Flight of the Intruder

NINE

The Filipino steward at the BOQ regarded the three airmen with suspicion. “When your ship come in?” he demanded. The BOQ was not to be used by officers whose ships were in port.

“It’s classified,” Lundeen said with a straight face. “Don’t you know there’s a war on?” He signed for a room.

The steward folded his arms across his chest. He had no doubt dealt with many navy flight crews, most of whom were inclined to ignore everybody’s rules except their own. “You must check out of your room when your ship come in. We have very few rooms.”

“You can bank on it,” Lundeen told him, then picked up his gear and led the group down the hall. “It’s a good thing we got here before the Shilo crowd swarms around the pool. Then he would have known the boat was in.” They agreed to meet in fifteen minutes at the pool.

After showering, Jake ran into his buddies in the hall and they trooped to the pool behind the sprawling U-shaped building. “Six gin-and-tonics for my friends and me,” Jake shouted to the bar girl, then plunged into the water. Sammy and Marty were right behind. By the time the first group of officers from the ship arrived at the poolside bar, the gin, the cool water, and the hot sun had worked together to soothe the three men.

“How’s the water, fellas?” Little Augie asked.

“All used up. Too bad you missed it.”

Little dropped his kit bag and set his drink on the table. “Like hell I did,” he said and dived in, clothes and all.

“Brilliant,” said Marty when Little surfaced.

“What’re you going to use for dry clothes?”

Little hoisted himself out of the water and took off his shoes to drain.

“They’re in the bag. I plan ahead.”

He laughed and lifted his drink.

The Boxman, Bob Walkwitz, walked over carrying a tall glass filled with a rum concoction. He pulled up a chair.

“Going across the bridge tonight, Box?” Sammy inquired.

The Boxman took a drink and flexed his shoulders. “Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’ my ass. It’d take wild horses to hold you back.”

“Can I help it if I like women?” Box demanded. “What’s wrong with you guys, anyway? Ya queer?” He sipped on his drink and leered at the waitress.

“Already I’m in love.”

“I thought you were in love with her the first time we pulled into Cubi. Didn’t she give you something to remember her by?”

Boxman stared at the swaying figure of the retreating girl. “Naw. It wasn’t her. Couldn’t be.” He shook his head. “Naw. They all remember me.”

“Did I hear that right?” Sammy wiggled a finger in his ear.

“Talk about confidence!” Jake said, slightly awed.

“What’ve you got that we don’t have?”

“Ask Mad Jack the next time you see him,” Box said smugly.

“He’s seen it so often I use him for a reference.”

For a while they were free of the navy and the flight schedule, and a good belly laugh made the world a comfortable place once again.

When Lundeen and Grafton arrived at the Cubi Point Officers’ Club that evening, they found Cowboy and a group of friends sitting near the back of the dining room drinking whiskey, chewing steak, and shooting the breeze. Cowboy expounded on the scandal of the hour, the Phantom.

“God help that poor idiot when they catch him. He’ll get the first keelhauling in a hundred years. That’s after they boil him in oil but before they string him up to the yardarm.”

Jake and Sammy gave the waiters their orders and settled back to listen to Cowboy. “They’re going about catching him all wrong, I reckon. They’ll no doubt stake out likely compartments and have a huge investigation.”

“Well, how should they do it then?”

“All it takes to catch this guy is a keen sense of smell and a little knowledge of your fellow man.” Cowboy cut a piece of steak and chewed slowly.

“Now the fellow we seek is an individualist, a rugged individuallyst as the cliche goes. He does his own thing without much thought as to what the rest of the world thinks. He has a good sense of humor and likes to see other people laugh with him.”

“That ought to narrow it down to half the officers in the air wing,” Sammy said.

“Oh, but there’s more. Our boy likes taking chances. He gets a thrill out of running a risk.”

“That eliminates a whole bunch of guys I know Cowboy,” Little Augie snickered.

Cowboy ignored the sarcasm and the pun. “Sure a lot of guys get a charge out of danger. almost everyone does if the danger isn’t too great. But the Phantom’s a different breed. He loves danger no matter how great. He seeks it out, relishes it. He doesn’t need the applause of the crowd, the medals, or the photos in the newspaper. He’s addicted.”

Jake shook his head. “We’re all addicted to danger. We wouldn’t keep climbing into those airplanes if we didn’t find it exciting.”

“Grafton, let’s take you as an example. You enjoy flying but you don’t take unnecessary chances, and you rarely do things for the pure hell of it.

