Wingmen

Now and then, among the run-of- the-mill potboilers and bodice rippers in the local used bookstore, you come across one so exceptional you wonder why it wasn’t released as serious literary fiction. Ensan Case’s “Wingmen” is that kind of book. Full disclosure, I had an email exchange with Mr. Case a few years ago, mostly regarding our shared military background; he was very gracious. Aside from that, I have no personal or professional/financial interest, other than to see a damn good writer get his due. I was a young sailor, stationed at Pearl Harbor, when I found my copy at the estate sale of a deceased WW2 veteran who had been a collector of military memorabilia, and who had no family besides the tight-lipped woman come from the mainland to dispose of his belongings. It was 1991, months before thousands of seventyish men flooded the islands to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Japanese attack. It was also the height of the AIDS era, of relatives swooping in to sanitize the pasts of dead bachelor uncles, and I got a whiff of that in that Pearl City garage. The worn paperback with its generic cover illustration had slipped by her, so I paid the fifty cents and thought of the dead man while I read it, and of other men like him, whose stories I would never know. “Wingmen” is their story. It also has a fascinating back story: Case, a Navy officer of the late Vietnam era, was inspired by a 1960s war novel, “The Last Tallyho”, by the then-popular Richard Newhafer. Provoked by the offensive portrayal of a homosexual pilot as an utter failure in all things manly except his inevitable suicide, he set out to write a rebuttal: a classic, Hemingway-esque wartime romance, subverting the unfashionable genre by casting two men as heroic romantic leads. Unable to find a niche amid the postmodernist satirical war novels of the heavyweight literati, the straightforward action/adventure successors of Newhafer, or the angsty coming-out tales at Alyson, premier gay-interest publisher of the era, "Wingmen" landed at Avon Books, purveyor of tame romances. Simultaneously old-fashioned and way ahead of its time, it fell between the chairs—it was published in 1979, and promptly disappeared. Over 30 years later, the author did a random Google search and found his forgotten youthful effort was enjoying a long half-life on the interwebs as an elusive and pricey collectors’ item. He secured the publishing rights from Avon and “Wingmen” was reissued by Cheyenne Press in the spring of 2012, nearly fifteen years after the New Yorker ran a short story of the doomed love of a pair of Wyoming cowboys. The times had finally caught up with Ensan Case, though ironically, he’s bound to be compared to Annie Proulx and not vice versa--when I re-read “Wingmen” for this review, I wondered several times if she came across a copy on some remainders table back in the day. This is no accusation-- there really are only so many stories under the sun, and Proulx herself has said that their ingredients come from many cupboards. But there are parallels that suggest that her seminal tale has some DNA from “Wingmen” in its ancestry: aside from the American Archetypal characters and setting far from the gay subculture-- and a hero named Jack—there’s also a postmortem revelation of the depth of one lover’s devotion to the other easily the equal of Ennis del Mar’s discovery of the shirts in terms of its impact. However, despite the structural similarities, this is not “Brokeback Aircraft Carrier.” A great deal of the power of that short story-- and film-- came from its rare, realistic, unromanticized depiction of rural poor white men. Though they meet 20 years before Jack Twist and Ennis del Mar, Case’s naval officers have far more options in life than Proulx’s star-crossed ranch hands. There are no wives and children in “Wingmen”, but there is a love triangle of sorts, which casts a cloud over the men’s future. Which is to say, they have one, not the unalloyed “HEA” some readers seem to want, but not the forgone bleak conclusion to which Proulx brings her characters. Both authors set out with thematically different goals as well. Proulx was succinct that “Brokeback” is about destructive rural homophobia; Case is equally clear that “Wingmen” is a simple love story. As such he had the greater task, because it’s almost the hardest kind of story to tell-- many a writer has set his prow at the shores of profundity, only to wreck on the shoals of corn, porn, or worse, unintentional comedy. Case succeeds by employing a spare, plainspoken voice free of belletristic flourishes or trendy literary devices. There are passages that could do with a light polish-- he has a habit of using parentheses that behave like visual toe stubs in the narrative flow, but these are minor glitches. Maybe because the premise was radical for the time, Case takes the well-trod path of focusing on a handful of lives set against the mammoth apparatus of war. It’s been done a million times—“Saving Private Ryan”, et al, but seldom are fictional characters woven so seamlessly into history that never feels like history to the men who are making it: It’s the summer of 1943, Pearl Harbor. Ensign Fred Trusteau reports to Fighter Group VF-20 aboard the fictional USS Constitution, under the immediate command of LCDR Jack Hardigan. Two dozen or so young aviators, boys, really, are thrown together and learn-- or not-- how to be a unit. Case deftly captures the peculiar rhythms of shipboard life-- equipment problems, managerial clashes, training snafus, boredom, bickering, cameraderie, and then, abruptly, combat and the randomness of death. The aerial combat sequences are among the best I’ve ever read, edge-of- the-seat, cinematic, and CLEAR, no word salad-equivalents of a Michael Bay action sequence where the viewer has no idea what’s going on. The characters are vivid without the author trying too hard to make them <>-- the officious Air Group Commander; the hellraising LT Brogan; an uptight deck officer; a grizzled crew chief; the division yeoman; even Admiral Nimitz, in a cameo—there’s not a cardboard or clichéd one in the bunch, and all of it related with believable dialog and great military humor. I suspect Case kept notes while he was on active duty. Fred’s drunken night on the town with Brogan, and the wardroom etiquette briefing are classics, and to this day I have a hard time keeping a straight face when I meet anyone named Sweeney. I want to make note of his female characters; this is very much a men’s story, in which women are peripheral, with one exception. Eleanor Hawkins is the widow of a pilot killed at Midway, who has since turned her designs on Jack, pursuing him with a lusty confidence just this side of brazen. Yet the portrait never slides into a Sadie Hawkins caricature or censoriously depicts her as anything other than a lady. Other women briefly appear-- a local girl Fred sleeps with to keep up appearances, a longtime company secretary, and of course, prostitutes, but all receive the same nuanced handling. Case also manages to impart a lot of historical and technical information without it seeming nakedly expository or spinachy. As he tells the story of VF-20, he also tells the larger story of stepping stones across the Pacific and the defeat of the Imperial Navy. It’s a high wire act, sweeping and focused, intimate and epic, and at its heart are three men. Presaging Annie Proulx’s protagonists “raised on small poor ranches in opposite corners of the state,” Jack Hardigan and Fred Trusteau hail respectively from Maine and Central California, “… as far [apart] as you can get and still be in the USA.” Fred is 21, adopted son of a San Jose storekeeper, a college student when war broke out. Jack is about 30, the son of a Portland banker, a career Navy officer, veteran of Guadalcanal and Midway. Neither man fits the gay lit trope of hero-as-alienated-sensitive-misfit. They are conventional products of their time and place, small town Depression-era America. Both date women, more out of expectation than enthusiasm; both are baffled by their shipmates’ boundless energy for female pursuit. Though well-liked and respected by their peers, both harbor an internal sense of apartness which is not expressed in their interactions with the other pilots, and which Fred puts down to his intelligence and status as an orphan, the observational skills of someone who has always been an outsider to some degree. Jack gives the impression of one whose sexuality is not so much repressed as sublimated working in an all-male environment. He’s a bachelor married to his job and not yet at an age where that would attract comment. His life has heretofore “clicked along smoothly on hidden paths,” doing what’s expected from a man of his background and station, but the experience at Midway of death on a monumental scale created a schism with his previously ordered, unintrospective existence. As the story opens, he realizes how lonely he’s been and finds himself craving human connection. Not coincidentally, he’s new, or newish, to command and also at an age where most of his confreres would be pairing off and starting families. That feeling of apartness is something they both seem to subconsciously sense about each other--behold, the power of gaydar, in other words-- and they begin to gravitate to each other, seeking each other out, despite the differences in age and rank, and rapidly become close friends. Impressed by Fred’s professionalism, Jack selects him as his own wingman, an office the younger man discharges with Theban Band-like fidelity. Both men are charmingly clueless about the momentum with which their friendship develops, though the usually self-possessed Fred is a giddy schoolboy when in his skipper’s presence, and the dashing squadron commander never seems to miss a chance to ruffle the young Ensign’s hair or drape a comradely arm around his shoulders. The light bulb comes on a lot sooner for Fred, privately and with no real hope of reciprocity, expressed outwardly in a puppy-like anxiousness to please. Not till Fred is almost shot down in the first combat action does Jack realize the real nature of his feelings; it disturbs him deeply, and he reacts by avoiding Fred, causing the other man anguish. It takes a second near-loss to jar him out of his denial and allow the relationship to progress to its consummation. Even so, he continues to avoid calling the thing by its name: “...all this time, all these things we’ve done together and still it eludes me,” knowing instinctively if you name it, you claim it, and “it” in those days, presents as great a threat as the enemy, if the other pilots ever got wind of the relationship. They’re oblivious-- except for one. Duane Higgins, Jack’s wingman circa 1941, till they were separated after Guadalcanal, now serves as the executive officer of VF-20, but the two former best friends no longer share the same closeness, to Duane’s confusion and hurt. “The Last Tallyho” depicted its fighting men in a sharp dichotomy of square-jawed, 110 percent heterosexual heroes or cowardly deviants. In reality, situational homosexuality has always been part of single-sex environments, and Case addresses this obliquely through a character who falls in the hard-to- pin-down gray area. There’s little background on Duane beyond his working-class Catholic upbringing, but he’s more complex in many ways than Fred or Jack, though no more self-aware. He carefully cultivates the image of a boozing, skirt-chasing gambler, yet he’s thin-skinned, with a deep puritanical streak. His interest in women seems genuine, but he often has to make an effort not to be put off, or even repelled by them. Ironically, Duane pings gayer than Jack or Fred, to whom he takes an early dislike and whom he jealously senses has replaced him. The relationship between the skipper and his wingman unfolds through the lens of Duane’s covert and increasingly hostile scrutiny. His fixation comes to mirror that of a stalking, jilted ex-lover, literally listening at doors. He romances Eleanor Hawkins, initially to discover the nature of the relationship between her and Jack, then falls for her himself, though the fact that she was previously Jack’s is an undeniable component of his attraction. The snooping campaign comes to a head in a showdown with Jack and a loss of situational awareness at a critical moment in the climactic final action of the novel, the repercussions of which echo through the lives of all three men long after they part ways. Over 35 years later, “Wingmen” has traveled better than most of their contemporaries, many of which are extremely dated or read like cultural curios. If anything, it has particular piquancy now, when stories like Jack’s and Fred’s can be told openly, and moreover, recognized by church and state, and also at a time when their generation are daily leaving us in droves, and in another decade, will all be gone but for a few outliers. ***MAJOR SPOILERS FROM HERE ON*** Social