Twelve O'Clock High Page #4

Courage, he works hard.

I don't know where to fault him.

If he can't cut it, we're in trouble.

What happened to change the picture?

Nothing.

Added this to it, though:

He's gonna bust wide open.

And he's gonna do it to himself too.

Why? Because he's a first-rate guy.

Because he's thinking about his boys

instead of missions.

Over-identification with his men.

I think that's what they call it.

You won't change it either.

I can't buy it, Frank.

Not yet, anyway.

- Is he still here?

- He had tomorrow to get ready for.

We'd better find out.

If it's true, we're in trouble.

Why should the other groups

hold together if the 918th can't?

Call my car, will you,

while I get my pants on?

- You want me to go there with you?

- You bet I do. It's your idea.

We were three minutes late

and got most of it here.

Deadly three minutes.

The idea was to get the groups

there simultaneously...

...so that enemy flak couldn't

concentrate on one group.

We sure were sitting ducks.

I figured they didn't want

to bring their loads back.

No man makes a perfect plan.

You couldn't foresee a plane

breaking through.

You should've gone

to the secondary target.

We could have caught up,

if it wasn't for stinking luck.

Luck? What luck was that?

- It was my fault.

- It wasn't.

I'd like to hear his version.

We had to alter the navigation in

flight to cross the enemy coast here.

We picked up a wind change.

And I missed a checkpoint here,

Saint-L.

By the time I caught it,

it had cost us three minutes.

We never made it up.

If there's any fault, it's mine.

I ordered the change in flight plan.

I think that covers it.

Thank you, lieutenant.

Thank you, gentlemen.

Zimmy. It's okay.

Don't worry about a thing.

I know you're tired,

but let's talk a little.

Sit down.

Let's talk about luck.

A pretty critical three minutes,

Keith. Five crews, 50 men.

- I know.

- Whose fault was it?

I told you, mine.

- Do you rely on your navigator?

- You have to rely on your navigator.

- Then it was the lieutenant's fault.

- It could've happened to anyone.

I know. He feels as rotten about it

as any of us do.

But what happens now, Keith?

I don't understand you, sir.

We're talking about luck.

I don't believe in it.

I believe that a man

makes his own luck.

Yours has been pretty bad.

It's getting worse.

Maybe the navigator's in point.

He blew it. What'll you do about it?

I don't believe in chopping off heads

because of one mistake.

I don't think that's any way

to run a group.

I feel sorry for the boy, Keith.

But what will your men think

when he navigates again?

That he messed up this one.

If they fall apart,

that won't be luck.

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