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Show Flying - 144 "I thought I was on permanent guard, sir," says John Henry. "Let's go," says Wilberforce. "I still need a driver and you're it. You'll pull guard when they need you, and you'll drive for me when I need you." They head out for 101 and turn north. Just past Morro Rock Wilberforce directs him up a dirt road on the right and they climb for a while, finally coming out on top of a hill that overlooks the sea. A big stretch of coast is visible, with grey ships out near the horizon, motionless and barely visible in the patches of fog and the grey of the water. "The landing should have started half an hour ago," says Wilberforce looking at his watch. He sweeps the sea with powerful binoculars, but sees nothing to please him. Where are the LCT's slamming through the surf? Where are the Marines swarming ashore with rifles held high? The tanks and personnel carriers? Nothing but grey ships slowly circling near the horizon, their smoke mingling with the fog into a thickening haze that will soon hide everything. "I wonder what's going on," says Wilberforce. They sit together on the ground, lean back against the side of the jeep and wait, staring out to sea, waiting for the exercise to begin. Side by side on the yellow grass in |