change and the fluidity of electronic media have enabled “Wingmen” to reach a new audience; reception has been almost universally positive, if the 5-star reviews here and around the web are any indicator. What little criticism there is seems to reflect current cultural tastes rather than literary merit. I mention this because most of it concerns three aspects of the book: 1) the lack of an unequivocally happy ending, 2) the absence of explicit sex between the two main characters, and 3), the inclusion of the “Scrapbook” section. “Brokeback” also got a lot of flak for its downbeat ending, though I can’t imagine anyone familiar with Proulx’s oeuvre expecting different from the Mother Grim of Contemporary American Lit. If the subject matter of “Wingmen” were anything else, I would dismiss the objections as irrelevant to its artistic validity, but a tragic end for homosexual characters was de rigueur until quite recently, and on the surface, “Wingmen” would appear to be another link in a long dreary conga line, bringing up the rear behind “The Children’s Hour”, “Reflections in a Golden Eye,” “The Sergeant,” et depressing cetera. But in the above examples, the implication is that nothing but death or eternal solitude is possible for such warped, pitiful creatures. That’s a far cry from a man dying of a heart attack to which he may have been genetically predisposed, after 25-plus years of marriage in all but name. Those 25-plus years also spanned a singularly oppressive period for gay people-- newfound cognizance of homosexuality spurred by the Kinsey Report, the HUAC Hearings, the Hollywood Blacklist, Civil Service purges and vice raids, all fostered a stifling atmosphere of conformity and suspicion--read Richard Brooks’ “The Brick Foxhole” for some insight into what they were up against. Case couldn’t not address it, not without propelling the story into the realm of science fiction-- or fanfiction. I’m actually a bit surprised we’ve thus far been spared some bowlderized treatment with Jack and Fred running an antiques shop in a quirky little desert town, surrounded by anachronistically tolerant neighbors, though it’s probably only a matter of time. Case grounded his story in reality, not make-believe, the reality of two men trying to make a life together in a society both antagonistic and increasingly perceptive. In 1946, two war buddies “batching it” while they built a business wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows. By 1969, a pair of middle-aged, never-married men living together for over two decades would have looked like exactly what it was. Toward the end, at least some people would have known or speculated about them. The precariousness of their position would only have grown with time, as would their awareness of the same: “Fred wasn’t about to tell Higgins what it was really like for Jack: the ever-growing paranoia, Jack’s fear that he and Fred would be found out, ridiculed, cast out. The creeping mental confusion brought about by the continual battle between his love for Fred and the knowledge of the danger that that love represented, and how in the last years that confusion had reduced Jack’s sharpness and wit and decision-making abilities to a constant state of apprehension, always looking over the shoulder to make sure he wasn’t followed. Fred suddenly realized that in all their years together, they had never taken a vacation with one another.” “Wingmen” is not expressly political, but there is a more blistering indictment of the corrosive effect of homophobia in that one paragraph than in the entire collected works of Larry Kramer. It’s a bitter end after 400 pages, but there was a lot of sweetness, too. They got a happier ending than most, considering. Hemingway wrote that all love stories end tragically; someone has to go first. I would add that the great love stories also tend to be the sad ones because conflict is the essence of drama. “Wingmen” would still have mostly worked if Case had left Jack and Fred as contented retirees on a golf course in Palm Springs. That’s a nice parting image, but one with the false note of a wish fulfillment fantasy. Instead, he took the unflinching route of leaving Fred alone and desolate, watching the sun sink into the Pacific. THAT image is devastating, but it’s also one that will resonate with the reader for a long, long time. That bitter last image might be more palatable to some readers if they hadn’t had to use their imaginations quite so much to envision the “sweet,” which brings me to criticism #2, the sketchy presentation of sexual intimacy between Jack and Fred, especially when heterosexual relations are rendered comprehensively and fairly graphically. My writer’s instinct suggests that the first encounter between the men would have been framed as a mirror of the opening scene between Fred and his date, but this time with feeling-- intense, emphatically different feeling. I have no idea if Case wrote such a scene and it was cut so as not to offend the mores of 1970s readers, or if it was never included to begin with. Modern readers who object to the omission of that scene on the grounds of double standards are missing two points, 1), in the 1979 publishing world there absolutely, unapologetically WERE double standards governing that sort of thing, and 2), it’s a lot easier to write about bad sex--Fred and the prostitute, Jack’s inability to respond to Eleanor--than good sex. Case may have been stymied, like many writers before, by the limitations of language to convey what can be the most transcendent of human experiences. Rather than aiming for the stars and hitting the garage door, he may have abandoned the effort, leaving it to the readers to fill in the blanks and, in another sense, the characters as well. Though “Wingmen” is told from a third person omniscient POV, it’s really Fred’s story. Events are related from Jack’s perspective, but more time is spent in Fred’s head, no small portion of which is consumed by brooding on Jack’s feelings for him. As such, we experience the development of those feelings at something of a remove, not unlike Fred himself does, from that first flash of clarity on the flight deck, through the subsequent emotional grappling, to its resolution--except we don’t get to see that part. To have the moment where questioning becomes certainty occur offstage, and literally cut to a shot of blowing curtains, could be viewed as weakening the narrative. But by leaving it offstage, Case allows in an element of UNcertainty to serve the narrative in a much more poignant function. For this is a relationship in which a great deal is left unsaid—Jack’s ongoing resistance to acknowledging the nature of their attachment, their jocular pillow talk, the heartbreaking innocuousness of their letters—“Don’t take any wooden nickels!” – it’s plausible the word “love” was never spoken between them, and that that early uncertainty might have always preyed on Fred, sowing doubt as to the mutuality of the feeling between them. Significantly, in their first tentative embrace, Case leaves them facing away from each other. They don’t stay that way after the cut, of course, but that image of “...two men as close as two men could be, but...very much apart” leaves a lasting trace of disquiet which foreshadows the epilogue. Objections to the inclusion of the epilogue (criticism 3) center on the rescue of the two pilots after the battle of Truk as the emotional peak of the novel, and ergo, the logical endpoint, beyond which anything else is an anticlimactic wrapping up of loose ends. I suspect the real reason is that they wished Case had left Jack and Fred on the sub so they could imagine a gauzy happy ever after—but, returning momentarily to criticism 1, many, if not most gay men in postwar America didn’t get a happy ever after. Leaving Jack and Fred to be “[picked up by the Searaven] from…the seas off Truk” leaves the reader hanging and opens the door to a vision of a far less happy future of closets and cover marriages. “Scrapbook” is where the reader learns that their love endured, the chance taken, lasting union. Between the lines of letters and newspaper clippings is the chronicle of their emotional reunion in Pearl after Truk, the blissful early years together, the business partnership, the first hardware store in San Jose, the successful expansion throughout California in the next decade, their house, Jack’s book, the milestones of a life that was, in the balance, far sweeter than it was bitter. But there also is the chronicle of the encroaching threat of postwar social attitudes and the slow erosion of the haven they created. It’s suggestive that “Scrapbook” opens with a letter from Fred to Jack in which he mentions the amputation of his right hand ring finger-- the widow’s hand. By chance or design, it’s a weighty symbol of the public declaration that can never be made, and it sets the stage early for the re-entry of Duane Higgins at the point where the events for which he was largely the catalyst play out and the narrative comes full circle: at Jack’s funeral. What happened between Duane and Jack after the skipper’s post-Truk return to the Constitution is left unsaid; Fred only alludes to a conversation between himself and Jack, but there can be little doubt, especially after the fiasco at Kwajalein, Jack would ever have believed Duane’s leaving him and Fred alone to face the Japanese at Truk was an accident, and this was the definitive end of their friendship. For years he’s been a few hours away, selling real estate in Santa Barbara, following Jack and Fred in the business section of the paper, but only after Jack’s death does he approach Fred, in the penultimate scene of the novel. In the hands of a lesser writer, Duane would have been an out-and- out villain, but Case allows some sympathy for this conflicted, contradictory, and ultimately stunted character, who, with no real malice, did so much damage: Duane never actually did anything with his secret knowledge other than confront Jack with it, but the dread of exposure may have inhibited Jack at Truk, when his decision to stay with Fred or helplessly leave him to his fate harrowingly seemed to rest upon the presence or absence of witnesses. Yet through his monologue in the bar after the funeral, when it never occurs to him to express condolences to Fred, Duane blunders into a kind of redemption, when, with characteristic obtuseness and purely selfish motives, he asks Fred, at the lowest point in the other man’s life, to settle the question that has been nagging at him for a quarter of a century: “...Jack left the target in a...flyable aircraft...did he ditch...because of you?” and inadvertently gives Fred a priceless gift: the knowledge that Jack would have rather died with him than lived without him. Duane gives Fred certainty at last of the depth of Jack’s love for him-- but it’s a gift with a sting in the tail, because that’s a conversation they will never get to have. For you get the feeling that this was a very insular relationship. No association with the shipboard gay demimonde during the war, no contact with the gay Mecca up the road after—but also no outside perspective or moral support, and when Fred loses the man with whom he’s spent most of his adult life, his isolation is total. The decisive tragedy of “Wingmen” isn’t that Jack dies, or that his death was probably hastened by the stress of negotiating between his public and closeted lives. It’s not even that Fred is left alone. It’s that after the life they built together, after all they did--and sacrificed--to be together, as far as the world is concerned, their relationship never existed at all. And ironically, the only person who knows what Jack really meant to Fred is Duane Higgins. With no one to talk to, he asks the silent question to himself: “Oh, Jack, did you really do that? Why didn’t you tell me?” But it’s a question for which there can never be an answer. Jack Hardigan now belongs to the past. That’s Ennis del Mar finding the shirts in Jack Twist’s closet. That’s “Jack, I swear.” That’s why the Scrapbook isn’t superfluous, it’s crucial. That’s where “Wingmen” goes from being a good novel to being a great one. I’ll end this as I began, on a personal note. There’s an almost throwaway line in the final paragraph; after the funeral, when Duane has left, in which Fred, sitting in his car, decides to drive out to the coast and watch the sun set--because he can’t face returning alone to their empty house. In 1991, I was a youngster of strong opinions, one of which was a dogmatic and (I thought at the time) iconoclastic opposition to same-sex marriage-- I believed gays shouldn’t want to be part of a heterosexist, patriarchal institution, blah, blah, blah. Reader, I was young. When I came to the end of “Wingmen,” I realized no College Sociology 101 sophistry of mine could have brought an atom of solace to the man in the car. I had no answer. There was no answer. This is the book that changed my mind.

