Read Online BAT-21 by William C. Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William C. Anderson
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area?"
"No."
"Try to explain to him why the Jolly Greens
didn't go in to get him after the bombardment. If he knows they were
on another rescue mission, he'll understand."
"Wilco, sir. What's the latest?"
"We're still putting the pieces together.
Looks like the pilot went down with his plane. But the observer seems
to have gotten out okay. At least we got the area around him
sanitized. How did it look out there?"
Clark moved to the terrain map on the briefing
room wall. He pointed to a spot about four miles east of Hambleton's
position. "He's down in some trees right about here. The SAR
Sandys and our jets really clobbered the area around him, but it's
still too hot to get the Jolly Greens in. They tried three times."
Walker studied the area. "Christ, we can sure
pick some great spots to auger in! Smack in the middle of a
battleground. Is the area as hot as Hambleton's?"
"No. The observer is more isolated. Not as
close to a major arterial intersection as Colonel Hambleton is."
Walker shook his head. "This is going to take
some strategy. Now we've got two men down in the hottest spots of the
war. The staff is working on several ideas now. How about giving them
your latest eyewitness intelligence."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, Clark. One more thing. I just learned
that your orders came through. Assigning you back to the States."
"Yes, sir."
"Then why aren't you on your way out of
here?"
"Got a few odds and ends to clear up first,
Colonel. Then I'll start."
"Oh? I didn't know we were now running the
Air Force at the convenience of captains."
"No, sir. I've cleared it with my squadron
CO. I'm on leave."
Walker looked quizzically at the tall pilot. "Did
I understand you correctly? You're taking leave—here?"
"Yes, sir. Until, as I say, I get a few odds
and ends cleared up. Besides, I'm crazy about the mess hall."
Walker grunted. "I knew FAC pilots were all a
little shell- shocked. But you're ready for the rubber room."
"So my roommate keeps informing me."
"Going to F-one-elevens is a pretty choice
assignment. They won't keep it open for you if you don't make your
reporting date."
"I realize that."
"OK. You can stay on the mission. But,"
he looked narrowly at Clark, "I want you to get your crew rest.
According to the Ops reports you've almost been flying around the
clock."
"Not quite, sir. Been getting my beauty rest.
Catnaps while they refuel my plane, some here, some there."
"You heard me. I said crew rest. You've got
to stay sharp. Some isn't enough. A lot of those fog banks are
stuffed with large mountains. And I don't want another downed pilot
to worry about."
"Yes, sir." Clark excused himself and
went over to the staff officers huddled around the reconnaissance
photos.
Major Sam Piccard looked up and squinted through
the smoke of his meerschaum. "Hi, Denny. Understand you've had a
busy day. How goes it on the front lines?"
"Things could be better."
"They sure could. Did I ever tell you what
Mussolini said about war?"
"No, Sam, but I have a feeling you're going
to."
Piccard tamped his pipe. "War alone brings up
to its highest tension all human energy and puts the stamp of
nobility upon the peoples who have the courage to face it."
"That's beautiful."
"How does it feel to be noble and
courageous?"
"No wonder they shot Mussolini."
Piccard grinned. "You have a point."
"Before I give you my intelligence report,
answer me a question."
"Shoot."
"About that downed FAC observer. Who is he?
Has he been positively identified?"
"He has. A lieutenant. Name of Clark. You
don't have any relatives flying over here?"
"None that I know of."
"You'd be in good company if your were
related to this one. His first name's Mark."
"Not Mark Clark? The son of—"
"That's right."
Hambleton was lying on his stomach on his
observation knoll making mental notes of the enemy's troop movements
on the highway when he heard the buzzing of the FAC plane overhead.
He snapped on his radio.
In terse, guarded language the pilot
"No."
"Try to explain to him why the Jolly Greens
didn't go in to get him after the bombardment. If he knows they were
on another rescue mission, he'll understand."
"Wilco, sir. What's the latest?"
"We're still putting the pieces together.
Looks like the pilot went down with his plane. But the observer seems
to have gotten out okay. At least we got the area around him
sanitized. How did it look out there?"
Clark moved to the terrain map on the briefing
room wall. He pointed to a spot about four miles east of Hambleton's
position. "He's down in some trees right about here. The SAR
Sandys and our jets really clobbered the area around him, but it's
still too hot to get the Jolly Greens in. They tried three times."
Walker studied the area. "Christ, we can sure
pick some great spots to auger in! Smack in the middle of a
battleground. Is the area as hot as Hambleton's?"
"No. The observer is more isolated. Not as
close to a major arterial intersection as Colonel Hambleton is."
Walker shook his head. "This is going to take
some strategy. Now we've got two men down in the hottest spots of the
war. The staff is working on several ideas now. How about giving them
your latest eyewitness intelligence."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, Clark. One more thing. I just learned
that your orders came through. Assigning you back to the States."
"Yes, sir."
"Then why aren't you on your way out of
here?"
"Got a few odds and ends to clear up first,
Colonel. Then I'll start."
"Oh? I didn't know we were now running the
Air Force at the convenience of captains."
"No, sir. I've cleared it with my squadron
CO. I'm on leave."
Walker looked quizzically at the tall pilot. "Did
I understand you correctly? You're taking leave—here?"
"Yes, sir. Until, as I say, I get a few odds
and ends cleared up. Besides, I'm crazy about the mess hall."
Walker grunted. "I knew FAC pilots were all a
little shell- shocked. But you're ready for the rubber room."
"So my roommate keeps informing me."
"Going to F-one-elevens is a pretty choice
assignment. They won't keep it open for you if you don't make your
reporting date."
"I realize that."
"OK. You can stay on the mission. But,"
he looked narrowly at Clark, "I want you to get your crew rest.
According to the Ops reports you've almost been flying around the
clock."
"Not quite, sir. Been getting my beauty rest.
Catnaps while they refuel my plane, some here, some there."
"You heard me. I said crew rest. You've got
to stay sharp. Some isn't enough. A lot of those fog banks are
stuffed with large mountains. And I don't want another downed pilot
to worry about."
"Yes, sir." Clark excused himself and
went over to the staff officers huddled around the reconnaissance
photos.
Major Sam Piccard looked up and squinted through
the smoke of his meerschaum. "Hi, Denny. Understand you've had a
busy day. How goes it on the front lines?"
"Things could be better."
"They sure could. Did I ever tell you what
Mussolini said about war?"
"No, Sam, but I have a feeling you're going
to."
Piccard tamped his pipe. "War alone brings up
to its highest tension all human energy and puts the stamp of
nobility upon the peoples who have the courage to face it."
"That's beautiful."
"How does it feel to be noble and
courageous?"
"No wonder they shot Mussolini."
Piccard grinned. "You have a point."
"Before I give you my intelligence report,
answer me a question."
"Shoot."
"About that downed FAC observer. Who is he?
Has he been positively identified?"
"He has. A lieutenant. Name of Clark. You
don't have any relatives flying over here?"
"None that I know of."
"You'd be in good company if your were
related to this one. His first name's Mark."
"Not Mark Clark? The son of—"
"That's right."
Hambleton was lying on his stomach on his
observation knoll making mental notes of the enemy's troop movements
on the highway when he heard the buzzing of the FAC plane overhead.
He snapped on his radio.
In terse, guarded language the pilot
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