Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [89]
“Hamilton, in Marin County.”
“Go and see your parents. Our first contingent will be entering Berlin on the Fourth of July. When you return to Germany it will be either to go back to Rombaden and finish your command or it will be to come to Berlin with us for as long as we need you.”
“The Fourth of July? But, sir, even with good connections I won’t have much more than forty-eight hours at home ... I’ve been gone almost four years ...”
“That’s it, Sean. Forty-eight hours.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
“HEY, MAJOR O’SULLIVAN, TAKE a look.” Sean responded to the prodding of the navigator of the “Vigilant Virgin,” a combat-weary B-24. He unraveled himself from a makeshift bunk in the bomb bay and slipped into the flight deck between the pilots. The aircraft commander pointed out of his window.
Below, the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge poked up through a pall of grayish clouds. Beyond the bridge, the gleaming plaster and hills of San Francisco searched for the ever-elusive sun.
“The Golden Gate in ’48, the broad line in ’49,” someone said over the intercom.
And then, there was no more talk. For this crew it was good-by Europe, hello Pacific, but the Vigilant Virgin would be gone forever. The proud possessor of seventy-five raids, including survival of the Ploesti air massacre, she would meet an untimely end and her crew would be retrained for the more powerful B-29s.
“Strap in for landing.”
The “follow me” jeep led the Vigilant Virgin into a hardstand. The alert crew signaled her to cut her engines and wheel chocks were set. Her men tumbled out of the open bomb bay, and Sean and three other hitchers thanked each of the crew for the ride. The ceremony was halted by a jeep pulling under the plane’s wings. A corporal from Base Operations emerged.
“Excuse me. Is Major Sean O’Sullivan here?”
“I’m O’Sullivan.”
The corporal came to a sloppy salute, which an Army man tolerated from the Air Corps. “Would you come with me, sir. Sergeant Schlosberg has some poop for you at the message center.”
The jeep U-turned and drove down the side of the runway as the rest of the bomber squadron was making long glides to the landing strip.
“Afternoon, sir,” Sergeant Schlosberg said. “How was the flight?”
“Good as any ride in an airplane can be.”
Schlosberg tolerated the nonflying mentality of a landlocked Army officer. “We’ve got a TWX on you about your return flight, sir. You can catch a Staff B-17 out of Mather to Washington, then ATC on the VIP flight to Orly. If you’ll check Base Operations in Paris they’ll get you in to Frankfurt or Wiesbaden with Theater Aircraft. Should put you back by July 3.”
“Mather, that’s up by Sacramento, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. We have a staff car to take you into Frisco now. If you’ll leave your address at the motor pool we’ll arrange to have you picked up and transported to Mather.”
“I appreciate that.”
The sergeant said it was nothing at all, having been fully awed by Sean’s Priority One status in his orders.
“Could I use your phone?”
“Help yourself.”
Sean indicated the call was private. The sergeant excused himself. Sean lifted the receiver.
“Hamilton operator.”
“This is Major O’Sullivan. I’ve just arrived with the 23d Bomber Squadron. I’m calling from Base Operations. Could you reach a number in San Francisco?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get me Mission 0430.”
“One moment, sir.”
He heard the feedback of the dialing. The phone rang. Sean’s hand tightened on the receiver ... ring ... ring ... ring ... click!
“Hello.”
“Hello ... Momma ...”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Momma ...”
“Oh God!”
“Momma, it’s Sean.”
“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”
“Momma ... don’t cry ... don’t cry ...”
“It’s Sean!”
“Son ... is it you, son!”
“Hello, Poppa.”
“Is it really you!”
“Yes ... yes ... it’s me. I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner and let you know. I’ve just landed at Hamilton Field. I’ll be home in about an hour.”
“Are you all right, son?”
“I’m fine ... I’ll be