a tall Air Corps officer, a major, the one Darmstadter had seen climb out of the B-25, entered the Quonset hut. For the first time, Darmstadter got a good look at his leather A-2 jacket. There was a Chinese flag and what was apparently some kind of a message in Chinese characters painted on the back.
“What the hell are you doing flying in that shit?” one of the other Navy flyers said. He was the oldest of the three, a ruddy-faced middle-aged man.
“Oh, ye of little faith!” the Air Corps major said, then turned to Darmstadter. “You must be Darmstadter.”
“Yes, Sir,” Darmstadter said.
“I could tell because you looked confused,” the major said. “And like the kind of guy who would dump a C-45.” He paused a moment. “You’re in good company, Lieutenant. Commander Bitter also dumped one, didn’t you, Commander?”
The middle-aged Navy flyer laughed.
“Goddamn, I’d forgotten about that,” he said. “He did, didn’t he?”
“Presumably,” Commander Bitter said, his voice revealing that he was a little annoyed at the reference to a dumped C-45, “you’re going to explain what this is all about?”
“I’m going to borrow Dolan for a couple of days,” the major said, and then, as if he had just remembered his manners, offered his hand to Darmstadter. “I’m Dick Canidy, Darmstadter. Welcome aboard.”
“Sir,” Darmstadter said, “I’m a little confused.”
“So am I,” Commander Bitter said. “Where are you and Dolan going?”
“An island called Vis in the Adriatic Sea,” Canidy said, then turned to Darmstadter. “You checked out in the B-25, Darmstadter?”
“No, Sir,” Darmstadter said. “I’ve never even been in one.”
“Fine,” the major said. “I was afraid you might have picked up some bootleg time.”
Darmstadter was now wholly confused.
“No, Sir,” he said.
“Eric needs a ride home,” Canidy said. “We’re going to take Lieutenant Darmstadter along with us.”
“He just said he’s never even been in a B-25,” Commander Bitter said.
“That’s the whole idea,” Canidy replied. He turned to face Darmstadter. “What I want to find out is whether a pilot with about your level of skill can be taught to land and take off from a dirt runway with a stream running through the middle of it.”
“Sir?”
“It’ll be two or three days before we go,” Canidy said, “time enough for Commander Dolan to check you out in the B-25. That is, presuming you’re still an eager volunteer? ”
“Sir, I’m still confused,” Darmstadter said.
“But maybe you’ve heard enough to rethink a little? Reconsider volunteering? If you want to walk, you can walk right now. No hard feelings, and no black marks on your record.”
“You aren’t pulling my leg, are you, Major?” Darmstadter said. “You’re making a joke of it, but you really meant everything you said, didn’t you?”
Canidy nodded.
“And that’s all I’m going to be told, isn’t it?”
The major nodded again.
“In or out, Darmstadter?” Canidy asked. “It’s up to you.”
“In, Sir,” Darmstadter said.
“Commander Dolan,” the major said, “may I suggest we follow that delightful naval custom of splicing the main brace to welcome a new officer to the wardroom?”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Commander Dolan said, and took a bottle of bourbon from a file cabinet.
“For Christ’s sake,” Commander Bitter said, “it’s half past ten in the morning!”
“I’m Joe Kennedy,” the third naval aviator said to Darmstadter, offering his hand. The gold letters below the aviator’s wings on the leather patch sewn to his flight jacket identified him as LT. J. P. KENNEDY, JR., USNR. “It’s a little crazy around here, but you get used to it.”
Dolan passed around glasses that had once contained Kraft cheese spread. They now held a good two inches of the bourbon. Commander Bitter shook his head but took one.
Canidy took a small swallow of the whiskey.
“Rule One around here, Darmstadter,” he said, “is that you don’t write home to Mommy about what you’re doing or what you’ve seen. And you don’t tell your pals, either. The Second Great Commandment is like unto the first. You don’t ask questions. But before we put that into effect, you can have one question.”
There were at least a dozen questions spinning around in Darmstadter’s mind. He was surprised at the one he blurted:
“Why are the tops cut off those B-17s?”
“That’s not the question I expected,” Canidy said. “I thought you’d ask what’s going on around here. Then I would have told you that you have just joined the OSS on a probationary status. If you turn out, you’ll join the OSS’s private air corps. If you don’t . . . you won’t like what will happen if you don’t. Not a threat,