Em drifted to sleep thinking of Irene.
For two weeks, Cannon drove them to the limit. Every part of their training was intensified. Em thought that the amount of time spent in the classroom was a waste of time. Four hours every day, they attended classes. Along with three hours of physical training and their daily duties, there was only thirty minutes of personal time. It was hard to get anything done. It had only taken Em and Jack about three days to train everyone on their clothing inspection lockers. Now everyone was living out of his laundry bag. They had all but eliminated the ironing. Jack and Larry were getting along most of the time. Corby was steadily gaining weight. His acne was almost gone. Em thought he looked five years older. With all their new flights coming in every day, theirs was becoming senior to most. Corby no longer was bombarded when he performed his chow runner duties. He was now his own boss. He was the only one in the flight permitted to wear a wristwatch. Fifteen minutes before each chow time, he would leave wherever they were. He and Larry would double-time it to the chow hall. In the mornings, he and Larry usually finished their routines before the rest of them had risen. By the time they had reached the lead of the chow runner line, the rest of them were just hearing reveille. Each of them was getting stronger by the day. They never had time to feel homesick. They were constantly on the move, from daylight to dark. They learned about military customs and procedures, but mostly, they discussed the war. Everyone wondered where he would end up and what he would be doing when he got there. No one’s job choice was secure. Each of them had chosen three possible career options. Very few of them expected to actually get those jobs. Em wanted to learn aircraft mechanics. He figured an airplane engine was probably a lot like a truck or a tractor engine. He knew a lot about them, so he should catch on to planes very quickly. Corby had also chosen mechanics. He and Em wanted to stay together. Choosing mechanics seemed to be a likely way to make sure that happened. Jack had actually applied to be a pilot. They were only accepting guys who were sixty-six to seventy inches tall. Jack was over six foot. They told him maybe after the war. He had chosen aircraft mechanics as well. He planned to learn everything he could about planes so he could pilot them after the war. He was very passionate about this. Larry had come in without a preference. He would accept whatever position he was assigned.
Each day was becoming a little more intense than the previous one. Two more weeks and they would be sent to another training base. Most of the air corps’ schools were in the continental United States. The majority of those were along the Gulf Coast. Em hoped that he would be on the coast since it was summertime. Springtime in Texas was as hot as he ever wanted to be. Em seemed to be the only one who assumed they would not find out about their jobs until a couple of days before basic training graduation. He only held a sliver of hope that he and Corby would stay together. If that did not happen, he really felt that Corby would be all right. He had watched Corby mature more in one month than many of the other guys. Em was certain that Corby could now adjust to any situation that was thrust upon him.
Cannon repeatedly gave the four of them an extra duty here and there. None of them ever complained. He had not said another word about the meeting. What he had in mind for Jack and Em, only he knew, and that his plan was for Jack and Em was unmistakable. He had looked only at the two of them when he mentioned the meeting. Whatever it turned out to be, Em hoped that Corby could go with him. He continued to receive letters from Irene every day. She had written to Corby at least three or four times. Em had read every one of them, including the infamous one. Irene had simply written as a friend. She told him in every letter to “take care of him.” She was really scared, more so than Em felt himself. Corby took her instructions to heart. He continuously assured Em that he was certain they would not be separated. Em did not share his certainty.
Em wrote to Irene at every opportunity that he was given. This included writing a daily journal of his activities. He sent her these accounts one or two pages at a time. Every time he wrote, he felt as though he was talking to her. He dreamed of her every night. She was always in the white dress, always smiling and always had her hand on her left hip. This awoke him every time he dreamed. He would spend what felt like an eternity trying to sleep again. Lying awake, staring out the small windows, he imagined that he was there with her, sitting, watching the sun set on the ridge where he planned to build their house. She would lean on his shoulder and bury her face in his neck. He could almost smell her hair. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the aroma that he remembered so well. He drifted into a dreamless sleep and was prepared to face day 29.
Day 29 started just as routinely as every other. Jack and Em finished making their bunks. It was amazing how fast they could tighten their bunks enough to bounce coins.
As they were finishing with their area, Cannon emerged from his office. He looked as sharp as he always did. All the guys joked about him sleeping standing at attention. His uniforms were always so crisp. He walked directly toward Em’s bunk. He pulled a coin from his pocket and bounced it on Em’s bunk. “Nice work, boys.” He told them that he was proud of the way they had handled themselves over the past two weeks. He said he had expected failure with all the extra pressure that was placed on them. He told them that his decision to recommend the two of them had solidified. His friend, Colonel Philip Roth, needed two recruits that he could depend on. He wanted two new recruits so he could train them in his own way. Cannon also told them that this was very important to him. Colonel Roth was an especially close friend of his. He would only recommend those who were honest, hardworking, and loyal. He felt assured that Jack and Em were just what Colonel Roth was looking for. He said that when it came time to do the laundry today, they were to have McAtee and Summerkamp take care of it. The two of them were to report to his office instead. Before he walked away, he leaned in close and said in almost a whisper, “Look sharp, you two. This is a great opportunity. Fourteen hundred hours sharp!”
Outside, before they were led to the chow hall, Jack whispered to Em, “What do you think, hillbilly? What’s this all about?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Em whispered back.
“Who the hell is Colonel Roth?” Jack caught Morris, who was between him and Em, trying to make sense of their conversation. “What are you two talking about?” Morris asked.
“Shut up, Cornmeal.” Jack had a way of hitting someone where they lived. Morris was from Iowa and lived on a corn farm. To Jack, “cornmeal” was a very funny word. Now, everyone called Morris “Cornmeal.” Cornmeal didn’t ask any more questions.
As Jack and Em’s column filed into the door, Em caught Corby’s attention as he walked past him. “Sit at my table. I have to tell you something.”
Corby nodded slightly. He knew that any movement whatsoever and fifth week or not, he would be assaulted from every direction.
As Em finished his eggs and looked to the sausage and gravy, he saw Corby with his tray, walking toward him. He pushed aside the salt and pepper shakers to make room for Corby’s tray.
Corby was smiling. “Hold on, Em. I got something to tell you first. You won’t believe what Cannon wants me to do.”
Corby sat down and instantly began to inhale the piles of food on his plate. He ate whatever was scooped onto his spoon, never bothering to keep anything separate. Soon, he was scraping the plate. Em sat and stared. The forkful of sausage he was holding when Corby sat down, still in his hand. Corby’s entire meal was consumed in less than ninety seconds. He slowly chewed on the sausage as Corby funneled some milk down his throat.
“He came up to me and Larry in the chow runner line this morning. He took us aside and told us to report to the flight line, hanger 17 at fourteen hundred hours. You tell me, what does he want with us?” He stabbed a piece of sausage off Em’s plate and said, “Probably some new chow runner duty, huh?” Corby still had a thin white mustache. His eyes were alit with intensity. He was truly embracing his new life. He looked to have been reborn. “Now, what you got to top that?”
“Well,
