The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  Immediately following the graduation, Sergeant Holloman sought out Tommy and Frank. Seeing him approach, Tommy nudged Frank and they both came to attention.

  “Sixteen hundred hours, Colonel Catlin’s office,” Sergeant Holloman said. Remain in your dress greens.”

  “Aye, aye, Sergeant,” they replied as Holloman walked away.

  “Now what?” Tommy exhaled. “Another two training cycles?”

  “Man, I’m proud of what we’ve done, but this thing’s gonna be over before we see any action.”

  Tommy laughed. “Still gotta show the old man, eh?”

  “You want to go, too, and you know it.”

  “Aye, that I do, Private Borello, that I do.”

  “That’s Private First Class to you,” Frank corrected him.

  At eight minutes to four, Tommy and Frank were standing outside the command post where Colonel Catlin’s office was located. As Sergeant Holloman approached, they came to attention and at the wave of his hand, followed him into the building.

  Holloman approached the desk outside the Colonel’s office.

  “Staff Sergeant Holloman, Private First Class Callahan, and Private First Class Borello to see the Commander,” he said to the Corporal behind the desk.

  “Aye, Sergeant. I’ll let him know you’re here,” the young man said, stepping to the Colonel’s door. He rapped his knuckles three times on the door, opening it without waiting for a response. Standing in the doorway, the Corporal said, “Sir, Sergeant Holloman and two PFC’s are reporting as ordered.”

  Catlin grunted and waved his hand. “Send ’em in, Corporal.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” He turned to the men. “The Colonel will see you now, Sergeant.”

  “Thank you, Corporal,” Holloman said. Inclining his head in the direction of the door, Holloman entered the Colonel’s office, followed by Tommy and Frank. All three men came to attention immediately in front of Colonel Catlin’s desk, Sergeant Holloman on the right.

  “Sir,” Holloman voiced, “Sergeant Holloman and Privates Callahan and Borello reporting as ordered.”

  “At ease,” Catlin said, looking up from behind his desk. “I’ll make it short and sweet. The Commandant has formed another regiment—the 6th Marines. The Regiment has been assembling at Quantico for some weeks. I’ve been given command of the 6th Marines.” Colonel Catlin lifted a brown envelope from his desk and spilled the contents out. One set of gunnery sergeant’s stripes and two sets of corporal’s chevrons overlapped on the desk.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Holloman, take these two new Corporals and see that they’re outfitted properly. Clear all base obligations and report to the Command Post, Quantico, at oh-seven-hundred hours on the tenth. That’s the day after tomorrow. Most of this regiment is being formed from existing units with trained Marines. Therefore, it is my intention to embark as quickly as possible. General Pershing is forming the 4th Marine Brigade from the 5th and 6th Marine Regiments, as a complement to the 2nd Army Division. I intend to have the 6th in France by the time those regimental assignments are developed. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Holloman replied.

  “That’ll be all. Dismissed.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Holloman replied. “About-face,” he said, and the three men crisply executed the turn, leaving the Colonel’s office less than two minutes after entering it. Passing the Corporal’s desk outside Catlin’s office, they were handed typed orders, instructing each man to prepare for reassignment to the 6th Marine Regiment, headquartered at Quantico, Virginia. They were also given promotion orders: Staff Sergeant Holloman to gunnery sergeant and Privates First Class Callahan and Borello, both to corporal. Outside the building, Holloman stopped and turned to face the two men.

  “Did you understand all that?”

  “I believe so, Gunny,” Tommy smiled, eliciting a smile from Holloman. “Congratulations.”

  “And to you, Corporal. To both of you. Well deserved. As Colonel Catlin said, clear all base obligations, laundry and so forth, draw a complete new uniform issue including web gear, and then pack your kit. When that’s done I don’t want to see either of you until sixteen hundred hours tomorrow at the train station. We’ll catch the night train to Quantico. That will get us in about oh-five-hundred the next morning. We will then report in and become part of the 6th Marine Regiment. You’ll each be platoon Corporals and expected to act like it. Now, you’re dismissed.”

