To be truthful, Tony felt a bit of a fraud. While the rest of his detachment in Delhi had fought, really fought, and many of them had died, Tony had basically sat in a bell tower and taken target practice at the rioters (which was now the “official” term used for the people who attacked the embassy.) He had been hungry and very, very thirsty, but except for when the Navy had dropped that mother-of-all bombs, he had not really been in much danger. Discomfort, yes, but danger, no. Yet he had become a 15-minute celebrity, and he had been called “hero.” The thing is, he didn’t feel like one. And now, it seemed as if he had a company commander who saw through the facade.
As his platoon went through its paces and secured the ship, Tony wondered if he was up to the task. Not just to impress Capt Svenson, not just to impress his Marines, but to prove to himself that he could be a good officer and not just some guy who could shoot a rifle.
Chapter 5
A week later
Aboard the USS Jason Dunham, at sea in the Atlantic
SSgt Burke Davidson pulled off his utilities trousers, and in his skivvies and t-shirt, slid into his bunk. He was exhausted, and despite the other two petty officers in the berthing space holding a conversation, he knew he would have no problem falling asleep.
At Little Creek, Burke had gone onboard the Pearl Harbor. Intellectually, he knew it wasn’t as big as a carrier, but it seemed immense to him. The embarked Marines had dedicated berthing spaces, the mess decks could feed hundreds of hungry Marines and sailors at the same time, and they even had a climate-controlled gym. There were soda machines and a geedunk where you could buy snacks and small items. It was like being on a small base.
The Dunham, on the other hand, did not offer the same amenities. Oh, it looked like a warship, fierce and tough. But it was not designed to carry troops, and when you added the platoon and the Navy Special Boat unit, things were rather tight. Their gear had to be stashed in any available nook or cranny, and simple things such as chow and showers became an intricate dance of coordination. Nothing seemed to mesh.
The crew seemed OK, but it was obvious that the Marines were considered outsiders, a bump in the road to their mission. A few had complained to Burke that the Dunham was not an amphib, that it was not supposed to carry Marines at all. Burke just shrugged his shoulders at that. Orders were orders, after all, and complaining to him served no purpose. He had no power to change things,
He naturally gravitated to BM2 Doug Kaye, the Special Boat Unit petty officer in charge. Even if he was Navy, his detachment was also an add-on, not really part of the crew. Plus, he was a pretty good guy. He was an island boy, from Honolulu, and that was a far cry from Burke’s home on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, but they seemed to be cut from the same cloth.
And Doug had some pretty good toys. His .50 cals were pretty awesome, and that was a language any Marine or soldier could understand and appreciate. He had even agreed to let the platoon test the big guns off the fantail tomorrow after his unit got in their firing.
Burke glanced about the compartment. He shared it with Doug and four other petty officers. It barely seemed big enough for one, much less six. At least it was dry and comfortable enough. As a Ranger, Burke had spent many a night in the mud, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes or freezing in the snow. The Navy was a different sort of life, and he wasn’t sure he could ever spend a career doing the same routine over and over, but there were bennies to it.
He slipped on a pair of eyeshades he had taken off a United flight, turned to the outboard, and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 6
Naval Station Rota (Base Naval de Rota)
A week after embarkation
Tony Niimoto requested permission from the duty officer to go ashore, saluted the colors on the fantail, and hurried down the gangplank. After a week onboard, it was good to get off and place his feet on Mother Earth.
The trip itself hadn’t been that bad—more boring than anything else. Oh, there were things to do to keep busy, but not much that was exciting. They had spent one afternoon fast-roping onto the Pearl Harbor while it was underway, and that was a little different than doing it on an old freighter sitting at the dock. The highlight of the crossing had been the .50 cal fam fire SSgt Davidson had arranged with the Special Boat Unit. But for the most part, the crossing was pretty bleak.