The appearance of a new, digital edition of James Jones's World War II classic, From Here to Eternity (1951), is good news not only for general readers but for fans of m/m historical fiction. The edition reportedly includes two scenes edited out by Scribner sixty years ago. One involves oral sex between a wealthy Honolulu civilian and Private Angelo Maggio (the soldier played by Frank Sinatra in the movie), for money. The other concerns a military investigation into homosexual activity. Accounts of the restored edition prompted my rereading of another classic of the Pacific war, the equally well told m/m adventure-romance, Wingmen, by the pseudonymous Ensan Case. Published by Avon as a paperback original in 1979, the book has long been out of print. I recently snapped up a used first edition on amazon.com for under $10. Copies usually start at around $40. Like From Here to Eternity, Wingmen is character- and event-driven. Set mostly aboard the fictional aircraft carrier Constitution during the latter half of the war, much of the tension in the novel derives from the physical and emotional pushing and shoving of fighting men packed too close together under extremely dangerous circumstances. Most of them are brave, dedicated and noble; some are hard drinkers who shield their feelings from even their closest friends. All but a few polish their manly-man reputations to a very high gloss. The book opens with Ensign Frederick Trusteau, the junior of the two wingmen, in bed with a Honolulu prostitute. Though he brings her to climax, his own satisfaction is limited to the knowledge that some of his fellow pilots are aware of the encounter. Later, in a similar exchange, Trusteau again performs the act primarily to establish his heterosexual creds-because it's expected and he knows no better-rather than for any real pleasure or release. Trusteau is handsome, skilled, determined, loyal and-a product and symbol of his time-just a bit dense in matters sexual. Although he becomes painfully aroused at the sight of another officer lounging naked in his berth aboard ship, he isn't able to put one and one together by himself. Lieutenant Commander J.J. "Jack" Hardigan, his new skipper, as befits a senior officer, dates a rich and willing widow who owns a house in the hills above Honolulu. Kisses aside, there is no evidence in the book that they ever go to bed together. Hardigan's prior sexual history goes unmentioned. When the widow breaks off the relationship in favor of one of Hardigan's subordinates, he is more relieved than disappointed. Like his wingman Trusteau, he dates women out of habit and social convention, not desire. The relationship between Hardigan and Trusteau is initially built on the expertise both men develop in flying Grumman Hellcats off the deck of a carrier. The bond of trust necessary for successful cooperation in combat is quickly and firmly established. The help that each gives the other for the good of the squadron, the navy and the prosecution of the war leads to triumph in battle and mutual respect. There are no shower scenes, no groping in the dark. Leaning shoulder to shoulder during a movie on deck is as physical as the m/m action gets. When Hardigan eventually elects to act on his feelings-during Christmas leave in a Waikiki hotel, not aboard ship-their physical union is presented as the natural next step in the bonding of brother warriors, true to each other unto death. Whether author Case's love scenes were never written or cut out of this essentially mainstream novel I have no idea. As published, the curtain comes down before the shirts come off. Just as masters of age-of-sail historical fiction must be intimately familiar with foremasts, rigging, celestial navigation and hardtack, Ensan Case is equally at home with the details of aerial and naval warfare. Presumably a veteran of the conflict, he is entirely convincing in his scene-setting, expertly mixing technical details and the emotions of men in love and at war. Here, about midway through the book, is his first description of a pilot taking off from the deck of a carrier-in almost total darkness. The point of view, though written third person, is Trusteau's: Shadowy shapes moved around Fred, and a single red wand popped into existence in the hands of some invisible deck officer. Taxi her forward, said the wand. Fred released his brakes and increased his throttle, rolled the Hellcat forward. Hold it there, said the wand. Fred stood on the upper portion of the rudder pedals and felt the plane hunker to a stop. Run her up, said the wand. Fred stood on the brakes with all the strength he possessed and increased the throttle smoothly all the way to the stop, feeling the cyclonic power of the engine lift the tail into the air. Then he leaned all the way to the left and found the hooded deck lights that told him where the deck was, and where it wasn't. In that brief interval, before the wand snapped downward and he released his brakes, he had time to think that despite the chaos of the launch, he was ready for whatever would come, ready because the only man among them who had kept his temper and remained calm through it all would be flying there in front of him. Go, said the wand, and Fred flew away into the night. This is solid, no-nonsense American writing: hunker, cyclonic, hooded, "where the deck was, and where it wasn't." Case also has fun with names. Jack Hardigan explains itself. Trusteau acquires the nickname "Trusty" partly because of his supposed prowess with women but also because of his reliability as a warrior. One pilot is named Brogan, another Duggin. There are battles: Wake Island, Tarawa and Truk Lagoon. In the latter attack, Jack's fighter squadron and other U.S. planes sink a large portion of the Japanese fleet. Men on both sides are wounded, shot down, burned to death and blown to pieces. Suspicions about the lovers arise in at least one pilot's mind but are too terrible, too dangerous, to voice. Fred becomes an ace, one of the top navy guns, thereby acquiring a new nickname: Killer. In a final, and ultimately secret act, Jack risks his life for his wingman. The last couple of chapters, a postwar montage, wraps up loose ends without adding much to what's come before. For my money, Wingmen would be a finer novel if it ended in 1945. Still, I know of no better m/m adventure-romance set during World War II. This is a five-star must read, a treasure for all fans of historical military fiction.

Written in 1979, this novel stands alone in the m/m genre. Written before such low expectations have become the norm, "Wingmen" soars above 99% of what is out there today. I'd give it 10 stars if I could. By contrast, it shows how far writing has sunk from the days when books were actually edited and screened before being published. This can hold its own with the best of Naval Air Battle books. "Wingmen" is not a true m/m romance by today's standards. It is mostly a WWII story taking place in the battles of Tarawa, Kwajalein and Truk. And yet it is a seriously engaging story of two men who find each other and fall deeply in love: the old-fashioned way. They earn it. There is a tremendous amount of detail. You feel like you are actually in the planes with the pilots and can smell the hot oil deep in the guts of an aircraft carrier. The energy and testosterone are palpable. The knowledge of the author is obviously first-hand. On the m/m side of the equation, this is far more of a "growing-to-love" story than just a romance. Trusteau is the young ensign who is assigned to the older and far more experienced Hardigan, who has never even considered his lack of interest in women as anything other than simple disinterest. Trusteau on the other hand is aware of his gayness but, because of the time period is at first unable to define it. The story progresses on multiple fronts. "Trusty" becomes the epitome of the Greatest Generation: courageous, humble and true to his country. "Skipper" is the true leader: strong, wise and willing and able to do whatever it takes to get the job done. Both have the honor code of Navy pilots to uphold, both in the air in bed. However, as their relationship develops from respect to admiration to "father/son" to "brothers" to hidden lovers, the tension grows ever stronger. Trusty at times is the lovable puppy-dog who worships at the feet of the Skipper. Hardigan is big and strong and fearless...on the surface...while carrying deep inside the realities of death and loss. This is a character driven story yet is mostly action. It is a love story yet filled with restraint. There are only two intimate scenes in the entire book and both are generally only alluded to, yet the love and respect burn to the soul. My only complaint, which also has been indicated in other reviews, is that the ending falls terribly flat. It's as though the author felt compelled to tie up the loose strings at the end. Life is a continuum. There are always loose strings. Often it is best to set a story end naturally, and it does at the second-to-the-last chapter. If you read this book, my suggestion is this: Skip the last two chapters. SPOILER: The story ends with a bitter-sweet ending. Trusteau and Hardigan live and love for many years to come. We never read of a long romance or have a chance to experience any of the details of that love. We just know they did. Just leave it at that. Tighten your cockpit harness and enjoy the ride! This story will have you biting your nails and crying at the same time.

I first heard of this book recently through a site called Towleroad, when it was announced it had been published again. I listened to a couple of audible excerpts, and [ASIN:1590215745 Wingmen] sounded very interesting, so I ordered it. I felt is was so well written, the scenes so real, that I could actually feel the salt and wind coming off the water, hear the furtive whispers of the two men in the dark, feel the excitement/terror of the pilots, know the anger of the subordinate to his superior, wonder at the acrobatics of the planes. There is a whole mind full of other impressions I got just from the words, but these are the ones that come to mind. It is not terribly graphic regarding the war, but it does have battles and the injuries and death as happens in war. It is a gently moving love story (I don't want to say slow, although the pace is slow, but not boring). I'd say deliberate. It is not graphic with sex, but romantic with the love between the 2 men. Of course this has to do with times and where and who they are. I really do think many would like it. I belong to a website about the movie "Brokeback Mountain" and recommended it to the members there. A few have gotten the book and read it and have liked it. I am so glad I heard about it and read it. It is a book I will return to again.

I don't even know where to begin. This is one of those books that stay with you days after you have finished it. I don't think words can adequately describe the absolute beauty this was. Writing is of top-notch quality. The author must have been in the military himself. The way it was written, I felt that I was there the whole time with our protagonist. I was there sailing over the sea, there soaring across the sky. This is a love story, but it is more than that. You really actually care about all of the characters and the world. the relationship is slow-burning but very well crafted. I know I will be revisiting this book many more times in the future. It is a must read!

