Wave of Death

by Charlie Vogel

  I never thought too much about how I walked, but on visits to my Midwestern family, they made fun of my swaying movements. Even when the footing became motionless, the body had the habit of compensating for the expected ship’s roll. Habit braced my legs as I moved towards the office door.

  As word over the speakers announced to secure from the special sea detail and to set in-port watch, I leaned against the open portal and watched men in civilian clothes carry two filled body bags, on stretchers, at the far end of the passageway. Heading towards the officer’s stateroom, I heard my name over the speakers. The XO needed me in his room as soon as possible. Not exactly a surprise.

  “Yes, Sir!” I said as I stepped inside, closing the door.

  “Pencils, the goddamn documents are missing from the safe.”

  “Was the safe damaged?”

  “No, someone must of known the combination. I can’t imagine who. What are we going to do now?”

  “Did you keep the number hidden in your office?”

  “No, I used my birthday.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed heavily. “Well Sir, it’s no big secret to find out your birthday aboard this ship, and about every XO in the Navy uses his date of birth for his safe combination. When do you think the documents were taken?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been in the safe since I put them in there. I told you. Don’t you remember? I told you to put the documents in the damn radio room safe. I’m holding you directly responsible for their whereabouts.”

  “That’s good, Sir, because I know where they’re at. I’ll give them to the Admiral as soon as he comes aboard.”

  “What did you say, Pencils? Did you take the documents out?”

  “No, Sir. The person who killed Lieutenant Barnes and Garretson was the one who stole the envelope I placed in your safe.”

  “You’re back to believing that those two were murdered, eh? Well, that is out of our hands. We’ve got something more important to worry about. Where are the goddamn documents, Pencils?”

  “In my safe.”

  “You’re shitting me. What did you put in my safe?”

  “Copies of the BuPers Manual.”

  The sound-power phone next to the XO’s desk hummed in a loud squelch. He irritably grabbed it up, listened a moment then said, “I’ll be right there.”

  Mister Holcomb stood, carefully settling his hat over his red hair. “The messenger’s on the quarter deck to pick up the documents. Let’s get them from your safe.”

  “Sir, don’t you remember? I have orders to hand deliver them to Admiral Collins only.”

  “Pencils, you know as well as I do, the admiral’s personal messenger will be the same as giving them to the admiral.”

  “I’ve never met the messenger. I have no knowledge of who this person is. I refuse to hand over top secret information to someone I don’t know.”

  “Yeoman Coleman, you’re being a goddamn jerk. Give the damn envelope to the messenger. That’s an order.”

  “Sir . . .” I stared him in the eye. “You know as well as I do, I can refuse that order. If the admiral isn’t on the pier, I will need a staff car to make the delivery.”

  “You will not take any car!” His voice began to rise. “You will give those goddamn documents to the messenger. If you disobey me, I will have you arrested.”

  “If you wish, Sir, go ahead and have me arrested.”

  He let out an exasperated breath. “Pencils, please don’t be an asshole.”

  “I beg your pardon, Sir, but being an asshole has nothing to do with following Navy regulations. You insisted in going by the book with those murders. Now you can go by the same goddamn book with delivery of top secret documents.”

  Mister Holcomb’s face darkened as an angry flush crawled upwards from his collar line. The brim of his hat hid the hatred in his eyes, but I could feel it. He pushed me aside with an arm as he marched out the door. Turning, he stood at ease. “Yeoman, prepare to go ashore. A staff car will be here in less than twenty minutes and you will be on the quarter deck waiting for it. Upon arrival back here, you will be on report awaiting captain’s mast.”

  “Sir, will I be on restriction while I wait for mast?”

  He thought a long moment. “No, but mast will be arranged as soon as possible.”

  “If you remember, Sir, the CO will be leaving this afternoon for meetings and starting tomorrow he will be absent for a week. Since the ship is scheduled for dry dock, I’m requesting two weeks leave.”