With you there usually has to be a reason.” Cowboy jabbed his fork in Lundeen’s direction. “Our Phantom is a man who just doesn’t give a damn, like Lundeen here. If Sammy Lundeen doesn’t find some danger or excitement in what he has to do, then he either doesn’t do it or he manufactures some.”

“Crap! From an amateur headshrinker,” Sammy protested. “I’m a good officer and you know it. I grind out the routine stuff with the best of ‘em.

Come down to the personnel office sometime and you’ll see the service records are in top-notch shape. Everyone gets his paper shuffled in my shop. Why, you could be the Phantom yourself.”

Cowboy grinned. “That thought has not yet occurred to the heaviest.” He glanced around to see who might be listening. “I wonder what will happen if it does?”

The conversation moved on to the one subject that always proved irresistible-flying. They talked flying at every opportunity. A great deal of knowledge was exchanged in these bull sessions. The underlying theme of all of these stories was how to stay alive when everything goes awry. Because it was considered gauche to tell a story which demonstrated one’s aerial virtuosity, the narrator survived despite his own ineptness, ignorance, and stupidity when the world turned to shit and the arresting gear cable broke, or the catapult fired with not enough steam to get him to flying speed or the tie-down chains snapped and he slid over the side into the hungry sea. But some stories were about the time the world turned to shit and a buddy made a mistake and did not live to tell about it. Then the dead man’s sins were mercilessly dissected.

After dinner Jake and Sammy went to the bar, ordered refills, and strolled over to watch the singer. She sang American pop songs without an accent, and she had an excellent voice.

Lundeen’s eyes roved around. “I wonder where the cute waitress is tonight.”

“I’ve been wondering, too. Guess she has the night off.”

“Well, I think I’ll go for a little taxi ride and see a schoolteacher friend.” He polished off his drink.

“What do you see in that woman, anyway? She must be pushing forty.”

“She’s here and so am I. See you later.”

Jake wandered down to where the Boxman, Razor Durfee, Big Augie, and a man Jake didn’t recognize were huddled around a table crowned with empty beer cans. “Pull alongside and drop anchor, shipmate, roared the Boxman. “Jake, I want you to meet Ferdinand Magellan.” Walkwitz put his arm around the stranger beside him.

The man had a wholesome look and his horn-rimmed glasses gave him an intellectual air. “Here in the flesh, the greatest BN who ever slipped the surly bonds and fondled God’s face.”

“Jake Grafton.” He shook the new man’s hand.

“Fred Magellon.”

“Like I said, Ferdinand Magellan,” hooted the Boxman.. “He’s one of our new guys. Checked in this evening when the ship tied up.

Doesn’t know horseShit from peanut butter.”

“Where’re you from, Fred?” asked Jake as he dragged a chair around.

“St. Louis. Well, the suburbs of St. Louis.”

Jake said, “I guess the Boxman and these other guys are getting you checked out on the liberty around here.”

“Sort of. I’ve been here two days waiting for the ship and did some looking around.”

“Don’t worry, Jake,” said the Boxman. “We’re going to take care of young Ferdinand. We’re going to see that this impressionable innocent gets indoctrinated in the best A-6 tradition, ‘in the highest traditions of the naval service,” if I may steal a phrase. In fact, we’re about ready to head across the bridge.” He waved at the waitress. “One last round, dearest.”

Big Augie turned to Jake. “Ferdinand is curious about what it’s like to fly in combat, and what type of a fellow his new pilot might be. He’s a bit worried he might end up with you.”

“No, I’m not.” Ferdinand spoke up quickly, obviously wishing he had never brought up the subject.

Jake grinned. “You’ll just have to find the answers to those questions for yourself.”

“Don’t lie to the kid, Jake. Tell it like it is.”

“I’ll lay it on the line for you,” volunteered Durfee. “If you make it through the first flight without crapping in your drawers, you’re going to do okay.”

“Amen.”

“Of course, you probably won’t make it through with clean underwear, but there’s always hope.”

“Let’s hit the beach,” said the Boxman, standing up.

“Let’s cross the bridge,”

“Finish your beer,” he was told.

“Forget the beer. I’m ready. Let’s cross the bridge.”

“Who’s going to take care of the Boxman?” Jake wanted to know. Someone usually had to stick with him to get him back to the ship if his enthusiasms clouded his judgment, as occasionally happened.

“That’s gonna be Ferdinand’s chore tonight.”

