Designated Targets

“Don’t smoke,” he said to the burly, short-haired man who sat in the seat next to him.

“Ah, not you, too? You don’t look like one a them. What’s a matter, Mac? You ain’t buying all that hooey about a smoke being bad for a man, are you?”

“Nope. Just don’t smoke.”

Dan turned his shoulder away from the guy, letting him know that he didn’t really want to chat, but the big palooka wouldn’t take a hint.

“You gonna read that paper, Mac?”

“I am,” said Dan. “My girl works for them. She’s a reporter.”

The man’s face lit up. “You don’t say. What’s her name? What’s she do? She work on the ladies’ page?”

Despite himself, Dan couldn’t help it. He was proud of Julia. “No, she’s an embed. You know, a war correspondent. She’s been down in Australia with MacArthur and Jones.”

His companion’s eyes went a little wider, as the plane leveled off and the copilot announced that they could undo their belts.

“No kidding? So she’s from the future, eh? You lucky dog. I hear those dames, they’re insatiable. Am I right, or am I right?”

Dan didn’t answer right away—he was half-embarrassed, and half-pleased. He knew Julia hated him bullshitting with other guys about this stuff, but really, he couldn’t see the harm. “Well, that’d be none of your business, buddy,” he said. “But . . . well, yeah, you ain’t a million miles from the truth.”

The news seemed to please the guy. “Goddamn. I knew it. All those things you read, some of them had to be true. What is she—?”

Dan held up his hand. “Sorry. I meant it. It’s really none of your beeswax.”

Lucky for him the guy didn’t seem put out at all. “Sure, sure thing, Mac. Listen, my name’s Hurley, Dave Hurley. I’m in sheet metal. What about you?” he asked, pointing at Dan’s uniform. “Why’d you make the jump? You want to fly rocket planes? You political? Or you just wanted to make out like a bandit with those dames?”

Black snorted. “I was at Midway. I was one of the first guys onto their ships. Went across to the Clinton in a helicopter with a youngster by the name of Curtis. An ensign—”

“Yeah, I read about him,” Hurley said, nodding vigorously. “Ernie Pyle says he knew what the rockets and the death beams were before anyone else, didn’t he? And he was the guy told Spruance how it all worked.”

Dan nodded, recalling the night on the bridge of the Enterprise, when they’d watched helplessly while the Pacific Fleet was destroyed around them.

“Yeah, I read about that kid,” Hurley continued. “Were you there, too, with Spruance?”

“Yeah, I was a planning officer. Curtis and I volunteered to check out their story, but things moved a little quicker than we did, and we became sort of irrelevant. I was on the Clinton for a while, ended up falling into a liaison role. I’m still doing that. So no, to answer your question, I’m not officially AF. But I’m on secondment for the duration.”

Hurley took that in and readjusted his sizable frame. The seats were generous, but he was a big man. He took up all the space they had to offer, and then some.

“What about you?” asked Dan. “You look a bit like a cop, maybe even ex-navy. But you’re in metal, you say?”

“Yeah. I used to be a cop, a sheriff actually,” Hurley said. “But I was pensioned off about five years back. Crashed my patrol car during a chase. Busted my back. This flight’s gonna be hell on me before it’s done. I went into my uncle’s sheet-metal business, since he was getting ready to retire. Turns out I had a nose for a dollar. Got me a few contracts with you guys, in fact, running up warehouses out Burbank way. Hell’s bells but things are hot out there, aren’t they? I’ve got crews working around the clock. In fact,” he said, leaning over conspiratorially, “I’ve been trying to get my hands on a computer, to help run things even better. But I’m not that important.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Dan advised. “Warehouses are important. We’re growing so fast, storage and distribution is one of our real problems.”

“Yeah? You think you could get me a computer, then? It’d be worth your while, if you know what I mean.”

“Nope. Sorry.”

Hurley gave him another elbow, playfully this time. “Can’t blame a guy for trying though, can you?”

“Guess not,” said Dan.

And he wasn’t offended, really. In fact, he couldn’t help but like the guy. If he had to be trapped on a transcontinental flight, he could do worse, he supposed.