by Gordon Ryan
George turned the car into the long, dusty approach road to the ranch house and within several hundred yards, broke the silence as he performed the ritual horn-honking, startling the flock so they scattered across the grassy knolls.
“Tommy,” PJ said, trying to lighten the mood, “Uncle John gave me several pieces of advice when I purchased the land, but one was the most important. He said that sheep only know two things—where not to go and how not to get back. I treat them accordingly and all works out well.”
“That’s probably good advice for a politician to remember,” Tommy remarked.
Chapter Thirteen
TSS Wahine
Enroute Christchurch — Wellington
April, 1942
The TSS Wahine was an old, two-stack coastal freighter which carried passengers in moderate comfort and, in fact, had occasionally made the open-ocean run to Australia and some of the major islands north of New Zealand. Tommy had booked passage on her for his return trip to Wellington.
The run from the Christchurch Port of Lyttleton to Wellington took about fourteen hours, depending on weather. The trip down, several days earlier, had gone smoothly, but the return voyage was expected to be a bit rougher as the winter weather had begun to turn and the outlook projected a northeasterly, which meant bow waves most of the way.
George Armitage drove Tommy to the pier, but with unexpected business requirements with the Christchurch City Council, PJ had opted to remain a few more days in Canterbury.
Removing his bag from the car, Tommy shook George’s hand and thanked him for the hospitality, especially the loan of an excellent mare which Tommy had used for a long and enjoyable ride through the eastern slopes of the Southern Alps. PJ had expected to accompany Tommy on the ride, but Kiri gently restrained her husband, sensing that Tommy sought solitude. Upon their arrival on the South Island, his demeanor had changed considerably during the ride from Christchurch to Shenandoah Station, and her female instinct had discerned his need for time to think, to contemplate his future. When he had placed his bag in George’s car, Tommy had embraced Kiri and whispered in her ear, “When I first met you twenty years ago in Hawaii, I told PJ that he had found an angel. Thank you for understanding.”
George drove away, and Tommy proceeded through the embarkation terminal and walked up the ramp to the vessel, asking the steward at the top of the ramp for directions to his cabin. The steward checked off his name and handed him a room key, then Tommy moved forward.
Most of the passengers were male and in uniform. Tommy blended in with his Marine dress green uniform, but a slender, slightly built auburn-haired woman in her mid-to-late thirties stood out as Tommy worked his way amidships to the passenger quarters. She was wrestling with her luggage, although as he approached, Tommy had seen several men pass her in the corridor oblivious to her struggle. As he drew alongside her in search of his room, she smiled briefly, then continued to push one piece of luggage with her foot while carrying the other with both hands.
“Excuse me, ma’am, can I give you a hand?”
She smiled again and emitted a deep exhale, more from frustration than exhaustion. “I’ve come this far, but . . . yes, thank you. I believe my cabin is just down the way. Number 12.”
Tommy placed his bag down and lifted hers from the floor, also taking the one she was straining to carry. “How about you take mine,” he said. “I travel lighter,” he added, a humorous touch to his voice.
“Now that’s quite unfair, Colonel Callahan. You’ve only been gone three days and I’m returning from Timaru, bringing my entire wardrobe back to Wellington. It seems my job appointment will be permanent and I’ll need my winter clothing. Remember, I’m not wearing a uniform every day. That makes your choice of clothing just a tad easier than mine, I dare say.”
Tommy tilted his head quizzically. “I think you have the advantage, Mrs . . .”
“Carpenter. Madeline Carpenter. My friends call me Maddy.” She reached out to shake Tommy’s hand.
Placing one of her bags back on the deck, he shook her hand, but held it for several seconds, trying to pull more information from her than she was volunteering. “You still have the advantage, Maddy.”
This time she smiled for a moment before responding. “You don’t remember, do you?”
Tilted head again. “No, I’m sorry. Should I?”
