MOSTLY MEMORIES
Darkness was falling as the carrier _Black Bee_, escorted by cruisers
and destroyers, sailed away from the scene of her latest triumph, her
attack on the unnamed island that meant so much to the Allied cause on
its way to Tokyo. Not one U. S. ship had been sunk or damaged. Jap
installations had been smashed and the airfield taken. The Marines had
stormed ashore in great waves, accomplishing the occupation of a greater
part of the island with a minimum of loss.
"It was a great day!" Kentucky murmured as he sat with his fighter pals
on the flight deck.
"Yes, a big day," Blackie echoed.
The elevator trap opened and from below came the sounds of voices and
music. Men were singing and radios blared popular music or announced
more victories.
The elevator rose. It carried a new fighter to the flight deck.
"That's for Ted or Jean," Kentucky rumbled, "if one of them comes back."
"Yes, if only one of them does come back," Red agreed soberly.
It had been a truly great day. The men below decks were happy and
hilarious. But the trio on the flight deck, Kentucky, Blackie and Red,
were for the most part silent. Ted was gone. No one knew when he would
be seen again, if ever.
Jean, too, was gone. He had somehow been lost from his formation.
Kentucky had heard him say, "I am being attacked by a superior force.
Notify my nearest of kin."
Had Jean been joking? There was no way to know. Men did joke in the
midst of battle. That was the one way of keeping your nerves steady.
Kentucky did not believe that Jean had been joking. He had scant hope of
ever seeing him again.
But Ted--that was different. Kentucky believed that Ted had made a safe
landing on the water.
"The course we are taking," he said soberly, "should bring us in about
two hours over the spot where Ted went down. I'm going to ask for
permission to make a search."
"At night?" Blackie voiced his astonishment.
"Sure! Why not?" Kentucky's tone was confident. "Ted's smart. He'll know
the sound of our planes and he'll find something to use as a flare. If
he's there and I get near the spot, I'll bring him in."
"I'm with you," said Red.
"Count me in." Blackie made it three.
Darkness came down like a black curtain. Through this curtain the task
force plowed on. "What's our destination?" was the question passed from
man to man. Mindanao was often mentioned, but only one man--the
Commander--knew what lay ahead, and he wasn't telling.
On being told of Jack's discoveries--the book that gave him so much
information about the jet plane, the note of warning attached to a tree,
and the native girl who paraded in an Army nurse's uniform--Stew found
himself torn between two desires: one to fit out the Jap raft and leave
the island immediately; the other, to remain to help Jack try to
commandeer the jet plane and fly away.
"Must be a marvelous new invention," he commented excitedly. "Think of
doing the stratosphere at 500!"
"And then dropping down upon some unsuspecting Japs!" Jack added.
In the end Stew decided that it would be wise to put the Jap raft into
condition for immediate escape, if flight became necessary.
"Who knows what might happen?" he argued. "If those men speak German,
they could easily be Nazis, and they may bring in a whole boatload of
Japs to hunt us down."
Jack was not so sure of all this. Those men in charge of the jet plane
had been friendly enough and did not seem like Nazis. Nevertheless he
did realize that it was best to be prepared for any emergency. So, after
a rather cheerless breakfast of cold fish and coffee, they spent the
morning putting the raft in order.
When they returned at lunchtime, they found that the bananas had not yet
begun to ripen, so they lunched on chocolate bars.
"But just you wait!" Stew exclaimed. "I'm going to have a real dinner
tonight, if I have to run down a wild pig."
"Okay," Jack agreed. "I'll gladly join you. In fact, I'll even roast the
pig. But you'd better take the fishline with you. There are worse meals
than fish."
"Oh, fish!" Stew snorted. "Just you wait and see!" However, he did take
the fishline as they climbed up the slope for one more look at their
island home.
"I'll charm one of those wild roosters into sitting on my knee," Jack
laughed, as he tucked the violin under his arm.
"Or some wild maiden," Stew joked.
"None of that!" Jack replied, soberly.
Stew paused half way up the ridge to examine some fresh wild pig tracks,
but Jack kept straight on, until he reached the crest of the ridge.
There, seated on the highest pinnacle of rock, he surveyed the scene,
and was enchanted.
Save for a few white clouds, the day was clear. On the dark, blue water
there was a slight ripple that made it seem alive.
Off to the right and lower down he suddenly discovered the small native
village, a few tiny grass huts clustered about a larger one. As he
watched, two long, slender canoes with outriggers shot from the shore.
