璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第141部分

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ht　have　gone　was　one　of　his　own　construction；　just　as　he　had　moments　earlier　piled　up　Pam‘s　clothes　because　they　no　longer　had　a　use。　He　could　close　his　eyes　and　see　her。　In　the　silence　he　could　hear　her；　but　the　smells　were　gone；　and　her　feel　was　gone。
Kelly　reached　over　from　the　bed　and　touched　the　flannel　shirt；　remembering　what　it　had　once　covered；　remembering　how　his　large　strong　hands　had　clumsily　undone　the　buttons　to　find　his　love　inside；　but　now　it　was　merely　a　piece　of　cloth　whose　shape　contained　nothing　but　air；　and　little　enough　of　that。　It　was　then　that　Kelly　began　sobbing　for　the　first　time　since　he‘d　learned　of　her　death。　His　body　shook　with　the　reality　of　it；　and　alone　inside　the　walls　of　rebarred　concrete　he　called　out　her　name；　hoping　that　somewhere　she　might　hear；　and　somehow　she　might　forgive　him　for　killing　her　with　his　stupidity。　Perhaps　she　was　at　rest　now。　Kelly　prayed　that　God　would　understand　that　she‘d　never　really　had　a　chance；　would　recognize　the　goodness　of　her　character　and　judge　her　with　mercy；　but　that　was　one　mystery　whose　solutions　were　well　beyond　his　ability　to　solve。　His　eyes　were　limited　by　the　confines　of　this　room；　and　they　kept　returning　to　the　pile　of　clothing。
The　bastards　hadn‘t　even　given　her　body　the　dignity　of　being　covered　from　the　elements　and　the　searching　eyes　of　men。　They‘d　wanted　everybody　to　know　how　they‘d　punished　her　and　enjoyed　her　and　tossed　her　aside　like　a　piece　of　rubbish；　something　for　a　bird　to　pick　at。　Pam　Madden　had　been　of　no　consequence　to　them；　except　perhaps　a　convenience　to　be　used　in　life；　and　even　in　death；　as　a　demonstration　of　their　prowess。　As　central　as　she　had　been　to　his　life；　that　was　how　unimportant　she　had　been　to　them。　Just　like　the　headman‘s　family；　Kelly　realized。　A　demonstration：　defy　us　and　suffer。　And　if　others　found　out；　so　much　the　better。　Such　was　their　pride。
Kelly　lay　back　in　the　bed；　exhausted　by　weeks　of　bed　rest　followed　by　a　long　day　of　exertion。　He　stared　at　the　ceiling；　the　light　still　on；　hoping　to　sleep；　hoping　more　to　find　dreams　of　Pam；　but　his　last　conscious　thought　was　something　else　entirely。
If　his　pride　could　kill；　then　so　could　theirs。
Dutch　Maxwell　arrived　at　his　office　at　six…fifteen；　as　was　his　custom。　Although　as　Assistant　Chief　of　Naval　Operations　（Air）　he　was　no　longer　part　of　any　operational　mand　hierarchy；　he　was　still　a　Vice　Admiral；　and　his　current　job　required　him　to　think　of　every　single　aircraft　in　the　US　Navy　as　his　own。　And　so　the　top　item　on　his　pile　of　daily　paperwork　was　a　summary　of　the　previous　day‘s　air　operations　over　Vietnam　…　actually　it　was　today‘s；　but　had　happened　yesterday　due　to　the　vagaries　of　the　International　Dateline；　something　that　had　always　seemed　outrageous　even　though　he‘d　fought　one　battle　practically　astride　the　invisible　line　on　the　Pacific　Ocean。