“Well, a woman likes to think . . . I’m General Puttick’s secretary. We met, or at least you were in the general’s office, about six weeks ago. We were never actually introduced.”
“Well, then, General Puttick’s secretary, or Mrs. Madeline Carpenter, or Maddy, let’s remedy that. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Callahan, United States Marine Corps, on loan to New Zealand for the indefinite future, including baggage transport services. My friends call me Tommy. Some call me other things, but I prefer Tommy. And I apologize for not recognizing you. I must have been distracted by the general. I’m usually not that lacking in observation. Now, onward to your cabin,” he said, picking up the second bag and continuing down the hall to number 12.
Maddy followed with Tommy’s bag until he reached her cabin. She proffered a key, which he used to unlock the door, stepping inside and placing both bags on the floor. “Number 13,” he said, waving his key, “is just next door, I believe, so I’ll take my bag and check for mice.”
“There shan’t be any,” she replied.
“Ships always have mice,” he said. “It’s a requirement of the sea. Sailors and Marines know these things. If you’d like to learn more, you and, uh, Mr. Carpenter could join me for dinner, when he arrives, that is.”
With just a moment’s hesitation and the flash of an awkward expression, she gently shook her head. “There really won’t be any mice, and Mr. Carpenter shan’t arrive for dinner. But if your offer still stands, I’d be happy to accept.”
Tommy nodded at the woman and lifted his bag. Her deep green eyes accented her auburn hair, although they were not as noticeable in the darker cabin as they had been in the corridor. “It will be my pleasure, Maddy. An hour? In the dining facility?”
“Oh, it’s not much of a dining facility, Colonel, but the food’s good. Roast mice, if I’m correctly informed.”
“Ah, that’s why there are no mice aboard. Cookie found them all.”
‘Six-thirty, then,” she said, stepping toward the door and waiting for Tommy to exit.
By the time Tommy arrived in the interior dining room—essentially three long, rectangular tables, most of which were occupied by military personnel—the weather had already taken a turn for the worse. Having cleared Lyttleton Harbor, the Wahine turned north and the initial thrust of a broaching sea impeded their progress. Having some experience with foul weather at sea, Tommy entertained second thoughts about a full meal, but just as he located two empty seats on the far end of the table, Maddy Carpenter came through the doorway, saw Tommy across the room, and stepped quickly to join him. They took seats, and the waiter approached.
“Only sandwiches on this trip, Mrs. Carpenter, I’m afraid. Captain says we’re in for a bit of a blow, so the cook hasn’t lit the burners.”
“Sandwiches it is, then. Freddie, this is Colonel Callahan. He’s working with General Puttick to arrange some military things. And a cup of tea for me, if you please.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Carpenter. Sir?” he asked.
“I’ll stick with water, thank you.”
As the waiter left, Tommy nodded his head. “So you’re a regular passenger, it seems.”
“For the past few months, yes. I had a temporary appointment in Wellington, but now I’ve obtained a permanent posting with the general. I shan’t travel quite so often.”
Tommy could see that several of the military officers were occasionally glancing their way and the vibes he picked up were not cordial.
He motioned with his eyes so Maddy could see his intent. “Seems I’m not a popular guy tonight.”
“Well, you’re one of the first Yanks, and here you�
��ve taken over the only female on board. Can’t say as I blame them,” she said.
“The American Marines are not known for surrendering,” he challenged.
“I had hoped not,” she replied.
Freddie arrived with a small pot of tea, a single cup, and a glass of water for Tommy. He placed a plate of several sandwiches between the two and departed, losing his balance for a moment as the ship lurched sideways.
“There’s much I’ve come to love about New Zealand,” Tommy said, reaching for a sandwich, “but cucumber sandwiches don’t head the list.”
Maddy laughed as she poured her tea, trying to avoid spilling it against the growing movement of the vessel. “We are certainly well clear of Godley Head now and into the open sea. I’m not looking forward to the voyage.”
“Present company excluded, of course,” Tommy queried. “Do you suffer from sea sickness?”
