“Aw fuck,” growled Glenon. “Can’t anybody see I’m sleeping?”
“Wong’s a good guy,” said Knowlington. “He won’t take long.”
“Why are you here?” asked Johnson.
“Who are you?” said Wong.
“Oh, excuse me. Major Johnson, Captain Wong,” said the colonel, making the introductions. “Mongoose is the squadron’s director of operations. He led the flight.”
“I’ll want to talk to you, too,” said Wong. “But I would prefer to do this one at a time to avoid interview contamination.”
Knowlington started to laugh. “Come on, Mongoose. I want to talk to you about something. We’ll be outside,” he told Wong, adding, to no one in particular. “He’s a pisser, isn’t he? Interview contamination. Shit!”
“Don’t get up,” Wong told the prone figure on the cot.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Your name is Doberman or Glenon?”
“It’s Glenon. Doberman’s just what they call me. After the attack dog?”
“Oh.” Wong sighed. He had never understood what the deal was on pilot’s nicknames. “Okay, now, tell me what happened.”
“When?”
“When the alleged missile hit you.”
“Go take a look at my plane if you don’t believe me.”
“Please, Captain, I have a job to do. From the point you were fired on.”
“You’re not taking notes?”
Wong shook his head. “I don’t think it will be necessary.”
The pilot described a low-level cannon attack, pretty much as the weapons expert expected. It sounded to him particularly careless, especially in light of the declaration that low-threat tactics — medium altitude bombing — were to prevail in theater. But he wasn’t here to offer a critique.
“Okay, Captain,” he said when the pilot began describing his egress toward Saudi Arabia. “Now, why are you calling the missile an SA-16?”
“Because that’s what hit me.”
“With all due respect,” Wong said, “you’ve just described an SA-7. Think about it. You were below a thousand feet, you — ”
“I know where the fuck I was. And I know what hit me.”
“There’s no need to use profanity, Captain. Did you see the missile actually go through the wing?”
“Now how the fuck would I do that?”
“Did you see the missile at all?”
“Of course not. But it had to be an SA-16. There’s no way in the world a fucking SA-7 is going to survive all that jinking. No way.”
“Are you sure there wasn’t a second missile?”
“From where?”
“The ground.”
“Give me a break, would you?”
“Are you sure you were able to perform the maneuvers precisely as you remember?’’
“Hey screw you, okay?”
Wong sighed. Patiently, he began to explain how important his investigation was to the war effort, how critical it was for other pilots to know what sorts of defenses they were facing so they could adjust their tactics accordingly. Realizing he was dealing with someone who was tired, the captain consciously chose words with the least number of syllables possible to convey his meaning. He had gotten through the first half of his first sentence when the pilot interrupted him.
“What the fuck do you know about missiles?” demanded the pilot.
“I know a great deal about them,” said Wong. “I’ve written three papers and… ”
“Go write another one and let me sleep.”
“What’s that all about?” Mongoose asked Knowlington as soon as they were outside the tent.
“Some jerk in Riyadh doesn’t think Saddam has SA-16s. Wong has to prove them wrong. We went through this shit in Vietnam,” Knowlington added. He kicked himself as that slipped out, but was powerless to stop the words.
“Whatever hit him wasn’t an SA-7. It stayed with him too long.”
“Yeah, Wong’s on it. Don’t let his deadpan fool you.”
Johnson frowned, giving off a hint of disapproval but saying nothing. Talking to him, Knowlington always felt as if he had to justify himself.
He felt that way with a lot of people, actually; it was just more acute with Johnson.
“You wanted to talk about something?” the major asked.
“Apparently our eastern GCI site is still on the air.”
“Yeah, I know.” Johnson’s voice had an edge to it, as if Knowlington was accusing him of screwing up. He wasn’t.
“I’m wondering if you think the squadron should ask to take another shot at them,” said Knowlington, trying to step lightly.
“I was thinking about it.”
“We can swing Smith and… ”
“I want to lead it myself.”
“Okay.” Knowlington nodded. “They may want it hit soon, though.”
“So?”
In theory, pilots were supposed to have a decent rest between missions, but Knowlington didn’t push the point. He would have felt the same way. Besides, it was all moot until he talked to Black Hole and the general.
“I don’t think it was a fuck up,” added the colonel.
“Why not?”
Johnson’s snap surprised him so much Knowlington took a step backwards. “I’m just saying, this happens… ”
“Dixon froze.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he lost it. He panicked. I saw it in his eyes. He came back like a rabbit in shock. I found him puking out his guts beneath his plane.”
“Glenon didn’t say anything about that.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my responsibility.”
And mine, Knowlington thought. “Is that why you had them switch planes?”
“I would’ve had them do that anyway.”
Knowlington nodded. “First time in combat can be pretty tough.”
“It was the first time for all of us.”
“You’re not blaming him for the station still being on the air?”
“No, of course not. But he lost Glenon. He should have been there when the mirage jumped him. Hell, Doberman’s lucky to be alive.”
“You don’t think the radio going out had something to do with that?”
“He still should have been on his butt.”
Knowlington really couldn’t argue with that. Except — well, shit happens. “What’d you have in mind?” he asked.
“I want him to sit down, for starters. Take him out of the cockpit.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think? What did he tell you happened.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“He was very vague.”
Knowlington began rocking gently on his feet, considering the situation. “Something bothering you, Goose?” he asked.
“No.”
“You feel strongly about this?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let’s take some time and think about it. Saturday he’s flying?”
Mongoose shrugged. Knowlington saw Wong coming out of the tent. “He’s all yours,” the colonel said, leaving the major to be entertained by Wong while he went to find out how important the GCI site really was.
CHAPTER 31
A-Bomb nearly flattened Dixon as he stepped out of his tent.
“Whoa! what the hell are you doing out here, BJ?” he said to him, physically lifting him out of his path. “You trying to sniff Mickey D fumes?”
“Mickey D?”
“Got a shipment today. Big Macs, large fries. Should’ve gone for a double order, though. I’m still hungry.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, sorry, it’s gone. Check with me tomorrow.” A-Bomb took a step away. Dixon followed.