He　remembered　it　well：　less　than　thirty　years　earlier；　flying　an　F4F…4　Wildcat　fighter　off　USS　Enterprise；　an　ensign；　with　all　his　hair　…　cut　very　short　…　and　a　brand…new　wife；　all　piss…and…vinegar　and　three　hundred　hours　under　his　belt。　On　the　fourth　of　June；　1942；　in　the　early　afternoon；　he‘d　spotted　three　Japanese　‘Val‘　dive　bombers　that　ought　to　have　followed　the　rest　of　the　Hiryu　air　group　to　attack　Yorktown　but　had　gotten　lost　and　headed　towards　his　carrier　by　mistake。　He‘d　killed　two　of　them　on　his　first　surprise　pass　out　of　a　cloud。　The　third　had　taken　longer；　but　he　could　remember　every　glint　of　the　sun　off　his　target‘s　wings　and　the　tracers　from　the　gunner‘s　futile　efforts　to　drive　him　on。　Landing　on　his　carrier　forty　minutes　later；　he‘d　claimed　three　kills　before　the　incredulous　eyes　of　his　squadron　mander　…　then　had　all　three　confirmed　by　gunsight　cameras。　Overnight；　his　‘official‘　squadron　coffee　mug　had　changed　from　‘Winny‘　…　a　nickname　he‘d　despised　…　to　‘Dutch；‘　engraved　into　the　porcelain　with　blood…red　letters；　a　call　sign　he‘d　borne　for　the　remainder　of　his　career。
Four　more　bat　cruises　had　added　twelve　additional　kills　to　the　side　of　his　aircraft；　and　in　due　course　he‘d　manded　a　fighter　squadron；　then　a　carrier　air　wing；　then　a　carrier；　then　a　group；　and　then　been　mander；　Air　Forces；　US　Pacific　Fleet；　before　assuming　his　current　job。　With　luck　a　fleet　mand　lay　in　his　future；　and　that　was　as　far　as　he‘d　ever　been　able　to　see。　Maxwell‘s　office　was　in　keeping　with　his　station　and　experience。　On　the　wall　to　the　left　of　his　large　mahogany　desk　was　the　side　plate　from　the　F6F　Hellcat　he‘d　flown　at　Philippine　Sea　and　off　the　coast　of　Japan。　Fifteen　rising…sun　flags　were　painted　on　the　deep　blue　background　lest　anyone　forget　that　the　Navy‘s　elder　statesman　of　aviators　had　really　done　it　once；　and　done　it　better　than　most。　His　old　mug　from　the　old　Enterprise　sat　on　his　desk　as　well；　no　longer　used　for　something　so　trivial　as　drinking　coffee；　and　certainly　not　for　pencils。
This　near…culmination　of　his　career　should　have　been　a　matter　of　the　utmost　satisfaction　to　Maxwell；　but　instead　his　eyes　fell　upon　the　daily　loss　report　from　Yankee　Station。　Two　A…7A　Corsair　light…attack　bombers　had　been　lost；　and　the　notation　said　they　were　from　the　same　ship　and　the　same　squadron。
‘What‘s　the　story　on　this？‘　Maxwell　asked　Rear　Admiral　Podulski。
‘I　checked；‘　Casimir　replied。　‘Probably　a　midair。　Anders　was　the　element　leader；　his　wingman；　Robertson；　was　a　new　kid。　Something　went　wrong　but　nobody　saw　what　it　was。　No　SAM　call；　and　they　were　too　high　for　flak。‘
‘Chutes？‘
‘No。‘　Podulski　shook　his　head。　‘The　division　leader　saw　the　fireball。　Just　bits　and　pieces　came　out。‘
‘What　were　they　in　after？‘
Gas‘s　face　said　it　all。　‘A　suspected　truck　park。　The　rest　of　the　strike　went　in；　hit　the　target；　good　bomb　patterns；　but　no　secondaries。‘
‘So　the　whole　thing　was　a　waste　of　time。‘　Maxwell　closed　his　eyes；　wondering　what　had　gone　wrong　with　the　two　aircraft；　with　the　mission　assignment；　with　his　career；　with　his　Navy；　with　his　whole　country。
‘Not　at　all；　Dutch。　Somebody　thought　it　was　an　important　target。‘
‘Cas；　it‘s　too　early　in　the　morning　for　that；　okay？‘
