Air Force Eagles Read Free Page A

don't know how I can help you."
    "General Varney's told me about your assignment for him—test-flying the new prototypes, visiting the factories, being his leg man, if Meat-axe will pardon the expression."
    Varney nodded eagerly—it was obvious that he'd pardon Ruddick of anything.
    "Colonel, all I want is that you just keep your eyes and ears open as you go around the country. Ask questions on the flight line, in the officers' clubs. Try to find out how service people feel about integrating the military. Form a picture of the real situation, and give me the pros and cons. If integration isn't going to hurt the services, I won't oppose it and I'll try to educate my former constituents to accept it. But if —as I fear—early integration will be harmful, then I'll fight it tooth and nail."
    As he spoke, Bandfield placed his voice—it was Edward R. Murrow's, with a Southern drawl, richer in tone, warmer, and laced with indulgent good humor. The man could have made a fortune in broadcasting.
    "I can do that, but what good will it be? I'm just one man; I can't gather a genuine statistical sample."
    "Colonel, you have a reputation for being hot-headed, hardworking, and totally honest. I don't want a six-inch-thick report that shows the third standard deviation of a multiple choice questionnaire. I want someone with some common sense, somebody who can get a gut feel for a situation. Varney says you fill the bill."
    Bandfield felt the same uneasy ambivalence about Ruddick that he might have felt about a likeable car salesman. The man had a marvelous personality, and he was direct and to the point. Yet in his eyes there was a thinly veiled hint of mockery, a cozy awareness that he was playing his game, and playing it well.
    "Sir, I don't even know what my own feelings are. A good friend of mine, John Marshall, was one of the Tuskegee pilots. He fought in Italy and scored a couple of victories. John worked for me for a while in California, after the war. There were no problems with anyone. But the racial climate's different there. There's no way for me to guess what a guy from Alabama or Georgia might be thinking."
    "You don't have to guess about Southerners—I already know what they're thinking. But integration's coming. Truman wants it because he needs the black vote. It's just a matter of when and where, and if it should be delayed. And for me, the major question is whether it should come first in the armed services. What do you think?"
    Varney, tense as a torsion bar, watched Bandfield tussle with the question. "I don't know. The Constitution applies to everybody, black, white, or in-between. Everybody has a duty to serve. But I'd have to see what it does to military efficiency. I know from my friend that the guys from Tuskegee, the 332nd, did well enough during the war."
    "Did you know that General Eaker didn't think so?"
    "No, I didn't. What did he say?" Eaker was one of the most respected men in the Air Force, a war hero and a gentleman.
    "General Eaker argues that the Negro units required too much support relative to the results they produced. He says that the service shouldn't be a testing ground for race relationships, or for advancing the prestige of the Negro race."
    As Bandfield chewed this over, Ruddick went on. "Remember that the 332nd was an elite, segregated unit. Segregated Negro units have done well in every war since the War Between the States. But today the issue isn't proficiency, or bravery, or even patriotism. The issue is integration—when, how much, and where."
    Varney's face was now even paler; he was openly apprehensive, like a child caught smoking behind the barn. Bandfield feared that he might be on the verge of a heart attack.
    "Are you okay, Sam?"
    Varney nodded, and Frank said, "Mr. Ruddick, I'll be glad to work with you, to find out all I can and give you an opinion. But I can't tell you how much confidence to place in it."
    "Don't worry, you won't be my only source."
    Bandfield stood up and