She shook her head. “No, my family have been yachting on these waters for generations. It’s more the discomfort and a rusty old tub that’s seen better days. The Wahine’s been around since 1913 and had her scrapes.”
“Not yet thirty years old? That’s practically fresh paint for some of our naval vessels.”
“Then the US Navy better be prepared. The Japanese have been building new ships for a decade. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”
Tommy just nodded, a saddened look coming over his face.
Maddy reached across the table top and placed her hand on top of his. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I wasn’t thinking, truly. The terrible events at Pearl Harbor . . . I just didn’t think.”
“But you’re right. We’re starting with a strong deficit, but no war talk tonight. So, you’re afraid our transport might struggle through heavy seas.”
“I should think six-inch seas would be a deterrent. Nine-foot waves could see us—what do the Yanks say—to Davy Jones’s Locker?”
“That bad?”
Several New Zealand Air Force officers stood up at the far end of the table and began to depart the lounge. One of them approached and stopped beside Maddy.
“Trevor, how nice to see you again. This is Colonel Callahan, American Marines. He’s been working with General Puttick. Tommy, this is Wing Commander Trevor Upland.”
Tommy stood and extended his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Wing Commander.” Tommy was familiar enough with New Zealand military rank to know that Wing Commander Upland was of equal rank to himself.
“Yes, yes, good to see you, Colonel,” he said, proper, formal, and restrained. Turning his attention back to Maddy, he continued. “Has Geoffrey’s father recovered?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Trevor. He’s not been able to accept the loss. I don’t think he’ll be with us much longer.”
“Blasted shame, that. He survived the Boer War, did his part against the Turk at Gallipoli, and then . . . damn shame, that. Well, I’d better run. We’re just back from commissioning a class of new airmen at Wigram Airfield. They’re all so young, Maddy. So very young.”
“Yes, and that’s the shame, isn’t it? Very nice to see you again, Trevor. Please give my regards to Carol.”
“I shall. Colonel,” he said, glancing briefly at Tommy, “your lads should be here soon, so I understand.”
“I hope so, Wing Commander. We’re trying to get ready to house them.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Better late than never, one should think. A good evening to you, Maddy.”
As the officer departed, holding both sides of the cabin door as he made his way into the interior corridor, Maddy watched Tommy closely. “He really didn’t mean to be rude, Tommy.”
“Yes, Maddy, he did, but I understand. Your country has been in the thick of it for over two years. It’s much like the last time. When I arrived in France as a young eighteen-year-old corporal, the French and even the British felt the same way. Where the hell have you been? was the attitude. The Wing Commander has every right to think we’re late to the party. But I think his anger was directed more at my presence at your table than it was at tardy Marines. He seemed, well, possessive.”
She remained silent, taking a sip of her tea and then carefully placing the cup back onto the saucer. “Trevor was my husband’s wing commander. They served together in Crete under General Puttick. Alistair was a squadron leader in the NZRAF, the New Zealand Royal Air Force. He was shot down and killed over a year ago.”
Tommy had a quick intake of breath. “I’m sincerely sorry, Maddy. I understand your loss, truly.”
In quick order, Maddy’s demeanor turned serious. “Are you married, Colonel Callahan?”
“What happened to Tommy?” he asked softly.
“Are you?” she said, ignoring his reply.
“I was. To a New Zealand woman actually, in London.”
“Was?”
He paused, staring into her eyes. “It didn’t take us long to reach into each other’s baggage, did it, Maddy?” he said, rather stiffly. “My wife was a physician and we had a new infant son. The German bombers did not distinguish between military and civilians in their nighttime raids.”
Her face blanched for a moment, the pain of mutual loss apparent. “Now it’s my turn to cringe, Tommy. I’m truly sorry. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. It’s not like me. This war is determined to cross all barriers, no holds barred, and so many men see a widow as a mercy mission, longing for comfort.”