This is the story of two naval airmen during WWII, who are attracted to each in an era when homosexuality was illegal in most states and the military. Jack, the head of his flight group, and his wingman, Fred known as Trusty, are attracted to each other, but both are questioning what they feel. There are fascinating descriptions of the air war in the Pacific Theater that keep the reader on the edge of one's seat. The author apparently lived the life of a wartime fighter pilot and gives a brilliant and poignant description of what these very young men faced on a daily basis. His description of landing a fighter plane on a moving aircraft carrier in rough seas is not to be missed. Since this is the story of two homosexual men, it's hard to fathom how this book got published in the 70s. Even though there are no blatant sexual descriptions, it's more along the lines of a romance, there is enough detail that might have inhibited some readers. However, in the lexicon of gay fiction this book stands out as a pioneer of the genre and deserves attention as a wartime account of courageous men in war. Jack and Fred are so appealing you will find yourself rooting for them all the way.

WARNING: Spoiler Alert! Two decades before Jack and Ennis there were Jack and Fred, two flying aces fighting the Japanese in the Pacific Theatre of World War II. This is the only published work by Ensan Case, the nom de plume for a 29-years old Milwaukee resident who submitted his manuscript to Avon Books in 1979. The book was discontinued within a year of publication. In the past three decades, however, Case's book has achieved cult status. And, rightly so. It's beautifully written. The author has documented his knowledge of aircraft and battleships with care. The development of the relationship between Jack and Fred is handled with great restraint. Their first sexual encounter does not occur until page 299. From there onward it's hide-and-seek from being discovered by, among others, Duane Higgins, Jack's second in command. At the end of the war Jack and Fred open a hardware business in southern California, sharing their life together away from the public. Jack, fearing discovery, dies of a heart attack, leaving Fred bereft of the only person he ever truly loved. Good news! The author has reclaimed the publishing rights and a new edition will be published in late February this year.

An outstanding World War II novel that is also -- surprise -- an excellent gay novel. In terms of the former this novel captures the complexities of carrier air craft flying, its dangers, its techniques, its logistics. In terms of the former, this is a pivotal masterpiece in understanding the dynamics of a gay relationship at a time of cultural ignorance about LGBT persons. If you're a straight reader you needn't fear this book would only appeal to gay men. The relationship pictured here is handled with sensitivity and with a discretion that the novel's two main characters would appreciate. Read Wingmen if you have any interest at all in the World War II Pacific campaign. Read it also to gain insight into the challenges that gay men used to face just to come to terms with their sexuality. In terms of its historic significance this is an important piece of fiction. I highly recommend it.

I enjoyed immersing myself in this brilliantly written novel. The writing takes you alongside Fred and Jack in their rich, engrossing lives as combat pilots in the USN. I would love to see this developed as a movie.

This is a beautifully written story about two navy men falling in love based on mutual but tentative attraction during WWII. It read very much like a 40's war film would play: romantic in places, sexual intimacy was implied rather than graphically detailed, specific and suspenseful military exploits, heroic acts of self-sacrifice. The writer has a beautiful command of the written word. The language is perfectly pitched to the narrative. I don't re-read many books but this is one I would. The build up of an emotional connection between the two protagonists leading eventually to physical fulfillment is refreshing and presents a model to return to in our age of jaded sexuality.

