The Trouble with Being Born: A Novel

Father

48 It’s always fucking freezing in this crate. I’m glad I’m wearing my monkey suit. It’s bulky but it’s warm. I always forget how cold it gets up here. I would not want to be in the nose or the stinger. Might as well paint a big bull’s-eye on your chest. And that mulignan in the belly: no room for his parachute, he’s gotta climb out of that death hole before he can put his chute on. It’s not like we’re going see any Kraut planes up here anyway. And Pennyman on my ass. Always checking up on me. Calls me Guiseppe, the motherfucking Anglo. Guiseppe. You teach him good, Guiseppe, you teach him good. Kiss my ass, you Yankee Anglo. All, or nothing at all. All or nothing at all. I got this stupid cracker from Mississippi wondering what end of the gun to shoot. Derrick. “Hold on, hold on: he’s just feathering the engines. Nothing to worry about., nothing to worry about.” Gonzalez’s chicken almost jumped out of his skin. “Hey Gonzalez, your chicken’s got buck fever. Better hold his hand before he messes his drawers.” “Your electric suit working?” “Don’t call me sir, I’m a sergeant.” “These suits will keep you nice and toasty, nice and toasty. It’s heavy, but think about freezing your ass off without it.” “We’ve been up here holding our dicks for a while, so the captain’ll tell us to test the fifties soon. And then, while he’s climbing, we’ll try Father 49 father on our flak jackets and hit the oxygen. We’ll level off, test the guns again, do a couple of fire drills. You listen to what I say and you’ll be all right. After the fire drills we’ll probably do a couple of dry runs over the range before we do our real run. We’ve got live general purpose ordnance. This is your first run, so I should warn you, there’s a lot of waiting up here. Lot of standing around. Don’t let Pennyman catch you sitting down, it’ll be both our asses.” I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing up here. Keep ’em flying is our battle cry, do your part for duty, honor, country . Flying out of Westover beats flying out of Guadalcanal. I couldn’t take the jungle. The heat and the bugs. I spent a couple of months in Louisiana, first at Barksdale and then at Esler Air Field near Alexandria, and I thought I was going to die. I wouldn’t mind going to Europe, but they won’t send us wops west. My brother might be sent east, after he finishes officers’ school at Fort Benning. I wish I was down on the ground in Boston, getting some skirt. These eastern dames can be cold, but once you turn their motor over, watch out. Or back in Pueblo, hanging around with Tommy the Rock and JoJo at Gus’ or Coors Tavern, drinking beer and chasing broads. Eating my sisters’ spaghetti. If there is love, there is no in-between. I don’t need love, I need to get in between some legs. I got one thing on my mind, one thing on my mind. I had what, not even two years between high school and basic training . Motherfuckers were on me as soon as I turned twentyone . Order to Report for Induction, from the President of the United States. Sent July 6th , 1942. Report July 23rd . “You’ve been shooting on the range, right? And they taught you how to load, how to sight, and how to get the gun unjammed, right? And every six rounds is a tracer? We’ve got live ammo up here, so don’t screw around and shoot our wing 50 father off. Stand up here and take the gun. There. Watch it, watch it. I’ll tell you when to fire. A short burst. You’ve got limited ammo, so don’t go wild. Keep calm. You don’t want to blow your wad on the first Messerschmitt you see. A short burst, short burst.” “We’ll wait until the captain gives us the go-ahead. He’s a first louie, but a-ok. That’s cold turkey.” “Roger.” “Hang on, we gotta dive. Someone thinks...