  “Aye, aye, Gunny.”

  “And gentlemen. Don’t let this shake your confidence when it sinks in, but the 6th is going to war.”

  Tommy looked at Frank and they both came to attention, smiling at Gunnery Sergeant Holloman.

  “Semper Fi, Gunny,” Tommy said.

  “Get moving,” Holloman barked.

  Corporal Callahan had never seen anything like it before. The grounds outside the Brooklyn Navy Yard were completely filled with New Yorkers come to see the new Marine regiment embark for France. Two bands outside the Yard, plus the Navy Band inside the Brooklyn Navy Yard, struggled to be heard over the cacophony of cheers and shouts of jubilation directed at the departing troops. The whole nation was caught up in war fever and people were anxious to send American troops “over there.” Not since his graduation day had Tommy felt so proud of himself, the men who marched beside him—and the Marine Corps. Mothers, fathers, little children, sweethearts, and New Yorkers of all walks of life held signs aloft and cheered as over two thousand Marines marched in cadence through the gates of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Inside the compound, specially opened to the public for the embarkation to engender public spirit and support for the war, thousands of people lined the dockside as the troop ship belched smoke from the forward of her two stacks.

  By platoons, the men were filing aboard the troopship, also filling with nearly five thousand Army replacements for the 2nd Infantry Division. As Tommy stood alongside his platoon, prepared to give the order to board by columns of one, he saw a Marine Major approach with a civilian in tow. Tommy came to attention as the major approached.

  “Platoon. At ease,” he commanded. He then turned to face the approaching men, and saluted the Major.

  “Corporal Callahan?” the Major asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Tommy said.

  “Congressman Hansen would like a word with you for a moment. Place someone in charge of your platoon and speak with the congressman. Ten minutes, Corporal. We don’t want to be late for the war.”

  “Yes, sir ... I mean, no, sir. Thank you, sir,” Tommy replied and saluted again. He turned back toward his platoon.

  “Corporal Winters. Fall out.”

  “Aye,” came the reply. Corporal Winters stepped lively to Tommy and stopped in front of him. “Johnny, take over for a few moments, will you? I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure thing, Tommy,” he said, nodding a silent greeting to the well-dressed, one-armed man standing behind Tommy.

  Anders and Tommy walked a few steps away from the formed platoons, but remained distant, as best they could, from the cheering crowds and the noise of the band.

  “I wasn’t sure I could make it, Tommy. I’m glad I caught you.”

  “I am too, Uncle Andy. How’s Aunt Sarah?”

  “She’s fine, Tommy. We decided it would be good for her to go out and see your parents before they left for New Zealand. I think you know they’re going down to meet your father’s older brother. They should be almost there now.”

  Tommy smiled and nodded. “Tess sent me a couple of letters and told me about PJ finding Uncle John.”

  “So, you got your wish and you’re off with the 6th Marines. A hastily formed, but as I understand it, very proud regiment.”

  “We’ve yet to earn our colors, Uncle Andy, but from what I can tell in a week, we’ve developed the esprit de corps.”

  “I’ve seen them for only thirty minutes and it’s evident to me,” the congressman agreed. “Tommy,” Anders said, looking him in the eye, “I won’t detain you from your duties long. I wanted y
ou to know that I spoke with your father and your mother in Utah at Christmas. If it’s any consolation, she will never forgive him until he reconciles with you over this unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  Tommy lowered his head and shifted his feet. Looking up again, he spoke. “Uncle Andy, I’ve begun to think recently that perhaps Pop is right. I’ve learned a lot about duty over the past months. I had responsibility for Benjamin. Mom trusted me to take care of him and I failed her—and Benjamin. When I’ve let it get to me, I’ve wondered if it might not have been better for all of us if I had gone down with the Titanic also.”

