Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [306]
The roomy forward-control cabin seemed like a summer palace after the confines of the Gooney Birds and Skymasters. Scott tested the ship with the Boeing people, certain that his new love of this big old bird was a sign of advancing age.
It was a long way removed from the first milk run to Berlin with the Gooney Birds setting down eighty tons a day ... the Skymasters brought in six and seven thousand tons. Yet, it was less than a year that it all had started!
On flight number two hundred to Berlin, Hiram Stonebraker handed him a set of gold oak leaves. “Major,” he said, “we’re kicking your ass upstairs. We want you over at Headquarters as vice operations chief.”
Scott would be the number two pilot in the entire Airlift. His first job would be to write a manual on the characteristics and use of the Stratofreighter in Operation Vittles.
As winter ended, old hands took new duties. New crews came with new ships. The long-standing joke of the Airlift, the illusive definition of “temporary duty” was finally explained. With the new crews coming from Great Falls, rotation from Germany was commenced.
Stan Kitchek was lost after Scott’s transfer to Headquarters. He was promoted to captain, accepted “permanent change of station,” made a first pilot, and transferred to the base at Celle which had been turned into the model of the Airlift, the epitome of precision of air-cargo transportation.
Master Sergeant Nick Papas was advised that he had a month’s leave accumulated, which was now payable. He phoned Scott.
“Want to say good-by to an old Greek?”
They met in the bar of the NCO Rocker Club in Wiesbaden a little later. Nick was packed and ready to take off.
“So, what are you going to do now?”
“Check the bank balances in Chicago. Then, who knows? I got twenty years service come September. Maybe I’m getting a little old for this crap. I may just do it up in real Greek style, have the relatives send a girl over from the old country.”
“Hey, how about that.”
“I never said anything about you and Hilde. I’ve seen a lot of fighter pilots in my twenty years. Lot of them don’t grow up. I never figured you’d get your wings clipped.”
Scott cracked an egg, emptied it into the mug of dark beer, swirled it around. “Know what, Nick. I looked real close in the mirror today. I’ve got four gray hairs. When I think about it ... I guess I’m the luckiest bastard who ever lived. It’s easy to come out of the clouds when you’ve found something better on the ground.”
“Sorry I won’t be standing up for you. When do you figure to get married?”
“Lot of red tape. We’re looking for a final clearance any day.”
Nick looked at his watch, gulped his beer down. “It’s that time.”
Scott drove him to Y 80 where he had passage on MATS on a States-bound Skymaster.
In the end there were no words to cover six years of intimate comradery.
“See you around, Major.”
“So long, Nick.”
He waited until Nick’s plane was out of sight, and with him a part of his own life had flown away.
German girls by the thousands were trying to marry American servicemen. Many wanted it only as an avenue of escape from the nightmare of their war-ravaged world.
American boys who had never been exposed to the open and free relationship of a European woman wanted one of their very own.
It became necessary for the American authorities to institute barriers and rigid screenings to prevent a flood of bad matches.
Scott went to Colonel and Mrs. Loveless and candidly discussed Hilde’s past. Clint acted as her sponsor, engineered the papers with his own brand of deftness. His influence with General Stonebraker, the general’s personal like of Scott, plus the Falkenstein name would all help to smooth the way. Even so, there was a long winter of red tape.
Clint went to see the final authority, the chief chaplain of USAFE, and judged him to be a true man of the cloth and decided to lay it on the line.
The chaplain found it refreshing.