The Fly Boys (12 page)

Oh shit
, Steve thought. He heard the air whooshing out of Detkin and watched the guy’s knees sag as he bent over double. Detkin might
have crumpled to the ground, but two of the Marine pilots grabbed him under his arms, hauling him up to straighten him, and
then slammed him against the wall.

“That’s enough,” Steve said firmly, standing up.

The Marines turned to stare as he stepped out from behind the truck. Detkin tried to make another break for it, but one of
the Marines put a hand against his throat, shoving him back up against the wall and pinning him there.

The other webfoots, looking around, began to smile. “That’s it?” one of them grinned. “Just you?”

Steve nodded. He gestured toward Detkin. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

“He walked into the Pit like he owned the place,” the Marine pilot said. “It’s our territory and he invaded it. Marines aren’t
in the habit of allowing the enemy to make a beachhead.”

“All right, so he’s a jerk,” Steve laughed, trying to make a joke out of the whole thing. “You proved your point. Now let
him go, and you can watch him run.”

“No, pal, I don’t think so,” the pilot said. “We’re gonna keep him,
and
you.”

Two Marines remained where they were, bracketing Detkin, while two came toward Steve. One was kind of pudgy and had a nervous
look about him. The other guy looked hard as nails. He had a flattened nose and scar tissue around his eyes. Probably the
kind of guy who laughed when he felt pain, Steve thought, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Hey, fellas …” Steve forced a grin. “Come on, let’s talk about it—we’re all on the same side, right?”

“Against the Japs? Sure,” scar tissue said, “but right now I don’t see any Japs around, do you, dogface?”

“Just wait a minute!” Steve brought up both his hands, palms out, as if in surrender. Both Marines were distracted by the
movement. Steve used the opportunity to kick pudgy in the balls. The webfoot opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came
out. He bent over, clutching his groin, and began to vomit. The smell of sour beer filled the sultry night.

Out of the corner of his eye Steve saw Detkin take a swing at one of
his
two Marines. Detkin was fast and light on his feet, and managed to get in a couple of good shots, but up against that wall
he didn’t have anywhere to go. One of the webfoots hit him in the kidneys, taking the fight right out of him.

Steve took a wild swing at scar tissue, who expertly dodged with a minimum of movement. He let Steve’s momentum carry him
around, and then delivered a crisp right, catching Steve just beneath the ribs. Steve gasped, letting his hands drop for a
second. The Marine stepped in fast, snapping out a pair of jabs to the face that rocked Steve. His ears began to ring, and
hot, salty blood began to fill his mouth. He backpedaled, desperately windmilling his fists, trying to hold off the guy.

Can’t fall down
, Steve thought groggily.
If I fall down they’ll stomp the shit out of me
.

He caught a glimpse of Detkin taking a punch in the face, but right now he had his own problems. The pudgy webfoot he’d kicked
in the balls had straightened up and was coming toward Steve on bowed legs, scuttling like a crab. The guy definitely looked
like he wanted to get even. Steve lashed out a backhand left that caught pudgy on the nose, but it didn’t slow him down.

Steve saw Detkin topple sideways into the garbage cans, knocking them over. The cans rolled back and forth as Detkin lay still.
The two Marines were standing over him, looking satisfied.

Pudgy got behind Steve and made a grab at Steve’s shirt collar, trying to lock him in a bear hug. Steve drove his elbow into
the man’s gut and twisted away—directly into scar tissue’s solid right cross.

The punch caught Steve on the side of his neck, sending an electric jolt down his spine that turned his arms and legs to rubber.
He closed his eyes as a reddish haze descended and all sound seemed to recede. His head lolled forward until his chin touched
his chest. Steve felt himself falling. It seemed to take a long time to hit bottom.

“That’s enough,” one of the Marines said, from what sounded like a great distance.

“You guys had enough, huh?” Steve mumbled thickly. The cool ground pressing against his face felt as inviting as a mattress.

“What’d he say?”

“Who knows? He’s out cold and he doesn’t even now it. Let’s get out of here.”

Steve struggled to open one eye and saw several pairs of black shoes walking quickly away.

“Detkin?” he murmured into the dirt. He planted his palms against the earth and did a push-up that rolled him onto his side.
Good enough
, he thought as he closed his eyes, curling up into a fetal position. “Detkin … you alive?”

