‘‘I’ll see you after we’ve dismissed here,’’ Crookshanks said icily.
Bitter flushed.
"We’re going to be flying P40-Bs, as you know," Crookshanks went on. ‘‘I was promised dash-ones and other technical material about the aircraft, but it just hasn’t shown up.’’
The dash-one was the pilot’s operating manual, a technical manual, for a particular aircraft. For example, TM-1-P 40B-1 was the pilot’s operating manual for the P40-B. Similarly, TM-1-C47A-1 was the operating manual for the Douglas DC-3, known to the Army as the C-47 and to the Navy as the R4-D.
‘‘Jesus Christ!’’ someone across the room complained bitterly. ‘‘I’ve never been close to one of the sonsofbitches, and no dash-ones!’’
‘‘Fortunately,’’ Crookshanks said, responding to the complaint, ‘‘we have several people with us who have flown the aircraft, and what we’re going to do is have them tell us about it. We’re going to start this program right away. I want you all back here, with notebooks and pencils . . . God, I hope you have notebooks and pencils . . . at 1030. We’ll do an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon. Any questions?’’
There were no questions.
‘‘Dismissed,’’ Mr. Crookshanks said.
Bitter was surprised and angry when Canidy got up and started to leave the dining salon.
‘‘He told you he wanted to see you,’’ he said, grabbing Canidy’s arm.
‘‘He knows where to find me,’’ Canidy replied, and, seeing the deep concern on Bitter’s face, he added: ‘‘I have something in the cabin I think he wants.’’
‘‘I don’t understand you at all,’’ Bitter said.
‘‘I know you don’t,’’ Canidy replied, smiling at him.
Perry Crookshanks, white-faced and tight-lipped, showed up at the louvered door of their cabin five minutes later.
‘‘Perhaps you misunderstood me, Mr. Canidy,’’ Perry Crookshanks said. ‘‘I asked you to remain behind in the dining salon.’’
‘‘I understood you,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘But I want to clear up a small misunderstanding between us, too.’’
‘‘What’s that?’’
‘‘You’re no longer a commander in the Navy, and, more important, I’m no longer a junior grade lieutenant. I work for you, maybe, but I’m not commanded by you. There’s a big difference.’’
‘‘You were briefed as to what is expected of you.’’
‘‘I signed on to fly. That’s all. In the air, I’ll take military-type orders. On the ground, I won’t. That better be very clear between us.’’
‘‘You’ll take orders, or you’ll be sent home,’’ Crookshanks said.
‘‘In irons? Come on, Crookshanks.’’ Canidy said. ‘‘Get it through your head that neither of us is in the Navy anymore. ’’
‘‘I can’t tolerate—and you know I can’t—an uncooperative attitude. There has to be discipline.’’
‘‘Cooperation and discipline are two different things,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘Cooperation is why I came to my cabin, knowing that you were certain to come after me like a truant officer.’’
Canidy unlocked one of his huge tin suitcases and motioned Crookshanks over to it.
‘‘In a spirit of cooperation, you can borrow these,’’ he said.
Crookshanks’s eyebrows rose. He dipped his hand into the suitcase and came up with a military manual. Bitter looked at it. On the cover in red ink was stamped NOT TO BE REMOVED FROM THE LIBRARY. Right below that was printed TM-1-P40A-1.
‘‘There’s one copy of the A-model dash-one and two copies each for the B and C models,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘There’s also three copies of the tech manual for the Allison 710-33 engine and two for the 710-39. I wasn’t able to find out what’s in the planes we’re going to get. You can have all the duplicates, and you can borrow the single copies whenever Bitter and I aren’t reading them.’’
‘‘Christ knows, we need them,’’ Crookshanks said. ‘‘Where’d you get them?’’
‘‘I stole them from the Air Corps library at Maxwell Field,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘I figured we would need them more than they did.’’