  The XO stared from under his hat brim, then his words barely escaped his tight lips. “Permission granted. Maybe when you return, you’ll be cooled down.”

  I mumbled, “Like-wise!” but crisply responded, “Yes, Sir, you may be correct. I will need some time to collect my thoughts. Being responsible for these documents did put a strain on me.”

  * * *

  After changing into a dress white uniform, I returned to the ship’s office in my stocking feet to open the safe. I took out my spit-shined shoes sitting atop the envelope marked “Top Secret.” Lifting my jumper, I secured the envelope to my chest with masking tape, thanking my ancestors I wasn’t a hairy ape.

  On the quarter deck, I noticed the messenger and the admiral’s staff car had departed. I waited in the shadows of the after gun mount until I spotted my staff car pulling onto the pier. I saluted the Officer of the Deck and the ensign as I hurried across the gang-plank. Opening the door to the car, a seaman dressed in dungarees exited and handed me the keys.

  Placing the car into gear, I stomped the accelerator and squealed tires out of there. Following the long pier, the gray, steel vessels hid the view of the harbor. Normally on a clear day and when the ships were deployed, Ford Island and the USS ARIZONA Memorial would be visible.

  At the end of the pier, where the destroyers filled the last berth, I turned right and entered the compound where the administration buildings blocked the view of the main gate to Pearl Harbor Navy Base. The Marine barracks stood to the left and the three-story structure across the street housed the offices to the Commander, Central Pacific Fleet.

  Something did not seem right. Instinct reared its head, tightening my stomach and pumping adrenaline into my chest beneath the tape. Something was about to happen. What warned me? Could it be the stillness in the air or is it the oily smell coming from the car? It was too strong a premonition to ignore. I whipped the car into the first place I found, a restricted lot for flag officers.

  Jumping out, I left the door open. The stimulation bouncing inside my skull forced me to run. Approaching the steps of the main entrance to CenPacFleet, I heard the explosion. Louder than thunder, it pierced through my facial openings and vibrated inside my head. More adrenaline pounded through my veins. I looked over my shoulder at the ball of fire ascending from my staff car. Shit! Welcome to Pearl!

  Inside the entrance of the three-story building, I faced the Sergeant of the Guard. He sat behind a desk, looking at me with a blank expression. Here was a Marine who wouldn’t crack a smile, even if the Pope made a joke.

  The sound of thundering feet approached. A dozen uniformed jar-heads responded to the explosion, except for this lonely bastard, who probably was a brain-dead World War Two veteran. The only combat experience I imagined he encountered was guarding a honey wagon.

  I calmly asked, “Where may I find Admiral Collins, Sergeant?”

  His lips moved only slightly within the stone face, “And who in hell are you?”

  “Petty Officer Coleman from the USS STEVENS.”

  “You have identification?”

  “Yeah, right here.” I impatiently handed it over, hearing the yelling men outside. “If you call Admiral Collins’s office, I’m sure he would want to see me, like yesterday.”

  He glanced at my military I.D. and handed it back. Without effort or any emotion, he said, “Don’t you know, your car just blew up?”

  “Yes, Sergeant, I am aware of it,” I said, emphasizing a tone of boredom, like this hap
pened every day.

  “I see. This doesn’t seem to bother you, does it?”

  The sound of sirens filled the room as more people rushed through the door to inspect the outside activities. I leaned forward, bracing myself on my arms stretched against the top of the desk. I called up an icy smile. “Sergeant, I’m in a hurry. Show me the way to the admiral’s office or I may start calling some of my friends. Especially the ones who didn’t like my car.”

  He casually reached into his desk and pulled out a letter-sized envelope. “Take this, Petty Officer Coleman. It is from Admiral Collins. Inside is a pass and directions to the detachment office of CenPacFleet. Admiral Collins has his command center there. The location is classified ‘Top Secret,’ so keep it that way.”

  Biting down on my temper, I tore open the envelope. The address indicated I had to travel to Wahiawa. The detachment building had been placed on the east side of the town, along highway 99.

