Bombers Moon

Chuck went to the bar alone that night and had to walk because he couldn't get a ride.Normally he'd be on the move with Jody, but tonight there's a bright bomber moon, and the machine gunner is on loan from the RAF's Blenheim bomber fleet, probably already in Calais above.The full moon triggered yet another round of bitter disputes between the Anglo-American combined command, with the British insisting it was a good time to bomb submarine bases, and the Americans seeing it as a waste of ammunition, refusing to leave their precious bombers "fumbling around in the dark" ".The result is that Chuck and his B17 continue to sit around the airport like ornaments, useless.

There are two bars near the base of Beacon Hill, only one block apart, but it feels like a border line with barbed wire.Pilots went to the one with the piano and wood-carved panels, and the one with the billiards and low ceiling served the ground crew and communications officers.Although these two groups of people cooperated seamlessly in the base, they never communicated in private, observing an invisible boundary.Chuck had no such scruples, he went both places, easily mixed between the eagle and the penguin.

He hesitated for a while at the dark intersection, attracted by the music and laughter, and walked towards the pilot's bar.Lights and singing exploded like flares when the door was pushed open, small round tables were pushed against the wall to clear a makeshift dance floor, half-drunk officers took off their uniform jackets, leaned on each other, and sang loudly A song about pretty girls and bombers.Chuck squeezed against the wall to the bar. The bartender was a tall, thin old man with a long, narrow face under gray hair like a silver-gray Doberman.He concentrated on wiping the glass in his hand, as if the whole world was concentrated on this fragile glass product.Chuck sat in the only available high chair and ordered a whiskey without ice.The Doberman glanced at him, put down the soft cloth, and turned to get the wine.

The officer on the right finished his drink, dropped a few coins on the bar, picked up his coat and left.Chuck glanced casually at the other customers at the bar and froze. The "other customers" were obviously also stunned, and the two stared at each other across an empty chair, neither of them said a word.Chuck wondered if he could run away now, but just then the Doberman returned and slammed the wide-mouthed glass in front of the American, cutting off his escape.

"Do you mind if I sit next to you, sir?"

Louis shrugged noncommittally, looked away, and took a sip of the dark beer.

Chuck gently pushed the cup twenty centimeters to the right, and moved himself to the high chair beside him.Louis finished the remaining dark beer at the bottom of the glass, raised his hand and called the bartender, motioning for a refill.He looked like he'd been here for a while, no uniform jacket, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows.In the yellowed dim light he looked more like a choirboy in the wrong place than an officer.

"Are you going to stare at me all night, Sergeant?"

"Is it necessary to have a barb in every sentence, sir?

"Is it an Oklahoma custom to answer another question with a question?"

"You've seen my file."

"I will look at the files of all my subordinates." Louis clicked on the bar with his index finger, emphasizing the word "subordinate".

"That explains why no one drinks with you."

"I'm also in charge of writing their files. Be careful with me, Sergeant Sinclair."

"What are you going to put in my file?"

Louie studied him, and Chuck found that he liked to look at people that way, with his head tilted slightly, like a curious yet extremely wary bird.And Chuck slowly figured out how Louie smiled, in the eyes, not the corners of the mouth.The bartender came back and gently put the glass full of beer in front of Louis. The foam overflowed the rim of the glass and flowed down the curved glass. Louis wiped it off with his fingers carelessly: "I'm still watching."

There was another noise, the glass was swept to the ground and smashed, no one noticed, the piano sound never stopped, and the Doberman pinscher skillfully threw the ice cubes into the wine glass without even raising his eyelids.Chuck took a sip of his whiskey, turned and leaned his back against the bar, watching the pilots tap-dancing.

"Sir."

"Sergeant."

"What do you mean this afternoon that cold-blooded animals have an easier life?"

"You don't know what it means to let it go, do you, Sinclair?"

"Never understood, sir."

"Drink your wine."

"what?"

"Finish the wine." Louis put a banknote on the bottom of the glass, stood up, put on his coat, "follow me."

