The Captain aboard the Brighton had delayed departure from Guadalcanal by two hours hoping that the three sailors would return.  He had placed his full trust in Will to carry out what should have been an easy assignment and wondered what had gone wrong.  As any conscientious officer would, he regretted the loss of men under his command — even as he wondered whether they were dead or alive.   When he could wait no longer, he radioed Fleet Headquarters to report the missing seamen, hastening to explain that he had been ordered to dispatch a search party for the downed pilot.  The response was what he expected: “Proceed to Vietnam immediately!”  He also radioed the control tower at Guadalcanal’s airport to request an air search of the small, nameless island.

“Again?” the Air Traffic Controller barked.  “We’ve already done that and found nothing!  There was no sign of the pilot.”

After hearing the Captain’s story, however, the Controller agreed but explained that he wouldn’t be able to launch a search and rescue operation until he secured permission from his superior.

Infuriated, the Captain almost yelled, “Three lives are depending on your expediting the request and the search!”

“I understand,” came the reply.  “But I have to follow policy.”

The Captain almost said, “Fuck the policy!  DO IT!” but reminded himself that he was not the Controller’s commanding officer.  Instead, he said, “This is urgent!    ANY delay might cost three young men their lives.”

<><><><><> 

The three stranded sailors awoke at dawn of their third day on the remote island.  Will’s fever had broken but his mobility was severely impaired.  After munching on a few berries and some leaves, he said, “Listen, guys.  There’s a chance that a plane will have been sent to scout for us.  If so, we’ve got to make sure they find us.  Gather up some branches with plenty of green leaves.  Take them down to the shore and lay them out in a triangle or an arrow — the bigger the better — so it’s obvious it isn’t natural.  Have it point to us.  Watch and listen for any sign of an aircraft.  If you hear or see it, get your ass down to the shoreline where you can be seen and wave like crazy.”

“We’ve been here two days!” Sean groused.  “With no sign of any plane!  What makes you think there’ll be one now?”

Will lost his temper and yelled, “God damn it, Sean!  I’ve had all I can take of your self-pity and whining!  I can’t stomach a quitter!  Keep your fucking attitude to yourself and do as you’re told!”

Sean’s first reaction was anger.  He thoroughly resented an engine room lackey being in charge and took Will’s outburst as a personal affront.  He rose from a sitting position, clenched his fists, and charged toward Will.  There was fire in his eyes.

Billy jumped up and blocked Sean’s path.  “Ain’t no good come from fightin’ or feudin ’ guys,” he said more to Sean than Will.  ‘Long as we’s stuck here, best we get along.”

Will spoke up as calmly as he could, “There may or may not be a search plane, Sean.  But if there is we ought to do what we can to help them find us.”

Billy’s intervention and Will’s appeasing tone defused the confrontation.  Sean, still irritated, backed off and said, “Come on, Billy.  Let’s go get some branches.”

Just before noon, while Billy and Sean were out gathering more berries, fruit, and leaves, Will heard the unmistakable wap-wap of a chopper.  It was faint but growing louder.  He limped down to the shoreline and desperately scanned the sky.  Within a few minutes he saw it: a helicopter approaching from the southwest.  Before it got close, Sean and Billy ran breathlessly out of the dense foliage and joined Will at the water’s edge.  They all waved frantically but their hearts sank as they watched it fly past them.

“FUCK!” Sean said, “They didn’t see us.  We’re shit outa luck.”

“CAN IT!” Will barked as he glared at Sean.  “Enough of your shitty attitude!  You’re quick to conclude they didn’t see us and assume the worst but we don’t know whether they did or not.”

“LOOK!” Billy screamed.  “It’s comin’ back ‘round.”

The chopper descended to about forty feet above the water near their position.  It slowly eased in toward the shore.  A harness and a cable lowered from an open doorway until it was within reach.  “Get in, Will,” Billy said.

“No,” Will replied.  “You two go first.”

“But yur injured,” Billy objected.  “Ya oughta be the first one up so’s they can take care o’ ya.”

“NO!” exclaimed Will.  “Get your ass into the harness.  That’s an order!”

The stern command shocked Billy who now regarded Will no longer as team leader but as his lover.  But he reluctantly obeyed and was hoisted into the chopper.  Sean did not have to be told he was next.  He eagerly fastened himself into the harness and soon joined Billy in the chopper.  When Will was safely aboard, the rescue helicopter ascended and flew toward Honiara, Guadalcanal.

<><><><><> 

On the bridge of the Brighton, a radioman said, “Message for the Captain, Sir.”  He handed the First Mate a transcription of a shortwave radio message from Honiara Air Traffic Control.

The officer grunted, “He’s in his cabin.  Is it urgent?”

“No, Sir.  But I think he’ll want to see this right away.”

“I’ll take it to him.  Return to duty.”  Before leaving the bridge, the First Mate said, “Helmsman!  I’ll be back in a few minutes.  Maintain present course.”

The First Mate knocked on the Captain’s door and was invited in.  “Message for you, Sir.  Sparks said you’d want to see it right away.”

The skipper grudgingly took the paper, not pleased with the interruption. Upon reading it, he exclaimed enthusiastically, “THANK GOD!”

“Good news, Sir?” the First Mate asked.

“The best possible news!” came the reply.  “Here.  Read it yourself.”

