by Gordon Ryan
“Thank you, Seby. I’ve come to terms with her death . . . and Ben’s.”
“What will you do now, son?” Tom asked.
“I’ll be in Hawaii for about six weeks for military planning with the Navy, then back to the East Coast. I’ve been assigned to teach at the Naval Academy—at least, temporarily.”
“Are you pleased with that assignment?” Tom pressed.
“No, Pop. I want a combat command. We’re going to be in this war up to our necks, and I want to be part of it.”
“You fought one war already, Tommy. Isn’t that enough?”
Tommy paused for a moment, considering a flashback memory of France, the trenches, and the loss of his closest friend, Frank Borello. “I might not be here if it hadn’t been for my officers and non-coms who wiped my nose and kept me safe. It’s my turn to play that role this time. Some mother’s son, or grandson, might come home because I was there to show him the way.”
Tom nodded. “I can’t argue with that. I understand. I’m very proud of who you’ve become, Tommy. I hope you know that. But don’t tell your mother what you want to do. She’s already fearful about Seby and Tess’s children.”
“Thanks, Pop. Let’s just see what happens. Maybe the world will calm down, but from the European experience, I wouldn’t count on it.” He faced his brother-in-law and considered his question. “How old is Michael, Seby?”
“Nineteen. He’s got another year at the university and he wants to go into medicine.”
“Keep him in school if you can.”
Always quiet, contemplative, and highly respectful in the Mexican tradition, Seby nodded his understanding. “That would please Mom and Tess,” he said, referring to Katie and his wife.
Cardenas Ranch
Draper, Utah
October, 1940
The sun had barely crested the eastern slope of South Mountain as Tommy, Tess, and Seby left the confines of the corral and began the trek up a well-worn horse trail, heading southeast onto the face of the mountain. It had been over six years since Tommy had last been on the trail, but he had sharpened his riding skills while at Sandhurst, competing with the other faculty as he had learned the merits—and demerits—of English competitive polo. He still had some physical reminders of the danger inherent in that ‘gentleman’s’ sport.
They rode for about forty-five minutes, single file with Tess in the lead as they climbed the gentle slope until reaching a plateau about halfway up the mountain. Tess reigned in her mare and dismounted, tethering the horse to a fixed pole established for just that purpose. Tommy and Seby followed suit. Then Tess lifted a small basket from behind her saddle and produced a Dewar flask, more commonly called a thermos, of hot chocolate. When everyone had a cup, she sat on a flat rock, patting the seat beside her, an inviting smile on her face.
“That’s surely Seby’s place,” Tommy chided.
“Next time,” Tess replied. “I’ve only got you for a day or two, old man. Sit here and talk to your sister.”
Tommy complied and Seby took a seat slightly higher in the cluster of rocks.
“Seems you two have built a small cathedral here on the mountain,” he commented, taking a moment to look north over the growing expanse of Salt Lake County. “I wonder if Brigham Young ever saw it this way—expanding so fast, I mean. Look at the houses for miles and miles. There must be—”
“There are a hundred and fifty thousand people just in greater Salt Lake,” Seby interjected. “Probably two hundred fifty between Provo and Ogden.”
“And you sell beef to all of them, right?” Tommy replied.
“Si, Señor,” Seby laughed.
“Ever wonder what you’d be doing if you hadn’t come to America, Seby?” Tommy asked. “I mean, your life has changed dramatically from what it once was.”
Seby shook his head. “Not really. We ran cattle in Mazatlan, I run cattle here in Utah. I’ve been back. The hacienda is in ruins, of course. When Grandfather died and I left, the revolution ravaged the land for another two years. The rebels burned the estate and ate the cattle, or killed them for sport.”
“It’s so long ago,” Tommy said.
“Yes, and just a memory. We have a good life here,” Seby added, reaching from his rock to take Tess’s hand for a moment.
When he released her, she moved a few inches closer to Tommy, placing her hand over his, her smile replaced with concern, a loving, sisterly care Tommy had known since they were children, a bond that perhaps only twins share.
He took her hand in his, clasped her fingers, and gently rubbed his other hand over her forearm. “I’m okay, Tess. The pain will never leave me, the unjust nature of Bess and Ben’s deaths, the needless act of caprice, the sheer absurdity of it. I’ll never understand it, nor God’s part in such events, but I’m okay, emotionally. I’ve come to grips with the loss. Truly I have.”
Silent tears began to descend on Tess’s face as she leaned closer to her brother, her protector through all their early years and, on many occasions, her tormentor as well. She knew him well. She knew he had not come to grips with his emotions, despite how calm he tried to present himself. And she knew his faith in God had suffered as a result.
How much they had shared, including the loss of their younger brother, Benjamin, on the Titanic. “It’s so unfair, Tommy,” she sobbed. “So terribly unfair.”
Tommy nodded without responding, continuing to hold his sister’s hand. Finally he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulled her closer, and for a moment, joined in anguish. Then, as if done with remorse, he abruptly stood, stepped toward his horse, and took the reins. “To the top,” he announced. “It might be another six years before I get back on this mountain, and I want one more look from the crest where we can see both Salt Lake and Provo.” He put a foot in the stirrup and mounted in one swift motion. “Dad used to bring me up here when I was only five or six. Seby, that was before the Mexican land baron took over control of the mountain.”
