The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

‘‘I made two radio calls,’’ Canidy said, handing Crookshanks the chart. ‘‘There was no response to either. I marked where they were when we spotted them.’’

‘‘You spotted them?’’ Crookshanks asked innocently.

‘‘Douglass spotted them,’’ Canidy corrected himself. ‘‘When I waggled my wings, he was already signaling me.’’

‘‘Did you attack?’’

‘‘Yeah.’’

‘‘And?’’

‘‘Having thirties and fifties is a pretty stupid idea, you know that?’’ Canidy said. ‘‘You don’t open fire until you’re within thirty range, which means giving away the safety factor the extra range of the fifties gives you.’’

‘‘What would you suggest?’’

‘‘I’d rather have all fifties.’’

‘‘Impossible.’’

‘‘Then two fifties with more ammo. Fair over the thirty barrel openings in the wing.’’

‘‘There’s no more room for fifty ammo in the nose.’’

‘‘Then I’d still get rid of the thirties,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘I like the idea of being able to shoot at people beyond the range they can return it.’’

‘‘As a matter of fact, Canidy,’’ Crookshanks said, ‘‘there is hardly any distance in the maximum range between them. Not enough to make any real difference.’’

‘‘The dispersal is different,’’ Canidy argued. ‘‘At two hundred yards, the thirties scatter all over.’’

‘‘So do the fifties.’’

‘‘Not as bad as the thirties,’’ Canidy continued to argue. ‘‘Because the fifty-caliber projectile is heavier and more stable. And a fifty hit is like three hits, or four, with a thirty.’’

‘‘I will take your suggestion under advisement, Mr. Canidy, ’’ Crookshanks said. ‘‘But getting back to my original question, what happened when you attacked?’’

‘‘If you mean, did I shoot anything down, I don’t think so.’’

‘‘But you did attack. And when did you break off engagement? ’’

‘‘When I ran out of ammunition,’’ Canidy said.

Crookshanks dropped him at the hostel. Canidy went to the club. There was no one there. They were all, he realized, in the air, or else over at the radio shack, vicariously getting their thrills by listening to the radio chatter.

The bartender, a Chinese Christian from the Missionary College, appeared.

‘‘I would like a glass of Scotch,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘A double double.’’

‘‘So early, sair?’’

‘‘Just the booze, please,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘No moral judgments. ’’

He took a stiff swallow, and a moment later another. Then he mixed water with what was left and started to sit down at a table to read an old copy of Life magazin

e.

And then, very suddenly, he was sick to his stomach. He barely made it to the john before he threw up everything he’d eaten for breakfast.

He looked at his watch. It was quarter to ten.