by Gordon Ryan
“That’s very astute, Captain. Anything else?”
“Well, sir, it would seem that lacking such support, the battalions must be viewed as, uh, expendable, sir, in the interest of achieving a strategic delay.”
Colonel Hanscomb raised his eyebrows and glanced once between Tommy and General Russell, wondering at the brashness of Captain Callahan.
“That, Captain Callahan, is the exact conclusion reached by the navy and marine joint committee after reading the travel team’s report to the joint chiefs. Yet, as I understand it, you still aspire to command one of the defense battalions. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. I believe they will play an important role in Plan Orange.”
Russell shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not your time, Captain,” the general said, summarily dismissing the subject.
“Do you know a British brigadier named McIntyre?” General Russell continued.
Confused by the sudden change in topic, Tommy didn’t immediately answer, thinking about the name. McIntyre. McIntyre.
“Sir, I don’t recognize the name ...”
Then he remembered.
“Excuse me, sir. I do recall someone by that name, a man I met many years ago, while on a fishing trip in Wyoming.”
“And?”
Determined not to be chastened again, Tommy simply said, “There was a bit of trouble, as I recall, with McIntyre’s son. That was the only time I met the brigadier, sir. I’ve had no contact with him since.”
“I see,” Russell said. “Well, he apparently remembers you, Captain. And, it would seem, he has followed your career, including your doctorate. Using the British embassy military attaché in Washington as his conduit, Brigadier McIntyre has asked that you be assigned as a visiting lecturer on the effective use of economic warfare in the modern age.”
“Lecturer, sir?”
“At Sandhurst. The Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst. The British West Point, actually.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Little wonder, Captain, it’s most unusual. But the Secretary of the Navy has forwarded the request, and we’re all marines here. We go where we’re told and do what we’re told.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Tommy replied.
“You’re to be in place in September.”
“A visiting lecturer, sir?” Tommy questioned.
“It’s more than a simple lecture, Captain. The brigadier is now commander of the Royal Academy. He’s requested you be posted for a multiple year assignment, the length of assignment to be determined by the needs of the Corps. Good of him to give us some say,” General Russell said, a bit sarcastically. “The defense battalion concept will still be here when you return, Captain, and, if I read the world situation right, it will be even more important.
“One more thing,” he said, rising and walking toward his desk. When General Russell stood, both of the other officers stood immediately. The older man returned to the group carrying a small green case that Tommy and Colonel Hanscomb instantly recognized.
“To properly represent the Corps, we feel that this assignment should be filled by at least a field-grade officer. Upon my recommendation, the secretary has also approved your immediate promotion. Congratulations, Major Callahan,” he said, handing Tommy the insignia case containing two gold oak leaves.
“Thank you, sir,” Tommy replied.
“You’ll report directly to the military attaché at our embassy in London—a navy captain at the moment, I believe. It goes without saying that you’ll be expected to represent the highest traditions of the Corps, Major. That will be all, gentlemen,” Russell said, returning to his desk.
Tommy arrived in Southampton on the Bergensfjord, a Norwegian liner that made the crossing from New York in just over eight days. As the ship made her way up the River Test toward her berth, Tommy found himself immersed in a flood of nostalgia.
Though twenty-three years had passed, he remembered the morning in 1912 when, as an eleven-year-old boy, he had boarded the Titanic, along with his mother, grandparents, and Benjamin and Teresa. The huge ship had filled him with awe, and thinking of the tragic events that followed, he experienced a sense of melancholy that he couldn’t shake.
In spite of the lateness of his arrival at Southampton, Tommy chose to forego his prearranged accommodations there and, instead, press on. He took the midnight boat-train to London where he hired a taxi to take him to the Savoy. Arriving at the upper-class hotel after 2:00 a.m., Tommy was too tired to be impressed by the night clerk’s attempt at hauteur. The bedraggled-looking and unshaved American marine officer responded without comment to the snooty clerk’s request that he pay his bill in advance, then carried his own luggage to his room where he promptly fell asleep.