  I faced the sergeant. “Do you have a staff car I can use?”

  “No. You’ll have to order one from your ship. But, first, you will remain here until this explosion incident has been cleared.”

  “Contact me later. I got things to do and people to see, like an admiral!” I made an about face and hurried to the door.

  The sergeant’s braying voice ricocheted against the glass, “I order you to come front and center!”

  As the glass door closed behind me, I ran down the six steps, and continued across the street at a lope, only slowing near the main gate. Several taxis sat parked along the curb. I ran by the guard, who was talking on the phone, anyway.

  Jumping into the rear seat of a cab, I shouted out my destination and told the driver to hurry. As the taxi squealed away, I saw the Marine waving us back to base. The cabby started to slow.

  I yelled, “Keep going! He doesn’t want us. There’s an extra ten if you get me to Wahiawa in fifteen minutes.”

  Chapter 6

  The driver leaned his right elbow onto the back of the seat, while his other hand firmly gripped the steering wheel. He faced me over his shoulder while he continued to speed along the highway. In pidgin, he related the history of the island with the coming of Madam Pele. From the back seat I probably saw more out the windshield than he did.

  I bit my lip as the taxi made dust clouds off the edge of the pavement. After regaining control, he faced me again, and asked, “Why you going to Wahiawa? You sure you don’t want Schofield?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Slow down, I think you have to turn up ahead.”

  “You don’t want to go there. Nothing but warehouses. Nothing there.”

  “Turn, damn it. I know where I’m going.”

  The tires squealed as the taxi driver made the turn at the t-intersection. Houses moved by in a blur. His elbow returned on the back rest, and he grinned at me, as if in the know. “Oh, yeah, I remember. Military big shots put building up down the road. They want to test chemicals or something, eh?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m doing. Testing chemicals, big secret stuff. Okay, stop here.”

  I stepped onto the curb as the taxi sped away. Pulling the hem of my jumper down, my fingers rubbed against the envelope tapped to my body. I took two steps at a time across the flat, lava stairs and opened the glass doors to the newly constructed detachment building of CenPacFleet. I removed my white hat and signed my name at the desk in front of a Marine guard standing at attention, unlike the ancient asshole at the Navy Base.

  The young man in his spotless, heavily starched Marine uniform leaned over the desk to read my sign-in. He jerked upright, suspiciously asking, “You wish to visit Admiral Collins?”

  “I’m glad someone taught you to read, Corporal.”

  “Don’t get smart with me or you’ll be out on your ass. Why do you wish to see the Admiral?”

  “It’s none of your business. Before you do anything stupid, you’d best call his office. He’s expecting me.”

  “I have nothing here saying you have an appointment.”

  “Corporal, I’m telling you, you better call.”

  The Marine dialed as he held the receiver to his ear and continued to stare at me. He spoke with authority, “Yes ma’am. Admiral Collins has a visitor. It’s a Petty Officer Coleman from the USS STEVENS. Yes ma’am. I’ll guard him until they arrive.”

  The Corporal remained at attention and held a stern glare as if to penetrate my skin to the truth hiding inside. Feeling uncomfortable, I decided to avoid the surface to surface missiles and took a seat in a straight back chair near the desk. Several minutes passed before I heard the clicking of heels coming from a distance. The drill maneuver stopped. Looking up, I faced two Marine Sergeants armed with rifles.

  Clearing my throat, I stood and asked, “Which way, gentlemen?”

  They held me between them as we marched across the marble floors towards the elevator. The taller jar-head placed a key into the slot. The doors slid apart, and I faced a Marine Captain, standing just inside the elevator with a smirk. He released the guards as I stepped inside. Extending his hand, he said, “Petty Officer Coleman, we thought you were dead.”

  The doors shut, before I responded, “Why’s that, Sir?”

  “We received the call a few minutes ago about your car blowing up. The Base Security thinks it was a bomb. How did you escape?”

  “Lucky, I guess. Didn’t the Sergeant say anything about me escaping custody?”