“Yeah, Gold.” Steve heard the hollow, metallic clanking of a toppled garbage can being rolled away. “Can you get up?”

“Maybe later,” Steve muttered. “Now I just want to lay here and bleed.”

“You mean lie.”

“What?”

“Lie, not lay,” Detkin reiterated, grunting as he stood up and stumbled over. He sank down to the ground next to Gold and
patted him on the shoulder. “The Marines laid you out, but you’re
lying
there.”

“Son of a bitch,” Steve laughed weakly. “Oh, my ribs—” he gasped. “I can’t believe I saved you, you son of a bitch.”

“Some save,” Detkin said.

“You’re just lucky I was here. Otherwise they would have stomped you once they knocked you out, you pussy,” Steve said.

“What luck? And who’s a pussy?” Detkin bristled. “You never heard of playing possum, you
putz
?”

“Oh, I can’t believe I saved you.” Steve opened his eyes and looked up at Detkin. “Christ, you’re a mess!” Detkin’s right
eye was swelling shut, his nose was dripping blood, and his lower lip was split. Steve wrinkled his nose. “Plus you smell
like garbage.”

“I was lying in garbage, so what should I smell like?” Detkin said, sounding disgusted. “Anyway, you think
I
look bad, you should see what they did to you.”

“I believe you.” His jaw felt like he’d been slugged with a baseball bat. His side ached each time he took a breath, and his
mouth kept filling up with blood. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. At least he hadn’t lost any teeth.

“Hey,” Detkin began, and then paused. “Why
did
you help me, anyway?”

Steve thought about it. “I’m not sure. I mean, it never occurred to me not to help. I mean, Army oughta stick together, right?”

“Sure,” Detkin murmured. “Listen, if you can walk, I think we should get out of here.”

“All right. Okay.” Steve tentatively began to get to his feet. His ribs were still killing him. He took a few hobbling steps
and began to get dizzy.

“Lean on me,” Detkin said, moving quickly to put a supporting arm around Steve.

“Ow! Watch out for my side, Detkin!”

“Call me Benny.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve nodded. “Anything to keep your big mitts off my ribs. Go slow, Benny,” he cautioned. “Or I’m not gonna
make it—”

“Like I said, lean on me.”

With Benny Detkin’s help, Steve made it to the Army encampment. They went directly to the latrine, where they cleaned themselves
up.

It was a little after eleven by the time the two of them began slowly and painfully toward their tents. Their hair was still
wet from the showers. They were wearing just their boxer shorts, T-shirts, and service caps. Their unlaced boots were flapping
around their ankles, and their soiled, bloody khakis were rolled up and tucked under their arms.

“Maybe you should have a doctor take a look at those ribs,” Benny suggested.

“Nah, I don’t want any medics poking at me, and maybe grounding me,” Steve said. “I’m on the roster to fly patrol tomorrow.”

“Yeah, me too,” Benny said.

“Anyway, I’m feeling better now that I’m up and around.” Steve glanced at Benny. “But you don’t sound so good. You’re talking
funny. You think maybe your nose is broken?”

“Nah, it’s just my sinus condition,” Benny muttered. “I’ve got adenoids, allergies—you name it, I got it. I’ve been to the
top nose-and-throat men in New York, but they couldn’t do a thing for me.” He sounded as if he was boasting.

“You probably didn’t shut up long enough to give them the chance,” Steve said wearily. “I’m surprised they took you into the
Army in the first place, considering all your health problems.”

“They took me because I never told them, and believe me, those horse doctors who looked me over, they didn’t ask.” Benny gingerly
massaged his nose. “That poke in the
shnoz
I took from those Marines didn’t help matters any.”

“
Shnoz
is more of that Yiddish, right?” Steve asked. When Benny nodded, he said, “Jimmy Durante is always saying
shnoz
. I guess that’s how I know it.”

“So you really
don’t
know Yiddish?” Benny shook his head. “I’m surprised. I seem to remember reading that your father is a Jew.”

“He is,” Steve shrugged. “But I guess he’s not religious.”

“You guess?” Benny asked, amused. “Your own
father
and you have to guess if he’s religious?”

“We’re just not that close,” Steve said evasively.

