Authors: T. E. Cruise
“A bear,” Steve mused.
“Huh?”
“That’s what the pilots call their backseaters in Vietnam, bears, as in trained bears.”
“I see …” Gold nodded, trying hard not to react negatively to Steve’s attitude. “Well, the Super-BroadSword’s backseater will
be sitting
side by side
with the pilot. We’ve gotten very good reaction on another innovation. In the event that the crew has to bail out the entire
cockpit becomes an escape capsule. It lifts off by means of explosive charge, and even carries a chaff dispenser to help ward
off enemy radar tracking. On the ground the cockpit can be used as an emergency shelter…”
“That sounds cool, Pop,” Steve said softly.
“And as I was saying before,” Gold pressed on. “She’s got a full complement of black-box technology. Enough, we hope, to take
her well into the next decade of electronic warfare …”
“Black boxes,” Steve scoffed. “What about guns? You were always a main advocate of guns on airplanes. The more guns the better,
you always used to say.”
“Oh, the Super-BroadSword will have a gun, don’t you worry. We’re not going to make the same mistake that Brower-Dunn made
with the Sun Wolf jet fighter,” Gold added firmly, thinking back on how during its initial design phase Brower-Dunn had made
provisions for its Sun Wolf to carry a gun, but then scraped the provision in favor of a fuller complement of short- and long-range
air-to-air missiles. In Vietnam, however, Sun Wolf pilots learned just how handy a cannon could be during close-in dogfights,
so now the Air Force was scrambling to retrofit their Sun Wolfs with external gun pods.
“You know what, Pop?” Steve sighed. “Someday you guys are going to invent a black box to fly the airplane, and then what will
happen to us pilots …?”
“That will never happen,” Gold scoffed. “No machine will ever replace a good pilot.”
“I don’t know…” Steve mused, more to himself than to Gold. “Those SAMs on my ass handled themselves pretty good …”
The Vietnam thing again
, Gold thought, frowning with concern. Steve was here on interim leave, staying with Gold and his wife at their Bel-Air home,
so Gold was aware that his son was seriously troubled. Steve used to eat like a horse, but these days he picked at his food.
He was drinking fairly heavily, as well, Gold knew, but what most concerned Gold was that Steve was having trouble sleeping
because of nightmares.
Gold had been putting off bringing up the subject of what was bothering Steve because he didn’t want his son to think he was
prying. On the other hand, he knew Steve … His son wasn’t going to open up unless he received a little coaxing.
“I guess you went through a pretty rough experience over in Vietnam,” Gold began. “Being shot down and all …”
“Hell, I didn’t have it hard at all,” Steve replied, sounding almost pugnacious. “The pilots who go down and
don’t
get rescued are the ones who have it hard.”
“Yes, I know that …” Gold said quietly, trying to defuse his son’s seeming hostility.
Steve turned away from his examination of the Super-BroadSword to walk back toward Gold. “I’m sorry for my tone of voice,
Pop.” He hesitated. “I guess I’ve been acting a little down in the dumps, huh?”
“Your mother and I are concerned about you,” Gold agreed. “I don’t mean to pry, but I wish you’d talk to me, son.”
“No, that’s okay. I want to talk about it … I guess …” Steve pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket’s flapped patch
pocket, then paused, looking back at the aircraft. “Can I smoke in here?”
Gold nodded. “But go on, you were saying—?”
“Right,” Steve said, lighting his smoke. “But let’s keep what I’m going to say to yourself, okay, Pop? I don’t think Mom could
understand …”
“Okay …”
“Well …” Steve looked uncomfortable. “It might sound crazy to you, but what’s gotten to me is that soldier…”
“That … soldier?” Gold echoed puzzled.
“The one I shot.”
“Ah … Yes …”
“Now, before you say anything, Pop, let me tell you that I
do
know that I had to do it. I mean, it was him or me, I understand that, and I’m really glad that it was him …” He paused,
shaking his head, his brow furrowed and his lips compressed into a flat line. “This is really hard to explain, but I’ll do
my best. You see, Pop, I felt great for a while just after the rescue, but pretty soon I began to feel different. Kind of
depressed … I began remembering little bits and pieces of the experience. You know the way a fighter pilot will flash on aspects
of a dogfight after the fact?”
