The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [200]
“Maybe. Sounds to me like you were meant to fly, maybe before you were twelve. We all have our place. There’s a path, and you were led to yours. You’re fortunate to know that, to appreciate it. Most people never find theirs. Some poor souls stare at the right path, and then walk right by.”
“So, Chaplain, I’m flying because God wants me to?”
“Didn’t say that. If you’re happy, truly happy, then God is happy right along with you. He doesn’t create the path, just gives you the free will to find it for yourself. Make choices, live with a clear conscience, a good heart.”
“Damn, Bill, you make me sound like I oughta be on some painting in the Vatican.”
“I’m Lutheran, Paul. Don’t spend a lot of time chatting with the pope. How’s Lucy?”
Tibbets was surprised by the change of topic, knew too well why Downey had asked.
“She’s okay, getting by taking care of the boys.” He paused. “Well, hell, I’m not going to lie to a damn chaplain. Things aren’t that good. She’s not happy I’m so damn far away. I thought she enjoyed being at Wendover, having the family together and all, but even then I could tell there was a problem. Hell, I was gone all the damn time. The job … well, you know. They had me flying all over the damn place. Naturally, we can’t have families out here, so now she’s stuck back home, and sure as hell, she lets me know about that. What can I do, Bill? It’s the job, and right now it has to be the job. She’s gotta understand that. This’ll be over one day, then maybe things will be all right.”
“Of course they will. We’ll all be better off once the war’s over. She’s not any different from every wife and every mother who’s sitting home getting all they can from a letter every few days. They all want this to end, get all of you back home.”
Tibbets looked at Downey, saw youth, the fresh face of a man who knew very little of family life.
“What are you, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Yeah, thought so. Tell you what, Minister Downey, you go home and have a half-dozen kids, then haul your ass to some seminary somewhere for six months. Tell me how happy they’ll be about that.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”
Tibbets took a hard pull on the pipe, the smoke turning bitter in his mouth, no comfort at all.
“You didn’t. It just … never goes away. This isn’t any kind of life for a married man. And the kids. Jesus, Bill, I miss my boys.” He looked at Downey, saw no change of expression. “Sorry. ‘Don’t cuss at the chaplain.’ Learned that in basic.”
Downey started to protest, and Tibbets knew there was no offense taken at all. They all knew that the chaplain had enormous tolerance for the various adventures enjoyed by the 509th since their earliest days together, adventures that often included things best kept away from church. Tibbets had always liked Downey, though Tibbets had rarely gone to Sunday services. The excuses were always there, mostly unspoken. Neither man would believe that his absence at church was only because he just didn’t have the time. But Tibbets was still self-conscious about his Sunday absences, had heard the occasional comment from some of the men in his command.
“I’d be at your services more often, if I could. It’s just that … well, I’ve always felt that any time I needed to chat with God, I prefer doing it without a middleman.”
Downey laughed, said, “Yeah, so you’ve told me. Tell me more about your sons.”
“Toughest thing about being here. I miss ’em, sure as hell. They’d go crazy out here watching these big birds coming and going. I’d end up having to haul them both up one day. Well, Paul, anyway. He’s nearly five. Gene’s just a baby still. But I could stow Paul someplace where nobody’d see, maybe in the tail gun. Sergeant Caron wouldn’t mind if I stuck him back there once in a while. Caron would get a kick out of teaching Paul how to squeeze off a few rounds with the fifty cal. I guarantee it would be just like Miami was for me. He’d never forget that. Hell, both my boys might end up flying. Gotta make sure