Bombers Moon

B17 has only one dying engine left, and long black smoke can be seen several kilometers away. "Penguin" and the pilots on duty in the lounge all ran out, raised their heads, and stood scattered in front of the hangar door.The bomber slanted, gliding across the sky as they watched, attempted its first landing, was at the wrong angle and speed, and had to re-fly. The B17 skidded dangerously over the hangar, made a difficult circle, and re-entered without extending the landing gear.It missed the runway, hit the grass hard, and slid forward along with sparks and splashed mud and stones. The right wing cut a scar of more than ten meters on the grass and broke.The huge bomber lay there on its belly, like a bald eagle hit by lead bullets.

The cabin opened and a plume of smoke billowed out.Chuck, Jody and Leo crawled out and were rushed to the hospital, where the medic declared them well, the two accomplices were locked up in the dormitories, and Chuck was taken to Captain Milston's office for a compliment At the same time, he was scolded for half an hour.Chuck refuted a few words at first, then fell silent again, standing dejectedly.Louis sat far away at the table in the corner, never speaking or looking at Chuck, writing something on the form by the light of the desk lamp, as if nothing was more important than the flight log.

As "accomplices", Jody and Leo each received a warning.And Chuck ended up in confinement for three days, in a small, windowless room behind the hangar tool shed, with a dirty light bulb hanging from wires hanging from the tin roof.Two stacks of bricks support a plank that doubles as a bed and bench.There was a toilet in the corner, next to it was a small sink with no mirror.The whole place smelled of mold and old sweat stains.Chuck spent hours throwing tantrums and kicking the locked door because it made the loudest noise.There was no response, not even an order to stop him.Chuck sat annoyed on the long plank, watching the daylight fading through the cracks in the iron sheeting.

Three times a day, food was brought in through the small gap in the iron gate and placed on pitted iron pans, like prisoners.Chuck slammed on the door and asked to speak to the captain, but the people outside the door ignored him once.

Time passed very slowly in this small space.Chuck lay motionless on the board, listening to the faint noise outside.The place reminded him of his old cellar in Oklahoma, with the same musty smell, rusty tractor parts piled in the corner, a grass rake, sandbags of unknown use, and a shelf with There were gas cans and a box of nails. There were 96 nails in all. Chuck counted them carefully because Dad beat him up after the neighboring farm barn burned down and locked him in the cellar.Chuck felt aggrieved. He meant no harm. He just wanted to roast a stolen chicken. Who would have thought that hay was so flammable?He spent 24 hours in the cellar with no food or water, and Chuck was in bed with a fever when his mother released him, and spent the next two days in bed.

Chuck rolled over and got up, pacing in circles.There were some scratches on the brick wall, like the primitive markers that cavemen used to tell time, and there were a few crooked words carved beside it, Chuck couldn't understand any of them, and guessed it was German.This place should really be a prison cell, used to hold captured Nazi pilots after skydiving, probably cursing the British like Chuck in his heart.

On the evening of the third day, as he wondered why dinner was later than usual, there was the clang of keys outside, the click of a lock and the opening of the door.

"Good evening," Louie said, as if Chuck wasn't in detention but was going to a cocktail party.

"Not very good."

Louis smiled, as if he had expected his attitude a long time ago: "Get up, Sergeant, I'll buy you a drink."

They drove to the bar, Chuck huddled in the passenger seat sullenly, Louis concentrated on the dirt road in front of him, and no one said a word.The car window was open, and the wind blew in with the smell of fresh plants, messing up Louie's hair. Chuck scratched his beard that hadn't been shaved for three days, and turned his eyes to the wilderness that was gradually dyed green.Spring was preparing to give way to summer, the days were getting longer, and the sky was still bright, a soft burgundy, when the car pulled up in front of the bar.Louie closed the car door and walked to the officer's bar, Chuck stopped him.

"Have you been to the opposite side?"

Louie glanced at another bar across the road and shook his head.

"there has never been?"

"It's not appropriate."

Chuck shrugged: "Why isn't it appropriate?"

Louis hesitated for a while, but couldn't say why.Chuck went around the car and walked up to him: "We're going there tonight."

"That's where the penguins went."

"Is there an express rule that pilots are not allowed to enter?"

