Final Flight (30 page)

The man was four steps down the street when he
pulled up and began to stare at Jake. “CAG?
Captain Grafton?”

“That’s me.”

“Jesus, sir.” He came rushing back.
“Sorry I about flattened ya.

Our cat captain is in there,” he gestured up the
alley, “and he’s loaded and there’s gonna be a
fight.”

“Who are you?”

“Airman Gardner, sir. Cat Four.”

“Kowalski your cat captain?”

“Yes sir, and he’s one drunk motherfucker. .
. . Excuse me, ‘am.” The sailor nodded at
Callie and flushed. “He’s pretty drunk,
sir, and I can’t get him outta there and the
barkeep is going” to call the shore patrol and I
was going’ for help.” Gardner didn’t look a day
over eighteen.

“Callie, you go back to the hotel. I’ll see
you there after a awhile.”

She pecked him on the cheek. “Okay.” She
winked and began looking back toward the piazza.
Jake watched her go, her skirt wirling.

“Com’on, sir,” Gardner urged. “Them shore
patrollers will be along any minute.” He tugged
at Jake’s sleeve.

The bar was a red-light dive that catered
to sailors. Several dozen were there when Jake
walked through the door. Kowalski was in one corner with his
legs splayed out and his shirt ripped, bar stool in
his hands. If he were left alone, gravity would soon
conquer his fireplug body. “Alright, you
cocksuckers, which gonna be first?”

Another man wearing a red-and-yellow shirt stood
facing and wagging his finger at the cat captain’s
face. He looked almost as drunk as Kowalski.

Behind the bar an Italian in a white shirt with his
sleeves rolled up was screaming, “Out out out. They
coming. No fighting, no fighting. Out out out!”

“Excuse me,” Jake said to the drunk
facing Kowalski, stepped by him.

Jake stood up straight. “Ski, do you recognize me?”

Kowalski stared. The bartender was roaring, “Out out
out.

Ski shook his head.

“I’m Captain Grafton.” Jake grasped
the stool and pryed gently from Kowalski’s grasp.
He set it on the floor, then took Ski’s right hand
and held it while he grasped his elbow and began
to move him toward the door.

“I want you to come with me.”

“Yes sir,” the petty officer mumbled, and
shuffled in the direction he was pointed.

“So long, you windbag motherfucker,” the man with the
and-yellow shirt jeered.

Kowalski roared and tried to turn. Gardner
punched him squarely in the jaw and his knees
buckled.

“Ooowww, Gardner moaned, and shook his hand.
“I like your style, son,” Grafton said, “but that’s
a good way to break your hand. Now help me get this
tub of lard outta he, Gardner grabbed Ski’s
other arm and they dragged him out door.

In the alley Gardner said, “I think I busted it.”

“They never do in the movies, do they? Come on,
Ski, keep walking, goddammit, or we’ll
leave you for the shore patrol The petty officer’s
feet began to move. Jake steadied him one side
while Gardner held him up on the other, his fore:
jammed under Ski’s armpit with his injured hand sticking
out.

He’s a great cat captain, sir. You won’t
regret this.”

“He’s a fuckin’ drunk. If we get him back to the ship without someone writing him up, he’s going straight to rehab.”

“Yes sir. Come on, Ski, walk.”

The cat captain was trying. They came out of the
alley anded for fleet landing just as the Shore Patrol
van pulled up. A tenant in whites with a Shore
Patrol brassard on his left sleeve ped out and
saluted. Jake recognized him. He was a
Hornet on the United States.

Want me to take him down to fleet landing,
sir?” That means you have to write him up, right?”
“I’m supposed to, CAG.”

‘I’ll get him down there, and this sailor here can
get him back the ship. I’ll talk to the X0 about
him tomorrow.” yes sir.”

“Thanks anyway.” The lieutenant nodded.

“But while you’re here, there’s a bar up the alley
you’d better see. The bozo in the red-and-yellow
shirt should go back to the van.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer turned and motioned
to his men, who out of the van and followed him up the
alley. Gardner and Jake managed to get Ski
back to his feet. After much prodding, he staggered
along with one of them on each side.

‘Thanks, sir. He’s really a fine petty
officer and a helluva guy.”

“Yeah.”

