The Admiral Loses More Than a Few Good Men

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The base functioned fitfully, absent-mindedly. The planes flew and nobody crashed. The food was cooked and eaten. Men made their bunks. Logs were kept neatly and watches were changed on time. But the mood drifted toward sullenness. Salutes stopped snapping and the Sirs did not crackle. The men, officers as well as ratings, wanted action about Lieutenant Wye. They feared it might happen to them. The Negro issue became blurred and fuzzy. In a way, they were handling the integration order as best they could.

A blustery bosun's mate from Georgia, known more for his loud use of the word Nigger than his quiet after hours coaching of Negro recruits, sought in his clumsy way to express it. He walked up to Mr. Hank in the pool room and, for him, gave Black a friendly whack on the shoulder.

"Chief, that Lieutenant maybe asked for it, bein' too friendly with civilian Negroes in this part of the country, but he's one of ours. And by God, he's got guts."

Mr. Hank let his beer slide down through his hand until he held it by the long neck, turned away and hit a spittoon about three feet away. Looked back. Holding the neck of the bottle between two fingers he opened his palms. He had heard about the midnight teaching sessions, but still didn't know what to make of them.

"I guess you are one of ours, too, bosun: leastwhile I'll take your word on it for now."

Later he told Maggie he didn't understand himself any more.

"Six weeks ago I'd have laid into him."

She took his hand. "You did the right thing, Mr. Hank. One way and another we's startin' to change the world."

"People is gettin' hurt. Good people. Hurt bad."

"Good people got hurt for years and nothin' changed."

Cat had been hurt bad, but once they took him off the sheet of plywood they had used to keep him from tearing the needles out of his arms, he began to demand food and freedom. They gave him both in small measures, but on the sixth day he was out of the wheel chair and pacing up and down the halls. He had stopped pissing blood, and the pain up high in his spine no longer demanded codeine. He cornered the flight surgeon.

"Come on, Bones. Time to fly."

"Not quite yet, Lieutenant, but you can go home and then try it next week. Back to the Yellow Peril for you."

The next day Mitch went to see the Admiral. He was quiet, as he always had been on the final run-in over a sub. Quiet. As in command.

"Sir, you owe us one."

This time Breckinridge was ready. Perhaps a bit too eager.

"I know you are upset, angry, Commander, but I think you are close to being over the line."

Table of Contents

• Introduction

1. Maggie and Mr. Hank
2. The Reverend
3. Squalls Along the Flight Line
4. Flying Home to Church
5. A Visit with The Judge
6. Communion
7. Afterthoughts
8. Monday Morning With The Admiral
9. Into the Dining Room
10. On Toward Walking the Streets
11. Glimpses of An Election
12. The Dream and The Reality of Violence
13. The Admiral Loses More Than a Few Good Men
14. Down That Lonesome Road

• Cast of Characters
• Credits and Acknowledgements