Now and then, among the run-of- the-mill potboilers and bodice rippers in the local used bookstore, you come across one so exceptional you wonder why it wasn’t released as serious literary fiction. Ensan Case’s “Wingmen” is that kind of book. Full disclosure, I had an email exchange with Mr. Case a few years ago, mostly regarding our shared military background; he was very gracious. Aside from that, I have no personal or professional/financial interest, other than to see a damn good writer get his due. I was a young sailor, stationed at Pearl Harbor, when I found my copy at the estate sale of a deceased WW2 veteran who had been a collector of military memorabilia, and who had no family besides the tight-lipped woman come from the mainland to dispose of his belongings. It was 1991, months before thousands of seventyish men flooded the islands to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Japanese attack. It was also the height of the AIDS era, of relatives swooping in to sanitize the pasts of dead bachelor uncles, and I got a whiff of that in that Pearl City garage. The worn paperback with its generic cover illustration had slipped by her, so I paid the fifty cents and thought of the dead man while I read it, and of other men like him, whose stories I would never know. “Wingmen” is their story. It also has a fascinating back story: Case, a Navy officer of the late Vietnam era, was inspired by a 1960s war novel, “The Last Tallyho”, by the then-popular Richard Newhafer. Provoked by the offensive portrayal of a homosexual pilot as an utter failure in all things manly except his inevitable suicide, he set out to write a rebuttal: a classic, Hemingway-esque wartime romance, subverting the unfashionable genre by casting two men as heroic romantic leads. Unable to find a niche amid the postmodernist satirical war novels of the heavyweight literati, the straightforward action/adventure successors of Newhafer, or the angsty coming-out tales at Alyson, premier gay-interest publisher of the era, "Wingmen" landed at Avon Books, purveyor of tame romances. Simultaneously old-fashioned and way ahead of its time, it fell between the chairs—it was published in 1979, and promptly disappeared. Over 30 years later, the author did a random Google search and found his forgotten youthful effort was enjoying a long half-life on the interwebs as an elusive and pricey collectors’ item. He secured the publishing rights from Avon and “Wingmen” was reissued by Cheyenne Press in the spring of 2012, nearly fifteen years after the New Yorker ran a short story of the doomed love of a pair of Wyoming cowboys. The times had finally caught up with Ensan Case, though ironically, he’s bound to be compared to Annie Proulx and not vice versa--when I re-read “Wingmen” for this review, I wondered several times if she came across a copy on some remainders table back in the day. This is no accusation-- there really are only so many stories under the sun, and Proulx herself has said that their ingredients come from many cupboards. But there are parallels that suggest that her seminal tale has some DNA from “Wingmen” in its ancestry: aside from the American Archetypal characters and setting far from the gay subculture-- and a hero named Jack—there’s also a postmortem revelation of the depth of one lover’s devotion to the other easily the equal of Ennis del Mar’s discovery of the shirts in terms of its impact. However, despite the structural similarities, this is not “Brokeback Aircraft Carrier.” A great deal of the power of that short story-- and film-- came from its rare, realistic, unromanticized depiction of rural poor white men. Though they meet 20 years before Jack Twist and Ennis del Mar, Case’s naval officers have far more options in life than Proulx’s star-crossed ranch hands. There are no wives and children in “Wingmen”, but there is a love triangle of sorts, which casts a cloud over the men’s future. Which is to say, they have one, not the unalloyed “HEA” some readers seem to want, but not the forgone bleak conclusion to which Proulx brings her characters. Both authors set out with thematically different goals as well. Proulx was succinct that “Brokeback” is about destructive rural homophobia; Case is equally clear that “Wingmen” is a simple love story. As such he had the greater task, because it’s almost the hardest kind of story to tell-- many a writer has set his prow at the shores of profundity, only to wreck on the shoals of corn, porn, or worse, unintentional comedy. Case succeeds by employing a spare, plainspoken voice free of belletristic flourishes or trendy literary devices. There are passages that could do with a light polish-- he has a habit of using parentheses that behave like visual toe stubs in the narrative flow, but these are minor glitches. Maybe because the premise was radical for the time, Case takes the well-trod path of focusing on a handful of lives set against the mammoth apparatus of war. It’s been done a million times—“Saving Private Ryan”, et al, but seldom are fictional characters woven so seamlessly into history that never feels like history to the men who are making it: It’s the summer of 1943, Pearl Harbor. Ensign Fred Trusteau reports to Fighter Group VF-20 aboard the fictional USS Constitution, under the immediate command of LCDR Jack Hardigan. Two dozen or so young aviators, boys, really, are thrown together and learn-- or not-- how to be a unit. Case deftly captures the peculiar rhythms of shipboard life-- equipment problems, managerial clashes, training snafus, boredom, bickering, cameraderie, and then, abruptly, combat and the randomness of death. The aerial combat sequences are among the best I’ve ever read, edge-of- the-seat, cinematic, and CLEAR, no word salad-equivalents of a Michael Bay action sequence where the viewer has no idea what’s going on. The characters are vivid without the author trying too hard to make them <>-- the officious Air Group Commander; the hellraising LT Brogan; an uptight deck officer; a grizzled crew chief; the division yeoman; even Admiral Nimitz, in a cameo—there’s not a cardboard or clichéd one in the bunch, and all of it related with believable dialog and great military humor. I suspect Case kept notes while he was on active duty. Fred’s drunken night on the town with Brogan, and the wardroom etiquette briefing are classics, and to this day I have a hard time keeping a straight face when I meet anyone named Sweeney. I want to make note of his female characters; this is very much a men’s story, in which women are peripheral, with one exception. Eleanor Hawkins is the widow of a pilot killed at Midway, who has since turned her designs on Jack, pursuing him with a lusty confidence just this side of brazen. Yet the portrait never slides into a Sadie Hawkins caricature or censoriously depicts her as anything other than a lady. Other women briefly appear-- a local girl Fred sleeps with to keep up appearances, a longtime company secretary, and of course, prostitutes, but all receive the same nuanced handling. Case also manages to impart a lot of historical and technical information without it seeming nakedly expository or spinachy. As he tells the story of VF-20, he also tells the larger story of stepping stones across the Pacific and the defeat of the Imperial Navy. It’s a high wire act, sweeping and focused, intimate and epic, and at its heart are three men. Presaging Annie Proulx’s protagonists “raised on small poor ranches in opposite corners of the state,” Jack Hardigan and Fred Trusteau hail respectively from Maine and Central California, “… as far [apart] as you can get and still be in the USA.” Fred is 21, adopted son of a San Jose storekeeper, a college student when war broke out. Jack is about 30, the son of a Portland banker, a career Navy officer, veteran of Guadalcanal and Midway. Neither man fits the gay lit trope of hero-as-alienated-sensitive-misfit. They are conventional products of their time and place, small town Depression-era America. Both date women, more out of expectation than enthusiasm; both are baffled by their shipmates’ boundless energy for female pursuit. Though well-liked and respected by their peers, both harbor an internal sense of apartness which is not expressed in their interactions with the other pilots, and which Fred puts down to his intelligence and status as an orphan, the observational skills of someone who has always been an outsider to some degree. Jack gives the impression of one whose sexuality is not so much repressed as sublimated working in an all-male environment. He’s a bachelor married to his job and not yet at an age where that would attract comment. His life has heretofore “clicked along smoothly on hidden paths,” doing what’s expected from a man of his background and station, but the experience at Midway of death on a monumental scale created a schism with his previously ordered, unintrospective existence. As the story opens, he realizes how lonely he’s been and finds himself craving human connection. Not coincidentally, he’s new, or newish, to command and also at an age where most of his confreres would be pairing off and starting families. That feeling of apartness is something they both seem to subconsciously sense about each other--behold, the power of gaydar, in other words-- and they begin to gravitate to each other, seeking each other out, despite the differences in age and rank, and rapidly become close friends. Impressed by Fred’s professionalism, Jack selects him as his own wingman, an office the younger man discharges with Theban Band-like fidelity. Both men are charmingly clueless about the momentum with which their friendship develops, though the usually self-possessed Fred is a giddy schoolboy when in his skipper’s presence, and the dashing squadron commander never seems to miss a chance to ruffle the young Ensign’s hair or drape a comradely arm around his shoulders. The light bulb comes on a lot sooner for Fred, privately and with no real hope of reciprocity, expressed outwardly in a puppy-like anxiousness to please. Not till Fred is almost shot down in the first combat action does Jack realize the real nature of his feelings; it disturbs him deeply, and he reacts by avoiding Fred, causing the other man anguish. It takes a second near-loss to jar him out of his denial and allow the relationship to progress to its consummation. Even so, he continues to avoid calling the thing by its name: “...all this time, all these things we’ve done together and still it eludes me,” knowing instinctively if you name it, you claim it, and “it” in those days, presents as great a threat as the enemy, if the other pilots ever got wind of the relationship. They’re oblivious-- except for one. Duane Higgins, Jack’s wingman circa 1941, till they were separated after Guadalcanal, now serves as the executive officer of VF-20, but the two former best friends no longer share the same closeness, to Duane’s confusion and hurt. “The Last Tallyho” depicted its fighting men in a sharp dichotomy of square-jawed, 110 percent heterosexual heroes or cowardly deviants. In reality, situational homosexuality has always been part of single-sex environments, and Case addresses this obliquely through a character who falls in the hard-to- pin-down gray area. There’s little background on Duane beyond his working-class Catholic upbringing, but he’s more complex in many ways than Fred or Jack, though no more self-aware. He carefully cultivates the image of a boozing, skirt-chasing gambler, yet he’s thin-skinned, with a deep puritanical streak. His interest in women seems genuine, but he often has to make an effort not to be put off, or even repelled by them. Ironically, Duane pings gayer than Jack or Fred, to whom he takes an early dislike and whom he jealously senses has replaced him. The relationship between the skipper and his wingman unfolds through the lens of Duane’s covert and increasingly hostile scrutiny. His fixation comes to mirror that of a stalking, jilted ex-lover, literally listening at doors. He romances Eleanor Hawkins, initially to discover the nature of the relationship between her and Jack, then falls for her himself, though the fact that she was previously Jack’s is an undeniable component of his attraction. The snooping campaign comes to a head in a showdown with Jack and a loss of situational awareness at a critical moment in the climactic final action of the novel, the repercussions of which echo through the lives of all three men long after they part ways. Over 35 years later, “Wingmen” has traveled better than most of their contemporaries, many of which are extremely dated or read like cultural curios. If anything, it has particular piquancy now, when stories like Jack’s and Fred’s can be told openly, and moreover, recognized by church and state, and also at a time when their generation are daily leaving us in droves, and in another decade, will all be gone but for a few outliers. ***MAJOR SPOILERS FROM HERE ON*** Social change and the fluidity of electronic media have enabled “Wingmen” to reach a new audience; reception has been almost universally positive, if the 5-star reviews here and around the web are any indicator. What little criticism there is seems to reflect current cultural tastes rather than literary merit. I mention this because most of it concerns three aspects of the book: 1) the lack of an unequivocally happy ending, 2) the absence of explicit sex between the two main characters, and 3), the inclusion of the “Scrapbook” section. “Brokeback” also got a lot of flak for its downbeat ending, though I can’t imagine anyone familiar with Proulx’s oeuvre expecting different from the Mother Grim of Contemporary American Lit. If the subject matter of “Wingmen” were anything else, I would dismiss the objections as irrelevant to its artistic validity, but a tragic end for homosexual characters was de rigueur until quite recently, and on the surface, “Wingmen” would appear to be another link in a long dreary conga line, bringing up the rear behind “The Children’s Hour”, “Reflections in a Golden Eye,” “The Sergeant,” et depressing cetera. But in the above examples, the implication is that nothing but death or eternal solitude is possible for such warped, pitiful creatures. That’s a far cry from a man dying of a heart attack to which he may have been genetically predisposed, after 25-plus years of marriage in all but name. Those 25-plus years also spanned a singularly oppressive period for gay people-- newfound cognizance of homosexuality spurred by the Kinsey Report, the HUAC Hearings, the Hollywood Blacklist, Civil Service purges and vice raids, all fostered a stifling atmosphere of conformity and suspicion--read Richard Brooks’ “The Brick Foxhole” for some insight into what they were up against. Case couldn’t not address it, not without propelling the story into the realm of science fiction-- or fanfiction. I’m actually a bit surprised we’ve thus far been spared some bowlderized treatment with Jack and Fred running an antiques shop in a quirky little desert town, surrounded by anachronistically tolerant neighbors, though it’s probably only a matter of time. Case grounded his story in reality, not make-believe, the reality of two men trying to make a life together in a society both antagonistic and increasingly perceptive. In 1946, two war buddies “batching it” while they built a business wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows. By 1969, a pair of middle-aged, never-married men living together for over two decades would have looked like exactly what it was. Toward the end, at least some people would have known or speculated about them. The precariousness of their position would only have grown with time, as would their awareness of the same: “Fred wasn’t about to tell Higgins what it was really like for Jack: the ever-growing paranoia, Jack’s fear that he and Fred would be found out, ridiculed, cast out. The creeping mental confusion brought about by the continual battle between his love for Fred and the knowledge of the danger that that love represented, and how in the last years that confusion had reduced Jack’s sharpness and wit and decision-making abilities to a constant state of apprehension, always looking over the shoulder to make sure he wasn’t followed. Fred suddenly realized that in all their years together, they had never taken a vacation with one another.” “Wingmen” is not expressly political, but there is a more blistering indictment of the corrosive effect of homophobia in that one paragraph than in the entire collected works of Larry Kramer. It’s a bitter end after 400 pages, but there was a lot of sweetness, too. They got a happier ending than most, considering. Hemingway wrote that all love stories end tragically; someone has to go first. I would add that the great love stories also tend to be the sad ones because conflict is the essence of drama. “Wingmen” would still have mostly worked if Case had left Jack and Fred as contented retirees on a golf course in Palm Springs. That’s a nice parting image, but one with the false note of a wish fulfillment fantasy. Instead, he took the unflinching route of leaving Fred alone and desolate, watching the sun sink into the Pacific. THAT image is devastating, but it’s also one that will resonate with the reader for a long, long time. That bitter last image might be more palatable to some readers if they hadn’t had to use their imaginations quite so much to envision the “sweet,” which brings me to criticism #2, the sketchy presentation of sexual intimacy between Jack and Fred, especially when heterosexual relations are rendered comprehensively and fairly graphically. My writer’s instinct suggests that the first encounter between the men would have been framed as a mirror of the opening scene between Fred and his date, but this time with feeling-- intense, emphatically different feeling. I have no idea if Case wrote such a scene and it was cut so as not to offend the mores of 1970s readers, or if it was never included to begin with. Modern readers who object to the omission of that scene on the grounds of double standards are missing two points, 1), in the 1979 publishing world there absolutely, unapologetically WERE double standards governing that sort of thing, and 2), it’s a lot easier to write about bad sex--Fred and the prostitute, Jack’s inability to respond to Eleanor--than good sex. Case may have been stymied, like many writers before, by the limitations of language to convey what can be the most transcendent of human experiences. Rather than aiming for the stars and hitting the garage door, he may have abandoned the effort, leaving it to the readers to fill in the blanks and, in another sense, the characters as well. Though “Wingmen” is told from a third person omniscient POV, it’s really Fred’s story. Events are related from Jack’s perspective, but more time is spent in Fred’s head, no small portion of which is consumed by brooding on Jack’s feelings for him. As such, we experience the development of those feelings at something of a remove, not unlike Fred himself does, from that first flash of clarity on the flight deck, through the subsequent emotional grappling, to its resolution--except we don’t get to see that part. To have the moment where questioning becomes certainty occur offstage, and literally cut to a shot of blowing curtains, could be viewed as weakening the narrative. But by leaving it offstage, Case allows in an element of UNcertainty to serve the narrative in a much more poignant function. For this is a relationship in which a great deal is left unsaid—Jack’s ongoing resistance to acknowledging the nature of their attachment, their jocular pillow talk, the heartbreaking innocuousness of their letters—“Don’t take any wooden nickels!” – it’s plausible the word “love” was never spoken between them, and that that early uncertainty might have always preyed on Fred, sowing doubt as to the mutuality of the feeling between them. Significantly, in their first tentative embrace, Case leaves them facing away from each other. They don’t stay that way after the cut, of course, but that image of “...two men as close as two men could be, but...very much apart” leaves a lasting trace of disquiet which foreshadows the epilogue. Objections to the inclusion of the epilogue (criticism 3) center on the rescue of the two pilots after the battle of Truk as the emotional peak of the novel, and ergo, the logical endpoint, beyond which anything else is an anticlimactic wrapping up of loose ends. I suspect the real reason is that they wished Case had left Jack and Fred on the sub so they could imagine a gauzy happy ever after—but, returning momentarily to criticism 1, many, if not most gay men in postwar America didn’t get a happy ever after. Leaving Jack and Fred to be “[picked up by the Searaven] from…the seas off Truk” leaves the reader hanging and opens the door to a vision of a far less happy future of closets and cover marriages. “Scrapbook” is where the reader learns that their love endured, the chance taken, lasting union. Between the lines of letters and newspaper clippings is the chronicle of their emotional reunion in Pearl after Truk, the blissful early years together, the business partnership, the first hardware store in San Jose, the successful expansion throughout California in the next decade, their house, Jack’s book, the milestones of a life that was, in the balance, far sweeter than it was bitter. But there also is the chronicle of the encroaching threat of postwar social attitudes and the slow erosion of the haven they created. It’s suggestive that “Scrapbook” opens with a letter from Fred to Jack in which he mentions the amputation of his right hand ring finger-- the widow’s hand. By chance or design, it’s a weighty symbol of the public declaration that can never be made, and it sets the stage early for the re-entry of Duane Higgins at the point where the events for which he was largely the catalyst play out and the narrative comes full circle: at Jack’s funeral. What happened between Duane and Jack after the skipper’s post-Truk return to the Constitution is left unsaid; Fred only alludes to a conversation between himself and Jack, but there can be little doubt, especially after the fiasco at Kwajalein, Jack would ever have believed Duane’s leaving him and Fred alone to face the Japanese at Truk was an accident, and this was the definitive end of their friendship. For years he’s been a few hours away, selling real estate in Santa Barbara, following Jack and Fred in the business section of the paper, but only after Jack’s death does he approach Fred, in the penultimate scene of the novel. In the hands of a lesser writer, Duane would have been an out-and- out villain, but Case allows some sympathy for this conflicted, contradictory, and ultimately stunted character, who, with no real malice, did so much damage: Duane never actually did anything with his secret knowledge other than confront Jack with it, but the dread of exposure may have inhibited Jack at Truk, when his decision to stay with Fred or helplessly leave him to his fate harrowingly seemed to rest upon the presence or absence of witnesses. Yet through his monologue in the bar after the funeral, when it never occurs to him to express condolences to Fred, Duane blunders into a kind of redemption, when, with characteristic obtuseness and purely selfish motives, he asks Fred, at the lowest point in the other man’s life, to settle the question that has been nagging at him for a quarter of a century: “...Jack left the target in a...flyable aircraft...did he ditch...because of you?” and inadvertently gives Fred a priceless gift: the knowledge that Jack would have rather died with him than lived without him. Duane gives Fred certainty at last of the depth of Jack’s love for him-- but it’s a gift with a sting in the tail, because that’s a conversation they will never get to have. For you get the feeling that this was a very insular relationship. No association with the shipboard gay demimonde during the war, no contact with the gay Mecca up the road after—but also no outside perspective or moral support, and when Fred loses the man with whom he’s spent most of his adult life, his isolation is total. The decisive tragedy of “Wingmen” isn’t that Jack dies, or that his death was probably hastened by the stress of negotiating between his public and closeted lives. It’s not even that Fred is left alone. It’s that after the life they built together, after all they did--and sacrificed--to be together, as far as the world is concerned, their relationship never existed at all. And ironically, the only person who knows what Jack really meant to Fred is Duane Higgins. With no one to talk to, he asks the silent question to himself: “Oh, Jack, did you really do that? Why didn’t you tell me?” But it’s a question for which there can never be an answer. Jack Hardigan now belongs to the past. That’s Ennis del Mar finding the shirts in Jack Twist’s closet. That’s “Jack, I swear.” That’s why the Scrapbook isn’t superfluous, it’s crucial. That’s where “Wingmen” goes from being a good novel to being a great one. I’ll end this as I began, on a personal note. There’s an almost throwaway line in the final paragraph; after the funeral, when Duane has left, in which Fred, sitting in his car, decides to drive out to the coast and watch the sun set--because he can’t face returning alone to their empty house. In 1991, I was a youngster of strong opinions, one of which was a dogmatic and (I thought at the time) iconoclastic opposition to same-sex marriage-- I believed gays shouldn’t want to be part of a heterosexist, patriarchal institution, blah, blah, blah. Reader, I was young. When I came to the end of “Wingmen,” I realized no College Sociology 101 sophistry of mine could have brought an atom of solace to the man in the car. I had no answer. There was no answer. This is the book that changed my mind.