They had to pause several times for Ski to be
sick. Some of it splashed on Jake’s shoes and
trousers. A few drops of rain began splattering
on the pavement.

just before they reached the boulevard by the Castel
Nuovo, other Shore Patrol van pulled up.
A chief in whites was driving. leaned across the
petty officer in the passenger seat. “Want us
take him on down to the landing?”

“That’s okay, Chief. We’ll manage.” The
van’s wipers were earing the water and dirt on the
windshield. “Bad night for booze, sir. Already
got a half dozen drunks in here.” The
chief jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Naw,”
Jake said. “I appreciate it. But we’ll get
him there.”

“Aye aye, sir.” The chief let out the clutch
and the van moved away.

“Com’on Ski. Walk! I hope to hell
you’re worth our trouble.”

In the van one of the men spoke to the chief.
“They took us for Americans,
Colonel. We are going to succeed.”

Maybe, Qazi thought. If Allah wills it.

The carabinieri on the gate to the quay didn’t
even look at Jake and Gardner as they marched
Kowalski through. They followed the fence around to the right
toward the area used by the carrier’s boats. The
intermittent raindrops were falling steadily now. The
Shore Patrol van was parked by the little duty shack
and the chief was talking to the embarkation officer. Six
drunks in civilian clothes lay facedown in
casualty litters under the awning and two Shore
Patrolmen were strapping them in.

“Got another basket?” Jake asked, holding
Kowalski semierect with one hand and wiping the water
from his hair with the other.

“Yes sir. We have plenty,” said the embarkation
officer, a lieutenant (junior grade)
named Rhodes. He jerked his head at the chief,
who stepped over to the pile of baskets behind the shack
and helped Gardner lift one off. The chief helped
Jake lower Kowalski into it.

“Mr. Rhodes,” Jake sighed as he wiped his
forehead with his sleeve and watched Gardner struggle
with the litter straps with his one good hand.

The chief bent down to help. “There’s no
report chit on this man. Just take him back to the
ship and have him escorted to his bunk. I’ll see
the XO about him in the morning.”

“Aye aye, sir. Oh, I have a message for
you. Lieutenant Tarkington left it.”

“He showed up, huh?”

“Wandered in about two hours ago and I told him
his liberty had been secured. He just nodded and
asked for some paper. After he wrote this, he went
back to the ship.” The duty officer passed Jake
a folded square of paper, apparently a sheet from
a notebook. On the outside was written
“CAPT Grafton.”

Jake walked away, unfolding the paper.
“Thanks, Chief.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Jake glanced back at the name tag. “Dustin.”
The chief was in his early forties, dark
hair flecked with gray, tanned and fit. No fat
on that frame. “Aye aye, sir?” He should have
said, “Yes, sir” or welcome, sir.”

“Aye aye” was used only to respond to an order.

“Where do you work…” he started to ask Dustin, but the man
had already turned away as another Shore Patrol
van pulled lieutenant that Jake had talked to earlier stepped out and had two of his men escort the drunk in the multicolored shirt the litters.

What is that lieutenant’s name, Jake wondered.

Flynn and Dustin were having a conversation. Jake stepped enough to hear.

ef, where were you this evening when we mustered? I even
know you and your guys were out here tonight.” got off the ship
late, Mr. Flynn.

And they sent us out to drunks.” The chief shrugged.

ois they? I’m in charge of detachment tonight, and I
didn’t now you were going to be here.” eone screwed
up, sir. I’m obviously here.”

turned to observe. Flynn was referring to a sheet
of paper clipboard.

on’t even see you on this list.”

they told me to come ashore and bring two men and go
get drunks.”

“Who the hell is they?” division officer.”

may have sent you ashore, but he didn’t tell you
to go pick nks. Who did?”

me officer down in the Shore Patrol office.
He was there I arrived on the beach a couple hours
ago. utenant Commander Harrison?”

was a lieutenant commander, sir. But I didn’t
notice his Il, he shouldn’t have told you that. I
didn’t even know he ing to be in the office this
evening. And with that shooting the Vittorio, I can think
up better things for you to do than drunks around.
Let’s walk down to the office and get this tened out.”

Flynn,” Jake called. “What shooting?”
lieutenant came over to him, the chief behind him.
“There was an assassination tonight over at the Vittorio,
CAG. Two guys with submachine guns.

“Americans?”

“Not navy, sir. A couple civilians. I
hear one of them looks like he could be an Arab.
Maybe terrorists.”

“When?”