“Nobody has to take care of me. I can watch out for myself.” Box picked up his beer can and drained it. “You coming, Jake?”

“I thought I’d hang around here for a bit.”

“Better come, Jake. There’s bound to be one whore in Po City that you can fall in love with.”

“Well — .” Jake was not ready for the fleshpots but Ferdinand looked like a lamb going to slaughter “Okay, I’ll go for a while.”

“You’re a real guy, Cool Hand.”

“Thanks, Box. I needed that.”

The five of them commandeered a taxi in front of the club. As they crammed into the Japanese-built car, the Boxman gave the driver his orders: “Main gate and don’t spare either of the horses.” The little machine lurched off, emitting a cloud of blue exhaust.

The walk across the bridge connecting the naval base and Olongapo City always sobered Jake. Children sat in boats amid the filth of the canal and called for sailors to throw them coins. Jake looked over the rail. The stench from one of the world’s largest open sewers knocked him back. “Hey Joe. Throw me a quarter.” A boy about ten stood precariously in the bow of a boat holding a fishnet in his hands. A girl, probably his sister, sat amidships with oars, sculling occasionally to hold the craft in place. Jake shook his head.

“Throw me a dime, Joe. Come on, Joe. Just a lousy dime. “Sorry, kid.” Near the boat a bloated pig floated in the brown, scummy water.

“You cheap bastard, Joe, Throw me a nickel and show me you not a cheap bastard.” Jake found a quarter and tossed it toward the boy, who fielded it expertly in his net. “Thanks, Joe. Hope you don’t catch the clap.”

The kid’s white teeth flashed in his brown face.

“I hope you get rich, kid, and become president of a bank.”

The Boxman grabbed his arm. “Ain’t you ever seen Shit Crick before?”

“Yeah, but-“

“The American Club is where it’s at. And where it’s at is where we want to be.” The five men picked their way along the street, avoiding the clusters of sailors and the Hey-Joe kids begging money or selling glass necklaces. They dodged mud and water thrown up by passing jeepneys, ancient Willys jeeps with canvas tops. Filipino soldiers wearing cartridge belts and carrying shotguns or submachine guns sauntered along the street. In the doorway of every bar, a bouncer, armed extravagantly, stood sentinel.

“you sort of expect to see Pancho Villa come riding down the street,” Jake said. Po City never failed to disturb him deeply. He went on, “It would be a great place for a TV evangelist; ‘read your Bible, folks, or you’ll end up here.” A credit could run at the end of the program: ‘Filmed on location in hell.”‘ “If they ever give the world an enema, this is where they’ll stick the tube,” Box observed. “Come on, let’s go in here. I know some of the girls.” He dived into a dark doorway under a broken neon sign that proclaimed, “American Club.”

One of the girls greeted the Boxman with glee. “Ah, Box, you’re back,” she squealed and threw her arms around his neck.

“This here is Suzy. She’s my bonita seniorita. Come on, honey, let’s find a table for me and my friends.”

“You want some girls, too?” she asked.

“No,” said Jake and Ferdinand in unison.

“Of course, a lady for everybody, Suzy babe,” shouted the Boxman.

They were soon seated around a large table, five men and five women.

Suzy, the one the others obviously looked up to, didn’t look eighteen. A waitress placed a bottle of San Miguel beer in front of each man and glasses of brown liquid in front of the girls.

“What your name?” asked the small brown girl to Jake’s right.

“Jake,” he said, looking straight ahead. “Hake?”

“No. Jake. With a J.”

“Oh … Hake. I’m Teresa. You like me, Hake?” He looked down at her.

“You’re very pretty.”

She nuzzled up to him, rubbing her breasts against his arm. “I like you, too, Hake.”

The other tables were filled up with American men and Filipino girls. All the bartenders were Filipino men, and the only other Filipino male in the place wore a .45 automatic on his right hip and cradled a short-barreled pump shotgun in his arm. He leaned against the bar near the rear of the room, watching the door. God only knew what disaster he was there to prevent, Jake thought. If he started blasting away with that shotgun, he’d take down half the people in the bar. Jake watched the man, who had a wisp of a mustache and seemed about seventeen, and tried to recall if he had ever heard of a shootout in one of these dives.

If you were a Hey-Joe watch thief with a hot sister and survived long enough, this was the job you could aspire to.

Teresa tried valiantly to turn him on. “What do you do on your ship, Hake?”

