saw that he wasn’t at that moment busy, and asked, “Did he say what’s wrong with him?”
“No, sir, and I asked him three times.”
“There he is,” the captain said.
General Cushman looked aft and saw an Avenger making what looked like a perfectly normal approach to the carrier.
A minute later, having made a nice, clean landing—his hook caught the first cable—the Avenger was aboard the Badoeng Strait surrounded by firefighters in aluminum heat-resistant suits, other specialists, and even a tractor prepared to push the aircraft over the side if that became necessary.
The door in the fuselage opened, and someone dressed in what looked like black pajamas backed out of it.
“What the hell is that?” General Cushman asked.
“If it’s who I think it is, it’s someone who’s going to spend the next twenty years in Portsmouth Naval Prison,” the captain said.
The character in black pajamas reached into the fuselage and took one cardboard carton, and then another, and finally a U.S. Rifle, Caliber .30 M1, to the strap of which were attached two eight-round ammunition clips.
“Excuse me, General,” the captain said. “I’ll deal with this. I was going to have him brought here, but I don’t want that sonofa—character to foul my bridge.”
The captain started down a ladder toward the flight deck. General Cushman looked at the character in the black pajamas long enough to confirm his first identification of him, then started down the ladder.
As he reached the flight deck, General Cushman almost literally bumped into Lieutenant Colonel William C. Dunn, USMCR, who was suited up for the morning’s first sortie.
“Good morning, sir,” Colonel Dunn said.
“Billy, is that your friend Captain McCoy?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“What’s going on?” Cushman asked.
“I have no idea, sir,” Dunn said.
“Let’s go find out,” Cushman said. “The captain’s talking about twenty years in Portsmouth for him.”
Captain Kenneth R. McCoy was standing at attention before the captain of the USS Badoeng Strait—who had his balled fists resting on his hips and was speaking in a rather loud tone of voice—when General Cushman and Lieutenant Colonel Dunn walked up.
On seeing General Cushman, the captain broke off whatever he was saying in midsentence.
“Captain, may I suggest that we get off the flight deck?” General Cushman said, politely.
The captain looked at him for a long moment, then finally found his voice.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I agree. If you’ll follow me, please?” The captain, the general, and the lieutenant colonel started to march off the deck. The lieutenant colonel, sensing that the captain was not in the parade, looked over his shoulder.
McCoy had picked up one of the cardboard cartons.
“Colonel, I can’t carry both of these myself,” McCoy said, indicating the second carton.
Lieutenant Colonel Dunn walked quickly back to McCoy, picked up the second carton, and joined the parade.
The captain led the way up interior ladders to his cabin. The others followed him inside. The captain closed the door. McCoy and Dunn put the cartons on the deck.
“Captain,” General Cushman said. “May I suggest that since we all are anxious to ask Captain McCoy about a number of things, we probably would be better off to hold our questions until Captain McCoy explains his presence aboard Badoeng Strait?”
“Yes, sir. That would probably be best.”
“All right, McCoy,” General Cushman said.
“Sir, I felt it necessary to get here before Colonel Dunn took off on the morning’s missions,” McCoy said. “The only way I could see to do that was to commandeer that Avenger.”
“ ‘Commandeer that Avenger’?” the captain parroted. “Who the hell are you to commander anything? Who gave you that authority?”
“I thought we’d agreed to hold our questions,” General Cushman said, courteously. “But I think we all would like to hear that one answered.”
McCoy handed General Cushman what he thought of as the White House orders.
Cushman read them, raised his eyebrow, and handed them to the captain.
“I’ve seen them, sir,” the captain said.
“Well, that would seem to give you the authority, McCoy, ” General Cushman said. “But it doesn’t answer why you felt you had to come aboard the Badoeng Strait, and why you felt declaring an emergency when there was none was justified.”
“Sir, I was afraid we would be denied permission to land.”
“And your purpose? What’s so important?”
“Those cartons, sir, contain parts for an SCR-300 radio. I have to get them to . . . where the radio is as soon as possible. I was going to have Colonel Dunn deliver them, sir.”
“Deliver them where?”
“Sir,” McCoy said, uncomfortably, “with all possible respect, I must inform you and the captain that what I