As a security detachment Marine, Tony had been subject to numerous inspections, and like most junior Marines, he somewhat resented when the officers kept hovering about during the preparations. Their job was to get lost, then come back and do the actual inspection itself. The SNCO’s could handle getting the unit ready. But now, as a new platoon commander, he also had the urge to get down into the berthing compartments while the men cleaned them up or prepared for a gear inspection. It was all he could do to keep back and let SSgt Davidson and his squad leaders do their jobs.
With that pent up need to do something, he was finally in a position to be grateful that his platoon sergeant could get the men ready for base liberty. That left him without any responsibilities, and he was the first one off the ship.
He may have been the first one off the Dunham, but he was not the first Marine ashore. The three lieutenants from the Gaffert were already walking down the pier. Only Rob Kaus wasn’t there yet even if Tony could see the Independence already tied up at her berth.
Leading the trio was 1stLt Stan Kremer. He was a pretty hard man to miss. Stan was a Naval Academy graduate, one of the few to get a Marine billet, although with the Marines being built back up, that should change. He had been an All-American wrestler at the Academy, placing second at the NCAA tourney at heavyweight. He was big, but not much of that was fat. Tony had met him for the first time on his second day with the company, and he immediately gravitated to the big guy. His blue eyes held a twinkle that seemed to project good humor. Company XO’s were not always the “alpha” in a pack of lieutenants, but in this case, he held the others in his orbit. But it was impossible to hold that against him. If Tony was a betting man, if he had to wager on one of them becoming Commandant one day, then his money was going on Stan.
Gil Desroches was the Weapons Platoon commander. He had been born in Haiti, and although he had come to the US at a young age, he had never quite gotten rid of his French-tinged Caribbean accent. It was obvious to Tony that both Gil and Stan were tight, which made for an interesting-looking couple. Stan was big and fair, looking like a short-haired version of Marvel Comics’ Thor. Gil was short, broad-shouldered and very dark. What they both had in common, though, were prominent smiles that seemed to be permanently fixed on their faces.
The third member of the group was another newbie, 2dLt Joe Hartigan. Tony didn’t know what to make of him. Joe was rather quiet, but he seemed always to be listening, taking things in. Except for the Marine high and tight, he looked like any other guy with nothing to make him stand out. He looked like he could have been serving burgers at the local McDonalds, wherever his hometown was. Tony didn’t even know that yet.
“I see you didn’t waste any time, there. I told Gil that you’d still be onboard,” Stan said with his usual smile plastered on his face as the three of them walked up.
“Told you, my man,” Gil replied, punching Stan in the arm.
Tony winced at that. Gil hadn’t pulled the punch, and it landed solidly. Stan didn’t seem to flinch, though.
“When there’s beers to be had, we mustangs don’t mess around. We know what’s what, right Tony?” Gil went on.
Tony had to smile at that. A cold beer really did sound great at the moment. He’d grown fond of Sam Adams while at Stanford well before enlisting, though. He hadn’t needed his time as an enlisted Marine to learn to appreciate some brew, but this kind of banter was the norm in the Corps amongst friends. He hadn’t felt that camaraderie since Delhi, and it felt good to feel those bonds again.
The whole feeling of brotherhood felt strange to him since joining his platoon. He was a Marine, and he had good, capable Marines in his platoon. B
ut there was a gap between his Marines and him now, even with Stepchild. He respected his Marines; he admired them. But this seemed more on a professional level. He felt somewhat restrained, though, on what he could say and do. Naturally gregarious, Tony was a joker at heart. As a young Marine, and even as an NCO, if there was a prank being pulled, or if there was goofing off, Tony was probably at the center of it all.
Now, as a commander, he didn’t feel he could do the same thing. He still didn’t know what it meant to be a lieutenant, but he was pretty sure it did not involve short-sheeting a rack. So he was trying to be more professional in his dealings with his platoon. He was more candid with SSgt Davidson, but that was still on a more professional level. And although he had made Stepchild his radio operator, he still hadn’t come to grips with their change of status.
