The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  The fact that Hardaway could fly circles around any young lieutenant only served to increase the humiliation. The pilot candidates were, with rare exception, younger, more educated, physically superior, possessed quicker reflexes, and were more valuable to the Marine Corps. That was how they saw it. Hardaway took about twenty-four hours to disabuse the best of them of that preposterous notion.

  At thirty-nine, according to flight hours, logged and unofficial, Sergeant Major Matthew Hardaway was close to, if not the most, senior pilot in the Marine Corps. He had learned to fly in 1923 as a young Marine aircraft mechanic. His pilot officer, a Great War veteran, was drunk most of the time, and on one occasion, Hardaway had covered for his captain by performing the inebriated officer’s reconnaissance flight over the Nicaraguan jungle. After that, Hardaway flew over half the missions without the battalion commanding officer ever knowing who was aloft.

  In his now-legendary snarl, flecks of spittle often leaping from his lips to the face of his victim, Hardaway stood directly in front of Lieutenant Cardenas.

  “You miserable puke. It’s my understanding that you were recommended for the infantry. In my opinion, and my opinion is very important to your success or failure, you should have accepted that posting. You may still obtain that posting, if I have anything to say about it. And understand me clearly, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice now soft and threatening as he leaned within inches of Michael’s face, “I do have something to say about it.”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” Michael responded, maintaining a rigid attention.

  “The day you pin on wings is the day pigs will fly. Am I understood?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Get out of my office.”

  As Pilot Candidate Cardenas departed the building, First Sergeant Tonner, who had watched the exchange with silent amusement, got up from his desk besides Hardaway’s, grabbed his cap, and started for the door. “You kind of like that kid, Matt. You going soft in your old age?”

  “Best damn natural pilot I’ve ever seen. Let’s get some lunch.”

  Valhalla

  Salt Lake City, Utah

  June, 1942

  “Katie, the paper says General Vandegrift and the early elements of the 1st Marine Division have arrived in New Zealand. I guess that’s what Tommy’s been doing these past months. Setting up arrangements for the Marines.”

  Katrina entered the parlor, wiping her hands on her apron. “Does it say how long they’ll be there?”

  “No,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t publish that kind of information. I’m surprised they even announced their location, but I suppose it’s hard to hide fifteen thousand men.”

  “Well, the Navy scored a rousing victory last month, so maybe the tide is turning. With all our troops surrendering in the Philippines, we needed some good news. But duty in New Zealand setting up defenses is good, right? I mean, Tommy will likely be safe if the Marines are there to defend against an invasion,” Katrina said hopefully.

  “Marines don’t sit and wait for an attack, Katie. Tommy taught me that much. Wherever the Japanese are located in the South Pacific, they’re going to have visitors before long, I’d say.”

  McKay’s Crossing

  Wellington, New Zealand

  June, 1942

  On June 14th, the USS Wakefield sailed into Wellington Harbour with General Vandegrift and 6,000 Marines, the initial element of the 1st Marine Division. The tide of war in the Pacific had turned in more ways than just the arrival of Marines.

  In May, what the American press had dubbed the Battle of the Coral Sea provided the first morale boost since the opening engagement of the war. It was not a victory in the numerical sense, since the opposing fleets traded equal losses of ships, but it was the first time that the Japanese onslaught had been halted. Subsequently, their invasion of Port Moresby, New Guinea, was cancelled.

  The greatest victory, both strategically and numerically, came a month later, just a week before General Vandegrift arrived in Wellington. In the first major sea battle involving naval aircraft, the Battle of Midway commenced on June 4 and lasted four days. Fought entirely through airpower, four Japanese aircraft carriers and a heavy cruiser were sunk against American losses of one carrier and a destroyer. Japanese naval power or unlimited territorial expansion was never assured from that point in the war.

  Unknown until long after the war ended, American intelligence knowledge of the Imperial Japanese naval code had made the victory possible and continued to give critical information to Allied planners as Plan Orange began to be implemented.

