‘‘Just ‘theoretically’?’’ the admiral asked.
‘‘It’s never been put to the test of actual combat, sir,’’ Canidy said.
‘‘And if it was?’’ Chennault asked.
‘‘I’m not in a position to judge, sir,’’ Canidy said.
‘‘But you have, haven’t you?’’ Chennault said. ‘‘Speak up, Canidy. Where did I go wrong?’’
Chennault’s book was a treatise on the interception and pursuit of enemy bombardment aircraft. Canidy had given it a lot of thought.
‘‘I wondered about armament and armor, sir,’’ he said.
Chennault made a ‘‘come on’’ signal with his hand.
‘‘The larger bombers get, the greater their weight-carrying capacity,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘Which means they can armor their engines and fuel tanks, and carry more and larger-caliber weaponry, and some armor. And that obviously means a decrease in their speed and maneuverability and range. So long as the enemy doesn’t have really large airplanes . . . like the Boeing B-17 . . . it won’t be a problem. But if they do . . .’’
Chennault was impressed with Canidy’s analysis of his theory. He had himself seen the problems Canidy had spotted. But he did not like to hear them from a young man still damp behind the ears.
‘‘How would you like to go into combat as a pursuit pilot, in, say, sixty days?’’ Chennault asked abruptly.
Canidy felt the skin at the base of his neck curl. The question was asked in dead seriousness.
‘‘I don’t think I’d like that at all, sir,’’ he said.
‘‘Christ, when I was your age . . .’’ the admiral said.
‘‘Within a year, give or take a couple of months, we’re going to be at war,’’ General Chennault said. ‘‘If you believe that we’re not, you believe in the tooth fairy. You also believe in the tooth fairy if you think the Navy is going to release a healthy, highly skilled pursuit pilot with demonstrated qualities of leadership just before the war starts.’’
Well, Canidy thought, there it is, right out in the open. Two unpleasant facts that I have been unwilling to face.
‘‘I’m very much afraid that you’re right, sir,’’ Canidy said.
‘‘Of course I’m right,’’ Chennault snorted.
‘‘What is the general proposing, sir?’’ Canidy asked.
‘‘I’m offering you a one-year contract, Canidy, on behalf of the Central Aircraft Manufacturing Company, Federal, Inc., to go to China and participate in the construction, maintenance, and development of civilian aircraft for the Chinese Air Transport Ministry.’’
‘‘I’m in the Navy, General.’’
Ignoring him, Chennault went on. ‘‘What you’ll be doing is flying Curtiss P40-Bs against the Japanese. The pay— your pay, I’m offering you a job as a wingman—is six hundred dollars a month, plus rations and quarters and a bonus of five hundred dollars for every aircraft you down.’’
That was nearly twice what he was paid by the Navy. And, of course, there were no five-hundred-dollar bonuses for primary flight instructor pilots.
‘‘At the conclusion of your contract year,’’ Chennault went on, ‘‘you will be taken back into the Navy with no loss of time in grade. If you get promoted flying for us, you will receive a similar promotion in the Navy.’’
‘‘I would be discharged from the Navy?’’ Canidy asked. ‘‘Not just released from active duty, subject to recall?’’
‘‘Discharged,’’ Chennault said. ‘‘You would leave the United States as a civilian.’’
‘‘And if I didn’t come back in the Navy?’’
‘‘You are a gutsy bastard, aren’t you?’’ Chennault asked admiringly. ‘‘Saying that in front of the admiral.’’ He paused. ‘‘You do your year, and if I’m wrong, and there is no war, I’ll guarantee you can come home and go to work for Boeing. You could probably get more money as an engineer in China, come to think of it. But if the United States gets in the war, and I think it will, you’ll have to make your own arrangements with the draft board.’’
‘‘And if I don’t want to go to China?’’
‘‘Then you go back to your BOQ and forget you ever met me,’’ Chennault said. ‘‘You won’t be able to do that, of course. You’ll remember this little encounter, no matter what you decide, for the rest of your life.’’