Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [252]
“Never mind. Get his record over to Wiesbaden, then shoot his ass over there.”
The thing that ultimately made Hiram Stonebraker a major general while other men remained majors was his gift of selecting and using men.
He read the book on Scott Davidson, found two men in his Headquarters who knew of the captain personally.
Scott was a hot pilot, guts and ice water. He had knocked down eleven Jap Zeros with a P-38, and later, flew a Thunderbolt. He had more strafing and ground-support mission on Marine and Army invasions than could properly be recorded.
He had survived a miraculous landing in a badly damaged craft, suffered wounds that might have finished a lesser man. He made an even more miraculous recovery, as the medical record showed, to fly again for ATC and MATS, where he was considered a superb pilot.
Hiram Stonebraker liked what he read ... except for certain things on the fitness report: THIS OFFICER IS A POTENTIAL LEADER BUT IS LACKADAISICAL, IS ALWAYS LATE WITH REPORTS, AND AVOIDS RESPONSIBILITY.
“We met earlier today, Captain,” Hiram Stonebraker said.
The two silver stars adorning each shoulder were much in evidence now. “I had a sort of feeling I may have made an error in judgment ...”
“You were within your rights. I’d have chewed you out if you hadn’t demanded proper identification.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Captain, I’m going to recommend you for a temporary appointment as chief pilot of the Wing at Rhein/Main. It’s a big job. Cut the buck and I’m sure it’s yours permanently. You’ve got a lot to be briefed on to get the picture of what we’re up against here, so I’ll turn you over to Colonel Beck again.”
“General... I ... uh ...”
“Well?”
“Sir, I appreciate the General’s confidence ... even on a temporary basis. However, sir, I’m afraid I might let you down. I’m just not much on the administrative end of things.”
“You can speak better English than that.”
“If the General gives me leave to speak.”
“The General does.”
“Sir, I made myself live when I should have been dead so I could fly again,” he said with a southern charm, sincerity, and appeal that could melt the hardest heart. “I lay there in a bed for six months while they were pulling lead and aluminum out of me and pumping me full of blood. The only thing that made me pull through was the thought of flying, General ... I’m just not cut out to play wet nurse to boy pilots or pin up numbers in a chart room.”
Crusty knew the breed all right. The old crushed-hat gang, a direct descendant of the barnstormer. They would fly into a brick wall and the eye of a hurricane, but you couldn’t give them a command or make them make decisions.
But Hiram Stonebraker also knew men. He liked something in this boy and he wanted to believe he could get the best from him. Scott was the first in with the Skymasters and certainly the best pilot who had shown up so far.
“You’ll do what I tell you to do. Now get down to Operations and learn your goddamned job.”
Throughout the night weight and balance supervisors removed excess items from the craft in from Hawaii. The long-range navigation equipment, navigator’s stool, wash water, forward fuselage tanks, bladders, partitions, troop benches were peeled out to make room for another ton of pay-load cargo to Berlin.
Matt Beck personally briefed the new arrivals and would take the number one craft today to Berlin as their time bloc approached. Ten planes would make the flight. The eleventh was to remain at Rhein/Main for a special detail, Captain Scott Davidson to fly it. Clinton Loveless briefed him on the plan.
“Bomb coal!” Scott cried. “Somebody’s out of their goddamned mind.”
“Captain, this is the general’s idea. No matter what happens to this experiment, you must keep your mouth shut. You’re too cute to have your head shrunk.”
“But, Colonel ... anybody in his right mind knows you can’t bomb coal.”
“If, just if, we can drop coal sacks in Berlin in an open field ... just if, I say, it would save thousands of hours of landing, unloading, and turning around. We’ve got to try out all