Wingmen (9781310207280) by Ensan Case

understand.”
    “I’m not
worried about that.”
    “Are you
worried about making me a widow twice?”
    Jack’s eyebrows
arched in surprise at her offhand reference to marriage. “You never
talk about Stan any more,” he said.
    “He’s been gone
for over a year. What’s there to say?”
    “A year ago
next August.”
    “But he shipped
out several months before that.” Eleanor took her arm off his knees
and massaged the back of his calf with her hands. “Where did you
first meet Stan?”
    “On the Lexington in
’36. We were both boot ensigns.” Jack smiled. “The Lex is gone now,
too.”
    “Jack, how was
Stan’s ship lost?”
    She was
certainly direct tonight, Jack thought to himself. Yet something in
Eleanor’s tone told him she was more interested in listening to him
talk than in hearing how her husband died.
    “I see
intelligence reports. Talk to people who were there. A lot of what
happened was never released to the papers.”
    “Tell me,” she
said.
    “It was a
surface engagement. Not a very long one, but in half an hour we
lost four heavy cruisers and they didn’t lose a ship. Savo Island
they call it now.” Jack’s cigarette had burned out, and he dropped
it into an ashtray on the carpet near the end of the love seat.
    “I’m sure they
had their reasons for not telling the papers. There’s such a thing
as public morale.”
    “We’re going to
win this war. I’ve never doubted that. But how long will it take?
How much will it cost?”
    “You worry
about things you can’t do anything about.” Eleanor stood up. She
sat down next to Jack and placed a hand on his thigh. She
waited.
    Jack kissed her
then, but only because he knew she wanted him to. His hand caressed
her ribs. His thumb touched her breast. He ran his hand down her
leg, along the outside of her thigh. This is for you, not for me , he was saying
to himself. It does
nothing for me. Suddenly he stopped, pulled away. He knew
she had felt his reluctance.
    “The war
touches everybody,” she said.
    He searched her
face, then looked away. “And it affects everyone differently,” he
said. “I may have to look for someone else, Jack,” she said
seriously.
    “That’s your
decision, Eleanor.” Jack pulled her two hands into his lap and
covered them with one of his. He glanced at his watch.
    “I guess it’s
time you got back to the squadron,” she said.

    Fred Trusteau
was sitting on the little concrete bench outside the door of the
BOQ when a car carrying two people stopped at the curb opposite
him. The engine was left running, but the couple (the woman was
driving) sat inside talking quietly for several moments. The two
kissed lightly, suddenly, and the man left the car on the far side
and waited while it pulled away. Fred realized in a second that it
was the skipper walking toward him. A twinge of emotion he couldn’t
identify cut through him. But he didn’t have time to think about
it.
    “Mind if I join
you?” asked the skipper.
    “Not at all,
sir,” said Fred, moving down to give him room.
    “How come
you’re sitting out here all by yourself?” Jack fished in his pocket
for a cigarette, then accepted one from the pack Fred offered
him.
    “Just enjoying
the fresh air.” Fred offered Jack a light and was pleased when the
skipper cupped his hands around his own to shield the flame. The
brief contact sent shivers up and down his spine.
    “How’s the
Diary coming?”
    “Just fine,
sir. No problems there at all.”
    “Good.” Jack
collected his thoughts, trying to think of something to talk about
that wasn’t connected to flying or the management of men. “I guess
I didn’t tell you, but I sure enjoyed the bridge game we had last
week.”
    Fred laughed.
“We won. It was a new experience for me. We’ll have to do it again
sometime.”
    “You can count
on it.”
    They stopped
talking. Jack drew deeply on his cigarette and expelled the smoke.
The night air was deliciously cool after the stifling humidity of
the