  Anders reached his hand out and took Tommy’s shoulder. “Tom, now you listen to me and you listen very carefully,” he said, his voice now stern. “You can’t go off to war with that attitude. I see about fifty men standing there who need your guidance. I voted for the appropriations to send your regiment to France. The United States government has placed them in your hands. These boys’ll need every ounce of your energy and strength. You’ve got to put this family tragedy behind you. It was a twelve-year-old boy who became separated from his seven-year-old brother in a situation of mass confusion. Over one thousand, five hundred people died that night, Tommy. You cannot carry that burden for the rest of your life.

  “Your father is wrong, and I believe that he’s beginning to see that too. His bloody Irish temper, and stubborn refusal to see past his loss, has in fact caused him to lose another of his sons, for far too long. The fact is, Tommy, your father blames himself and has for many years.”

  Tommy looked up into his uncle’s eyes. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “He insisted, against your mother’s wishes, that she and you children accompany your grandparents to Norway. He feels that he should have been on that ship. It was his responsibility to protect his family. You’ve only been a scapegoat for that guilt. I believe he understands that now and one day he will swallow his pride sufficiently to plead for your forgiveness. Do you understand that?”

  “As much as I would like to believe you, Uncle Andy, I still think that perhaps he’s right. Oh, he certainly made it hard on a young boy and for a while I came to hate him, but at its root, he’s right. I let my brother die that night.”

  Anders shook his head and squeezed Tommy’s shoulder. “Tommy, let me ask you a serious question. Have you ever asked God if you needed forgiveness?”

  “No,” was all he replied, his eyes again downcast.

  “Many a soldier has found his God while clinging to the dirt of the earth, Tommy. Don’t make Him wait that long,” Anders pleaded.

  The movement of the platoon ahead of Tommy’s, beginning their boarding process, interrupted the conversation and Anders could see that Tommy was anxious to return to his platoon and to end the conversation.

  “Uncle Andy, I—”

  “Corporal Callahan,” Anders addressed Tommy, “you are now a Marine noncommissioned officer going in harm’s way. Whatever the Lord has in store for you, may His will be done. But if you want His advice, you’ve got to ask Him, Tommy. And because you feel the way you do, it might not hurt to explain to your father that his rejection has been no harder to bear than your own feelings of guilt. As wise as your father is about most things, I don’t think he understands that fact about you.”

  Tommy smiled thinly at Anders. “Uncle Andy, I have always loved you and Aunt Sarah. I want to thank you for all you’ve done. Please understand, I will think about what you’ve said. I’ve not had much to do with the church. I don’t know if that will change,” he said, shaking his head. “But I love my family, including my father,” he said, a glistening in his eye. “I promise you one thing: I will write to my father before we are sent forward.”

  “That’s good, Tommy. But don’t promise me. Promise yourself. Because I have a feeling that you will be unable to write, or even to forgive your father for his actions, until you’ve forgiven yourself.”

  Anders smiled broadly and reached to shake Tommy’s hand. “Corporal Callahan, as I said at your graduation, may God go with you.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Andy.”

  Tommy stepped smartly back to his platoon and stood beside Corporal Winters. “I’ll take over now, Johnny. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing, Tommy,” he said, resuming his place in line.

  “First Platoon—Ten-hut.” Tommy watched as the final file of the platoon in front of them moved off, up the gangway of the troopship, and then bellowed his command.

  “Platoon: in columns of one, by route step—forward, harch.”

  Thirty minutes later as thousands of troops jammed the port side railings, Tommy stood side by side with Frank, watching the dock hands single up all lines. Smoke belched from both stacks now, and the tugs began to pull at the great ship, her single fore and aft moorage lines dropping away, one after the other.

  On the dock, the Navy band struck up, “Over There,” and the crowd began singing with all their fervor, waving small American flags. The words ran silently through Tommy’s mind and the reality of their relocation began to sink in. Over there. Over there. Send the word, send the word, over there. That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming, and we won’t be back till it’s over, over there.