Chuck downed the whiskey hastily, like swallowing burning gasoline.The two walked through the noisy crowd and left the bar.The cold air outside was like a bucket of ice water being thrown at his face, and Chuck shivered.The path winding into the wilderness was unlit, but covered with transparent silver moonlight, appearing and disappearing in the frosty withered grass.Louie walked in front of Chuck without speaking, and Chuck could see his breath congeal into a white mist that floated for a moment before disappearing like unresolved thoughts.

The path skirted the backup hangar and continued on, leading to the cemetery.The fence is crooked, but not completely down.Louis pushed open the small low door, and Chuck walked in hesitantly, looking at the crude wooden crosses.

"Almost everyone I knew before the age of 20 is here." Louis said, still using the flat tone of describing a fait accompli, "Every day, some people can't come back. This is the wording that the squadron leader used in his report,' I can't come back', as if those people were not dead, but were delayed halfway. At the beginning, you were somewhat glad in your heart, 'it's not me today'. Later, it became 'Why haven't I arrived yet? ?'. They're all gone, and you start to question why you're still alive, which isn't fair."

Louie seemed to want to take a step forward, failed, swayed, leaned against the fence, and Chuck realized that he was actually quite drunk.The American stretched out his hand, intending to support Louis, but the second lieutenant shook his head and avoided it.

"After William was gone, I did a crazy thing. I entangled six Stukas by myself, almost chasing them to the coast of Normandy, and almost couldn't come back." He rubbed his throat, as if he wanted to untie a watch The missing rope, "but I'm still alive."

Chuck didn't know how to answer, and didn't dare to ask who William was, so he kept silent.

"I've seen too many recruits like you," Louie went on, looking at the tombstone instead of Chuck. "You come in the morning, you die in the channel at noon, all the same. And I'm still here, watching .”

"Perhaps we should go back, sir."

Louis' eyes finally fell on him, as if seeing Chuck for the first time: "You are no exception, Sinclair."

Chuck opened his mouth to say something, gave up, tentatively approached Louis, and gently grabbed his elbow: "We should go back."

The other party did not object, and followed Chuck without saying a word, walking towards the base with lights in the distance.The countryside in the deep winter was silent, there was not even a wind, and the air was cold and stagnant.The only sound is the slight clatter of leather shoes on the hard dirt road.The moon looked down on the tarmac indifferently, like a single eye covered with black capillaries.They passed the radar station, and Chuck mumbled good night and walked to his dorm.

"Sergeant Sinclair."

Louis' voice was so soft that Chuck thought he had misheard.He turned and looked at Louie.

"I have to apologize to you." Louie stood up straighter, and Chuck could feel him rebuilding the high wall of etiquette brick by brick, eager to hide behind, "I shouldn't have said those things, I hope you can forgive."

"There's nothing to apologize for, sir."

Louis cleared his throat: "See you tomorrow afternoon, don't be late."

"I'm never late, sir."

Louie nodded and walked away.Chuck returned to the dormitory in the dark and closed the door softly.There was no heating in the room and it was as cold inside as outside.Leo was sleeping motionless under a pile of blankets, and Jody hadn't returned.Chuck realized for the first time that the Heavy might not come back, and wondered why he hadn't thought about it before.Wrapping himself in a blanket, he stared sleeplessly at the ceiling, his thoughts darting briefly to Pearl Harbor and then to the moonlit cemetery.He saw Louie wandering among the hordes of ghosts, blood soaking the uniform, turning the dark blue cloth black, dripping down his fingers.Chuck tried to stop the bleeding, but couldn't find the wound, didn't know how to soothe the obvious pain.

Chuck woke up with cold sweat soaking the pillow, gray morning light peeking from the edge of the curtains.There was the noise of fighter jet engines in the distance, and the first routine patrol of the day had begun.Chuck sat up and rubbed his temples.Jody didn't know when she came back, lying on the opposite bed, snoring, with the goggles still hanging around her neck.

Chuck picked up the coat on the ground, put it on, walked to the window, and lifted a corner of the curtain.It was an overcast day, the clouds the color of dust and dirty cotton.Ground crews are slowly dragging a bullet-riddled Blenheim bomber off the runway like a swarm of worker ants struggling to remove a shotgun-struck sparrow.Chuck pushed open the window, and a damp, cold wind came in, smelling of frozen earth.It was raining lightly outside, fine and sticky, the type that would last all day.