The appearance of a new, digital edition of James Jones's World War II classic, From Here to Eternity (1951), is good news not only for general readers but for fans of m/m historical fiction. The edition reportedly includes two scenes edited out by Scribner sixty years ago. One involves oral sex between a wealthy Honolulu civilian and Private Angelo Maggio (the soldier played by Frank Sinatra in the movie), for money. The other concerns a military investigation into homosexual activity. Accounts of the restored edition prompted my rereading of another classic of the Pacific war, the equally well told m/m adventure-romance, Wingmen, by the pseudonymous Ensan Case. Published by Avon as a paperback original in 1979, the book has long been out of print. I recently snapped up a used first edition on amazon.com for under $10. Copies usually start at around $40. Like From Here to Eternity, Wingmen is character- and event-driven. Set mostly aboard the fictional aircraft carrier Constitution during the latter half of the war, much of the tension in the novel derives from the physical and emotional pushing and shoving of fighting men packed too close together under extremely dangerous circumstances. Most of them are brave, dedicated and noble; some are hard drinkers who shield their feelings from even their closest friends. All but a few polish their manly-man reputations to a very high gloss. The book opens with Ensign Frederick Trusteau, the junior of the two wingmen, in bed with a Honolulu prostitute. Though he brings her to climax, his own satisfaction is limited to the knowledge that some of his fellow pilots are aware of the encounter. Later, in a similar exchange, Trusteau again performs the act primarily to establish his heterosexual creds-because it's expected and he knows no better-rather than for any real pleasure or release. Trusteau is handsome, skilled, determined, loyal and-a product and symbol of his time-just a bit dense in matters sexual. Although he becomes painfully aroused at the sight of another officer lounging naked in his berth aboard ship, he isn't able to put one and one together by himself. Lieutenant Commander J.J. "Jack" Hardigan, his new skipper, as befits a senior officer, dates a rich and willing widow who owns a house in the hills above Honolulu. Kisses aside, there is no evidence in the book that they ever go to bed together. Hardigan's prior sexual history goes unmentioned. When the widow breaks off the relationship in favor of one of Hardigan's subordinates, he is more relieved than disappointed. Like his wingman Trusteau, he dates women out of habit and social convention, not desire. The relationship between Hardigan and Trusteau is initially built on the expertise both men develop in flying Grumman Hellcats off the deck of a carrier. The bond of trust necessary for successful cooperation in combat is quickly and firmly established. The help that each gives the other for the good of the squadron, the navy and the prosecution of the war leads to triumph in battle and mutual respect. There are no shower scenes, no groping in the dark. Leaning shoulder to shoulder during a movie on deck is as physical as the m/m action gets. When Hardigan eventually elects to act on his feelings-during Christmas leave in a Waikiki hotel, not aboard ship-their physical union is presented as the natural next step in the bonding of brother warriors, true to each other unto death. Whether author Case's love scenes were never written or cut out of this essentially mainstream novel I have no idea. As published, the curtain comes down before the shirts come off. Just as masters of age-of-sail historical fiction must be intimately familiar with foremasts, rigging, celestial navigation and hardtack, Ensan Case is equally at home with the details of aerial and naval warfare. Presumably a veteran of the conflict, he is entirely convincing in his scene-setting, expertly mixing technical details and the emotions of men in love and at war. Here, about midway through the book, is his first description of a pilot taking off from the deck of a carrier-in almost total darkness. The point of view, though written third person, is Trusteau's: Shadowy shapes moved around Fred, and a single red wand popped into existence in the hands of some invisible deck officer. Taxi her forward, said the wand. Fred released his brakes and increased his throttle, rolled the Hellcat forward. Hold it there, said the wand. Fred stood on the upper portion of the rudder pedals and felt the plane hunker to a stop. Run her up, said the wand. Fred stood on the brakes with all the strength he possessed and increased the throttle smoothly all the way to the stop, feeling the cyclonic power of the engine lift the tail into the air. Then he leaned all the way to the left and found the hooded deck lights that told him where the deck was, and where it wasn't. In that brief interval, before the wand snapped downward and he released his brakes, he had time to think that despite the chaos of the launch, he was ready for whatever would come, ready because the only man among them who had kept his temper and remained calm through it all would be flying there in front of him. Go, said the wand, and Fred flew away into the night. This is solid, no-nonsense American writing: hunker, cyclonic, hooded, "where the deck was, and where it wasn't." Case also has fun with names. Jack Hardigan explains itself. Trusteau acquires the nickname "Trusty" partly because of his supposed prowess with women but also because of his reliability as a warrior. One pilot is named Brogan, another Duggin. There are battles: Wake Island, Tarawa and Truk Lagoon. In the latter attack, Jack's fighter squadron and other U.S. planes sink a large portion of the Japanese fleet. Men on both sides are wounded, shot down, burned to death and blown to pieces. Suspicions about the lovers arise in at least one pilot's mind but are too terrible, too dangerous, to voice. Fred becomes an ace, one of the top navy guns, thereby acquiring a new nickname: Killer. In a final, and ultimately secret act, Jack risks his life for his wingman. The last couple of chapters, a postwar montage, wraps up loose ends without adding much to what's come before. For my money, Wingmen would be a finer novel if it ended in 1945. Still, I know of no better m/m adventure-romance set during World War II. This is a five-star must read, a treasure for all fans of historical military fiction.

