pilot,’ Canidy said as the MP staff car stopped beside the Beech C-45, ‘you get promoted and they let you fly something like this.”
“That’s a Navy airplane?” Fulmar said. “My God, it can read, too.
The next thing you know, it’ll be able to tie its own shoes,” Canidy said.