Major Pappy Hodges’s gruff voice had announced, “is ‘Lieutenant Portet,’ or even better, “Lieutenant Portet speaking, sir.’ ”
He wondered how Pappy had known (a) that he had been commissioned; (b) was in the Daleville Inn; and (c) the number of the private telephone line. He hadn’t seen Pappy since Kamina, in the Congo. That made him wonder why Pappy hadn’t been at General Bellmon’s party; they were friends.
“Yes, sir.”
The door to the bathroom opened, and Miss Marjorie stood there wearing a look of curiosity on her face, and a pair of black panties (and nothing else) on her body.
Goddamn, she’s beautiful!
“Have you got a flight suit and a helmet?” Pappy asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll meet you at the Board at 0630,” Pappy said.
“What’s up?”
“Oh-six-thirty at the Board,” Pappy had said. “If you eat breakfast, have it eaten by then.”
The phone had clicked in Jack’s ear. Pappy had hung up.
“Who was that?” Marjorie asked.
“Pappy Hodges,” Jack said. “Apparently we’re going flying in the morning. Oh-six-thirty, as we officers and gentlemen say.”
Marjorie nodded, then went back into the bathroom.
“Either turn the light off, or put your eyes back in your head,” she called to him.
She didn’t stay in the bathroom long, but she was no longer in the bed when the desk called to tell him it was his five-minutes-to -six wake-up call. But the smell of her was, and Jack shamelessly buried his nose in the pillow where her head had lain before getting up.
There was also a Kleenex with her lipstick on it in the bathroom, and, when he picked up his hairbrush, several of her hairs.
As he showered, he thought, All things considered, living with Marjorie is going to be great, and it’s really going to be nice to wake up and find her beside me.
When Jack pulled the Jaguar into a RESERVED FOR STAFF parking slot at the Instrument Examiner Board building, Pappy was already there, leaning against the fender of his car.
Jack got out and walked up to him and saluted.
“Good morning, sir,” Jack said.
Pappy snorted as he returned the salute almost contemptuously.
“You have egg yolk on your chin,” Pappy said, and walked away, around the corner of the building to the Board’s aircraft parking area.
Jack wiped the yolk off his chin and hurried after him.
The Board had been assigned what amounted to a private fleet of Army Aircraft to discharge its responsibilities of making sure pilots who would fly in instrument conditions were qualified to do so.
Lined up before the Board building were three twin-engine airplanes: a Grumman Mohawk, an ominous-looking twin turbojet electronic surveillance aircraft; a sleek high-wing L-26 Aero Commander; and a Beechcraft L23D “Twin Bonanza.” There were three helicopters: a Bell UH-1D “Huey,” the mainstay of the Army’s rotary wing fleet; a Boeing Vertol Model 114/CH-47 Chinook, a large, dual-rotor helicopter capable of carrying a 105-mm howitzer, its crew, and a basic load of ammunition; and a Hughes OH-6, called the “Loach,” a fast, high-performance single-rotor aircraft. There were three single-engine fixed-wing aircraft: There was the de Havilland U-1A “Otter,” the largest single-engine aircraft in the world, capable of short-field performance carrying up to ten passengers. Beside the “Otter” sat its older little brother, the de Havilland L-20 “Beaver,” a six-place short-field-capable aircraft originally developed for use in the Canadian and Alaskan bush, and used extensively by the Army in the Korean war.
And at the far end of the line sat a Cessna L-19, a small two-place, high-wing observation and liaison aircraft, also used for basic fixed-wing flight training. The Instrument Board’s L-19 had been equipped with the radios and other instruments necessary for instrument flight.
“Preflight the L-19,” Pappy Hodges ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
“And prepare an instrument flight plan from here to Pope Air Force Base, with a fuel stop at Fort Gordon, Georgia.”
“We’re going on instruments in this weather?” Jack asked incredulously. He had called for the FAA weather prediction from the Daleville Inn. It couldn’t be any nicer, and was almost certainly going to stay that way for forty-eight hours.
Pappy nodded. Jack shrugged, then remembered where Pope Air Force Base was, how far away it was.
“In the Cessna?” Jack asked incredulously. “At eighty-five miles an hour?”
“The way it works, Lieutenant,” Pappy said, “is the major tells the lieutenant what to do, and the lieutenant says, ‘Yes, sir.’ Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
I wonder what I’ve done to piss him off? There’s more to this than his getting out of the wrong side of the bed.
Pappy was waiting for him in the flight planning room, and stood over