As several other soldiers began to depart the lounge, the Wahine dipped violently, bow forward, and two of the soldiers fell to the deck, assisted to their feet by their mates. One of them looked at Tommy and smiled sheepishly. “Not to worry, sir, I’ve weathered worse out on the piss, and me and the floor are old friends.”
Tommy laughed and waved at the departing soldiers.
“On the piss?” he queried of Maddy, who was also laughing.
“It means out drinking for the night. Frequent trips to, uh, you know.”
“I see. Yet another language barrier. Maybe we better return to our cabins and strap ourselves in for the ride. I don’t think we’re going to get much sleep tonight.”
“We could go to the forward lounge and chat for a bit,” Maddy suggested.
“Forward is not the place to be tonight. Our cabins are amidships and that’s the fulcrum point, the least up and down movement.”
“Well then, shall we go?”
Tommy stood and offered his hand as Maddy rose from her seat. They stepped through the interior hatchway and made an immediate left turn, walking the few doors to their cabins, using the walls to brace against the constantly increasing movement of the ship. As they reached her cabin, she unlocked the door, then turned and smiled up at Tommy. Her quick brush of a kiss was unexpected, but not unwelcome. “I hope we have a chance to see one another in Wellington, Tommy. Thank you for this evening. And I apologize for probing into personal matters.”
“Maddy, I . . .”
She placed her hand on his cheek, smiling at him. “You better go strap in. By the time we come abreast of Kaikoura, you won’t be certain if you’re lying on the floor or the ceiling.”
“Goodnight, Maddy.”
Inside his cabin, Tommy stripped to the waist and lay down on his bed, bracing his feet at each shift of the ship’s position. The constant up and down motion, as violent as it was, could have been worse had they been in a beam sea, bringing a more disconcerting left and right movement. Be grateful for small favors, Tommy thought to himself. He switched off the light and lay in the near darkness, the silhouette of the doorway adjoining both cabins drawing his thoughts outward toward the intriguing woman only feet away, yet miles distant.
As Maddy had said, sleep did not come as the ship increased pitch and roll, the groans of thirty-year-old metal straining to pull her apart at the seams. With one particularly violent lurch, he actually rolled out of bed and on to the floor. As he reached for the headboard to right himself, the adjoining cabin door opened, and in a flash of lightning, Maddy stood in the doorw
ay, her nightgown billowing as she struggled to stand upright.
They remained motionless for a long moment, Maddy securing her position with both elbows against the door frame and Tommy clutching the headboard. Then he held out his hand. In two quick steps, she came to him, the door slamming behind her as the forward lurch of the ship pulled it closed.
“We weren’t going to see each other until we reached Wellington,” he said.
“I hope we never do, Tommy. I hope . . .”
He placed two fingers across her mouth, silencing her, and with his other arm, pulling her close until their lips nearly met.
“Perhaps we’ve weathered our individual storms for too long,” Tommy said.
Chapter Fourteen
Corpus Christi Naval Air Station
Corpus Christi, Texas
May, 1942
Pilot Candidate Lieutenant Michael Cardenas finally came to the conclusion that his method wasn’t working. There was the right way, the wrong way, and the Marine Corps way to fly an airplane. He’d tried the first two and been severely marked down in his instructor’s flight log. After the glowing reports he’d received at Quantico, to be downgraded bruised the young man’s ego, not to mention his race for class leader, which would assure choice of assignment upon graduation.
“I don’t know who the hell taught you to fly, Lieutenant, but I ought to send you back to Phase I. You’re not going to be a Marine pilot if I have anything to say about it, not in my Corps.”
Although Michael wasn’t aware, officer training, (where the men were technically not yet officers) pilot training, and several other instructional aspects of Marine Corps indoctrination were the only places where enlisted men, even senior enlisted men like Sergeant Major Hardass, as the pilot candidates had taken to calling Sergeant Major Hardaway, could vocally berate a commissioned officer and show absolutely no respect for traditional rank protocol. It was clear they made the most of it.