The following afternoon, he went to the American embassy in London, where he had an impromptu meeting with a Captain Tolbert, the naval attaché. Tolbert had a vague recollection of having seen some notice of Major Callahan’s assignment to Sandhurst. Clearly, the elderly naval officer was well overdue for reassignment, or perhaps even retirement, and his admonition that Tommy “put on a good show for the limeys” was delivered so indifferently that Tommy concluded it would be unnecessary for him to report to the embassy on a regular basis.
Victoria Station, London, reminded Tommy of Grand Central Station in New York City, except there were no winos on the street outside the British rail terminal and no vagrants sleeping on the benches beneath the marbled arches inside. Tommy upgraded the second-class rail ticket provided him by the U.S. Embassy to first-class and made his way through the bustling crowd of people toward the trains. Stopping once to ask track assignments, he found the British Rail train destined for Camberley and Aldershot, located some thirty miles southwest of London, and climbed aboard.
After a pleasant ninety-minute trip through the Surrey countryside, the train conductor announced Camberley. Tommy had arranged to have the bulk of his luggage shipped straight through from Southampton to the academy and was carrying only a single bag with him. He retrieved it from the overhead rack and before the train stopped, stepped to the door of the compartment, and prepared to descend the metal stairs to the station platform. The train came to a halt, but as Tommy was taking the first step down, the car was jostled, and he lost his footing, pitching forward and falling facedown toward the wooden platform. Instinctively, he dropped his bag and threw his arms out in front of him to cushion the fall, but his left hand twisted beneath him, and when he hit the ground, his body landed heavily on top of his folded hand.
Instantly, a pain shot up his arm, and his wrist began to throb. Embarrassed by his public display of awkwardness, he immediately got to his feet but winced again at the pain in his wrist. Not wishing to make a further spectacle of himself, he reached with his good hand to pull his bag from where it had fallen, beneath the wheels of the train.
“You all right, Guv’ner?” a voice called out. An older man dressed in a porter’s uniform strode quickly to his side, hefting the bag from Tommy’s hand and guiding him away from the edge of the track.
“Just a fall, but I think I’ve probably sprained my wrist.”
“Here, we better get you to hospital,” he said, continuing to use Tommy’s elbow as leverage to guide the younger man toward the car park beside the station platform. He whistled and gestured toward a taxi stand, and a car immediately pulled alongside.
“Prince Albert Hospital and be quick about it,” the porter said to the driver.
Tommy hesitated entering the cab. “I don’t think I need—”
“Better the doctor ’ave a look, Guv’ner,” the man admonished. “Never can tell about these things.”
“Right,” Tommy conceded as the pain jolted through his arm again. “I need a taxi anyway. How far is it to the RMA?”
“Not far, Guv’ner, and Prince Albert’s on the way.”
As the porter handed Tommy’s bag into the cab, Tommy tried to reach into his pocket to tip the elderly man, but the h
elpful porter shook his head.
“No need, sir,” he smiled, showing several missing teeth. “Welcome to Surrey. We’re very sorry for your troubles.”
“Thank you,” Tommy responded as the cab rolled away.
Tommy waited nearly two hours in the stark hospital corridor for someone to attend to him. White-clad nurses, orderlies, and other patients moved up and down the corridor, seemingly oblivious to his need. Finally, a male orderly he had watched taking care of other patients for the entire time he had been waiting stopped in front of him and lifted Tommy’s arm, feeling not so gently around his swollen wrist.
“Right then, wha’ ha’ we here?” he asked, his speech scarcely resembling English to Tommy’s ear.
“I hurt my wrist,” Tommy replied, retrieving his appendage and cradling it in his other hand. “I’d like not to make it worse,” he added.
The young orderly grinned at Tommy, a supercilious look that failed to instill confidence in his American patient.
