Two Souls Indivisible Read Free

less than eight months. They were grateful to have a roommate, though each was initially wary of the other. Cherry thought Halyburton was a French spy, while Halyburton doubted that a black could be a pilot. But they overcame their misgivings and preconceptions and found common ground in this uncommon environment—a friendship in extremis that inspired many of their fellow prisoners. As Giles Norrington, a Navy pilot shot down in 1968, recalled, "By the time I arrived, Porter and Fred had already achieved legendary status ... The respect, mutual support, and affection that had developed between them were the stuff of sagas. Their stories, both as individuals and as a team, were a great source of inspiration."
    Many of the POWs had to cross racial, cultural, or social boundaries to exist in such close confines. But Halyburton and Cherry did more than coexist—they rescued each other. Each man credits the other with saving his life. One needed to be saved physically; the other, emotionally. In doing so, they forged a brotherhood that no enemy could shatter.

2. One More Round
    Fred Vann Cherry was a five-foot-seven flying ace, built like a whip, whose calm demeanor and steady nerves were required in and out of the cockpit. Entering the Air Force in 1951, he was a pioneer in the military's integration, a black officer who performed with distinction in the Korean War, manned critical posts at the height of the Cold War, and now, in 1965, was leading bombing raids in Southeast Asia. Yet he was still an anomaly—the Air Force had only twenty-one hundred black officers, 1.6 percent of the total—and over the years he had faced many racial snubs, some overt, some subtle. His response was always the same: to turn the other way, to ignore them, to never jeopardize his standing in the Air Force. In short, to keep quiet.
    He had been in Japan since 1961, serving with the 35th Tactical Fighter Squadron, and had spent three years rotating into South Korea, where he had week-long assignments sitting on "nuclear alert." If ordered, he could be airborne in less than four minutes, his job to fly over enemy territory and drop a nuclear weapon. Despite the high stakes, the assignment was insufferably dull, forcing Cherry to sit in a room wearing his flight suit for days at a time, playing Ping-Pong or poker, watching movies, and waiting. When his week in Korea was over, he would return to an air base in Japan, where he continued training until he was sent back on alert.
    Cherry was supposed to return to the United States in 1963, but he asked for an extension because he wanted to fly a new jet fighter, the F-105 Thunderchief, the fastest tactical plane in the Air Force and able to fly nearly 1,800 miles without refueling. The 8th Tactical Fighter Wing, which consisted of three squadrons, including Cherry's, was grateful that Fred remained in japan. He became an expert on the Thunderchief's weapons; he was selected to write the plane's guidebook for the wing, and he also wrote a favorably reviewed article about the F-105 for a military publication,
Pacaf Flyer.
    Staying in Japan suited Cherry's wife and their four children. While they often faced bigotry in America—they moved overseas before the landmark civil rights legislation of 1964—they now lived in relative harmony on American air bases. The family had a beloved
mama-san,
who cooked for them, washed and ironed their clothes, and bathed the children. Cherry rode his kids on a motor scooter, taking them to baseball practice and judo, karate, and swimming lessons. (The last was particularly important to Fred, who couldn't swim a stroke, even though he often flew over water.) The military's schools had excellent American teachers, and on Christmas Eve a helicopter would land in the American compound and drop off Santa Claus, bearing gifts for all the children.
    There were other benefits in Japan, whose citizens appreciated America's role in rebuilding the country after