“It was ours before it was yours, Señor,” Seby replied to his brother-in-law. “Mexico shall rise again.” He laughed as he swung into the saddle, joining his brother-in-law.
“I think I’ll sit here and enjoy the sun,” Teresa said. “You guys go on, but don’t be long. Mom and Dad are coming for dinner tonight and I need to help Consuela with the preparations.”
“Give us an hour,” Seby said. “I think I can bring Tommy to his knees in that time. He’s been teaching school, gone soft, especially in the, uh, where the saddle meets the man.”
“Mount up, Seby,” Tom challenged. “This gringo will teach you a thing or two about stamina.”
“Lead on, Colonel. I stand in your shadow.”
That evening as the family gathered for dinner, Tommy was unusually quiet as he watched the family interaction between his mother, father, sister, and brother-in-law, and three of their four children. His thoughts drifted to the family he would never have, the son he would never see grow older, the lessons a father would never teach as the boy became a man. He could see his mother occasionally watch him, her instincts honed on the inner anguish her son was living, but to Tommy’s relief, she never said a word.
After dinner, he stepped out on to the veranda, escaping the gathering for a few moments of solitude. After about ten minutes alone, Mike, Seby and Tess’s oldest son, who would graduate from the University of Utah the following June, joined him.
“Uncle Tommy, can I speak with you for a moment, man to man and in confidence?”
“Of course, Mike. What’s up?”
“I’m just a bit confused at the moment. Mom wants me to go to medical school when I graduate, but I don’t really want that.”
“What do you want to do, Mike?” Tommy asked.
As they stood on the veranda of the Cardenas house, watching the sun set over the Oquirrh Mountains across the valley to the west, Mike did not respond immediately. Tommy could sense that he was torn by the desire of his parents and his own need to follow his heart. Finally he looked directly at
his uncle.
“I want to be a pilot.”
“That’s not a problem, Mike. Your dad’s a pilot. Has he taught you to fly?”
Mike nodded. “I have a license.”
“Well, what’s the problem?”
“I want to be a Navy or a Marine pilot. I know we’re going to war, Uncle Tommy. I heard you and Granddad discussing it at dinner and the guys at the U talk about it all the time. The Navy recruiter was there only last week. I want to fly fighters.”
“Your mother will kill me if I support you in this, Mike, you know that.”
The young man, olive-skinned like his father with a shock of thick, unruly dark hair, smiled at his uncle. “Grandma got over it, didn’t she, Uncle Tommy?”
Tommy grinned at the impudence of his nephew who seemed fully aware of the family stories about how Tommy had run away from home in 1917 and joined the Marines when he was only seventeen.
“To tell the truth, Mike, I still don’t think she’s gotten over it, and I’ve been at it now for over twenty years. Why do you want to be a Marine pilot?”
“Are you kidding? The Nazis have taken over much of Europe. You of all people . . .” He hesitated, realizing that he had stepped beyond the bounds of intrusion. “I’m sorry, Uncle Tommy, really.”
“Yes, Mike, I’m angry at Hitler and the Nazis, but war is not something fought honorably. Men kill each other, civilians die in the process. Families are torn apart. Children die. We are never able to explain that to adventurous young men who seek glory and honor. There’s none of that, Mike. If you believe nothing else, believe that. So, what do you want from me?”
“Your understanding? Maybe your help to obtain a commission.”
“I don’t think you’ll need my help, Mike. You’re young, smart, a college-educated man, and in excellent physical shape. The military will snap you up in a heartbeat. But I say again, your mother will kill me, right after she ties you up in the barn and shoots the recruiter.”
“Then you’ll help me?” he pleaded.
“I won’t stand in your way. That’s the best I can offer you. I’m serious. You won’t need my help. Any branch of service would take you in a minute.”
“I want to be a Marine. Maybe a naval aviator.”
“It’s a dangerous profession, flying. Have you thought it through?”
Mike nodded, started to answer, and then Tess stuck her head out the front door. “Come inside, you two. Mom’s going to sing for us. Dad asked for Sweet Rosie O’Grady.”
“Every birthday,” Tommy said as he started to laugh. “He still thinks of her as a sixteen-year-old immigrant girl on board that ship.”
“And what’s wrong with that, might I ask?” Tess said, a note of reproach in her voice.
Tommy walked toward the door, took his sister by the shoulders, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Not one damn thing, Sis—not one damn thing.”
“Thomas Callahan, they’ll be no profanity in my home,” she chastised. “Come on, Mike. Grandma might want you to join her in a duet.”
“Oh, joy,” the young man responded, then held up both hands in surrender at the look from his mother. “I’m coming, Mom.”
Chapter Eight
Headquarters, Pacific Naval Command
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
November, 1940
Six days later, after an eighteen-hour overnight train ride from Salt Lake City to Oakland, Tommy boarded the Pan Am Clipper, a Martin M-130 flying boat, on Treasure Island in San Francisco Harbor for the nineteen-hour flight to Honolulu, Hawaii.
