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Reasonably sure that by now the rest of the flight was airborne, Du
"Check your guns," he ordered. "Then check in."
It was not the correct radio procedure. Marine flight instructors back in the States would not have been pleased. Neither, for that matter, would commanding officers back at Ewa in Hawaii, or probably even at Espiritu Santo. But there was no one here to complain. Those addressed knew who was speaking, and what was required of them.
In the next few minutes, one by one, they checked in.
"Two, Skipper, I'm OK."
That was Knowles, on his wing. "Seven, Sir, weaponry operable."
One of the new kids, thought twenty-one-year-old Bill Du
"Three, Skipper."
"Six, OK."
"Five, Skipper."
There was a minute of silence. Du
"Four?"
"I've got three of them working."
"You want to abort? And try to catch up?"
"I'll go with three."
"Form on me, keep your eyes open," Du
There was no response.
VMF-229 formed loosely on its commanding officer and proceeded in a northwest direction, climbing steadily. At 12,000 feet, Du
"Oxygen time," he ordered.
[TWO]
1125 Hours 11 October 1942
Lieutenant Colonel Clyde W. Dawkins, USMC, Commanding Officer, Marine Air Group 21, set out to confer with the (acting) commanding officer of VMF-229. Dawkins was a career Marine out of A
He found Lieutenant Du
Du
He's just a kid, Dawkins thought.
Six months before, the idea of a twenty-one-year-old not a year out of Pensacola even serving as an acting squadron commander would have seemed absurd to him.
But six months ago was before Midway, where this ski
The regulations were clear: Command of an organization was vested in the senior officer present for duty. And Bill Du
But he was the best man available, not only in terms of flying skill, but as a leader. Dawkins had agreed with Galloway when the question had come up; fuck the regulations, Du
This was the second time Du
Meanwhile, Galloway's luck held... that time. A Patrol Torpedo boat plucked him from the sea, and he returned to duty. And then six days ago, on orders from Washington, Galloway went off on some mission that was both supersecret and-Dawkins inferred-superdangerous. It was entirely likely that he would not come back from it.
And so Dawkins was glad he had the ski
Du
"Be right with you, Skipper," he said.
"Take your time," Dawkins said.
Du
When he was finished dressing, he looked at Dawkins.
"What happened to Knowles?" Dawkins asked.
"He got on the horn and said he was low on fuel, so I sent him back. Him and two others who were getting low themselves. We still had thirty, thirty-five minutes' fuel remaining."
"He almost made it," Dawkins said.
"Oblensky saw it. He told me he tried to stretch his dead-engine glide and didn't make it."
Technical Sergeant Oblensky had been a flying sergeant when Colonel Dawkins had been a second lieutenant. His professional opinion of the cause of the crash was at least as valid as anyone else's Dawkins could think of. He hadn't questioned it.
"He should have put it in the water," Dawkins said.
"He was trying to save the plane," Du
"What do we call it, 'pilot error'?"
"How about 'command failure'? I should have checked to make sure he wasn't ru
"It wasn't your fault, Bill," Dawkins said.
Du
"How is he?" Du
"He died about five minutes ago."
"Shit! When I was over there, they told me they thought he would."
"They did everything they could for him."