“Follow me, Mate, and the x-ray blokes’ll ’ave a go.”
‘Have a go?’ Tommy thought as they walked down the hallway. If that’s anything like the ‘go’ you just had, I’ll pass, thank you very much.
Forty-five minutes later the x-rays had been taken and the orderly had installed Tommy in an examining room, where he once again roughly handled Tommy’s injured wrist while placing the arm in a temporary sling.
“You wait right ’ere, Mate. The doctor’ll be along directly,” he said, laying the x-rays on a bench next to the examining table.
Another twenty minutes passed while Tommy sat perched on the edge of the wooden examining table, trying to hold his arm immobile and grimacing at the pain, which by now was radiating all the way to his shoulder. The door opened abruptly, and a young woman dressed in a white uniform walked into the room. Picking up the x-rays and turning on a lamp, she held the pictures up to the light, examined them briefly, and then laid them back on the table.
“Well,” she said, smiling brightly at Tommy, “let’s have a look. How did you say this happened?” she asked as she reached to undo the sling around Tommy’s neck.
Tommy drew back, shielding his injured wrist.
“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’d just as soon not be prodded again until the doctor comes. No offense,” he added, “but I was beginning to wonder if the last orderly might break the other wrist as well.”
“And how did you come by this injury?” she asked, ignoring his remark.
“If you must know, I fell off a train at the station this morning. Some four hours ago,” he added, permitting his exasperation to show in his voice. “Look, miss, whatever your name is, I said I’d like to wait for the doctor and get a professional opinion. One that will cause less pain than the original injury, if possible. From what I’ve seen of British medicine so far, that may be asking too much.”
“Mister, uh,” she hesitated, looking down at the hastily scribbled patient chart, “Callahan, if you wish to wait for a doctor, the next one will not be on emergency shift until after six this evening. However, if that’s your preference ...”
“I don’t mean to be rude, miss ...”
“Rossiter,” she said calmly, her face stoical, “Elizabeth Rossiter. Doctor Elizabeth Rossiter.”
Silence filled the room as Tommy contemplated his mistake. Doctor Rossiter lifted the x-rays and glanced again at the clean break revealed by the negative. She looked back at Tommy but didn’t speak.
Tommy smiled thinly at her and squirmed a bit on the table.
After a time, he said, “Actually, Doctor Rossiter, while my wrist hurts considerably, perhaps you could have a look at my foot first.”
“Your foot?” she asked, glancing at the chart she held in her hand and then down at the floor beneath the examining table.
“Yes, ma’am. The one firmly embedded in my mouth, I mean.”
“Oh, that foot,” she chuckled. “I’ve found it’s generally best if the patient performs self-extraction in such cases. It can be very painful, and often humiliating, but in the end ... well, I’m sure you understand,” she said, suppressing a laugh.
“All too well,” Tommy replied, allowing his own smile to break through. “So, what’s the verdict on the wrist?”
“A clean break, I’m afraid. We’ll have to plaster it.”
“Plaster it? The way it hurts, Doctor Rossiter, I think it’s already been plastered.”
The young doctor laughed again, and Tommy noticed her even teeth, the laugh lines around her green eyes, and her jet black hair, which was she was wearing pulled back into a bun.
“There’s our bilingual problem again,” she said. “I believe you Yanks call it a cast. It won’t take long. We should have you out of here in time for dinner.”
While Doctor Rossiter completed the wrapping and plastering of Tommy’s wrist and lower arm, he studied her face. She went about her task confidently but gently, something Tommy appreciated after the rough treatment he had received. He found himself admiring the set of her pretty mouth as she worked, and, thinking about the assumption he had made in the examining room, he once again winced with embarrassment.
“Well, that should do the job,” Doctor Rossiter said, smoothing the wet plaster one last time. “Will you be in Camberley long?” she asked.