He looked at them through his binoculars and discovered that one was
manned by two native boys, the other by two native girls.
As the paddles flashed and the canoes sped away in a wild race, he
thought, if things should get worse here, those people could take us to
the next island, or elsewhere. He glanced away to the south. It couldn't
be more than ten miles to that next island.
At last, charmed by the scene that lay before him, he took up his violin
and began to play.
He had once supposed that much of the music he had known might by this
time have escaped him, but now, in this moment of rest and inspiration,
they all came back to him--"Londonderry Air," "Ave Maria," "O Sole Mio,"
and many others. How long he played, he could not tell.
Had he paused to listen as he played, he might have heard movements in
the brush directly beneath him. The snapping of a twig, the swish of a
branch, even the low murmur of a voice might have reached his keen ears.
At last, with a sigh, he replaced the violin in its case.
Brings back memories of home, he thought, as he sighed again. Here's
hoping I get back there some time.
Memories! How strange his life had been! Thousands cheer, he thought
grimly. Thousands had cheered his music, and now he played to the rocks,
the birds, and the broad sea. But the war is a thrilling adventure--he
squared his shoulders--I wouldn't have missed it for worlds!
From the moment he had passed his tests and joined the Navy, his life as
a flying cadet had been thrilling. He thought it by far the finest
branch of the service.
First had come his civil aeronautics training. An instructor had taken
him up and scared him almost to death. Next time he went up, he was
given the controls and told to fly. And he had flown!
Two months of this and he had thought himself a finished flier. He did
not know then that he needed to gain a great deal more knowledge than he
had. He had wanted all the world to know how good he was, especially
Mom, Pop, and the home-town folks.
The old home town was "out-of-bounds" for him, but what of that? When he
was given two hours of free flying, he had headed for home, thirty miles
away. It had taken a lot of treetop clipping to get Mom and Pop out to
see him fly, for he had not written them he was coming. He got them out
at last, and waved them a salute. Then he had flown over the golf course
where only a year before he was a mere caddy. Stalling his plane, he had
come zooming down from three thousand feet to scare caddies and golfers
half to death, then had zoomed away.
Some of the older golfers who had never taken a chance in all their
lives, who had never flown a mile nor been obliged to fight for their
country, had taken the number of his plane and threatened to report him
for reckless flying. Had they? He did not know. All he did know was that
he had flown gloriously on.
Next came Iowa City. No flying there, but plenty of study and hardening
up. It was summer and hot as an oven. The trainers were relentless.
Marches, races, hurdles, football, boxing, and all the rest he took in
his stride. He got a broken nose from football, a black eye from boxing,
and a sprained ankle in high hurdles.
There was little time for social affairs and when there was, one was
almost too hot and tired to care. One bright spot stood out in that
whole summer--the night he took the Commandant's daughter to the banquet
and dance given for his group as their training ended. He remembered
still her gay laughter and the bright sparkle of her eyes.
He drew Minneapolis for preflight training. What a camp that had been!
He was flying again, real combat planes. Formations, sham dogfights,
night flying, following the light of the plane ahead round and round.
A truly great camp. A grand USO with bowling, billiards, a movie every
week, warm-hearted city folks, and plenty of girls. How he had hated it
when the day came to pack up and leave.
And then there was the long, hard pull in Texas. Some of the boys
"washed out." Jack was determined not to let that happen to him. It did
not.
He disliked the heat and the great, flat plains of Texas, but most of
the time he had been too busy to notice them.
Before long it was time for that new suit of blues and the brief
ceremony that made him an ensign and gave him his wings.
Deck training at Great Lakes, then a short leave to bid farewell to the
folks at home.
Those fleeting days in the old home town left delightful, exciting
memories. The good folks of the little city had done their best to show
him that they really appreciated the sacrifices he must make to fight
for them. He even forgave the old golfers who had threatened to report
him when he had scared them half to death on his flying visit to the
golf course months before.
When it came time to go he had told Pop and Mom good-by at home because
he wanted it that way. At the last moment Patsy had insisted on walking
to the depot with him.
When the train whistled, she had put out a hand for a good, honest
handshake, and had said, "Well, so long old pal. Have a good time. Take
good care of yourself, and plea--please come back, for we all need you
so much!"
Patsy's voice had sounded a bit strange. He could hear her still,
"Plea--please come back." It was strange about him and Patsy.
He looked off toward the sun now hanging low over the dark, blue sea,
and at the green jungle at his feet. Yes, this was a great little world
over here. He'd like to come back some time. But just now, how he'd like
to be back in the old home town!