She wrapped her arm around Jake’s and smiled. With her head tilted up, s looked genuinely curious.

“I shovel coal for the furnaces.”

“Oh,” she gushed, “such a hot job. But if you’re American, you must be rich.

“Why would rich men shovel coal?”

“How old are you, Teresa?”

“I eighteen.” She glanced at Suzy, who was busy laughing at the Boxman’s jokes. Jake decided she was fourteen or fifteen. He gulped his San Miguel and let the strangeness of the place flow over him. Teresa apparently decided that the conversation was too much work and she began giggling and whispering with the girl beside her.

About the time they had finished their third beer, Boxman got the urge to move on. “Hey Jake, let’s buy our gals out of here. I know a little place called Pauline’s that’s worth the trip.”

Grafton was not enthusiastic. “What could possibly be over there that isn’t over here?” Jake had seen all he cared to of the local nightlife and was ready to settle in and get seriously soused.

“Come on, Jake. Trust me. This place’ll knock your socks off.”

The pilot shrugged. Ferdinand Magellan seized the opportunity to bow out and Big Augie and Razor followed his lead. Boxman gave up trying to persuade them. “Let’s go, Jake,” he said and got to his feet.

American currency slipped to the club’s proprietor convinced him he could spare his B-girls for several hours. Soon Jake, Box, Suzy, and Teresa were bumping along in the back of a jeepney.

Pauline’s Place looked like every other dive in Po City, except that in front of the joint was a pond that contained a half dozen or so small alligators, or perhaps crocodiles. On the sidewalk vendors sold chicks and ducklings to drunk Americans to feed to the reptiles in the pond.

As Box and Jake and the two women approached the club, they saw a young American in blue jeans and a tank top, with an earring dangling from one ear, lean over the waist-high rail with a duckling in his hand. “Here, boys. Come and get it.” He tossed the small bird into the pond.

The duckling fluttered its wings, quacked several times, and paddled through the scum toward the edge. From beneath the water came a slight snout. Two small white feathers remained floating on the water when the turbulence subsided.

“Duck soup!” shouted the sailor. “How about that? Just slurp and smack and it’s all over. Gimme another one of them ducks. No, let’s try a chicken this time.

I know they like ducks. Let’s see If they go for chicks la feathers.” He and his buddies laughed uproariously. “We’ll perform a scientific experiment. I wonder if it’s the wings flopping that attracts them crocs.”

“Let’s go in before I puke,” Grafton said.

They found a table in a corner. Even before a waitress came up, two hostesses approached and looked daggers at Suzy and Teresa, both of whom glared back. The Boxman laughed and motioned to the new hostesses to join them. The women refused the invitation, though, as a group of marines arrived.

Suzy and Teresa ordered the usual brown fluid, while Box ordered a San Miguel and Jake bourbon. Jake gagged down a mouthful and promptly choked.

“Box, I’m ready to go back across the bridge. I, definitely had all the fun I can stand tonight.” He poured his drink on the floor.

Just then the earring man and his friends trooped in and arranged themselves at the bar. They shouted beer and were soon surrounded by ladies of the house. Earring was having a great time. He giggled and drank and slid his hand inside the pants of the girl beside him. She whispered to him and stared at the mirror behind the bar. Earring dug his hand deeper and said something to the man beside him. The two howl with laughter. The girl’s face was expressionless.

Jake looked at the Boxman. “Am I the only sane man here, or the only crazy one?”

“He’s an asshole all right. It must be something in the water.” Box shrugged. “Maybe it’s the beer.” He picked up his bottle and eyed it. “I don’t feel an attack coming on yet, but I probably just haven’t had enough.”

“Why’s he wearing that earring?”

“It’s the fucking rage back in the States. Shows he’s tuned in and turned on. Bet he doesn’t wear that damned junk on the ship.”

“Stick with me, Box.” The pilot stood up.

“We going again?” Teresa asked. Apparently she and Suzy were their permanent friends, at least for the evening.

“What’re you going to do?” Box wanted to know.

“You with me or not?”

Box drained his San Miguel and stood up. “Lead on, Cool Hand.” He tossed a handful of pesos on the table.

Jake strolled over to the bar, patted Earring on the back, and flashed his friendliest smile. “Shipmate, bring your girl and come on outside. We’re going to feed the ‘gators.” Earring looked blank. The pilot addressed the crowd. “Hey, everybody, let’s go outside and feed the alligators.”