Written in 1979, this novel stands alone in the m/m genre. Written before such low expectations have become the norm, "Wingmen" soars above 99% of what is out there today. I'd give it 10 stars if I could. By contrast, it shows how far writing has sunk from the days when books were actually edited and screened before being published. This can hold its own with the best of Naval Air Battle books. "Wingmen" is not a true m/m romance by today's standards. It is mostly a WWII story taking place in the battles of Tarawa, Kwajalein and Truk. And yet it is a seriously engaging story of two men who find each other and fall deeply in love: the old-fashioned way. They earn it. There is a tremendous amount of detail. You feel like you are actually in the planes with the pilots and can smell the hot oil deep in the guts of an aircraft carrier. The energy and testosterone are palpable. The knowledge of the author is obviously first-hand. On the m/m side of the equation, this is far more of a "growing-to-love" story than just a romance. Trusteau is the young ensign who is assigned to the older and far more experienced Hardigan, who has never even considered his lack of interest in women as anything other than simple disinterest. Trusteau on the other hand is aware of his gayness but, because of the time period is at first unable to define it. The story progresses on multiple fronts. "Trusty" becomes the epitome of the Greatest Generation: courageous, humble and true to his country. "Skipper" is the true leader: strong, wise and willing and able to do whatever it takes to get the job done. Both have the honor code of Navy pilots to uphold, both in the air in bed. However, as their relationship develops from respect to admiration to "father/son" to "brothers" to hidden lovers, the tension grows ever stronger. Trusty at times is the lovable puppy-dog who worships at the feet of the Skipper. Hardigan is big and strong and fearless...on the surface...while carrying deep inside the realities of death and loss. This is a character driven story yet is mostly action. It is a love story yet filled with restraint. There are only two intimate scenes in the entire book and both are generally only alluded to, yet the love and respect burn to the soul. My only complaint, which also has been indicated in other reviews, is that the ending falls terribly flat. It's as though the author felt compelled to tie up the loose strings at the end. Life is a continuum. There are always loose strings. Often it is best to set a story end naturally, and it does at the second-to-the-last chapter. If you read this book, my suggestion is this: Skip the last two chapters. SPOILER: The story ends with a bitter-sweet ending. Trusteau and Hardigan live and love for many years to come. We never read of a long romance or have a chance to experience any of the details of that love. We just know they did. Just leave it at that. Tighten your cockpit harness and enjoy the ride! This story will have you biting your nails and crying at the same time.

I first heard of this book recently through a site called Towleroad, when it was announced it had been published again. I listened to a couple of audible excerpts, and [ASIN:1590215745 Wingmen] sounded very interesting, so I ordered it. I felt is was so well written, the scenes so real, that I could actually feel the salt and wind coming off the water, hear the furtive whispers of the two men in the dark, feel the excitement/terror of the pilots, know the anger of the subordinate to his superior, wonder at the acrobatics of the planes. There is a whole mind full of other impressions I got just from the words, but these are the ones that come to mind. It is not terribly graphic regarding the war, but it does have battles and the injuries and death as happens in war. It is a gently moving love story (I don't want to say slow, although the pace is slow, but not boring). I'd say deliberate. It is not graphic with sex, but romantic with the love between the 2 men. Of course this has to do with times and where and who they are. I really do think many would like it. I belong to a website about the movie "Brokeback Mountain" and recommended it to the members there. A few have gotten the book and read it and have liked it. I am so glad I heard about it and read it. It is a book I will return to again.

I don't even know where to begin. This is one of those books that stay with you days after you have finished it. I don't think words can adequately describe the absolute beauty this was. Writing is of top-notch quality. The author must have been in the military himself. The way it was written, I felt that I was there the whole time with our protagonist. I was there sailing over the sea, there soaring across the sky. This is a love story, but it is more than that. You really actually care about all of the characters and the world. the relationship is slow-burning but very well crafted. I know I will be revisiting this book many more times in the future. It is a must read!

This is the story of two naval airmen during WWII, who are attracted to each in an era when homosexuality was illegal in most states and the military. Jack, the head of his flight group, and his wingman, Fred known as Trusty, are attracted to each other, but both are questioning what they feel. There are fascinating descriptions of the air war in the Pacific Theater that keep the reader on the edge of one's seat. The author apparently lived the life of a wartime fighter pilot and gives a brilliant and poignant description of what these very young men faced on a daily basis. His description of landing a fighter plane on a moving aircraft carrier in rough seas is not to be missed. Since this is the story of two homosexual men, it's hard to fathom how this book got published in the 70s. Even though there are no blatant sexual descriptions, it's more along the lines of a romance, there is enough detail that might have inhibited some readers. However, in the lexicon of gay fiction this book stands out as a pioneer of the genre and deserves attention as a wartime account of courageous men in war. Jack and Fred are so appealing you will find yourself rooting for them all the way.

WARNING: Spoiler Alert! Two decades before Jack and Ennis there were Jack and Fred, two flying aces fighting the Japanese in the Pacific Theatre of World War II. This is the only published work by Ensan Case, the nom de plume for a 29-years old Milwaukee resident who submitted his manuscript to Avon Books in 1979. The book was discontinued within a year of publication. In the past three decades, however, Case's book has achieved cult status. And, rightly so. It's beautifully written. The author has documented his knowledge of aircraft and battleships with care. The development of the relationship between Jack and Fred is handled with great restraint. Their first sexual encounter does not occur until page 299. From there onward it's hide-and-seek from being discovered by, among others, Duane Higgins, Jack's second in command. At the end of the war Jack and Fred open a hardware business in southern California, sharing their life together away from the public. Jack, fearing discovery, dies of a heart attack, leaving Fred bereft of the only person he ever truly loved. Good news! The author has reclaimed the publishing rights and a new edition will be published in late February this year.

An outstanding World War II novel that is also -- surprise -- an excellent gay novel. In terms of the former this novel captures the complexities of carrier air craft flying, its dangers, its techniques, its logistics. In terms of the former, this is a pivotal masterpiece in understanding the dynamics of a gay relationship at a time of cultural ignorance about LGBT persons. If you're a straight reader you needn't fear this book would only appeal to gay men. The relationship pictured here is handled with sensitivity and with a discretion that the novel's two main characters would appreciate. Read Wingmen if you have any interest at all in the World War II Pacific campaign. Read it also to gain insight into the challenges that gay men used to face just to come to terms with their sexuality. In terms of its historic significance this is an important piece of fiction. I highly recommend it.

I enjoyed immersing myself in this brilliantly written novel. The writing takes you alongside Fred and Jack in their rich, engrossing lives as combat pilots in the USN. I would love to see this developed as a movie.

This is a beautifully written story about two navy men falling in love based on mutual but tentative attraction during WWII. It read very much like a 40's war film would play: romantic in places, sexual intimacy was implied rather than graphically detailed, specific and suspenseful military exploits, heroic acts of self-sacrifice. The writer has a beautiful command of the written word. The language is perfectly pitched to the narrative. I don't re-read many books but this is one I would. The build up of an emotional connection between the two protagonists leading eventually to physical fulfillment is refreshing and presents a model to return to in our age of jaded sexuality.

If you like to read aviation stories set In WW2, and if you like gay stories, this book is for you. I liked it: the characters are believable and so is the story. It would be a totally normal and good WW2 novel if it were not that the two main characters discover their love for each other. And in many ways it is a normal and good book as it should be if homosexuality did not still have an element of "otherness" it should not really have. Thankfully, there are not too many sex scenes in the book, just enough to convey what is going on without being overly prudish.

I just finished reading Wingmen and enjoyed it immensely! While I primarily started reading the book for the romance between Jack & Fred... I found myself really interested in learning about how air craft carriers operated in WWII as well as the way fighter squadrons conducted business. The aerial fight scenes in the book were very exciting and added so much to the novel. Gosh... they drank a lot of booze back then... ha! I liked the supporting characters as well as the tension added with Duane Higgins' suspicions about Jack & Fred. Overall, a wonderful novel.. very well written with interesting plot and characters... but what a sad ending!

This is one of the most beautiful books I have ever read. The writing is excellent and the prose unobtrusive. The two main characters are sympathetic, believable, and downright heroic without an ounce of swagger. There are no graphic sex scenes, they'd spoil it. And, at one point, one of the men does something for the other that is so breathtaking you'll want to put the book down, savor it, and read the passage again. This is the gold standard by which all gay love stories must be measured. I made myself wait three months and read it again; it was even better the second time.

This book? Is brilliant. It's one I have been able to re-read over the years and still enjoy just as much each time. I actually own 2 copies, just in case (read as "I never want to be without this book"). This book is unlike any other gay literature I've read. It's... classy. It's not at all about sex, though there is glossy sex at one point and it is implied later, but that is so not what this book is about. It is about 2 men-- a navy pilot and (whaddya know) his younger wingman -- discovering, coming to terms with, and finally accepting their mutual attraction amidst the excitement and horrors of WW II. There's as much here about the war as their relationship. It's not a romance or a titillating smut fest -- it's an incredibly subtle tale of 2 extraordinary human beings finding each other.

Loved it. I'm simply amazed this was published in its time (the 70's). The author really made me feel like I was there in WWII. It felt so authentic that it hardly seems possible Mr. Case wasn't in the war. He did serve in the Navy, but long after the war. I'm sure this book isn't for everyone, but as a gay man, and WWII history buff with an emphasis on the air war, this book was made for me.

OK, so I bought this book for the gay romance part (while experincing a Charioteer withdrawal) but it turned out the fight sequences and the whole war atmosphere were just as fascinating. <

This beautiful novel about a love affair between two navy men was out of print for many years and is now finally available in e-book form. There is no sentimentality in this novel, and the repressed feelings of not only one man but the second one as well, takes a realistically long time to materialize. It's worth the wait for the reader. It's a very moving novel, with some of the most realistic battle scenes ever. Obviously this will have huge appeal for gay audiences, but the book in fact belongs in the "general audiences" category. I cannot think of anyone who won't enjoy this.

I read the sample on Kindle, bought the Audible edition and started listening to it, and then bought the Kindle edition because I would get home from my commute wanting to read more. First and only time this has happened -- usually I have two different books going, one on each device. Chelsea's comments (below) say it all; there's nothing I can add except why haven't you read Wingmen yet?

I've never written a review of a book before, but this book deserves one. It is beautifully written, exciting, romantic and a real page turner. The main characters were appealing and fully developed. Its the type of book that, when I got to the 50% mark, I had a pang of regret knowing I would start to run out of a great read. I started rationing the chapters to extend my time with the book. Ensan Case you have a fan, another book please!