That didn’t seem to be a problem with Stepchild, though. Other than calling him “Lieutenant” and adding in the obligatory “sir,” he didn’t seem to have changed his manner with him.
Tony wondered if he should have accepted the commission. He enjoyed being an NCO. He enjoyed being part of something larger than himself. So far, being a lieutenant was just not as fun, to put it at a basic level.
But now, he was meeting up with the other lieutenants to share a beer and get some chow at the O-Club. He felt he could relax. He had only known these guys for a few days back at Little Creek, but they seem to accept him, and that was enough.
Tony mimed drinking a stein of beer, even shaking it as if getting out the last drop. Gil laughed and clapped him solidly on the back.
“Told you so. My man knows how to down some brew,” he said with a laugh.
Stan looked over to the other pier where the Independence was tied up. “Do we wait for Rob?” he asked.
“Wait? You want to wait until the Pearl Harbor ties up and everyone else drains the taps?” Gil asked. “And you know Rob. That anal bastard is probably conducting a skivvy inspection before he lets his platoon off the ship.” That elicited a laugh from the others.
Rob seemed like a great guy, but even with his short time in the company, Tony could see that Rob tended a bit to the micromanaging.
“He knows where we are. I say we go get ourselves a table and just save him a seat.” Gil offered, looking to Stan for confirmation.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. OK, let’s get this show on the road.”
They walked across a huge parade deck towards the club. Tony didn’t know what to expect about Spain, but as the ship pulled in, it seemed somewhat dry and almost desert-like. The buildings looked like the ones in Old Town San Diego—light stucco walls and orange tile roofs. To be fair, though, maybe it was San Diego that looked like Rota and not the other way around.
The Officers Club was a large building in the same design. Walking inside, though, aside from the cool blast of air, seemed to take them back in time. In reality, the building could not be that old, but it had a feeling of age. The heavy use of wood and the large collection of unit plaques on the walls added to the feeling. Tony remembered from a history class back at boot camp that the Spanish Infantería de Marina was the oldest existing marine corps, formed back in 1537. He doubted it, but he still wondered if any of the plaques went back that far. Now that would be impressive!
There were three Spanish officers sitting at a table in the bar area, but they didn’t seem to notice the four Marines as they entered.
“You guys grab a seat. I’m getting the first round,” Stan told them.
They sat down, taking in the surroundings. Tony had been at Camp David and at the embassies in Delhi and Amman. But this felt more like the “real” military. It was only the O-Club, true, but it reeked with history, with the ghosts of countless sailors and Marines passing through.
Stan came back with two pitchers, one Budweiser and one San Miguel. Tony preferred Sam Adams, but cold beer was cold beer. The waitress came over with glasses and started to serve them, but Tony grabbed the pitcher of San Miguel poured himself a glass. He watched the bubbles for a moment before taking a long swallow.
The hoppy flavor, bubbles, and cold wetness slid down his throat. It tasted great!
The waitress left some menus. Tony knew he wanted to get some food, but for the moment, all four of them just savored their drinks.
A puzzled look slowly came over Gil’s face. “Maybe it’s been too long at sea, but I’ve had San Miguel before, and this tastes a little different.”
“Two different companies,” Joe told him.
“What? Stan said this was San Miguel.”
“In the States, if you had San Miguel, you had the Filipino brand, which is the original brand. They opened up a brewery later in Spain, and during the war, the two companies split. So this is a different beer and a different company.”
“Ah, kind of like Budweiser in the US and in the Czech Republic, right?” asked Tony
“Well, no. Bud in the US just took the name, which the Czech company used first. With San Migoo, the Spanish company was started by the Filipino one. Sort of a reverse colonization.”
Tony shrugged. He had had San Miguel back at Stanford, so he supposed it must have been the Filipino kind. He wasn’t sure he could recognize the taste one way or the other.
