Sayonara Read Free

winked at me. “Why wouldn’t one general look after another general’s son?”
    I had always known the doc to be a second-class sort of guy and I refused to be drawn into an argument. I played his game and said, “It’s what they call the West Point spirit.”
    “That’s what I mean,” the doc said. “Kelly has your orders.”
    “I’ll go see Kelly,” I said, glad to get away from this know-it-all civilian.
    But as I left the medical tent and started down the gravel path to squadron headquarters where Kelly worked, another civilian called me: “Gruver, could I speak with you?”
    I turned and saw the chaplain and since he almost never spoketo anyone except about trouble I stopped short and asked, “Kelly again?”
    “Yes,” he said almost sorrowfully. “Kelly.”
    I waited on the gravel path while he picked his way across the brown Korean mud. J-10 was almost all mud. When he joined me I asked, “What’s he been up to now, Padre?”
    “This time it’s serious,” he said sorrowfully. He led me to his tent, a beat-up affair with Bibles, crucifixes and the special silver gadgets for conducting Jewish ceremonies.
    “Kelly face another court-martial?” I asked.
    “Worse. He’s appealed to his Congressman.”
    I’d always been disgusted with enlisted men who write letters to Congressmen. The Air Force had a sensible and just way to handle any problem. Congressmen weren’t needed. So I asked, “Why don’t you advise the colonel to throw this guy out of the service?”
    “Under the new rules…”
    The new rules! I was always forgetting the new rules. Starting in 1945 a lot of soft-headed do-gooders in Washington had revised the basic rules for military conduct and as a result you now saw enlisted men writing to Congressmen. I had always agreed with my father. Knock such stoops on the head and throw them in jail. Then the do-gooders could really sob.
    “So under the new rules, what happens?” I asked.
    “So Kelly gets his way. He goes back to Japan.”
    “Ridiculous,” I said. “The Air Force is becoming a kindergarten.”
    “And when he gets back to Japan, he marries the girl.”
    This was too much. I sat down in one of the padre’s rickety chairs and asked, “You mean that in spite of all you and the colonel have said to this kid he still gets permission to marry the girl?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Why doesn’t somebody bust him in the head?”
    “That’s no solution. I want you to talk with him.”
    “Nothing more I can say.”
    “Does the boy realize that if he marries this Japanese girl he can’t possibly take her back to America?” the padre asked.
    “Sure he knows. I made him sign the paper proving that he knows. He signed and told me what I could do with it.”
    “You must talk with him once more, Gruver. He’s a misguided boy.”
    “He’s a dead-end criminal, Father, and you know it.”
    “Not a criminal! A tough boy who’s had trouble in the Air Force. He’s just hot-headed.”
    “That’s not where the heat is, Padre.”
    He laughed and said, “You’re right. That’s why we mustn’t let him make a fool of himself.”
    I was tired from flying and said bluntly, “Look, Padre. Kelly belongs to your church. You’re the guy who’s got to save him.”
    Chaplain Feeney became very serious and took my hands in his. It was a trick he used when he wanted to make a point and it accounted for much of his success with the squadron. He was never afraid to plead with a man. “You must believe me when I say I’m not trying to save Kelly for my church. I’m trying to save him for himself. If he marries this Japanese girl it can lead only to tragedy. In ordinary times such a marriage would be unwise, but under the new law…when he can’t even take her with him to America…What’s to happen, Gruver?”
    He spoke so passionately that I had to give in. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
    He was embarrassed at what he was about to suggest and hesitated a moment.