  “No. We believe the explosion knocked out the phone lines. The base called us by radio and there was a lot of static. The only information we received was your staff car blew up and they were looking for a taxi cab with the suspect.”

  “That would be me. You have no information about what happened at Pearl?”

  The Captain lowered his eyes, “No. I was hoping you could tell us something. We’ll get back to it. Tell me about the documents, Coleman. Where are they?”

  “Sir, that information is classified. It’s for Admiral Collins’s ears only.”

  “Mister Holcomb called. He said when you left the ship you weren’t carrying anything. Are the papers aboard your ship?”

  “Sir, you can advise Mister Holcomb I was mistaken about the documents. The person who opened his safe must have taken them. I have no idea where they’re at”

  “If that’s the case, Coleman, why do you wish to see the Admiral? You came here with nothing of importance to give him?”

  The doors slid open. I stepped into a large office with several dozen open cubicles. Military women chattered and giggled by the water cooler. A steady cadence of tapping came from unseen typewriters. The swishing of the ditto copying machines competed with the noise coming from the Mimeograph duplicators.

  Keeping in step with the Captain, I took my time answering the question. “I may not have anything to give him, but what I have to say concerns Operation Market Time.”

  The Captain led me to a wall covered by a large relief carving of Neptune standing in a chariot, pointing a trident at a monstrous fish. A few feet away from the artistic panel, a third class yeoman WAVE sat behind a desk. The Marine pushed down on a brass handle and the wood carving split in half as the door open. The Admiral stood at the end of the room behind a spacious oak desk.

  I waded through the shag of the red carpet. Clicking my heels a few feet in front of the desk, I stood at attention. The Admiral stared at me. His bald head reflected the sun light from the open blinds. He adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his Roman nose. My eyes turned away from his stare and caught on his chest full of awards. I identified a purple heart, as well as an enlisted’s good conduct ribbon.

  Although he looked to be a few years beyond retirement age, I could tell by the way he studied me, his mind remained sharp. He placed a long cigar in his mouth as he sat in the high-back leather chair at the desk. The cigar moved to the corner of his mouth before his voice growled behind clenched teeth, “Captain, you can go. I do not want to be disturbed.”

  The door closed and we were alone. />
  A three-inch flame shot out of a miniature submarine he held in his hand. He lit the cigar, pulling and puffing until a heavy cloud hovered over the desk. He cleared his throat with a slight cough, before speaking again, “Petty Officer Coleman, you caused a little excitement. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Remaining at attention, I responded, “Sir, I have the documents and with your permission, I would like to remove my jumper.”

  He remained silent, apparently thinking over what I had just said. Placing the cigar in a large sea shell on his desk, he shook his head then laughed. “Goddamn it, relax a little. Have a seat. How’s your old man doing? Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve seen him? Actually, I haven’t sat down and had a good chat with him since high school. God, that was a long time ago!”

  I took a straight back chair in front of the desk. “He’s still a cop. I get letters from him all the time asking about you. He can’t understand why I don’t just drop in and see you once in awhile.”

  “You should, when you’re in port, of course. Why don’t you come over for dinner sometime?”

  “I might do that, but now . . . Sir, we need to talk.”

  “You’re right. So what’s this about removing your jumper?”

  “I taped the documents to my body. I became aware of someone trying to steal the papers during our trip back from the Philippines. I’m sure you read the radio messages. You know about the two deaths?”

  “Yes, I have reports here on my desk. This Mister Holcomb indicated the seaman who killed the Lieutenant committed suicide after being confined.”

  “That’s what the XO wants everyone to believe.”

  The Admiral studied me. “You don’t go along with his findings?”

  “No, Sir.” Taking my time, I related the complete story of what I had found and the results of my investigations. The Admiral listened without comment. After crushing the two inch butt of his cigar into the burnt, brown center of the shell, he stood and stepped towards the blinds, his hands folded behind him. Suddenly, like a penguin, he turned on his heels, and asked, “You think you can complete this investigation and find the suspect?”