  Less than ten days after General Vandegrift arrived, Tommy was called to his temporary headquarters for a meeting. Tommy had met the ship and had spoken for several moments with the general upon arrival, but no formal meeting had taken place while the divisional command staff established its facilities and command presence. Tommy was punctual and attired in his utility uniform. Winter had fully arrived in Wellington. He stood before the general’s desk.

  “Sir, Lieutenant Colonel Callahan reporting as ordered.”

  “Have a seat, Callahan. Good job you’ve done here. I didn’t expect to have quarters for the men fully prepared.”

  Tommy took a seat directly in front of the general’s desk. “Sir, the Kiwis deserve the credit for that. They have been, to use their own expression, nose down, arse up.”

  “Humph,” Vandegrift mumbled. “Well done, Colonel. Midway has changed things, and quickly, I might add. We’ve been directed to prepare for ‘minor amphibious operations,’ against the Japanese, probably in the Solomons. Are you familiar with that concept, Colonel Callahan?”

  Tommy allowed a brief smile to cross his face. “Sir, it was not part of Plan Orange during my tenure in Washington, but a Marine major from Australia was here last month, talking a bit about General MacArthur’s intentions. He said that the general had used that term, saying the Army would control land operations within the Pacific theater and the Marines would conduct minor amphibious operations. He said General MacArthur was reading from a naval communiqué. I assume you are referring to that directive.”

  Vandegrift nodded. “Exactly. The commandant himself told me that was the term being used to assuage Army sensibilities. Now let me explain something to you. Our first minor amphibious operation will include nearly one hundred ships and thirteen thousand Marines in a minor beach assault somewhere in the Solomons. Am I making myself clear?”

  “You are, sir. We’re going to kick the Japs’ asses, in a minor sort of way.”

  “Precisely. That’s where you come in. I understand you have several Maori and Samoan military personnel working for you in various aspects of preparation for our arrival.”

  “Yes, sir. About two dozen, actually.”

  “Colonel, I want you to find three or four of them who have been in the Solomons, specifically the area around Tulagi and Guadalcanal. The better knowledge they have, the more useful. Our maps are old, mostly late eighteenth, early nineteenth-century British drawings, and we can’t risk tipping our hand with aerial reconnaissance. We need to put someone on that island and have a look. Get in and get out without being spotted. Two or three days at most. I know you’ve been in a classroom for the past few years. Are you up to this mission, Colonel?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well then, you, Colonel Callahan, have just volunteered. Get me the information I need about Japanese presence. How many, where, support, air, navy. The works. In just over a month I’m going to put thousands of young American boys on that beach and I want to bring every damn one of ‘em home when we’re done.”

  Every spare moment since his return from the South Island had been spent with Maddy Carpenter. That wasn’t much time, actually. She worked ten and twelve-hour days at New Zealand Army headquarters and Tommy worked fourteen and sixteen-hour days between the Marine camp at McKay Crossing and various logistical support groups in and around Wellington.

  Maddy had immediately filled a void in
Tommy’s life that he hadn’t realized was present. On those rare occasions when he allowed himself to reflect on his life in England with Bess, a guilty pang of betrayal stabbed at his heart, but something deep inside told him that Bess was not that kind of person. Needing someone, loving someone, was part of life. No one had taught him that more than his wife and the mother of his son.

  In many ways, he felt that Maddy had also bottled up her emotion, allowing her job duties to assume preeminence. Together they had not spoken in terms of endearment, either toward each other or in reflection upon their former spouses. It was clear to Tommy that Maddy had loved her husband. His inability to father children and her sorrow at being widowed and childless so early in life was the only personal subject she had discussed with her new lover.

  In turn, Tommy knew that Maddy understood his love for Bess and Ben. On the one occasion when she had asked him about his son, the instant tears in his eyes had ended the conversation, resulting in the two of them lying quietly in the solitude of Maddy’s bedroom until he fell asleep.

