The Hunters Read Online Free Page A

units and positions. The usual block of photographs was on the wall, too, in order of rank: General Muehlke, Far East Air Forces; General Breck, Fifth Air Force; then Imil; and lastly one he did not recognize, probably the group commander. Every office in the headquarters was decorated with that set, he guessed. For a few unreal minutes, a feeling that he had been in Korea much longer than two or three hours was generated in him. He remembered so many other headquarters, all alike.
    â€œCleve!” he heard someone shout.
    He turned. A familiar face smiled at him, bright with cold.
Carl Abbott, wearing major’s leaves. He seized Cleve’s hand heartily.
    â€œHello, Carl. I didn’t know you were over here.”
    â€œI haven’t been long. Not as long as it seems, anyway. God, it’s good to see you, Cleve. I heard you were on the way over. I’ve been on the lookout for you. Dutch has, too.”
    â€œHow is he, the same as ever?”
    â€œExactly the same. He doesn’t change. He’s up on the mission right now.”
    â€œI saw it take off a few minutes ago.”
    â€œIt’s a routine sweep. He has blood in his eye today, though. Everybody has.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œIt’s been a bad week,” Abbott said in a strange, almost eager way. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard, but yesterday we lost Tonneson.”
    Cleve listened to the story. Tonneson had thirteen MIGs to his credit, more than any other man. On the mission the previous day, he and his wingman had attacked a formation of twelve, and he had shot one down at the start, his thirteenth victory. As he slid into position behind another he was hit himself, solidly, just behind the cockpit. His wingman had stayed with him, orbiting, as he went down, calling to him to bail out, until the ship hit the ground and exploded. Abbott told it with an odd fluency, like a relish.
    â€œIt shook Dutch,” he was talking faster. “I’ve known him a long time, and I can tell when he’s nervous. He wasn’t the only one either. Tonny was our top man. All the damned kids got the clanks when they heard about it. Well, you know how they are, anyway.”

    Cleve nodded. He knew how sensitive the common nervous system could be. He had felt it already, the subtle currents. Abbott, he noticed, seemed uneasy, unlike himself.
    â€œWe need you, Cleve. We need experience. Most of the old hands have gone, and we’ve been getting nothing but kids right out of flying school and gunnery. Eight of them came in last week. The week before that we got two men who had no jet time at all.”
    The flush from the fresh air had left his face, and a dull cast replaced it. There were heavy lines under his eyes. He looked old. Cleve could remember him as a young captain, five years before. They talked for a while longer, mostly about the enemy, what surprisingly good ships they flew and what a lousy war it was. The major repeated that despairingly several times.
    â€œWhat do you mean, lousy?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know,” Abbott said distractedly, “it’s just no good. I mean what are we fighting for, anyway? There’s nothing for us to win. It’s no good, Cleve. You’ll see.”
    He trailed off uncomfortably, sorry he had started on this theme.
    Abbott had been a hero once, in Europe in another war, but the years had worked an irreversible chemistry. He was heavier now, older, and somewhere along the way he had run out of compulsion. Everyone in the wing knew it. He aborted from too many missions. The airplanes he flew always developed some mechanical trouble, and he could be counted on to complete only the easiest flights. Colonel Imil had put him in group operations and was arranging a transfer to Fifth Air Force Headquarters. Everyone knew that, too.
    It was part of the unashamed past for him to talk to Cleve,
who had known him only before, and he extended the