Bill and the Whistling Death

Chapter One: Incident at Patriots Point

Song: "Gone Too Soon" - Simple Plan

I killed my best friend. The snowstorm brewed, and I mistook him for the enemy. I let my Corsair's rockets loose, and they shot him into the mountains. What kind of veteran am I, murdering my best friend?

"Daddy, Daddy, we're here." Natalie's sweet voice frees me from the memory.

I force a smile when I see the USS Yorktown resting gallantly at the end of Patriots Point on the edge of Charleston, South Carolina. She's eighteen decks high (doesn't compare to the Nimitz class today), and whew, I don't see my enemy on the 872-foot-long Flight Deck.

For seventy years, I have stayed away from the Corsair. As a retired Navy pilot, though, I miss my days on Valley Forge, so Natalie suggested I begin volunteering here. Reluctance is my best friend now, ever since The Incident—yet here I am.

Natalie parks in the Employee lot behind the long pier that leads to the ship.

"There's not a Corsair here, right?" I first ask when she shuts off the car. I'm not great with computers, so I failed to check the Patriots Point website before starting today.

Natalie reaches back and grabs my cane, handing it to me. "Let's not talk about that right now." She looks just like me when I was sixty: a stout girl with stringy brown hair that has not yet wholly grayed.

My dear daughter has helped me considerably since the war, but I still want nothing to do with the Corsair. Natalie has tried me with PTSD counselors, but none worked. Nothing will rid the Whistling Death's scream from my head as Ted went down. To Hell with you, William! That's where I'll go when I pass.

Natalie exits the car and opens my door.

Hot air washes over me like an endless heat wave, and I step into it, my blue Patriots Point volunteer shirt already sticking to my ninety-two-year-old skin. Damn, I remember when getting out of a car was easy.

Natalie and I just moved to South Carolina from New York, so the smell of pluff mud knocks me back a step. How do South Carolinians do it?

This is my first time on an aircraft carrier since Valley Forge. I attempted to avoid Intrepid, Lexington, Hornet, Yorktown, and Midway with the possibility of running into a Corsair. Why am I here again? Oh, I know why: CV-10 looks regal sitting in the Charleston Harbor, and I miss the Valley Forge.

Natalie grasps my arm and leads me toward the pier. I see the marsh surrounding it and an eight-person red golf cart sitting beside the gatehouse at the top of it. Old geezers like me, in blue volunteer shirts, roam slowly. Most are veterans, but did any of them shoot down their best friend?

Natalie and I stop before a gentleman in front of the gatehouse. He wears a gray Public Safety short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, and a Vietnam Veteran cap. His nametag reads Cory.

"Hello," Natalie says. "We're Natalie and William Beckington. My daddy starts today."

"Well, I'll be!" Cory notices the cap on my head. "Welcome, William, and thank you for your service. You served on the Valley Forge?"

I keep my mouth shut.

Natalie nods. "Yes, he flew Corsairs during the Korean War."

"Well, I'll be!" Cory repeats. "We don't have a lot of Corsair fliers here." He grins and reaches for the walkie-talkie on his belt. "I'll let the Volunteer Coordinator know you're here and get you a ride to the ship."

"Thanks." Natalie faces me and points at a bench beside a photo booth. "Would you like to sit, Daddy?"

I'm fine standing, but if she insists—I approach the bench and sit, crossing one leg over the other.