  Now that General Vandegrift and the Marines were in New Zealand, activity had increased threefold in New Zealand Army headquarters. The building was alive with preparation for action, taking the fight to the enemy, and supporting their new allies. Even those for whom the American arrival was delinquent and fraught with arrogance had to admit that it felt good to see firsthand the long line of men and material that had come over the wharf in Wellington. Now that they were preparing to exit again, en route to somewhere, anywhere, to take the fight to the Japanese, morale was up and Maddy had seen it personally.

  “How long do we have?” she asked Tommy one evening as they cleaned up the dishes after dinner.

  “I don’t know, Maddy, but you know the drill. When I get orders, I can’t say where, when, or how long, even if I knew.”

  She nodded her understanding. “I know where, Tommy. After all, I do work at Army headquarters and my security rating may well exceed your own. At your commanders’ request, we’ve been looking for Maori soldiers who’ve lived in the Solomons. Two and two . . .”

  Tommy pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “Remind me next time to find a woman who doesn’t know anything about military operations.”

  “Next time?” she said, pulling away from his grasp in mock anger. Then she stared up at him, her face revealing the true nature of her concern.

  He held her by both shoulders and spoke softly. “I’ll be back, Maddy.”

  She didn’t answer, looking away for a few seconds, and then stepped into his embrace.

  “We have now, Tommy. That’s all we can count on.”

  USS Argonaut

  Sealark Channel, Solomon Sea

  North Coast of Guadalcanal

  June, 1942

  USS Argonaut was a transport submarine built at the Portsmouth Navy Yard in 1925. She had been en route to assignment with the submarine flotilla at Brisbane, Australia, when contacted to rendezvous with HMNZS Monowai, a New Zealand armed merchant cruiser south of the Solomon Sea.

  The morning of June 17th, Lieutenant Colonel Callahan, Lieutenant Frank Borello, New Zealand Sergeant Tonopai, and two Kiwi soldiers originally from Samoa were flown by PBY from Wellington Harbour to meet the Monowai off the northwest coast of New Zealand. The three New Zealanders had worked together for the Solomon’s Shipping Company as deck hands on coastal freighters. One of the Samoans still had a family on Guadalcanal in a coastal village whom he hadn’t heard from since the Japanese occupation.

  Monowai sailed northwest to the coordinates for the rendezvous, at which point the five men transferred to USS Argonaut for the final leg of the trip.

  For the first time since the trenches of France in 1918, Thomas Callahan III was going to war.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Corpus Christi Naval Air Station

  Corpus Christi, Texas

  July, 1942

  Sebastian and Teresa Cardenas were among the proud parents sitting in the reviewing stand as Second Lieutenant Michael C. Cardenas graduated pilot training with thirty-seven other members of his class. Eleven of the graduates were headed for Pensacola Naval Air Station to continue flight training in the new F4F Wildcat fighter.

  Also in the stands were Thomas and Katrina Callahan, grandparents of the new Marine Corps pilot. Seby had flown them all to Texas in his twin-engine Beechcraft, Model 18, which he had purchased in 1939 and had outfitted for eight passengers. Michael’s two sisters, Jenny at sixteen and Mary, who was twelve, were also in the family gathering. Sparkie, the youngest, had stayed at home with close friends.

  “He’s so dashing,” Katrina voiced as she sat with her arm wrapped inside Tom’s elbow, the July heat off the Gulf of Mexico overpowering everyone.

  “I don’t think so, Grandma,” the older sister, Jenny, replied. “I like the white Navy uniforms better. They’re soooo handsome. Mike looks like he’s going to the jungle in that khaki-colored outfit.”

  “He looks wonderful,” Tess said, a beaming parental pride having overridden the fear-bound mother of a son about to go to war. At least for the moment. As the graduating class received their final salute and tossed their hats in the air, everyone began to come down out of the reviewing stands and join their respective son, brother, husband, father, or friend. Seby was the first person Mike reached, and Seby, relinquishing his cultural heritage which demanded restraint, wrapped his arms around his son.