“About eight.” The lieutenant glanced at his
watch. “Three hours or so ago, sir.”

Jake nodded, and the officer and chief walked
away, down the pier toward the terminal
building. The Shore Patrol office was at the far
end, on the second deck. Jake opened the note
from Toad.

“Sir,” it read. “The duty officer says you
are looking for me. I am going back to the ship. I
tried to call you at the hotel but got no answer.
I need to talk to you URGENTLY on a very
IMPORTANT matter.

V/R, Tarkington. 20:50.” The “V/R”
meant “very respectfully” and 20:50 was the time
Toad wrote the note. Jake folded the paper and
put it into his pocket.

He leaned against a pole. Seven drunks in
litters was unusual. But it’s Saturday night,
and they’ve been at sea for four months. Captain
James was going to be busy with this lot next week.
And some of them are probably air wing men, so
he’ll send them to me. Jake sighed.

About fifty sailors in civilian clothes were
standing, squatting, and sitting under the awning, watching the
rain come down. Most had been drinking and they were in a
cheerful mood. The banter was loud and light. The
mike boat came sliding toward the quay, its
diesel engine falling silent as it coasted the last
few yards to the carly float.

The boat officer came ashore and went over to the
duty officer.

Jake followed him. Water glistened on his
raincoat and the lower portion of his trouser legs were
soaked.

“It’s getting bad out there, Rhodes. This may
be the last boat tonight.”

“How bad?” Jake asked.

The boat officer turned to him. “Lots of
swell. We damn near didn’t get against the
fantail float this last trip. I guess four
or five feet of sea. Wind’s picking up too.
Maybe twenty-five knots out there.”

Jake nodded.

“Pretty early in the year for it to get this bad.”
The duty officer’s assistant, a first-class
petty officer, was commandeering sailors to ad only
to prevent your behavior on the pier, and placed
into orange kapok life 5 for the boat ride, just in
case they fell overboard. Then two had to escort
each drunk aboard the mike boat. you two guys,
you have this man. Get over here and get with the two
reluctant men at whom the first-class was pointing
slowly and walked over. Transporting
drunks was a nasty ess. “For the love of Christ,”
one of them complained as turned their charge over. “This
turd has really been drinkan. Jesus, he
smells like he spent the night in a bottle.” ey
jacked the drunk into a sitting position. He
snorted and halfheartedly to cooperate. Hey
look! This dude has blood im.

One of the two stepped back. “Hey man,” he
called to the first” This guy’s bloody. Maybe
he’s got that anally injected serum.

The first-class, a corpsman, stepped over and
made a quick ination for wounds. He stood and struck a
thoughtful pose, arms crossed on his chest. “He
looks the type, don’t he?” eah, man. He
does. And who know shut up and grab him. You,
too, clown,” he snarled at the companion.

“Let’s go,” he roared to his working party.
“Get ‘em rd.”

The two draftees rolled their eyes, glanced
at Jake to see how as taking all this, and finished
strapping the life-jacket to their mate.

ke read Toad’s note again. He folded it
slowly and eased it into his pocket.

rather. Rhodes, call my wife at the
Vittorio and tell her I’m going to the
ship. And I may have to spend the night aboard.”
essir.”

He waited for all the sailors to get aboard the
mike boat before walking down the gangway onto the
float and stepped carefully into the stern-the
quarterdeck. The only light came from the and he
couldn’t see much. He stopped by the boat officer and
inted down into the well of the boat.

The last of the drunks were being shoved against the rail
and held there, just in case. If you’re going to stand up
here, sir,” the coxswain said, you’ll have to wear a
life jacket.” He handed Jake an orange one
and Jake donned it. The coxswain helped him
tighten the straps between his legs.

Chief Dustin came striding down the pier from the
terminal building. He gestured toward the two
Shore Patrolmen from his van, and they preceded him
down the gangway and across the float. The Shore
Patrolmen went down in the well of the boat.
Dustin snapped a salute to Jake.

“Get it straightened out, Chief?”

“Yes, sir. We did.” The chief slid down
the ladder to join his men in the welldeck.

Lieutenant (j.g.) Rhodes called from the
pier, “Shove off.” The boat officer
nodded to the coxswain, who called for the lines. The
stern line came off first, and as the stern drifted
away from the float the bow line came aboard and the
coxswain gunned the engine. The boat backed
smartly out onto the dark water.