Feldman waited a few moments, studying the face of someone he had come to know and respect over the last few months. He could see the scar tissue around his left eye where he had been hit with fragments of shrapnel. He looked at Flannigan’s left hand holding some of the papers. Scar tissue was visible from burns that Feldman knew went all the way up the shoulder. Were these burns from fuel oil or perhaps just flames licking at the buildings when he tried to rescue people trapped inside? He wondered about the other injuries on his leg and back from shrapnel penetrating deep inside. Feldman wondered if he would have the courage to go back into a burning building with exploding munitions or oil drums popping off like the Fourth of July. He had seen the commendation the president had bestowed, which made Flannigan a decorated hero. The doctor remembered what Flannigan had told him, “A decorated hero did something someone else saw. It must be a brave thing because few would do it. An undecorated hero is what everyone does, but no one sees it or reports it, or it doesn’t matter because you’re dead.”
Feldman decided to dig this time. He had not done so when they first met, and he had taken care of his hand and arm. The good doctor had commented on the quality of the surgery and the lack of scar tissue from the shrapnel wounds and told the young marine the burns would look better with time. But he never found the time to talk about the how and why of his injuries or the mental process he went through to recover. His clinical mind needed an answer to those questions while his friendship slowed down his zeal to uncover the details.
Feldman finally went for answers. “Bob, I didn’t know you served on the Houston. When was this? Before the war began?”
Flannigan stared at the whisky in the bottom of the glass and took a sip. “No, I never served on her, but I had spent some time with two of her marine officers while I was in China. That was early in ’41. The Houston would come and go during the hottest months in Manila and spend that time in Shanghai. Not much cooler, but less humidity, and you could buy a lot more for your money in China than in Manila. I was getting set to leave the Fourth Regiment in early August for a rotation back to the States. I took the mail boat to Manila and reported to the captain of the Port when I got there in mid-September. Suddenly, I was whisked away to the office of Admiral Hart who told me I would not be going back to the States for a while. He wanted a marine officer on his staff to run courier messages to the other commands, and he especially wanted a man with recent China experience. So, that’s how I got to be in the Philippines instead of some nice duty Stateside.”
“So, tell me about the Japanese attack and what happened at Cavite.” Feldman poured more whisky into Flannigan’s glass to keep the conversation flowing.
Flannigan looked at the refilled glass and did a short glass salute to the good doctor and took a small sip followed by an audible sound of pleasure.
“Doc, for the rest of October I ran around Asia being a courier, which usually meant waiting for someone to reply to a message, then hightailing it back to Manila. As the story goes, I would wait and then wait around some more. In late October, I did get to fly to Guam to deliver a package of orders to the naval commander of the island and after a week, flew back on the China Clipper. Now that’s the way to fly. Beats the hell out of a PBY.”
Flannigan took another hit of the booze and was feeling less pain, or so the doctor thought. “Then in November things got hot. Hart decided to get the marines out of China. It took him most of October to get permission, and I went up with the evacuation transport. I got back at the end of November and expected to go to work for Colonel Howard of the Fourth Regiment. Hart, however, had other plans. He wanted me to be his marine aide and head courier. He knew I had spent time with the Japs and knew how they thought. Two years in China makes you go oriental they say, and good old Tommy Hart wanted people with experience, not new kids. So, it was on December 8 over there, not the seventh that we were alerted of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Admiral Hart immediately set in motion the war plans he had and notified MacArthur of the attack and his plans. Mac A, as we called him, had not heard the news and his aides were not convinced we should be doing anything. To say the least, the navy and the army in the Philippines did not get along. Hart wanted to control all sea patrols from the air, and Mac A didn’t want to go along with it. But eight hours later, after the Japs caught our planes on the ground, it became a moot point.”
Feldman did not push anymore but waited as Flannigan took another sip and stared out into space. He could almost feel his marine friend being thrown back into the lurch of the war in Asia. He just sat and waited until it was time for Flannigan to speak again.