The waitress came back for their food order. Tony ordered a cheeseburger, as did Joe and Gil. Stan elected to go for fried calamari and gazpacho. Gil hooted at Stan’s choices, but Tony was a bit curious. He had eaten calamari before, of course, but he had only seen gazpacho prepared on television. He didn’t know what a cold vegetable soup would taste like, but he liked salads, so maybe it would be good.
They sat around, drinking their beer, talking about their upcoming several months. Stan seemed to think that they could actually be quite busy, but Gil agreed with Capt Svenson that this would be a boring deployment for Kilo Company. The rest of the battalion would do much more as well as hit better liberty ports. For Kilo, it was possible that they would only see land here in Rota on the way in and again at Rota for the washdown on the way back.
“So how’s life on the Gaffert?” Tony asked the others.
“Oh, she’s a sweet ship,” answered Stan. “The chow’s great, the ride smooth, and the gym’s pretty amazing. I’ve even got my own stateroom while these two retreads share a stateroom designed for four. The ship’s designed to carry a battalion, if it has to, and we’ve got a company minus.”
“Damn, I wish I could say the same. We’re pretty much crammed into wherever they can stick us. The chow’s good, I guess, but getting anything done’s a pain in the ass.”
“Yeah, Rob pretty much said the same thing. The Independence is not too happy with them aboard.”
“Same with the Dunham. Captain Svenson told me our skipper really fought against having us on board. They’re in the business to shoot, not carry Marines. And us taking over their own ship’s VBSS teams missions, well, I don’t think they like being part of what they consider a dog and pony show. A couple of the junior officers confirmed that to me, but I have to say, they’ve been nothing short of professional now that the decision’s been made.”
“Well, you being a hero and all couldn’t hurt in that regard,” put in Gil.
There was a moment of silence as everyone gauged Tony’s response. Since his arrival at Little Creek, the others had been pretty circumspect about the elephant in the room. Nothing was mentioned about Delhi. Now the first crack in that wall had been made.
“So Tony. Why did they call you Korea Joe in that movie? I mean, your last name is Japanese, not Korean,” asked Stan.
Tony looked up. He knew this was just the opening they sought. They wanted to know what really happened, but they didn’t want to push. He dreaded sitting with the battalion CO later on and retelling the story, but this was different. These were his peers. He really didn’t mind, and in fact, in a way, he relished the opportunity to tell someone his version of things, the good and the bad.
“Well, it’s no big thing, really. I had an idi
ot DI who couldn’t tell the difference between being a Japanese-American or a Korean-American, and the name just sort of stuck. And the movie made it seem like that was all I was called. But the movie made lots of mistakes, and that was just one.”
He left it hanging, and Gil took the bait.
“So what really happened?”
They leaned forward to listen when Rob walked in. He joined them, taking grief for being late. He was poured a beer.
“So, you were about to say?” Stan prompted after Rob settled in.
Tony went on to describe what happened at the embassy, the most unlikely events leading up to the isolation of the president inside the embassy with the security guard detachment, an Army major, and old lady, and an Indian civilian. Everyone had seen the movie, of course, so they knew the players, but Tony tried to give it a reality check.
For most of the time, Tony had been in the bell tower, so he didn’t really know every detail of what happened inside the embassy building other than what Stepchild, 1stSgt Mac, Saad, and Van Slyke had told him after the fact. But still, his account was from the horse’s mouth, so-to-speak, and the others listened with rapt attention. At one point, the Spanish officers at the other table stopped their conversation to listen in as well, but that didn’t stop Tony.
Tony focused on what he did and what he heard. He had intended on downplaying his role a bit, but it didn’t quite work out that way. He didn’t embellish anything, but neither did he downplay anything.
He got a big reaction when he told them he had been so thirsty that he had drunk his own urine. The others groaned, and Gil stopped him to refill his beer for him, then holding it out for Tony to drink.
The Return of the Marines Trilogy Page 28