Tommy could see from her expression that she suddenly realized her question sounded personal. It would have been impossible for her not to have noticed his constant stare during the plastering operation, so again he felt responsible for her predicament.
“What I mean is, will you be able to return in about four weeks so we can have another look at your wrist?”
“I understand,” he smiled. “Yes, actually I’ll be here for a few years. I’ve been posted to the Royal Military Academy as an instructor. I think it’s a bit late to arrive today, however,” he said, looking at the clock on the wall, which showed the time to be nearly 5:00 p.m. “Is there a good hotel nearby?”
“There is,” she said, drying her hands after washing off the plaster. “The Star and Garter is just two blocks north. You can walk there, and they have a fine restaurant as well.”
“Excellent. I think I’ll just get a room for the night and report in to the school tomorrow.” Standing down from the table where he had been seated, Tommy said, “Doctor Rossiter, you mentioned that another doctor comes on about six. Does that mean that you’re off duty at six,” he said, hoping that the absence of a ring on her finger indicated she was single.
She glanced up from drying her hands for a moment and then turned away to hang up the towel. She reached into a cabinet above the sink and withdrew a large brown bottle. Without answering him, she shook about a dozen tablets onto a platter on the sideboard and replaced the bottle. Then she scooped up the tablets into a small brown envelope. Turning back toward Tommy, she said, “Take a couple of these tablets when you reach the hotel, and then every four hours as required for pain. And yes, my shift is finished at six,” she smiled pleasantly.
“If it isn’t too presumptuous, Doctor Rossiter,” he shrugged, “could I interest you in dinner and some conversation this evening? Sort of a ‘welcome to Camberley’ tourist-guide duty? I’ll do my utmost to keep my foot out of my mouth. Roast beef and potatoes sounds so much better right about now.”
“It does, doesn’t it,” she laughed. “But the Star and Garter has an excellent rack of lamb, boiled potatoes, and asparagus that I can highly recommend.”
“Served for two?”
“It can be served for two,” she said, giving herself a moment to make a snap decision, then continuing with confidence. “Eight o’clock, Mr. Callahan. I’ll meet you there,” she offered.
“Great,” he said. Gathering up his bag, he turned to leave but then looked back.
“And Doctor Rossiter, I ...”
She smiled broadly at Tommy and shook her head, wagging her finger in mock admonition.
“You promised, no more foot-in-the-mo
uth, if you please. I’ll wait for the lamb.”
“Thank you,” he laughed, gently waving his new cast and grimacing at the surge of pain. “And thanks for the plastering.”
Tommy’s room at the Star and Garter was not quite as elegant as the one at the Savoy in London, but the staff were much more cordial. The old English atmosphere appealed to Tommy, and in some ways the quaint old Tudor-style inn reminded him of his childhood home, Valhalla.
Laboring to keep his cast dry, he showered with a hand-held wand in his tub, and then dressed casually in slacks, shirt, a tie, and a tweed sport coat that was badly rumpled from being packed away. From somewhere he remembered that even casual dress in England usually included at least a coat and tie for men. More formal dress differed only in what kind of coat and tie.
At seven forty-five, he was seated in the pub in the entry to the Star and Garter, trying to get used to the taste of a cup of English tea, when Elizabeth arrived. Wearing a plaid skirt, a white blouse, and a soft pink cardigan sweater, she scarcely resembled the professional-looking woman he had met a few hours earlier. Her dark hair, which had been pulled back into a tight bun earlier in the day, was now loose and worn at shoulder length under a silk scarf, which she removed as she walked toward Tommy. He took a deep breath and stood to greet her.
“Doctor Rossiter was supposed to meet me here this evening,” he said, his face straight. “Have you come in her place?”
“She couldn’t make it, but asked me to represent her,” Elizabeth answered, picking up immediately on Tommy’s game.
“Excellent. Would you care to join me in a glass of wine before dinner?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Callahan. I’m on duty again in the morning at six.”