"You came back and made a wheels-up landing."
"I found my way back here by myself?"
"How else?" the Naval Intelligence debriefing officer asked, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
"The last thing I remember is when I lost my windshield. And got hit."
"You don't remember heading back here?"
"The last thing I remember is trying to pull my goggles down after the windshield went."
"You were apparently flying with the canopy open-"
Christ, I forgot to close the canopy, too?
"Was I?"
"The shell, most likely a 20mm, apparently entered the cockpit from the side-"
"Just one round?"
"There were others. In the engine nacelle. Another just forward of the seat. But the one-the one which entered the cockpit-apparently exploded going through the windshield, from the inside out?"
"Yeah," Bill said, understanding.
"What they took out of your face and leg, legs, was debris from the windshield and control panel. Perspex and aluminum fragments."
"Then it was a Zero."
"Presumably." The Intelligence officer looked directly at him. "You have no memory of breaking off the engagement and heading back here?"
"No."
"Could you determine, do you have any memory of determining, from your instruments, or from a loss of control, that your aircraft was no longer airworthy?"
"No," Bill said, and then, thinking aloud, "That's an odd question."
"You were seen leaving the area."
"So?"
"The officer who saw you leave could not tell whether you had lost your windshield. You were too far apart."
"Who was that?"
"I don't think we'd better get into that."
"But he thought I was running, right?"
"Were you?"
"I don't know."
"That's not a very good answer, you realize?"
"Sorry about that."
"You don't seem overly disturbed at what could be an accusation of cowardice in the face of the enemy."
"Fuck you, Lieutenant."
"You can't talk to me that way!"
"If I'm to be charged with cowardice in the face of the enemy, what's the difference what I say to you?"
After a long pause, the Naval Intelligence Officer said, "I didn't say anything about you being charged with anything."
"No witnesses, right? Everybody's dead?"
"If you're through with my patient, Lieutenant," another voice said, from behind Dunn, "I'd like to put him aboard the PBY."
"You're being flown to Pearl Harbor," the Intelligence Officer said to Dunn.
"I'd prefer to stay with the squadron," Bill said.
"You won't be flying for a while. Three weeks anyway," the voice behind him said.
"And there's no squadron to stay with," the Naval Intelligence Officer said.
"Moving is going to be painful," the voice behind him, now much closer, said. "I can give you some morphine, if you like."
"How painful?"
"You're pretty well stitched up, particularly on the legs. Any movement will be painful."
"Then you'd better give me the shot," Bill Dunn said.
Chapter Two
(One)
MENZIES HOTEL
MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
1040 HOURS 8 JUNE 1942