Chapter 30: The Pudding

Bill settled down with the diary ... after Megan slaked her thirst for sex. She'd got a lot of it during Beltane but nobody ... and I mean nobody ... does it like Bill. The bonus in the match is they both liked each other. This wasn't friends with benefits ... this was more ... just not enough for her to change her mind about marrying a christian. That wasn't going to happen.

There were pictures, Yearbooks, maps, drawings ... all kinds of things in the false bottom of the foot locker.

Bill thumbed through the early years of the Diary ... highschool angst and frustration ... the nickname 'Drink' settled upon him by the head cheerleader, the horrible uncoordination of bone growth and lagging muscle growth. Eighth grade was particularly horrid. The class picture had him standing in the back row while the rest of his classmates were on a riser. Everyone says girls out grow boys in the eighth grade ... but not 'Drink.'

Senior year, he finally caught up with himself. He looked like every other young man until you got close. 'Drink' was huge. He was proportioned like everyone else ... but he was BIG. (Bill knew big.)

College wasn't a lot better. The coaches all wanted him but he wasn't thin enough for speed and too thin for football ... basketball was just plain ridiculous.

1941, December, 7th 7:55 in the morning, the sneaking slanty-eyed yellow devils changed everything. "Drink," the local recruiter said, "finish school. This'll be over before you can shake a stick at it."

May 8th, 1942 ... the tide was looking overwhelming. Gossip and rumor had it that the Navy had lost the war in the Pacific and the Jap hordes were swarming the West Coast.

'Drink' turned 21 on the 8th, graduated in June and qualified for Cadet flight training. He'd been actively seeking a pilots license starting in his Junior year and knew how to fly thanks to the flying club in college.

After the attack on Pearl Harbor and the United States' entry into the war, the number of volunteers for pilot training was enormous. Demand for pilots meant that training had to be modified to accommodate the large numbers of pilot candidates. Training came in five stages including the new pre-flight stage.

Letters home, saved by his mom, revealed most of the already common knowledge about Flight School.

Poked ... as in needles ... prodded ... as in 'Turn to the left ... cough. Next.' 'Stand on one foot with your eyes closed.' and other really stupid tricks, lasted one week. 'You passed, boy. Go outside and tell the man in the uniform, he'll take over from here.'

And take over he did ... an already short haircut became even shorter. Fitting 'Drink' in uniforms called for nights with a needle and thread. Eventually, he looked so bad, he was allowed off base and sent to a seamstress. Now he looked sharp.

Mom, for 63 days, I was a new guy ... I had an 'upper classman' showing me the ropes. I guess it worked because at the end of the 63 days I got my own little new guy. I just get settled in and thinking I'm hot stuff then the first section ended and the next one started. Back to being a new guy.

I already knew how to fly ... which, by the way, meant I knew nothing and had to unlearn all that I knew. At least I could get a Stearman off the ground ... learning the Military way to fly is weird.

I will say this ... there's a lot more to flying than checking the tires and gas. I thought I was in good shape ... and I was ... but the few of us who could outdo the run of the mill college kid were punished for being in good shape ... I got in better shape. The first six weeks concentrated on athletics and military training. Crawling around in the dirt and running the combat course taught us teamwork.

After that ... we stuck our noses in the books ... three weeks of academics. I had to pass refresher courses in mathematics and physics. Then I learned aeronautics, deflection shooting, and thinking in three dimensions. I passed, got my Cadet Wings and was promoted to Pilot School. That started another 9 week session. Primary ... flying the three Army trainers. a Boeing biplane ... which I loved ... and two low wing monoplanes ... one of which was good and one ... the Fairchild ... was awful.

My solo was different. My instructor pilot bailed out ... I knew he was gone because the weight shifted. Thank God it was the Boeing. I circled him a couple of times ... he made flying motions with his hands and pointed at me. I did. The radio was out so I stayed up until they chased me down. Nice landing too. I was in trouble until the electrician came into the Captains office with the radio. Half the tubes were gone. I never saw my instructor again.

I graduated from Primary and into Basic. They taught us the fundamentals of aerobatics and I hated the Vibrator. Nine weeks of flight in a Vultee ... never again.