"No, but—"

Chuck grabs Louie by the elbow and drags him across the street.When the two entered the door, the conversation in the bar stopped, as if someone suddenly turned the volume knob to the minimum, the ground staff around the bar, small tables and pool tables all raised their heads and stared at them. After 1 It took only a few minutes to look away, and the conversation buzzed again.The two pilots found an empty table near the window, where there were still glasses from the previous customer, and the ashtray was full of cigarette butts.The waiter came over and asked them what they wanted, as if they didn't see the dirty glasses on the table.

"Two stouts," Chuck said, turning to Louie as the waiter walked away. "Believe me, the stouts here are better than the ones over there."

"Sounds like you come here a lot."

"Not often, half and half." The waiter brought the wine, Chuck pushed the dirty glass aside, and put one of the beers in front of Louis, "Try it."

The other party took a sip, glanced at Chuck, and took a second sip.There was laughter and a roar of excitement from the pool table as someone pocketed the black ball.The waiter brought a plate of French fries sprinkled with salt, and Chuck told him there was a mistake and they didn't order food.

"It's for you over there." The waiter pointed to the table on the other side of the store, and a mechanic raised his glass to Chuck, and Chuck gave a thumbs up to show his thanks.

"Seems like you're a hero," Louis commented.

"Aren't I?"

"Your adventure is very brave."

"thanks."

"Also very stupid."

"Listen, I don't care about Captain Millston's old stubborn--"

"The captain didn't intend to put you in confinement, that was my idea."

Chuck glared at him. "But I—"

"I know, you blew up a submarine base, saved an untold number of Allied ships, and so on, but that's not an excuse to act recklessly in disobedience. You just got lucky this time—no, Sergeant, let me say It's just luck this time, what about next time? Not to mention you dragged your comrades into the water, a good commander never does that." Louis paused for a moment, examining Chuck's face, as if Assessing the ripples from the rocks you throw at the water, "Charles, this isn't your cowboy game."

"But war is about taking risks."

"A calculated risk, yes. Not this kind of suicide mission."

Chuck didn't answer right away, staring at the wine glass for a long time before clearing his throat: "Your private philosophy of survival?"

"That's right."

"You came up with it all yourself?"

"Half of it is learned from my father, and the other half is known after hitting a wall."

"Do you know what my father taught me?"

"what?"

"Tobacco curing and fighting, he taught me both."

"It's all useful."

Chuck made a noise that was somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and took a sip of his beer.The sky outside darkened, and the shadows on the glass window became more and more obvious, until they turned into a black mirror, reflecting the lights of the bar and the faces of the two pilots.Their eyes met in the glass and quickly parted.

"Did you just call me Charles?"

"That's your name, isn't it, Sergeant?"

"Can I call you Louie?"

"You can only call me 'sir'."

"You remind me of Reverend Davis, who runs Sunday school and is probably the most boring person in the world, second only to you." Chuck wiped the beer foam on his beard with the back of his hand. It's a nasty thing, I need to scrape it off."

"I can't imagine you going to Sunday school."

"That's right, Pastor Davis couldn't even imagine it. At first he would angrily tell his parents that I skipped school, and then I hit him on the head with a slingshot, hiding in trees or bushes like a sniper, He suspected me, but never caught me."

"You sound a little proud."

"Very proud, sir."

Louie shook his head, as if he wanted to roll his eyes, held back, took a sip of beer, and raised his hands carefully so that his sleeves wouldn't rub against the greasy table.Not far away, five or six mechanics gathered to play dice, mock each other, and yell.The low ceiling compresses the echoes, and the whole bar feels like a warm, smoky underground cavern.

"What do you think is the difference between here and the other side?"

"There's not much difference." Louis turned his head and considered his answer: "This is what surprised me."

"You see, a little adventure never hurts."

The two finished their drinks and motioned for the bill, but the waiter told Chuck that someone had already paid for the beer, without saying which table it was.The two pilots left the bar and walked to the car.

"Can I drive?"

"Have you ever driven a car before?"

"My job, sir, is to fly a bomber that can fit fifty of these vehicles."

"You did not answer my question."

Chuck touched his chin: "Drove Dad's truck and got stuck in the gutter, but it was an accident."

Louis sighed, put his hands in his trouser pockets, looked at the sergeant, and nodded reluctantly.Chuck flashed him a bearded grin and got into the driver's seat.The small dark blue car turned around and accelerated suddenly, like a frightened American bison, bumping and rushing towards the wilderness shrouded in twilight at the moment.