“But he is German, right? I mean a lot of Yiddish is based on German, so I’d think that you—”

“I don’t know any German either, okay?” Steve interrupted, feeling angry and uncomfortable at the way Detkin was trying to
corner him. “And my father is American; that’s what he is. And we speak English in our house, okay? Anyway, I don’t want to
talk about my dad anymore.”

“Yeah, sure,” Benny said warily. “Sorry … I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just drop it,” Steve crossly muttered.

There were a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Anyway,” Steve began, “you asked for that punch in the
shnoz
by sticking it where it didn’t belong in the first place.”

“I’m in the habit of going where people tell me I don’t belong,” Benny replied. “I’ve been doing it all my life. You weren’t
raised as a Jew, so you don’t know.”

“I guess,” Steve remarked.

“That’s right. You guess, but I know,” Benny said. “I grew up in a small factory town in New Jersey. We were stuck in that
town until after the worst of the depression. Jobs were hard to come by, and my old man had a steady one there, so we stayed.
No matter where I went in that damn burg—the school, the library, the corner store—it was always the same. Somebody would
call me a name, and I’d get into a fight. Pretty soon I went out of my way to get into a fight, just to show I couldn’t be
intimidated.”

“Like tonight?” Steve asked.

Benny didn’t say anything for a moment. “Yeah, I guess,” he finally sighed. “I don’t know why I do it. Stupid, huh?”

“Having all those brawls, I would have figured that by now you would have picked up some decent boxing techniques,” Steve
chuckled.

“I did pick up a boxing technique.” Benny laughed. “I learned how to take a dive, remember?”

“Yeah, right,” Steve nodded, smiling. “I’m surprised you lived long enough to grow up.”

“I probably wouldn’t have,” Benny replied. “But when the economy got better my dad got a job in Brooklyn, so we moved there
into a Jewish neighborhood, thank God. Things there were okay, as long as you didn’t wander too far off your own turf.” He
scowled. “Just like this goddamned base.”

“Roger that,” Steve said.

“From then on, I was lucky,” Benny continued. “I didn’t run into any anti-Semitism at college or law school.”

“I might have known,” Steve grumbled disdainfully. “You’re a college boy!”

“It so happens I went on scholarship, but I dropped out after my first year of law school in order to enlist. I didn’t want
to get drafted into the infantry. I wanted a crack at the Air Force.”

“Law school,” Steve said, disgruntled. “How old are you anyway?”

“I’m going to be twenty-three,” Benny replied. “Hey, why does my having been to college bother you so much?” he asked, sounding
mystified.

“Who says it bothers me?”

“The expression on your face says it,” Benny declared. “I said I was in college, not prison. What’s your gripe?”

“No gripe at all,” Steve shrugged, brooding that it wasn’t fair that the guy should be an ace fighter pilot
and
good in school. Steve had never got better than C’s on his report cards, and then he’d defied his father by quitting school
and running away from home. Up until that time there had been an unending series of battles with his father over his education.
He knew that his father still had high hopes that Steve would go to college after the war.

“I was thinking about going to college….” Steve glared at Benny, as if daring him to contradict. Steve knew that there wasn’t
much chance of that happening. He’d barely managed to pass his high school equivalency exam during flight school. “So the
college boy wanted to fly, huh?”

“Yeah, it so happens I did,” Benny declared. “I like vehicles, see? Cars, airplanes, stuff like that.”

“Me too,” Steve grudgingly admitted.

“Well, hallelujah. Common ground at last,” Benny said gently.

Steve glanced at Benny and smiled.

“My old man could never afford a car,” Benny confided. “I figured learning to be a fighter pilot would put me one up on all
those rich bastards who were always driving while I had to walk.”

“Well, when you finish law school you’ll be able to buy yourself a real nice car,” Steve couldn’t help saying.

“I can see this is a sore point with you, so let’s change the subject,” Benny said. “Cappy once mentioned that you flew with
him in China back in ‘41,” he coaxed. “With the Flying Tigers?”

“Yeah … I did,” Steve said quietly.

“And that you shot down five planes?” Benny persisted.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “But I’d joined up with the Tigers under an alias, and lied about my age. When the Tigers found out,
they sent me home and wiped my record so that my kills with them don’t count officially.”