The Hunters Read Online Free PDF Page A

and takusan jet time.
    â€œBut, you know,” one of them said, “he’s not too good at, well, at judging the space-time relationship in the air. Do you know what I mean?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œWhat I’m trying to say is that he can’t fly.”
    â€œHe won’t fight, either. I don’t know which is worse.”
    â€œThe son of a bitch. And I get scheduled with him almost every time he goes on a mission.”
    â€œHe won’t be around much longer.”
    â€œI don’t know. He’ll never get shot down, though; I’m sure of that.”
    Imil was slowly doubling an empty can with one hand, not paying much attention to it as he did.
    â€œHe’s a little different,” he told Moncavage, “maybe not always ready to tell you how good he is, but take it from me. After a few weeks, when he gets a taste of things, you’ll see.”
    â€œHe looks competent enough, I’ll say that.”
    Imil laughed. He tossed the folded can to the floor.
    â€œDon’t strain yourself,” he said.

    â€œIt’s an observation, that’s all.”
    â€œMy bet is he has a MIG before you do.”
    â€œI don’t know about that,” Moncavage answered quickly.
    Imil glanced down at him, a head shorter and lightly built.
    â€œThat bothers you, eh?”
    â€œI’ve been away from flying for a while,” Moncavage began, “I don’t deny it. . . .”
    â€œWhat are you trying to say?”
    â€œIf it’s something you’d like to bet on . . .”
    Imil slapped his shoulder jovially.
    â€œYou’re coming along. I wanted to see what you’d say.”
    â€œDon’t worry about me.”
    â€œYou’ll be all right. Just make sure you keep a good wingman with you, that’s all,” Imil grinned.
    Moncavage was silent. He’d only had the group for a short time. He knew he wasn’t trusted yet and was working to overcome that. Vaguely he’d begun to fear that he never would. Imil commanded the wing in a heavy-handed way. He never hesitated to intercede in group matters. Moncavage resented that. It was going to be a long, defensive struggle for him to come into real command. He knew he wasn’t stronger than Imil, but he felt he was smarter.
    â€œMake sure he’s a flight commander pretty quick,” Imil said. “He can work on up from there.”
    Moncavage said nothing. You run the wing, and I’ll run the group, he thought to himself. He’d rehearsed the phrase before. He nodded in agreement though. He wished he had started calling Imil, a fellow colonel not three years older, Dutch, from the beginning. That, he realized, would have made things better. It was too late now. Self-consciousness had set in. He was even feeling uncomfortable about his trim, soldierly appearance as
contrasted with Imil’s, which, while not sloppy, was tough and bearish. He watched as Imil took a last drink of beer and began to crush another can.
    As it grew late, the party seemed to intensify. It was going stronger, with the room more crowded, if that was possible, than it had been earlier. Cleve finally left about midnight.
    Outside, it had started to snow. Through the darkness swirled a white mist of flakes too delicate to stick to anything. They brushed against his face and made the air seem fresher to breathe. As he walked along the road back to his room, he could hear the subdued sound of singing all the way. When the door slammed behind him, though, the sudden quiet was overwhelming. He sat down on his cot and untied his shoes. He was tired. Somehow, he had the feeling of Christmas away from home, stranded in a cheap hotel, while the snow fell silently through the night, making the streets wet and the railroad tracks gleam.

3
    He was assigned to a squadron. He had to go through a brief training program that involved three or four flights behind the lines, mostly to practice the