Gold smiled reassuringly. “Let me tell you, I’m sixty-eight years old, and to this day I have such flashes about the dogfights
I experienced during the First World War … It’s perfectly normal for something that intense to stay with you—”
“Mostly what I flash on is the look on that guy’s face just before I pulled the trigger,” Steve cut him off. “Now I can’t
help thinking that maybe he wasn’t a regular soldier at all. Maybe he was just some little gomer farmer who was peacefully
minding his own business, you know? And then I got shot down, and somebody in the village militia or something shoves a rifle
into this guy’s hands and tells him he’s got to forget about weeding his garden for now, and go help search for the big, bad,
war-mongering American.” Steve dragged deeply on his cigarette. “You know what I’m saying, Pop? Maybe that poor jerk was standing
around out there in the jungle right on top of my hiding place because he was scared shitless, thought he was safe where he
was, and didn’t know what else to do with himself. From his point of view I was probably some cross between Attila the Hun
and Dracula.” Steve paused. “And from his point of view, he turned out to be right …”
“They say on the news that over there it’s almost impossible to tell who’s a civilian and who’s military,” Gold quietly pointed
out.
“Yeah, that’s true, but so what?” Steve demanded impatiently. “I mean, it doesn’t make me feel any better…”
“I think that if that soldier had been given the chance, he would have captured or shot you,” Gold firmly continued. “You
were in a war, son, but maybe because you dipped in and then out of it so fast you didn’t get the chance to emotionally prepare
yourself—get the proper mindset. The facts are that you’ve been in three wars now. You’ve shot down so
many
planes. How many of those pilots you bagged in the Pacific or over Korea lived to tell the tale?”
“I hear you,” Steve acknowledged. “I know I’ve killed before, but never like this. Christ, Pop! It was so
close
, you know? I guess it was being on the ground that made all the difference. That little guy was standing no farther away
from me than you are now. I looked into his
eyes
, Pop. I saw him die.” He shivered. “I tell you, I thank God I’m a fighter pilot. I don’t think I could have hacked it as
a ground soldier. I take my hat off to all those guys in all those wars, on
both
sides.”
“I’ve always felt exactly the same way,” Gold confided. “Sure, we fighter pilots put up with our own special risks, but at
least we know that when we tangle with an opponent up in the sky our adversary is trained to be there. It’s a fair fight …”
He paused. “But you know, it was a fair fight as far as you were concerned in that jungle. No! I take that back. It wasn’t
fair
: The odds were stacked way against you!”
Steve smiled tentatively. “Thanks, Pop. Thanks for listening.”
“You’ve got to get an emotional handle on this …”
“I know,” Steve admitted. “What’s gonna help is to become involved with something. That’s why I’m looking forward to going
to Israel, and climbing into the cockpit of that MIG-21 … Best thing for me, I think; to be out and doing something active,
to be able to
fly
…” He smiled. “I’ve got to confess, all the time when you were smuggling those Vector-A systems to the Israelis I never thought
there would be a payback; that the Israelis would manage to get their hands on a MIG-21, the Russians’ most advanced fighter
plane.”
“
I
knew they would,” Gold smugly stated. “They’re an amazing people, and the country is an amazing place. I look forward to
your reaction to Tel Aviv…”
“I’m sure I’ll have a great time. Why not? You evidently had a ball there …”
“They treated your mother and me like royalty.”
“And rightfully so.” Steve laughed. “They should have erected a statue to you considering what you did for them …”
“I did what I thought was the right thing.” Gold shrugged. “You know, your mother didn’t want to go, but I talked her into
it, using the excuse that I needed to see how those Vector-A systems were fitting into the Israelis’ Tyran fighters. Once
we were over there Erica had a ball sightseeing … By the way, did you know I’ve started taking Hebrew lessons?” he added proudly.
“Mom told me.” To Steve’s credit, he kept a straight face, but Gold could see the amused sparkle in his eye.
“Well, knowing another language never hurt,” Gold said defensively.
“Right on, Pop …” Steve chuckled.
“Hmmm … You know what they call it when you come home to Israel for good?” Gold asked. “An
aliyah.
”
“Pop, L.A.’s my home,” Steve chided affectionately. “I’m only going for a little while, and anyway, I’m not even Jewish.”
“You’re half Jewish,” Gold responded adamantly. “You’re my son, and blood is blood.”
Steve was studying him. “Gee, you’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”
“It’s like I told you once,” Gold mumbled. “A man’s heritage—his roots—becomes more important to him when he gets old.”