‘Yes；　sir。　The　CAG　is　investigating　the　incident　and　will　probably　take　some　token　action。　If　you　want　an　explanation；　it‘s　probably　that　Robertson　was　a　new　kid；　and　he　was　nervous　…　second　bat　mission　…　and　probably　he　thought　he　saw　something；　and　probably　he　jinked　too　hard；　but　they　were　the　trail　element　and　nobody　saw　it。　Hell；　Dutch；　we　saw　that　sort　of　thing　happen；　too。‘
Maxwell　nodded。　‘What　else？‘
‘An　A…6　got　shredded　north　of　Haiphong　…　SAM　…　but　they　got　it　back　to　the　boat　all　right。　Pilot　and　B/N　both　get　DFCs　for　that；‘　Podulski　reported。　‘Otherwise　a　quiet　day　in　the　South　China　Sea。　Nothing　much　in　the　Atlantic。　Eastern　Med；　picking　up　some　signs　the　Syrians　are　getting　frisky　with　their　new　MiGs；　but　that‘s　not　our　problem　yet。　We　have　that　meeting　with　Grumman　tomorrow；　and　then　it‘s　off　to　The　Hill　to　talk　with　our　worthy　public　servants　about　the　F…14　program。‘
‘How　do　you　like　the　numbers　on　the　new　fighter？‘
‘Part　of　me　wishes　we　were　young　enough　to　qualify；　Dutch。‘　Cas　managed　a　smile。　‘But；　Jesus；　we　used　to　build　carriers　for　what　one　of　these　things　is　going　to　cost。‘
‘Progress；　Cas。‘
‘Yeah；　we　have　so　much　of　that。‘　Podulski　grunted。　‘One　other　thing。　Got　a　call　from　Pax　River。　Your　friend　may　be　back　home。　His　boat‘s　at　the　dock；　anyway。‘
‘You　made　me　wait　this　long　for　it？‘
‘No　sense　rushing　it。　He‘s　a　civilian；　right？　Probably　sleeps　till　nine　or　ten。‘
Maxwell　grunted。　‘That　must　be　nice。　I‘ll　have　to　try　it　sometime。‘
C11
　　　　CHAPTER　11
Fabrication
Five　miles　can　be　a　long　walk。　It　is　always　a　long　swim。　It　is　a　particularly　long　swim　alone。　It　was　an　especially　long　swim　alone　and　for　the　first　time　in　weeks。　That　fact　became　clear　to　Kelly　before　the　halfway　point；　but　even　though　the　water　east　of　his　island　was　shallow　enough　that　he　could　stand　in　many　places；　he　didn‘t　stop；　didn‘t　allow　himself　to　slacken　off。　He　altered　his　stroke　to　punish　his　left　side　all　the　more；　weling　the　pain　as　the　messenger　of　progress。　The　water　temperature　was　just　about　right；　he　told　himself；　cool　enough　that　be　didn‘t　overheat；　and　warm　enough　that　it　didn‘t　drain　the　energy　from　his　body。　Half　a　mile　out　from　the　island　his　pace　began　to　slow；　but　he　summoned　the　inner　reservoir　of　whatever　it　was　that　a　man　drew　on　and　gutted　it　out；　building　the　pace　up　again　until；　when　he　touched　the　mud　that　marked　the　eastern　side　of　Battery　Island；　he　could　barely　move。　Instantly　his　muscles　began　to　tighten　up；　and　Kelly　had　to　force　himself　to　stand　and　walk。　It　was　then　that　he　saw　the　helicopter。　He‘d　heard　one　twice　during　his　swim；　but　made　no　note　of　it。　He　had　long　experience　with　helicopters；　and　hearing　them　was　as　natural　as　the　buzz　of　an　insect。　But　having　one　land　on　his　sandbar　was　not　all　that　mon；　and　he　walked　over　towards　it　until　a　voice　called　him　back　towards　the　bunkers。　
‘Over　here；　Chief‘
Kelly　turned。　The　voice　was　familiar；　and　on　rubbing　his　eyes　he　saw　the　undress　whites　of　a　very　senior　naval　officer　…　that　fact　made　clear　by　the　golden　shoulder　boards　that　sparkled　in　the　late…morning　sun。
‘Admiral　Maxwell！‘　Kelly　was　glad　for　the　pany