Air Force Eagles by Walter J. Boyne Read Free Book Online Page B

your own wing, but Lyra and Ulrich are just down the hall. I can't walk around in my underwear, and Lyra is so nervous that I'm afraid I'm scaring her."
    "Did you tell Patty this?"
    "She just laughed at me, told me I was gone most of the time, and that it wouldn't be forever."
    "Be patient, son. After all Lyra went through—the Nazis, the bombing, losing her husband, everything—she'll need a little time. And Patty's right. The Air Force keeps you on the go most of the time; you're more like a boarder with bedding privileges than a husband."
    "Well, that's not all. I think Patty's drinking too much. She's got a glass of wine in her hand all the time. And she's putting on a little weight."
    "Aw, Bandy, you're full of it. What the hell is that in your glass, milk? She's just relaxing from her worries." They stood together quietly for a while, then Roget said, "I guess Patty told you that we're starting to lose our ass in the housing business."
    Bandfield put his fingers to his lips and pointed—two deer were walking quietly in the shadows at the edge of the old flying field. Then he whispered, "Yeah, cut-throat competition from jerry-built houses. She says we're trying to build quality houses like we built quality airplanes, and we've priced ourselves out of the market. The question is, are you willing for us to fold our tents and get out of the business?"
    Roget stood and stretched. Two inches taller than Bandfield, he had the ropy, hard-knit muscles of a man who'd labored all his life. He was letting his white hair grow long again, a sign that he was at last beginning to overcome the melancholy that had engulfed him when he lost Clarice. Once it had been his trademark, one of his few vanities, a great mound of silver that made him look like an old-time prophet. Clarice had always taken care of it for him, shampooing it, only trimming it when absolutely necessary. When she died, he'd had it cut off and buried with her.
    It bothered him that for all the years they'd been married, he'd been preoccupied with work; now that she was gone he thought of her constantly, missing her, and grieving that he had not paid more attention to her. The sorrow had changed his nature, too; once he'd been a punster, always ready with a joke, usually a bad one. Now his long rugged face was etched with lines and tinged with sadness.
    "Hell, Bandy, I've folded more tents than a tribe of Indians. I never liked building houses, anyway—the damn things don't fly. How long a tour of duty are you going to have to pull with the Air Force this time?"
    Bandfield laughed. "Depends. Patty says we've got plenty of money, but I figure I ought to stay in for twenty, anyway, and nail down a pension in case we go bust again."
    "Pension, you don't give a goddamn about no pension, you just want to fly the new airplanes. Don't try to bullshit old Hadley."
    Bandfield nodded and grinned. It was true—but he couldn't admit it to Patty.
    Roget's voice went up an octave. "Your marriage is as weird as mine was—I hope you take better care of Patty than I did of Clarice." They drained their glasses and Roget went on. "Anyway, I've got some ideas about going back into the airplane modification business, and I'm not so sure I can handle it without you."
    Bandfield groaned. The only time they'd ever made money on airplanes was during the war, when Patty was running the plant, subcontracting parts for the bigger contractors. Every time they'd try to build airplanes themselves, they'd been squeezed out of the market.
    "Don't you groan at me. I've got some good ideas, can't miss."
    "Like the Aircar?" Roget had dumped a small fortune into a combination car-plane that was a bad car and a worse airplane.
    "That was a fluke, Bandy, and you know it. No, I think—damn it, I know!—that there's going to be a market out there for big airplanes that can drop water and chemicals on forest fires. God knows we've got enough forest fires every year to make a market. That's one thing.