“
Older,
” Steve corrected him firmly. “You’re not old yet.”
“Right,” Gold replied wryly. He heard someone entering the hangar, and turned to see Don Harrison and his son Andy in the
doorway. “Listen,” Gold whispered quickly to Steve as the others approached. “You let me know if you want to talk more about
that other thing.”
“Will do, Pop,” Steve said, putting his hand on Gold’s shoulder. “Thanks—”
Gold pretended not to hear. “Hello,” he called out in cheerful greeting to his son-in-law and grandson. “What are you two
doing here on such a lovely Saturday afternoon?”
“We called the house,” Don Harrison replied, smiling. “Erica said you were here.”
For the past year or so, Don had been gradually letting his blond hair grow down past his shirt collar and over his ears.
He’d also cultivated a broad, curving mustache, and had replaced his tortoiseshell eyeglasses for a pair of gold wire rims.
Gold’s daughter Suzy had been nagging her husband to start dressing “mod,” but Don was sticking stubbornly to his Ivy League
wardrobe. Today he was wearing tan chinos, a sky blue button-down collar cotton oxford shirt, a plum-colored crewneck sweater,
and mahogany penny loafers with no socks.
“Your grandson wanted a visit with you,” Don said. “So here we are …” He looked down at his son. “Right, boss?”
“Right!” Andy exclaimed. The boy ran toward Gold, who bent to embrace him.
“What do you think?” Gold winked at Steve. “Your nephew is big for eight years old, right?”
“He’s tall, all right, Pop.” Steve pretended to frown. “I think he’s gonna be too tall to be a fighter pilot when he grows
up.”
“No way!” Andy said hotly. He had blond hair like both his parents, and his mother’s big brown eyes. He was dressed in elastic-waisted
corduroy jeans rolled up at the cuffs, a polo shirt, and an L.A. Dodgers warm-up jacket that was way too large. “Grampa, can
we go flying today?”
“Well, I don’t know…” Gold said, sounding troubled.
“What’s the matter?” Steve asked.
“I’ve been laying off flying for a little while,” Gold murmured to his son. “I’ve been on this damned high blood pressure
medication, you know … There’s some side effects …” He shook his head. “I don’t trust myself soloing anymore. Especially not
with the boy in the airplane …”
“You want me to take him up?” Steve suggested.
“Would you mind?” Gold said gratefully. “The Cessna’s here on the company airstrip, all ready to go.” He looked down at Andy.
“How about it, Andy? You want to fly with your uncle? He’s a colonel in the Air Force, you know…”
“Sure!” Andy said. He looked back at his father. “Daddy, can I?”
“Sure, if your uncle wants to take you …”
“My pleasure,” Steve said. “This trip home has been the first opportunity I’ve had to spend time with Andy. He’s a great kid
…”
“Well, Suzy and I think so.” Don smiled.
“You coming flying. Daddy?” Andy asked.
Don shook his head, laughing. “I build ‘em, I don’t fly ‘em … You guys go on.”
“Come on then, Andy,” Steve said. “Let’s go—”
As he and the boy walked away, Gold saw Steve take his Dodgers cap off and put it on Andy’s head. “Here, you’d better have
this,” Steve told the boy. “It goes with your jacket …”
(Two)
Harrison watched his brother-in-law walk away with his son. As always, he felt the stab of anxiety for the boy’s well-being
he suffered whenever Andy was out of his presence.
“You really don’t mind, do you?” Herman asked as Steve and Andy left the hangar.
“I said I didn’t, and I meant it,” Harrison replied, maybe just a little too stridently as he tried to force the anxiety out
of his mind.
“Thanks,” Herman was saying. “Being with kids seems to relax Steve. It always has.”
“I know,” Harrison said, smiling. “He was the same way with Robbie when he was growing up, remember?”
Herman nodded, sighing. “Too bad Steve never found the right girl,” he mused. “He could have benefited from kids of his own
… It would have grounded him …”
“Is that an intentional pun, or wishful thinking?” Harrison asked, laughing.
“Huh? Oh! Grounded … I see …” Herman chuckled. “No, I guess I meant having kids of his own would have
rooted
him, given him something to fall back on when the time came. A man can’t be a fighter pilot forever, you know…”
“I know,” Harrison said quietly. “Having a son of his own to raise might have made that difficult transition a little easier.”
He brightened. “But it’s not too late for him. He’s only forty-two, and he looks ten years younger—”