  Some of the troops were singing along with the crowd, straining shoulder to shoulder with their platoon mates to catch one final glimpse of their loved ones. Tommy was unable to see Uncle Anders in the crowd, although both of them could see Frank’s father, waving his flag and wearing his old campaign hat from the Spanish-American War and the Marine expedition to the Philippines.

  “It’s kind of overwhelming, isn’t it, Frank?” Tommy shouted over the din.

  “Everyone loves a hero, Tommy. Even an untried hero.”

  “Aye. But can we measure up?”

  “We’re the 6th Marines, Corporal Callahan. And not a man-jack of ’em will let us down.”

  “And us? You and me?”

  “It’s just as the Gunny told us. We’ve got a job to do. We can’t let them down either, or some of them are going to die.”

  “Frank, some of us are going to die in any event.”

  “Aye, Tommy,” Frank nodded. “But if we do our best, then we will have fulfilled our responsibility.”

  “Do you believe that, Frank?” Tommy asked, watching the scene on the dock recede into the distance as the ship pulled away and the strains of the Navy band faded.

  Frank stared at Tommy for a long moment, his face unsmiling and intense. “Tommy, I’ve been meaning to say something to you for a long time, and I guess now’s as good a time as any. You’ve got some ghosts harbored in your soul. I’ve known that for some months. But I’ll tell you this. I need you, and every standing Marine in the First Platoon needs you. Exorcise that ghost, Tommy, and concentrate on the job at hand. We’re all depending on each other. The day we met and you told me your family was from Salt Lake, I asked you if you were a Mormon—you remember? On the train? You said, ‘not so’s you’d notice.’ Well, I’m Catholic, as you know. It’s not important that I notice if you’re a Mormon or not, Tommy. It is important that you notice.

  “We’ve both been indoctrinated with the confidence that training and reflex actions bring, but that’s not enough. You’ve got to have faith in yourself. And if you can identify what you believe, you’ve got to have faith in your God. I have a feeling that we’re going to come mighty close to Him in the next while, and I want Him to know that I care. And that I need Him, too.”

  Tommy looked at Frank for a moment. “I’ve never heard you talk religion before, Frank.”

  Frank shook his head. “I don’t know as I have. But I think a lot of us will come face-to-face with things we haven’t consciously addressed.”

  “Frank,” Tommy said, his expression serious, “you have become my brother these past few months. I will be there for you.”

  “And I for you, Tommy,” he smiled.

  “Right. Let’s go see that these guys have a place to sleep,” Tommy said.

&nb
sp; They looked back at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and the crowd of people still waving and cheering, their sounds now lost in the expanse of water between the ship and the dock.

  “Do you think they’ll be cheering when we come home?” Tommy asked.

  “I don’t know, Tommy. Let’s just see that we do come home.”

  Chapter 10

  The Pacific Princess crossed just to seaward of Banks Peninsula, the bulge of land on which Christchurch was founded. It then skirted Taylor’s Mistake, named for a cartographic error made by one of Captain James Cook’s crew, and entered the inlet toward the Port of Lyttleton. The Port Hills passed slowly off her starboard side as she made her way up the channel. Even though it was early March, autumn had not yet chilled the air, and the day was crystal bright. Aotearoa, the Maori name for New Zealand, which means “Land of the Long White Cloud,” presented herself that morning with not a cloud in the sky, providing for those passengers who chose to make the entrance while on deck, a view of land, sea, and sky that was infinite. It was New Zealand at its most brilliant, and Tom, Katrina, and Teresa absorbed the view with admiration.

  Once berthed, luggage arranged for, and good-byes said to the crew who had served them for nearly three weeks, the threesome departed the ship, scanning the waiting crowd for signs of PJ. He quickly appeared, threading his way through the crowd, grabbing his mother as she stepped off the gangway, and twirling her around in his arms.

  “PJ,” she squealed. Tom stood by and laughed at his son’s open display of affection. Next came Teresa, and PJ repeated the greeting to her equally enthusiastic response. Tom was content to accept a handshake and a brisk hug from his son before following him back through the gathered people to where a man and a young woman stood waiting, smiling as they watched the reunion.