As he was inspecting a set of khakis, the thought went through his head that he should discard this shirt and buy another.
Where had that thought come from? He was getting out—out of the Navy!
He sat on the edge of the bed holding the shirt, looking at it but not seeing it. Out. To do what? What could he conceivably do as a civilian that would mean as much to him as what he had spent the last six years of his life doing?
He was a naval officer. Lieutenant, United States Navy.
That meant something.
He was digging in the box when he found a letter. It was from the Real McCoy.
Hey Shipmate,
When you read this you will probably be getting spruced up to go to the club or chase women. Some guys will do about anything to get out of a little work.
This boat was like a damn funeral parlor the night you and Flap didn’t come back. The mood improved a thousand percent when they announced that the chopper was inbound with both of you aboard. The captain and CAG and Skipper Haldane were there on the flight deck with the medicos when the chopper landed, along with a couple hundred other guys.
After the docs got you guys stabilized and you left in the COD, the captain got on the 1-MC and said some real nice things about you. It was pretty maudlin. I forgot most of it so I won’t try to repeat it here, but suffice it to say that every swinging dick on this boat is glad you two clowns made it.
Australia is on. TS for you. We’ll party on without you, but you’ll be missed.
Your friend,
Real
Two days later Jake decked himself out in a white uniform and Flap selected a set of khakis. They strolled the grounds. The days were Hawaii balmy with clouds every afternoon. One day they took a taxi to the golf course and rented a golf cart.
Out on the fairways they went over the whole adventure again, little by little, a scene here, a scene there. Gradually they dropped it and went on to other subjects, like women and politics and flying.
One day Flap brought the subject up again, for what proved to be the last time. “So where is my slasher?”
“I think I left it sticking in the captain. But I might have just dropped it somewhere. It’s a little hazy.”
“That was my best knife.”
“Tough.”
“I designed it. It was custom-made for me. Cost me two hundred bucks.”
“Order another.”
Flap laughed. “I can see you are oozing remorse over my loss.”
“To be frank, I don’t give a shit about your knife.”
“You’re as full of tact as ever. That’s one of the qualities that will take you far, Grafton. Ol’ Mister Smooth.”
“And the horse you rode in on, Clarence O.”
“It’s my turn to drive this friggin’ cart. You’re always hoggin’ the drivin’.”
“That’s because I’m the pilot. Why don’t you tell me about some of the ugly women you’ve run across in your adventures?
” “Well, by God, I just will.” And he did.
In the evenings there was little to do, so Jake wrote letters. His first was to his former roommate, Sammy Lundeen. He hit the highlights of this last cruise and devoted a whole page to crossing the line. In the finest traditions of naval aviation, he seriously downplayed his and Flap’s role in the pirate adventure. Luck, luck, luck — he and Flap had survived due to the grotesque ineptitude of the villains and despite their own extraordinarily stupid mistakes, mistakes that would have wrung tears from the eyes of any competent aviator. All in all, the letter was quite a literary effort, first-class fiction. That thought didn’t occur to Jake, of course, when he reread it before stuffing it into an envelope. His buddy Lundeen would chuckle, Jake knew, and shake his head sadly. Good ol’ Sammy.
Instinctively he adopted a completely different tone when he wrote to Tiger Cole, his last BN during the Vietnam War. There was no bullshit in Tiger Cole, and no one who knew him would try to lay the smelly stuff on him. You gave it to that grim warrior straight and unadorned.
He ended the letter this way:
I have never thought of myself as a professional. Never. I’ve been a guy who went into the service because there was a war and I’ve merely tried to do my best until the time came for me to go back to the real world. Still, I have watched so many pros since I have been in the Navy — you included— that I think I’m beginning to see how the thing is done. And why. I hope so, anyway. So I’ve decided to stay in.
The decision hasn’t been easy. I guess no important commitment is.
Whenever I get back to the mainland, I’ll give you a call. I’ll probably take some leave. Maybe swing by Pensacola if you’re still there and we can swill a beer at the club.
Hang tough, shipmate.
Your friend,
Jake
One day Jake penned a letter to Callie. Then he put it in the drawer beside his bed. Each day he got it out, read it through and debated whether or not he should mail it.
She probably had another boyfriend. There was always that possibility. Jake Grafton had no intention of playing the fool, with this or any other woman. So he kept the letter formal, as if he were writing to a great-aunt. He omitted any reference to his adventure with the pirates or the fact that he was just now residing in a hospital room. But on the second page he said this:
I’ve decided to stay in the Navy. It has been a tough decision and I’ve had to really wrestle with it. The arguments for getting out are many and you know most of them. The Navy is a large bureaucracy; anyone who thinks the bureaucracy will miss them when they are gone is kidding himself.
Still, this is where I belong. I like the people, I can do the work, I believe the work is important. Of course the Navy is not for everyone, but it is, I believe, the best place for me. I know full well that there is nothing that I can do here that others cannot do better, but here I can make a contribution.
He closed with a few pleasantries and the hope that all was fine with her.
On New Year’s Eve he got it out again to read it through carefully.
The tone was wrong, all wrong.
He added a P.S.
As I reread this letter it occurs to me that I’ve made a very stupid mistake. The last few months I’ve been so busy worrying that you might not love me as much as I love you that I lost sight of what love is. Love by its very nature opens you up to getting burned.
I love you, Callie. You were a rock to hang on to the last year of the war, the one sane person in an insane world. And you’ve been a rock to hang on to these last six months. You’ve been in my thoughts and in my dreams.
If I love you more than you love me, so be it. I’m tough enough to love and lose. But I just wanted you to know how much I care.
As ever,
Jake
In the third week of January he and Flap moved to the BOQ. They continued to visit the hospital on an outpatient basis. Flap took daily physical therapy to overcome the effects of his head injury. The knife wound in his side drained slowly and healed stubbornly. Eventually it did heal, leaving a bad scar.
Jake merely needed a checkup occasionally. His collapsed lung and the resultant infection had been more serious than the bullet hole in his shoulder, which healed quickly, yet by now he was well on his way to a complete recovery. He went with Flap every morning anyway and kibitzed as the Marine went through his exercises. Then they went to the golf course and rode around in a golf cart.