Clete shrugged.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Dawkins chided.
“Six. The Betty was confirmed?” Dawkins nodded. “Then seven,” Clete finished.
“Seven is enough to be a certified hero,” Dawkins said.
“Sir?”
“There was a radio overnight,” Dawkins said. “Right from Eighth and Eye.* Your name has apparently been added to the roster of certified heroes.”
“Sir, I don’t under—”
“The War Bond Tour, Clete,” Dawkins explained. “A dozen certified heroes have been chosen to tour the West Coast to inspire civilians to buy War Bonds, or maybe to rush to the recruiting office. Maybe both. Anyway, you’re on it.”
Don’t get your hopes up. At the last minute something will happen and they’ll change their minds.
“I thought you had to have a medal to get that.”
“Your DFC, your second, has come through.”
“When would I go?”
“The radio said ‘will proceed immediately.’ So if you
feel up to it, you can be on this afternoon’s R4D to Espíritu Santo.” The R4D was the Navy/Marine Corps version of the Douglas DC-3 (C-47) transport aircraft.
“No shit?” Clete blurted.
“A particularly inappropriate vulgarism, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Frade, under the circumstances?”
Frade blushed. This made him look even younger than his twenty-two years.
“Frade, you’re one hell of a pilot and a good Marine. I’m going to miss you around here.”
Frade blushed even deeper.
“Can I ask a favor?” Dawkins asked.
“Yes, Sir. Of course.”
“Stop by the office. Say, at 1400. Precisely, as a matter of fact, at 1400. The R4D leaves at 1430. I’d be grateful if you would mail a letter for me, to my wife, when you get to the States.”
“Yes, Sir, of course. 1400.”
I did not tell him, Dawkins thought, that there will also be a small ceremony waiting for him then, during which the Commanding General of the First Marine Division will pin the Distinguished Flying Cross (Second Award) on his chest. Like most good Marine officers, he is made uncomfortable by such events. He just might not show up. And I do want him to mail the letter to my wife.
“I’m glad you walked away from that one, Clete,” Dawkins said, offering him his hand.
“I’m sorry I wrecked the airplane, Colonel.”
“What the hell, Clete, when we run out of airplanes, maybe they’ll call the war off.”
[TWO]
Headquarters, Sixth Army
Stalingrad, USSR