"But that's not the reason I am here, instead of inside a cold martini," Dawkins said. "I have interviewed your two new officers, Captain. The one outside seems to be a nice enough kid. Maybe too nice. Tell me about the other one."
Galloway hesitated.
"Out of school, Charley. Consider me your friendly parish priest. Bare your soul."
"The miserable sonofabitch knows how to fly," Galloway said.
"Really?" Dawkins asked doubtfully.
"He's really good," Charley said. "I need pilots like that. And I can handle the sonofabitch part."
"Did you know his uncle is an admiral? Admiral Wagam at CINCPAC?"
"No, but it doesn't surprise me. He's trade-school," Charley said, and then heard what he had said. "Sorry, Sir."
"Some of us trade-school graduates are sterling fellows," Dawkins said. "But-and I wouldn't want this to get around-a very small percentage are genuine pricks. I think your man Schneider is one of them."
"I can handle him, Sir," Charley said.
"Well, that's what I came to find out. If he starts giving you trouble, let me know."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"He's over at Pearl with his uncle the admiral," Dawkins said. "I'm not sure if that's because they have a close-knit family or because he wanted me to know that his uncle is an admiral. But I told him he could go, and to be back at 0500. Will that cause any problems for you?"
"No, Sir."
Dawkins looked into Galloway's eyes for a moment, and then snorted. He swung his feet off the desk.
"You know what will cause a real problem for you, Captain?"
"Sir?"
"If I don't see you at the club tonight, really spiffy in your whites, having trouble with slurred speech and the other effects of alcohol."
"Well, Sir, that will cause a problem," Charley said. "While I'm sure my speech will probably get a little slurred as the night progresses, I hadn't planned to go to the club. I would really much rather not go to the club."
"I don't want to hear about it, Captain. Neither do I want to hear that, clear-eyed and bushy-tailed, you went anywhere near an airplane tomorrow."
"Aye, Aye, Sir."
"You've done a good job here, Charley," Dawkins said. "Christ, I didn't think you'd have eighteen operational aircraft for another two weeks."
"That's Big Steve, Sir, not me."
"Bullshit. But it raises a question. How much flying are you giving your people?"
"Sir?"
"How many hours a day are they flying?"
"No more than four, Sir."
"Do as I say, not as I do, right? Cut down your flying hours, Charley. I mean that."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"I've enjoyed our little chat, Captain," Dawkins said. "We must have another, real soon."
He walked to the door, opened it, and walked through. Lieutenant Ward and PFC Hastings came to attention. He walked past them, then stopped and turned, and went back to Hastings.
"Captain Galloway's been telling me of your good work, Son," he said. "Keep it up!"
"Yes, Sir," Hastings said. He glowed with pride.
What the fuck was that all about? Charley wondered. I didn't say a word to him about Hastings. Was that just apply-anywhere bullshit? Or was it Lesson Three in how to be a good commander?
He saw Jim Ward looking into the office.
What the hell do I do with him tonight?
He waved him into the office.
"Dave went to Pearl Harbor," Jim Ward said. "He got permission from the colonel."
"So I hear. Did you get settled in the BOQ?"
Ward nodded. Somewhat uneasily, he said, "Did you know his uncle is an admiral?"
"No. Not until just now."
"This is going to sound ridiculous," Jim Ward said. "But I promised Aunt Caroline I would ask. Six hours after I got here. Are you wearing your necklace?"
Charley pulled the zipper of his flying suit down and pointed to the medallion.
"Oh," Ward said, smiling. "I thought it might be something like that. Are you Episcopal?"
"No. But do you think God really gives a damn?"
Jim Ward looked startled for a moment, then replied; "Hell, no."
Galloway made up his mind what he was going to do with Jim Ward.
"You can meet the rest of the guys tomorrow," he said "Tonight we're going to go have dinner with some friends of mine."
"Won't I be in the way?"