“Well, anyway, we had no air cover, and the admiral had wisely dispersed the fleet, or whatever you call two cruisers and a dozen old destroyers, the week before. He had received a war warning and took it seriously. Evidently, others didn’t and we’re paying the price for their negligence. But the story continues, Doc. Any more of that high-quality booze?”
Feldman smiled and poured another shot into the glass Captain Bob was holding. He took a sip and then continued. “Where was I? Oh yea, Cavite. The admiral sent me over to the base to see if we had been moving the spares and ammo to someplace safe. I was there when the Japs came over. It was around noon as I recall. Our anti-aircraft guns, or as I called them rock throwers, could not shoot high enough to hit the sons of bitches.” He looked at the glass and seemed to be studying the movement of the liquid. He took another sip and continued his story.
“They flew over in nice V-shaped formations and dropped their bombs like they were from the post office. Perfect hits on some of the ships in dock and they blew the hell out of the buildings. I think we lost five hundred men. Just torn apart into big pieces and little pieces and blood everywhere. The poor Filipinos were massacred, and everyone fought the fires. I was an officer and tried to direct the firefighters, but there was no water pressure. The mains were out, the trucks were destroyed, nothing worked. I ran into some of the buildings to get the men out, and hopefully, some of the stores. You know you cannot fight a war, Doc, without stores. Stuff like food and torpedoes and ammo and parts and bullets and guns. Stuff we needed more of and it was all gone to hell.”
Flannigan appeared drained as he relived the fire and bombs and explosions at the base. In his mind’s eye, he could see the carnage of the dead and the dying, and was mostly helpless in doing anything for most of the attack victims.
“Well, finally the Japs left us alone. Things burned for hours I guess, maybe days. I was already at the hospital and in a bad way, or is that what all doctors say, Doc?”
Feldman didn’t comment, just smiled and sipped his drink.
“Two days later I had a visitor. It was the commander of the Naval District, Admiral Rockwell. He told me Hart was ordering me to Java with orders to report to Captain Parnell, who would oversee forces in the Dutch East Indies until he could get there. He wanted me to take some papers and await further orders. This was December 11. The next day, the doctors wrapped me up again and took me to the USS Whippoorwill, a little minesweeper from World War I, heading south in company with the old Yangtze river boats Asheville and Tulsa. I think the Lark, another minesweeper, would come with us.”
Flannigan took another sip as his eyes misted over a bit. “The little flotilla of barely seaworthy boats left on the night of the twelfth. Our first stop was a few days out in Balikpapan, Borneo. We fueled and met up with some of our destroyers. From there we slipped slowly down the coast to Java arriving on December 22. The captain of the Whippoorwill, Lt. Comdr. Charles Ferriter, ordered me off his ship with a wink of the eye and into a Dutch hospital. There I was greeted by Captain Parnell who told me I would be leaving on a PBY in two days for Darwin on the north coast of Australia. I was in too bad a shape to help anyone he said, and Admiral Hart had some handwritten reports I was to carry all the way to Hawaii to give to whoever was in command of the fleet. I was in a good deal of pain. The doctors said the shrapnel wounds were healing well, but the b
urns would take time. The bastards were right about that for sure.” He took another sip and asked, “Am I boring you with this saga, Doc?”
Feldman sipped his whisky. “No, please continue, I want to know how you got home.”
Another sip and Flannigan returned to his story. “I got on a PBY Christmas evening and flew to Darwin. It was a long plane ride in a slow plane, but we made it. Upon arriving in Darwin, I was put on a train that took three days to get anywhere. I think it was Adelaide or something like that. I was met by an Australian officer who helped me get to the airport where I boarded a very nice DC-3 for Sydney. Then I got on a Boeing Clipper and flew via Fiji, Samoa, and Johnson Island to Honolulu. I think I arrived on the second or third of January. I could be wrong, but didn’t care. The bastards took me to the hospital where I was not the only burn patient. There were many men still there from the December 7 attack and I felt guilty for being in pretty good shape. They held me for four days, and after a stop at the office of the new admiral in charge of the Pacific Fleet, or what remained of it, I flew to San Diego where we eventually met.”