  “These wings rightfully belong to you, Dad. It was you who taught me to fly.”

  “I think you’re the teacher now, Mike. I’m proud of you. How long do you have today?”

  The young man shook his head. “Only a few hours. We’re on the train just after midnight, headed for Florida.”

  The rest of the family had gathered around the young man, repeating a scene being played out all over the field. Parents, sweethearts, siblings, even strangers were alternately rejoicing or crying, proud and sad at the same time. The graduation signified an academic and personal achievement, but it also qualified the recipient to become an aerial warrior. And from what the newspapers had been reporting, aerial warriors were in short supply. What in peace time would have been primarily a happy occasion was seen with the understanding that many of these young men would be in harm’s way within months.

  “All right,” Seby said, “Mike’s on a short timetable, so let’s get in the car and head out for dinner. We are celebrating our son and grandson’s achievement. So let’s get on with it.”

  USS Argonaut

  Sealark Channel, Solomon Sea

  North Coast of Guadalcanal

  July, 1942

  Less than forty-eight hours after Michael Cardenas graduated from flight training in Corpus Christi, the Argonaut surfaced and Colonel Callahan, with his four-man team, had slipped over the side into two, small, inflatable boats and was paddling for the northern coastline of Guadalcanal. A few scattered lights along the shore were visible through the heavy mist. Under the low-visibility weather conditions the previous evening, the submarine had been able to close to within six hundred yards of a sandy promontory that Hutch, the Samoan whose family was ashore, had recognized as being near his village. Pickup after the mission was scheduled for the same time, four nights hence.

  The Argonaut was gone within moments after they cast off and suddenly they were alone against the might of the Japanese Empire, or those elements of it that now occupied the Pacific island of Guadalcanal. Tommy had never heard of Guadalcanal prior to three weeks ago while studying maps in Wellington. Slightly before two a.m., they beached their rubber boats, dragging them onshore and covering their craft with palm fronds and sand.

  “How far, Hutch?” Tommy asked in the stillness of the tropical darkness.

  “’bout a half mile, Colonel,” he pointed. “Fifteen minutes in the dark.”

  “Right. We’ll remain here and go a few hundred yards inland. You see what you can find out in your village. Remember, you caught a ride on a fishing boat. Nothing a
bout soldiers, Navy, or anything about military coming here. Report back before dawn and I’ll decide where we go from there. The most important thing, how close is the nearest Jap camp.”

  “Right, Colonel,” the soldier said, then disappeared into the darkness.

  “Frank,” Tommy said to Lieutenant Borello, “see the boats are well hidden and then we’ll move inland.”

  In March, General Douglas MacArthur had been ordered out of the Philippines by President Roosevelt. In April, the remaining 70,000 American troops had surrendered and entered into what became known as the Bataan Death March. Then, in mid April, Army General Doolittle flew his famous bomber raid from American aircraft carriers and for the first time in the war, dropped bombs on the homeland of Japan, including Tokyo. Very little significant damage resulted, but the morale boost to the American people and the loss of face to the Japanese was perhaps more important than an actual victory.

  Throughout the Pacific and southeast Asia, American and British land forces had been summarily defeated, the largest defeat in history for either nation. The recent American naval victories brought hope and renewed confidence to the Allied effort, but the planned invasion against an entrenched Japanese enemy would be the first major land engagement of the war.

  As Tommy had transited the Solomon Sea in the tight confines of the USS Argonaut, these were the thoughts on his mind. His reconnaissance mission, to discover Japanese strength on Guadalcanal, would be pivotal in determining the battle plan for the 1st Marine Division. Without adequate information, the entire division could be forced against the sea with little hope of withdrawal. It was not a mission to be undertaken lightly. Capture would be worse, for it would reveal the initial intended target and assure reinforcement prior to the invasion. Should their team be taken prisoner, it would likely result in the cancellation of the invasion, or at the least, a change of target and most certainly their execution.