From a time when it was wrong for men to love each other, a tale of emotional bonding and reticence places us in the hearts of heroes. An excellent story well told.

This is a beautifully written novel set in the Pacific theater during World War II. As Eric Patterson wrote in an essay posted at glbtq.com, Wingmen is both the best American war novel about love between men and also an astute exploration of masculinity. Although published in 1979, and set in World War II, the novel remains relevant because of its artistry and its social and psychological insights. See http://www.glbtq.com/sfeatures/pattersoncasepov.html

Very well done, and you don't have to be a military buff to enjoy it (I'm not) although I found the descriptions of life and death on a WWII air craft carrier very interesting. Lots of adventure and the romance is well done, touching and believable, and the sting at the very end of the book places it firmly in the reality of 1950's-60's America as it relates to gay relationships.

Worthwhile read. I urge all readers interested in well written fiction and male/male romance to give this a try. I was satisfied by a good story with well developed and attractive characters. I feared on many occasions that the story would lapse into melodrama or cheap tricks put the writer showed discipline and brought home a realistic and heartfelt story.

I really cannot do this novel justice in my own words. Suffice to say, that after having first read this more than 30 years ago, the second read was all the more captivating, maybe even more so. To realize how gay men had to live their lives in the shadows, in fear, makes me realize how good I have it today. It is not a perfect world now, by any means, but better in every measure.

ok .. I gotta admit ...I bought it as a gift ...so I guess on the questions ...but they wont let you write anything unless you answer them ... so you are on your own as to the book ...sorry ... but he said he loved it ...so go with that

I enjoy well written stories, especially when the subject is aviation. I also recognize that homosexuality has always been interwoven with naval mores. Maybe it is old fashioned, but I guess coming to grips with what was an abomination just a few short years ago is nigh on an impossibility for me. Even in that light, the book is a good story and well worth reading. I would rank it with Richard Newhafer's "Last Tallyho".

I just finished reading this very interesting, exciting book and highly recommend it. The war unfolds in the Pacific in a very real way that I have never felt before. Jack and Fred will stay in my mind for a very long time. What heroes! This is an important work and has given me a lot to think about.

Story was very moving in its depiction of the romance of two Air Force fliers during World War II. I highly recommend this novel.

This book is amazing. Incredible amount of WWII detail, fact and emotion. I do wish the "romantic" part of the book was greater in content but what was there was supperb without going overboard. Brilliant writing. I doubt I will ever tire of this book.

Really enjoyed this story. A Great War-time romance and emotional roller coaster. Trusty and Skipper are classic. I highly recommend this book.

This is a great historical novel about a difficult love relationship; I'm glad that I was able to read it.

Outstanding. Enjoyable and poignant. Considering the time it was written it is still very insightful how there are still challenges for a part of our society to face.

This is a wonderful story, full of details of life as a WWII fighter pilot. Sexual content is very subtle.

one of the best books i ever read.

A terrific book about flyers in the Pacific during WWII.

As advertised

If you consider the time this novel first was out, 1979, and the period it refers to, II World War, Wingmen is a daring novel since it "allows" to its heroes an happily for now ending, something that was seldom read at the time. Novels with gay themes had sometime made their appearance in the past, but most often than not, the heroes were not allowed to be able to enjoy their love. Even in most notorious novels like Gaywick, another release from Avon Books of the `70s, the happily ever after was not a 100% one, and not all the gay characters had it. Having read "From Here to Eternity", I can recognize the similar theme, but in that novel there was a subtle shame for being gay, and those characters who consciously admitted they were gays, were seen like weak and needing men, beginning sex in exchange of money. Love seemed not part of the equation, and that is the main difference in Wingmen; true, there is sex between Jack and Fred (even if, remember, this is the 1979 and set between 1940s and 1960s, so nothing is overtly on your face), but there is above all love. It's a great love story, and both Jack than Fred are able to admit they are in love, that is not only basic physical desires attracting each other. Wingmen is also a good was novel, with plenty of details on the war and war setting; it's strange because I have always thought to Avon like a romance publisher, but that is probably the evolution they had from the '70 on, starting to publish the notorious Savage Romance novels. Instead Wingmen is as much a "man" novel as it's a romance, able to mix the two elements in a perfect combination. And if someone is wondering on the real possibility of such story happening, I strongly suggest to read Coming Out Under Fire by Allan Berube (re-released in 2010 in a 20th Anniversary edition), many of the stories in that essay are a replica of what happened between Jack and Fred in the novel, and many like Jack and Fred came back from that war changed in many ways, and trying to reconnect with a world that was no more theirs. Some of them managed to be happy forever, some of them for a brief period, but at least they tried, at least they had the courage to fight for their love like they fought for their country.

This book was incredible! WARNING: Spoiler Alert It's amazing to think that this could be the very first "gay-themed" novel ever, to not have a tragic ending. Well Ok, I suppose I could have done without this bit of news on the second to last page: "The creeping mental confusion brought about by the continual battle between his love for Fred and the knowledge of the danger that that love represented. And how in the last years that confusion had reduced Jack’s sharpness and wit and decision-making abilities to a constant state of apprehension, always looking over the shoulder to make sure he wasn’t followed. Fred suddenly realized that in all their years together, they had never taken a vacation with each other…." I urge the author, since he's apparently still alive, or was 3 years ago, to consider re-writing the last 3 pages of the book. I mean come on, if you're going to make the 2 guys strong enough to stay together for 25 years through the 50's and 60's, why not let them take a freaking vacation together and not be paranoid all the time? Who cares if that is unrealistic for the time period concerned? Just my opinion. It was a phenomenal book regardless, and I am so glad that I stumbled across it by accident.

I first read Wingmen in 1980, soon after it was published. I immediately fell in love with it. So much so that I sent a fan letter to Case care of his publisher, Avon. I eventually received a brief letter of appreciation. The letter was signed "Ensan Case"; but that is most probably a pseudonym. Wingmen appears to be the only book written by the author using that name; or perhaps the only book ever written by him period. Which is a shame. Case is a gifted storyteller. He is able to portray characters and situations that I am fully willing to believe in. He obviously knew something about the special friendships men sometimes form when thrown together in time of war; and he obviously knew much about US Navy aviation, particularly as it existed among Pacific carrier battle groups during WW2. His aerial combat scenes have a vivid, heart-pounding, cinematic quality. A disclaimer hints that he knew more than he was willing to admit, noting that, "The characters, with obvious exceptions, bear no resemblance to real persons ..."; which suggests that parts of Wingmen were either autobiographical, or were based on people or experiences he knew personally. I wish there were more books like Wingmen. It's a keeper, and well worth re-reading again and again.

The characters in Wingmen are simply unforgettable. If you're like me, you'll be thinking of them long after the last sentence. And what a sentence it is. I know I'll reread Wingmen, but how I hope Ensan Case is working on something new. The back story on how the book was written, lost from view and then rediscovered by a new audience is fascinating in itself. You can read about it in an interview with the author at charliecochrane.livejournal.com/167615.html.

An eerily chilling story of life during WWII as a navy pilot with another life which could get you killed.

A beautiful gem of a novel - Wingmen deserves inclusion in the canon of gay literature. The budding relationship between two Navy airmen in WW II was written with taste and sensitivity. The main characters are a welcome change from the gay stereotypes of a lot of gay literature. The wartime plot provides an unusual backdrop that adds to the dramatic tension; not only are Fred and Jack gay and in love during a time when exposure of their relationship means a Court Martial or worse; they routinely face death while fighting the Japanese in the South Pacific. "Wingmen" reminded me of Mary Renault's "The Charioteer" in these respects. I highly recommend this book.

We join Fred Trusteau in 1943, a fighter pilot due to be assigned to an aircraft carrier, he does not know it at the time but he will be under Lieutenant Commander Jack Hardigan. His new skipper is more interested in flying than he is in all the desk work that goes with his position. Trusteau unlike his comrades is disinclined to join in the boisterous testosterone driven behaviour typical of naval pilots, but he is prepared to make the effort to prove himself one of them. He more than succeeds and wins both their trust and respect along with the nick name Trusty, just one of a few that confirms their regard form him. But it is not just his fellow ensigns he impresses, his skipper too is take with the young man, a feeling reciprocated as Fred not only admires his skipper but near worships him, something proved on more than one occasion by Fred's dedication and conscientiousness in serving his skipper. This is recognised by the skipper who assigns Fred as his wingman. The two men feel a natural affinity which develops over the duration of their time together. Fred recognises the implications of his feelings for his skipper, but Jack is initially perturbed by his feelings for Fred yet allows matters to follow their inevitable course and they do finally end up in each other's arms and more. We follow the two men and the rest of their squadron through training flights and eventually into battle in the Pacific along with detailed accounts of their combined sorties. Inevitably there are losses but also acts of great bravery and self sacrifice. We also gain a good picture of the life of naval pilots serving during WWII. The account does not conclude with the end of the War, but takes up to 1969. I found this a most compelling novel. The characters are engaging even with their faults, for they are all basically good men; and while I have dwelt on Fred and Jack there is so much more to discover in this novel. The growing friendship between Fred and Jack is carefully developed, and with the inevitable hiccups resulting from Jack's initial reticence on discovery of the nature of his feelings this is no quick romp into bed. In fact that side of matters once it does arrive is but briefly touched upon. Despite this thankfully relatively slow development of their relationship the story is free of contrived angst so what we have is a believable and at times very moving account of a beautiful relationship based on much more than a physical attraction. What a great loss it is that attitudes of the time resulted in no further novels from the author.

As much as I enjoyed this book, there's a whole other story to be told of the 25 or so years after the end of the war in '45, given here in cursory terms as an epilogue. This story will not appeal to anyone who expects every other page to include a sex scene - I can imagine such a thing would not have enabled it to be published back in 1979. This is definitely one to reread, as I tended to gloss over the jargon aspect first time around. It's worth noting that this story is as much about the Pacific war and the culture of the day as much as it's a love story. I don't suppose anyone would have half the trouble or hangups today, something that makes this tale particularly interesting and well worth reading.