Dive Bomber

Fifty new cadets are
assigned to your squadron.

- Who assigned them?
- I don't know, sir. I didn't.

Fifty? Why do they keep
shoving them at me?

What do they think I do? Wave a magic
wand and make fliers out of them?

Joe's pretty irritable lately.
You may have noticed it. Joe's
Schneider chart's been missing.

Yeah, I did.
I didn't want it known that he's been
on the pilot fatigue curve lately.

Dropped to two this morning.
He's almost reached the chronic line.

That means we've got to get another
man for our high-altitude work.

That might be the worst possible move.
He still has a fair chance for recovery.

It will be tough on him
after all the work he's done.

Is he worried about something else?
No, but I think Griffin's death
hit him pretty hard.

Besides, he's tense, nervous as a cat,
works all the time.

- Doesn't know how to play.
- You could help him with that.

Me? I doubt that.
Wait a minute.
I've got a clue.
- Maybe I can, at that.
- Good.

Hey, Lucky.
- I've got a job for you.
- Aye, aye, sir.

Hey, Lucky, lower your boom.
Tugboat Annie's back again
with a full head of steam.

Ain't a guy got no privacy
in this man's Navy?

You can't see him, Mrs. James.
He's gotten lower.

He couldn't get any lower than he was.
Where is the snake?

- In an oxygen tent with four nurses.
- That sounds like him.

I bet they're all blonds.
Are they? Are they all blonds?

No, male nurses. We're trying
to pull him through the crisis.

Better get him pulled by next payday,
or I'm going to the admiral.

Mrs. James?
I was just wondering if I couldn't
sort of help you with the admiral?

You know him?
Truthfully, no. But he and a friend
of mine are very good pals.

I thought we could discuss it
somewhere sometime.