Box chimed in on cue. “Bring the girls and come on outside.” Ten or twelve men started for the door. Grafton steered Earring along and stayed with him. “Do those alligators like chickens and ducks?”

“You bet, man. One gobble. And a hell of a lot of squawking.”

Outside Earring bought a chick and tossed it into the pond. It disappeared in an explosion of water and feathers. Earring cheered wildly. He reached into his wallet, extracted some pesos, and bought two more birds.

As the sailor stepped up to the rail again, Jake nodded to Box, who assumed a position on the other side of Earring. “Give us room,” Jake commanded.

The boy leaned over the rail to toss in a bird.

Simultaneously Jake and Box reached down and each grabbed an ankle. They lifted smartly and Earring went over the rail headfirst. He screamed, a high-pitched wail that cut out abruptly when his head hit the water.

Jake kept a firm grip on Earring’s right ankle, but the Boxman let go and threw up his hands with a whoo The shock of absorbing the man’s weight jerked Jake forward into the rail and his hands slipped. He barely managed to hang on.

He tried to shout but for a moment was not able to find his voice.

Then it came out. “You dumb shit! Get him out of there.”

The Boxman’s jaw tightened. Galvanized, he reached over the rail and got a double handful of trousers. Both men strained, but the weight was too much.

Jake Grafton saw Ferdinand Magellan in the crowd gawking with his mouth open. “Help us, for God sake!” The three of them managed to pull Earring’s head out of the water. Other men grabbed hold.

They hauled him up, choking and sobbing and trying to scream, and flopped him out in the dirt. Bits of slime clung to his hair and paper-white face. He sobbed and looked about wildly. Grafton was shaking and lean on the rail for support.

The Boxman bent over and looked Earring in the eye. “How’d you like it, asshole?”

The boy now looked pathetic to Jake, who turned away into the crowd. The pilot saw a haymaker coming just in time to duck, and the blow glanced off his ear. He swung back with all he had and felt teeth give as the guy went down.

Whistles sounded.

“Shore patrol!”

Jake ran. He bumped into several people but made it through the scattering crowd and raced down the sidewalk. A block later, he was finding his running rhythm when he saw Suzy gesticulating at him. “Up here.” He blasted through the doorway and up a narrow flight of stairs. Suzy and the Boxman were right behind him. On a second-floor landing, lit only by a naked light bulb, Suzy unlocked a door and the three of them tumbled into a dark room. The light coming in from the street was sufficient to reveal the jumbled outlines of furniture, apparently stuffed in wall to wall.

Breathing hard, they crowded against the window and stared down the street toward Pauline’s. The sidewalk and street were empty except for Earring lying in the dirt and the white-uniformed shore patrolmen.

Ducklings and baby chicks wandered about, unsure what to do with their freedom after the hasty departure of their captors. Two shore patrolmen lifted Earring to his feet and escorted him away.

“I’ll bet that teaches the sonuvabitch a lesson,” the Boxman swore.

“We shouldn’t have done it.” The excitement and adrenaline were wearing off.

“Serves him right.”

“He shit in his pants. I noticed it when we pulled him up. We scared him that bad.”

“Maybe he’ll tell them we saved his ass after he fell in.”

“Maybe the sun won’t rise tomorrow. Suzy was grinning from ear to ear. “You teach him big lesson. Not swim alone.”

They roared. “That guy should thank us. We gave him the thrill of his life,” Box said, laughing.

“I’ll bet all he could think of was those greedy ol’ gators,” Jake gasped.

The mirth finally subsided. Grafton’s ear throbbed “Why’d you let go of his leg?”

“Hell, I dunno.” The Boxman scratched his head. “I guess I just sort Of forgot about the alligators. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. Just exactly why did we throw him in, anyway?”

“Because he’s an asshole.”

Suzy hugged Boxman and gave him a dazzling grin. “You wouldn’t throw me in?”

“Oh no! Just sailors.”

“You like me?”

Box put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. “I think I like you with a little more salt.” She laughed again and placed his left hand on her breast. “Yum yum,” the bombardier told her.

Jake felt his way back through the dark room to the door. When he opened it the light from the single bulb on the stair landing fell on an old lady sitting in an armchair in the corner. She had silver hair and wrinkled face and was very small. He could hear Su giggling. The old lady gave him a toothless grin. he closed the door softly as he went out. Down on the street the shore patrol was still standing outside Pauline’s, so he waited until their backs were turned, then stepped out on the sidewalk and walked away in the opposite direction.