Two Souls Indivisible Read Free Page A

it had been conquered in World War II. Other countries, they believed, would have treated them harshly, whereas U.S. servicemen now protected them. Of course, the servicemen's money also made them popular.
    The combat pilots themselves had a cultlike following, their aerial bravado inspiring respect, even awe. Who else flew high-powered, multimillion-dollar jets through the dark skies, only to encounter Soviet MiGs or antiaircraft fire or surface-to-air missiles, before dropping their own bombs in the name of freedom and democracy. American aviators were considered "the tip of the spear" for the entire fighting force, and when they swaggered through the doors of a club or restaurant, crowds parted and eyes widened. Their uniforms alone projected a kind of macho authority: olive jumpsuits zipped up the front gripped every muscle and were creased at the crotch from parachute straps, while zippered pockets lined the legs, arms, and chests. Unshaven, their faces and hands streaked with grime and sweat from their latest mission, the airmen spoke loudly, caroused freely, and reveled in their own glory. They had a saying, most often uttered after several rounds of drinks: "A good fighter pilot can outfight, outfly, and outfuck anyone else in the world."
    Cherry enjoyed this sybaritic life. In the Korean War, he discovered that prostitution was legal there, though some "cathouses" didn't allow blacks. By 1965, prostitution had been nominally outlawed in Korea, but brothels continued to flourish. Japan had plenty of attractions as well. Bachelors in the military lived in rented mansions that accommodated raucous, glass-shattering parties, complete with drinking contests, fistfights, and attractive women.
    The womanizing was part of a military subculture, particularly in Asia, where mistresses were common and infidelity the norm; the men who risked their lives were considered entitled. As Ellsworth Bunker, a US. ambassador in Saigon during the Vietnam War, observed, "There's a lot of plain and fancy screwing going on around here, but I suppose it's all in the interest of the war effort."
    The military wives, of course, believed otherwise, and Cherry's philandering contributed to the tensions in his own marriage. But for a man whose race made him an outsider, his embrace of the military's bacchanalian customs contributed to his acceptance among his peers.
    Cherry's greatest passion was piloting jet fighters, and in this sense his decision to stay in Japan was vindicated. In 1964 the Johnson administration, seeking to thwart the Communist insurgents in Indochina, increased its military personnel in South Vietnam from 10,000 to 23,000. It also called for air raids into North Vietnam and Laos, inching America into a full-scale but undeclared war.
    Cherry had not seen combat since the Korean War, where he flew fifty-two sorties, received two air medals, and was part of the 58th Fighter Bomber Group, which received a Distinguished Unit Citation for "extraordinary heroism." He passed the succeeding years training, instructing, and simulating attacks, earning top marks for gunnery and bombing, and receiving promotions and praise. In the middle 1950s, at Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls, Montana, the wing commander was a broad-shouldered colonel named Murray Bywater. When he flew himself to air bases across country, he had to be accompanied by a second aircraft, its pilot responsible for the flight plan. Bywater chose Fred Cherry, surprising many that he would pick a black man for such a highly visible job. But as he recalled years later, Cherry "was the best pilot in the wing."
    By 1964 Cherry was a flight leader, who exercised significant control on a mission. A single flight consists of four aircraft in staggered formation, with two leads followed by two wingmen. This synchronization provides maximum support and protection for the entire flight, but it also places the power in the hands of the lead pilots: where they go, their wingmen