As directed by General Holcomb, he was to participate in what was being called the Pacific Strategy Conference. Using the twenty-year-old Rainbow plans developed by the military, the Pacific theater of operations concentrated specifically on Plan Orange, which called for an island defense campaign to halt anticipated Japanese advances throughout the Pacific theater. The strategy meetings commenced amidst dissension between Army and Navy over who would control the use of military forces in theater.
For some years, advance outposts on Wake Island, Guam, and smaller installations throughout the Pacific had been the primary deterrent to Japanese advancement. US military leaders knew that these installations were unable to defend themselves for more than a brief period of time without external reinforcement, yet they presented a delaying ability which, theoretically, allowed time for support to gather.
The great battle over command of the operation divided the Army and Navy with General MacArthur insistent that the required land defense was an Army role with Navy relegated to supply and transport. The Navy, under Admiral James Robinson, was adamant that if war came, it would be primarily naval engagements that would determine success or failure. He was strongly opposed to the relocation of the main fleet from its traditional base in San Diego to the newly established facility at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
The Marine Corps became the pawn in the argument over operational control. Having been restricted for years to units no larger than regiment level operations, the Army contended that the Navy, and its Marine land force, could not adequately defend the advance bases, a job more suited to a larger Army unit. Ever since the end of the Great War in 1917-18, the Army had firmly resisted any growth of the Marine Corps and congressional support had backed the Army position. By 1940, the position had become politically entrenched.
However, Plan Orange had been updated and the primary focus was still on an island defense strategy. Before he had been assigned to teach at Sandhurst, Tommy had volunteered to command one of the island defense positions, but had been turned down when Brigadier McIntyre had requested his presence to teach at the Royal Military Academy. Now his interest was again piqued as he re-familiarized himself with the tactical aspects of the original plan.
But once again, the needs of the Corps, as expressed by General Holcomb, took precedence, and upon completion of the strategy conference, he boarded a military cargo aircraft for the return trip to the mainland. His “command” for the indefinite future would be found within the confines of a classroom of midshipmen at his alma mater.
United States Naval Academy
Annapolis, Maryland
January, 1941
Following the conference, which ended without resolution over which service would have overall command should war occur, a decision that would not be made until President Franklin Roosevelt divided the Pacific into two theaters of operation, Tommy flew back to the mainland and spent Christmas with his family in Salt Lake City. He then flew directly to the East Coast on commercial transport, arriving the first week in January for the start of the Spring 1941 term at the United States Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland. He’d not been on campus since his graduation in 1923. He was assigned three class sessions a week of advanced economic theory and interdiction of commerce as a weapon of war. It was identical to what he had been teaching at Sandhurst between 1935 and 1938.
1941 rolled on with no further word from Marine Corps Commandant General Holcomb or anyone at Corps headquarters until late August, just before the new academic year was about to commence. In his office late one afternoon, preparing a new class syllabus, Tommy received a telephone call from the War Department.
“Lieutenant Colonel Callahan, this is Major Wentworth calling for General Holcomb. It’s a ‘head’s up’ call actually, Colonel. The general has directed that we cut new orders for you with transportation effective in December. You’ve been given command of the 1st Marine Defense Battalion, formed earlier this month on Wake Island. You’re familiar with the Advance Base program?”
“I am, Major. Who’s commanding now?”
“Major Devereux is the senior Marine, but Commander Cunningham is in overall command at Wake Island. He’ll be your reporting authority. General Holcomb will speak with you when we get closer to the reporting date, but he wanted me to give you as much notice as possible.”
“When do I report?”
“The first week in January. Your orders should arrive
sometime this week. General Holcomb wants you here at headquarters for about ten days prior to departure. Plan to be here the first week in December.”
“Anything else, Major?”
“No, sir, that’s all for the moment. Is there anything else I can do for you, Colonel?”
“No, thank you, Major.”
Tommy was intimately familiar with Wake Island. During the Pacific tour in early 1935, while he was assigned to Plans and Operations at Marine Corps Headquarters, Washington, D.C., he had actually visited the tiny speck of land lying between Hawaii and Guam. He knew well that the tiny, three-island archipelago was indefensible beyond several weeks without resupply and reinforcement. The recent strategy conference in Hawaii had only served to confirm that earlier supposition. Island defense positions were expendable along with the personnel assigned if they could not be resupplied and reinforced quickly.
Finally, after twenty-three years in the Corps, Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Callahan III was being given a combat command. From the daily briefings he received, he was certain that war was imminent. Despite much congressional and military opposition, the Navy had relocated the bulk of the Pacific Fleet from San Diego to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The entire US military establishment in the Pacific was gearing up for a fight against the Japanese Imperial Army and Navy.
In the euphoria of the moment, Tommy had completed forgotten—or refused to consider—that the advance base theory was constructed on the premise that it was only a delaying tactic in the event of attack and that the personnel assigned to those bases were considered expendable if reinforcements were not provided immediately. There was no consideration that, in fact, his new combat command would, in all probability, result in his death or capture during the opening engagements of the next great world war.