“3 men airlifted to Honiara per request. Benson in National Referral Hospital with minor injury.  Simpson, Wilcox examined, released.  Boat hit mine, sunk.  Await your instructions.”

The Captain wrote out a reply:  “Will notify Fleet HQ and request authorization for transfer of 3 men to San Diego to await return of Brighton.”  Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Thank you.”

<><><><><> 

Sean and Billy agreed on a first priority as they walked out of Will’s room in the hospital: REAL FOOD!  They asked the receptionist at the front desk for directions to a restaurant.  She thought the two disheveled sailors would not be welcomed in any of the places she normally recommended to the occasional jet set tourist that sought medical attention while vacationing.  “Walk west along the highway,” she said.  “When it crosses the Mataniko River it becomes Mendana Avenue.  You’ll find several small cafes within a kilometer or two.”

They found a small, clean, and inexpensive (they hoped) restaurant.  They gorged themselves in an attempt to make up for the deprivation they suffered while awaiting rescue.

“It’s good to be back in civilization,” Sean said.  “If you want to be generous and call this place civilized.”

Billy, perhaps because he was still sensitive to his growing up poor in a rural environment, cringed inwardly at the implied insult to the local people and customs, replied,  “It’s a furr-in country.  Folks are different here.  That don’t mean they’s no good.” 

Sean was about to defend his opinion of Guadalcanal in particular and anything “non-American” in general but in a rare flash of good judgment merely grunted.

As they left the cafe, they faced another decision: where to spend the night — or nights — until Will was discharged from the hospital.  They counted the remaining cash in their wallets and realized that a hotel was beyond their means.  They would have to save what little money they had for food.  “No big deal,” Billy said.  “We just spent three days in the open.  We can do it again.  They gotta have a park or somethin’ ‘round here.  We can sleep there.  Maybe the hospital will release Will t’morro’ and we can figger out what to do next.”

“And maybe they won’t,” Sean objected.  “We’re stuck here.  With no place to stay.  And very little money to eat.  What’s more, we’re AWOL.  We’re up shit creek with no fucking paddle!”

Billy’s patience was drained and he confronted the negativity, “Gee-zuz, Sean.  Hows come yur always complainin’?  Why can’t ya never see how lucky we is?  We’s alive ain’t we?  Ya put me in mind o’ my cousin.  Nobody never liked him ‘cause he was such a whinin’ baby.  Will was right when he said quitters never win.”

Billy walked away without waiting for a reply.  Sean, seething from what he thought was a lecture from a country hick, caught up to Billy and said, “Okay.  If you’re so damn smart, what the fuck are we going to do?”

“Don’t know yet,” Billy grunted.  “But I sure as shootin’ ain’t gonna quit!”

Later that day Billy and Sean returned to the hospital to visit Will.  They were surprised and pleased to see him out of his hospital gown and fully dressed.  “They’re releasing me!” Will exclaimed with obvious delight.  “I’ve still got a bandage on my leg and it’s still a bit sore but I’m outta here today.  But the best news is this.”  He handed a sheet of paper to his comrades.  It was a message from Fleet HQ:  “This authorizes Willard Benson, Sean Wilcox, and Billy Simpson to secure immediate commercial air transport to San Diego per terms of the DOD Military Air Transport contract MAT-65-19435.  They are to report to the San Diego Naval Base upon arrival for further assignment.  /s/ Adm. R. M. Johanson, USN.”

Billy’s shout of “HOT DAMN!” conveyed his high spirits over the news.

Sean was equally delighted and bellowed, “FANTASTIC!”

Using Will’s credit card, they bought civilian clothes and discarded their torn and very dirty uniforms.  They proceeded immediately to the airport to book a flight back to San Diego.

<><><><><> 

The trip back to San Diego was exhausting — more than 13 hours on three separate flights and another ten hours spent waiting in the Honiara, Honolulu, and Los Angles airports.  But the spirits of the three sailors were high as the plane touched down in San Diego just after six in the evening.

“’Spose we oughta check in at the Naval Base?” Billy asked as they disembarked from the plane.

“We could,” Will replied, “But there’s not much to accomplish at this late hour.  First thing in the morning will be soon enough.”

“So what do we do until then?” Sean asked, finally if only implicitly deferring to Will as the leader of the team.

“We could mosey out to the Base.” Billy suggested.  “They maybe got rooms in Base housin’.  Don’t know ‘bout y’all but I sure could use a hot shower and decent bed.”

Will had other ideas for the first night back from the ordeal they had been through.  “I don’t think so,” he said.  “First of all, we don’t know if they’ve got rooms for us.  I think we should find a nice restaurant and get a good meal.  Then we can find a hotel for the night.  Early tomorrow morning will be a good time to report to the Base.”

“And how are we going to pay for all that?” Sean asked, displaying again his tendency to focus on the negative.

“My treat,” Will said.  “In appreciation for all you guys did on our unlucky mission ... or shall we say ‘adventure’.   How about it?”

None of the customers in the restaurant enjoyed their meal as much as the three young men whose misfortune had brought them close to death.  Only Billy objected to Will’s paying for three hotel rooms but his objections were overruled by Will saying, “Remember what you learned in church?  It’s better to give than to receive.  Allow me the satisfaction of giving us all a good night’s rest.”

Rest was not at the top of Will’s priority list as Billy would learn when he answered a knock on his door an hour after checking in to the hotel and saw Will’s face glowing with a broad smile.