He put his finger in his mouth, caught the index finger of the pigskin glove on his right hand between his teeth, and pulled the glove off. Then he repeated the process with the glove on his left hand. He took the envelope from his pocket and sniffed it.
I am probably fooling myself, but I think I can smell her perfume.
The envelope contained what Charley thought of as "ladies' stationery," a squarish, folded, rather stiff piece of paper. The outside bore a monogram. Scotch-taped to the inside was a small piece of jewelry, a round gold disc on a chain.
Jenkintown, June 30 '42
My Darling,
This is an Episcopal serviceman's cross. I know you're not an Episcopalian; and now that I'm divorced (and for other reasons), I am a fallen Episcopalian woman. But I wish you would wear it anyway, to know that I am praying for you constantly.
It has occurred to me that the only time you will ever notice it is when it gets in your way when you're taking a shower. But perhaps that will remind you of the showers you have shared with someone who loves you and lives for the moment when she can feel your arms around her again.
All my love, now and forever, Caroline
Charley Galloway reached up and shoved his goggles up on his forehead. For some reason, his eyes were watering. He pried the medallion loose from the Scotch tape and looked at it. He tried to open the clasp on the gold chain, but couldn't manage it. There was no way he could get that fragile gold chain over his head. So he leaned forward and looped it around the adjustment knob of the altimeter on the control panel, then tugged on it to make sure vibration wouldn't shake it off.
He wiped his eyes with his knuckles, put his goggles back in place, worked his hands back into his gloves, and put them on the throttle and the stick. He inched the throttle forward and turned onto the runway. Then he moved the throttle to full take-off power, and pushed his mike button.
"Ewa," he said, with practiced savoir faire, "Five Niner Niner rolling."
Four hundred yards down the runway, he spoke to the engine.
"Don't you dare crap out on me now, you sonofabitch!"
A moment after that, F4F-4 tail number 40599 of VMF-229 lifted off into the air.
(Three)
HEADQUARTERS, MAG-21
EWA USMC AIR STATION
OAHU, TERRITORY OF HAWAII
1445 HOURS 7 JULY 1942
Lieutenant Colonel Clyde D. Dawkins, USMC, commanding, MAG-21, was by no means unhappy with First Lieutenant James G. Ward, USMCR. He would have been happier, of course, if Ward had another five hundred hours of flight time, all of it in F4F-4s; but compared to the other replacement pilots they were getting fresh from Pensacola, Ward was a grizzled veteran.
He liked his attitude, too, which was not surprising, since Charley Galloway had recruited him. Galloway would not recruit a fool or a troublemaker.
"Captain Galloway until recently was a flying sergeant. Is that going to pose any problems for you?"
"Yes, Sir," Ward replied. "I mean I knew he was a flying sergeant. He was a sergeant when he taught me to fly the R4D, Sir." The question had obviously surprised him. "I don't know what you mean about problems, Sir."
"Well, Mr. Ward, there are some officers, generally very stupid officers, who resent Mustangs. I'm pleased to see that you're not one of them."
"No, Sir. I consider myself very fortunate to have a squadron commander who knows what he's doing."
Dawkins restrained a smile at the honest naivet‚ of the remark.
"Mr. Ward," he said sternly, "you are not suggesting, I trust, that there are squadron commanders who do not know what they are doing?"
Ward flushed.
"Sir," he began lamely.
"I know what you mean, Mr. Ward," Dawkins laughed. "That works both ways. I'm glad to have Charley Galloway as one of my squadron commanders. I share your opinion that he knows what he's doing. I will refrain from comment on my other squadron commanders."
"Yes, Sir," Ward said. His relief was evident on his face.
"I thought there were two of you?" Dawkins said.
"Yes, Sir. Lieutenant Schneider is outside."
Dawkins stood up and offered his hand. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Ward. We're glad to have you. I'm available to my officers for any reason, around the clock."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Would you send Mister-what did you say, 'Schneider'?-in please?"
"Yes, Sir."
Lieutenant Colonel Dawkins was initially very favorably impressed with First Lieutenant David F. Schneider, USMC. He was a well-set-up young man; he looked remarkably crisp for someone who had just flown from the States to Hawaii. And he wore an Annapolis ring. Colonel Dawkins had been commissioned from Annapolis.
There were very few officers in the pre-war Navy who were not Annapolis graduates.
There was a theory... it was soon to be tested in the crucible of war... that the real value of Annapolis graduates to the country did not derive from their experience manning the ships of the peacetime Navy, but from the fact that they would now serve as the firm skeleton for the flesh and musculature of the enormous Navy that would be required to win the war.
Some of this would come from the presumed professionalism and Naval expertise that could be expected of a man who had spent his life, from the age of seventeen or eighteen, in Naval uniform. The rest would come because the Annapolis graduates-from ensigns, to first lieutenants, USMC, to admirals-would serve as role models for an officer corps that would be seventy or eighty percent civilian Marines and sailors. Dawkins privately thought that this was the more important of the two.
Even if they had difficulty admitting this in person to a graduate of Hudson High, virtually all Annapolis graduates both admired and tried hard to adhere to the code West Point put in words, Duty, Honor, Country.
And so Dawkins felt at first that Galloway was fortunate to have someone like Schneider in his squadron. He even imagined, somewhat wryly, that Schneider might be able to temper Charley Galloway's policy that he had greater right to any government property that was not chained to the ground or under armed guard than whoever it was issued to.
He was so impressed with Schneider that he almost passed over the question he had asked Lieutenant Ward, and in fact every other officer newly assigned to VMF-229. But in the end, he did ask him:
"Captain Galloway until recently was a flying sergeant. Is that going to pose any problems for you?"
"No, Sir. Not for me, Sir."
Why don't I like that response? What did he say? "Not for me"?
"Not for you? Is that what you said, Mr. Schneider? Are you suggesting that it might be a problem for Captain Galloway?"
"Sir," Schneider said, with a disarming smile, "I'm a regular. I know that before Captain Galloway was commissioned, a good deal of thought went into it. I certainly don't mean to suggest that Captain Galloway is not a first rate squadron commander."