Doc Feldman looked over at his friend, noticing the whisky had made a significant impact. He was somewhat inebriated or in the non-medical terminology, drunk. Feldman didn’t think they had consumed that much until he realized only a quarter of the bottle remained. He knew he was getting tipsy, but he didn’t realize Flannigan was down for the count. His speech was getting more slurred, and he seemed to have a tough time fixing his eyes on any one object. The doctor conferred with himself and decided his patient and the attending physician, needed to retire for the evening. Feldman turned toward the living room and came face to face with Gunny Jones.
“Doc, it seems that the captain needs assistance getting to his quarters. May I be of assistance, sir?” The big sergeant looked kindly at the doctor who needed assistance as well.
The doctor declared in his best voice, “Why, Gunny, how opportune for you to be waiting for my call for help. Yes, I think the good captain is now set for some sleep so if you would assist me in getting him to his room, we will have accomplished a great deal this evening.”
Feldman realized, even in his condition, the gunny had been listening to the kitchen conversation. Not in a malevolent way but in a comradely manner, taking care of his own like a good marine gunnery sergeant would do in all cases.
Feldman and the gunny gently pulled the wavering captain to his feet and slowly steered him to his room. The captain said nothing on this short journey until they were inside the room. “Gunny Jones, are you responsible for my current predicament?” he asked in a semi-intelligent manner.
“Captain, a marine sergeant always looks out for all the men assigned to his care. The doctor and I are helping you find your quarters.” The gunny smiled at Feldman who was about to laugh but thought it best if he kept it straight. Flannigan smiled as the doctor pulled off his shoes and the gunny held him up so the doc could unbutton his shirt and trousers. Finally, they had him down to his skivvies, and tucked him into his bed like a troublesome four-year-old that had run out of steam.
The two men walked out of the room as Feldman remarked, “Gunny, you are a good man and a great marine. It’s good having you around to take care of the men in this unit, especially the captain. I fear there are still some demons lurking in his mind and it may take a long time to remove them.”
Jones glanced back at the door and replied in a near whisper, “Doc, you are a good friend to the captain and to the men. What you did tonight was the proper medication to help Mr. Flannigan come to grips with his experiences. War is a strange thing and sometimes things stay with you for many years. I know that I still have dreams and recall the names of the men who didn’t make it out of the Woods in France.”
Feldman knew the gunny’s record in the marines and how he had won the Navy Cross at Belleau Woods in France during the Great War. If any man in the unit knew the challenges Flannigan faced, it would be a veteran of the terrible war to end all wars. The doctor looked over at the gunny and said, “Thank you again for the help and the vote of confidence. Keep an eye on him because I need to get some sleep, too. You marines are going to destroy my whisky collection and my brain.”
The gunny laughed and wished the doctor good night and pleasant dreams, something that came very hard to those who had endured the pain and suffering of battle.
29
9 March 1942
Office of Admiral King
Washington, D.C.
• Java surrenders to the Japanese.
• Philippines--General MacArthur reports that General Yamashita has replaced General Homma as CinC of enemy forces in the Philippines.
Brand had finished his report on the seventh and after a review by Captain Jameson, it was sent to Admiral Willson who reviewed it before giving it to King. They had been called early in the morning to come to King’s office at 1100 hours to answer questions from the admiral and his staff.
As scheduled, Brand and Jameson were waiting in Admiral Willson’s office talking to one of his aides when a marine orderly came in to take them down the hall to a conference room. Brand and Jameson both thought they were going to have a briefing with the admiral’s staff and get shot at by everyone who objected to some of the recommendations or observations contained in the report. They were surprised to learn this was not the case.
When they entered the room and came to attention, they saw Admiral King, Admiral Turner, Admiral Willson, and two British officers, both of flag rank. King didn’t speak but Willson did. “Come in Captain, Lieutenant, we have some people who would like to meet you.”
The two officers approached the big dark conference table that could seat at least twenty people. When they came near, King stood and introduced the two British officers, “Admiral Sir Charles Little, Field Marshal Sir John Dill, may I present to you, Captain Jameson and Lieutenant Brand.”
Dill jumped up first and shook the officers’ hands saying, “Jameson, good to meet you. And you are the young scientist, James, I think it is?”
Brand immediately responded, “Yes sir, James Brand, sir.” He was getting somewhat tongue-tied meeting a field marshal who had no equivalent in the American military. Also, he was an English Lord, and that was something very special.
Admiral Little went through similar introductions, but was more reserved than Dill who enjoyed the American culture and Americans in general.
Admiral King told everyone to be seated. Brand took a seat next to Admiral Willson who served as his protector when dealing with higher ranks.
With a bit of hesitation and scanning the report in front of him, King began, “The field marshal and admiral are our principal liaisons with the British Combined Chiefs of Staff and serve as the eyes and ears of His Majesty’s government. We are working with our British Allies to design the strategy and build the tools to win this war. Having them in our headquarters is very important to the war effort. We have American’s serving in London in a similar capacity. That is one of the reasons I have asked you two to come today and meet these gentlemen. The other reason is your research and recommendations for defeating the German submarines. Your analysis is thorough and at the same time, challenges much of our thinking. Our Allies have the same issues and challenges, but they have been involved in some of these things far longer than we have.”
King hated to admit it because he didn’t trust the “Allies,” especially the Brits. But he knew his boss, the president, had set in motion the Joint Chiefs program and the combined strategy included him. He wanted a quick answer to as many complex questions as possible, but he knew it was not in the cards. So, he had to get along with his “Allies” as best he could, but with as much American planning, ingenuity, and fighting as possible.
Dill spoke up, “Gentlemen, Admiral King was most kind to let us review your report, and I am very pleased with your efforts. Lieutenant Brand, you were generous to mention the work of our British scientists, engineers, and countless sailors who
have worked on many of these problems for two years or more, but you have taken some of these ideas much further. I think that taking the best from both of our efforts and sharing the successes achieved will help end this war in a much shorter time frame.”
Admiral Little added his comments, “Gentlemen, as the field marshal stated, you have given us credit where it is due, and you have taken the research forward beyond what we have accomplished. You do this in a very scientific and, if I can be so bold, a non-parochial manner. This bodes well for future shared opportunities. You are both a credit to your navy and to the ideals set forth by your president.”
Brand didn’t know what to think about the high praise but was about to speak when he was saved by Admiral Willson, who sensed some duress in young Brand.
“Mr. Brand, what Admiral Little and Field Marshal Dill want to express to you and Captain Jameson is that your work has opened up our collective eyes to some new opportunities in dealing with the German submarines. It is critical to the war effort that we understand their operations first and then eradicate them from the Atlantic. We cannot win this war by building planes and tanks here without being able to deliver them to where they are needed.”
King joined in with the real reason for the meeting. “Captain, I want you and Brand to go to London and meet with some of their people, your counterparts, and see what else we can work on in collaboration with one another to fight the Germans. I want you to be briefed by Admiral Turner on the navy war plans, and General Marshall wants you to meet with General Eisenhower to understand the army’s current vision of the war effort. Then Admiral Willson will arrange for your travel to England. Admiral Little and Field Marshal Dill will arrange for high-level meetings with their planners and members of their scientific development teams. Your goal is to come up with plans that are practical, fast, and like your other work has shown, prioritized to maximize the investment in time, money and people. Are there any questions?”
U-Boat Scourge Page 29