My Father the God

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 4

  War Intervenes

  TELEGRAM

  Western Union

  September 3, 1941

  To: Sloan Stewart

  Hightower Hall

  Harvard University

  Boston, Massachusetts

  United States of America

  From:Alastair Stewart

  Trinity College

  Cambridge University

  Cambridge, United Kingdom

  You are commanded to report for military service by October 1. Passage booked, Thursday, Sept 6, on U.S. Merchant Ship Fremont out of Boston, arriving Portsmouth. Will meet you dockside in England. AS

  Boston – Two Hours Later

  “You’re what?” James exclaimed, eyes wide in utter amazement.

  “I said, I’m dropping out of school,” Sloan replied forlornly.

  “But why?” James inquired incredulously.

  “I’ve received a telegram from my father. I’ve been drafted into the military.”

  “But I thought you said he was going to keep you from having to serve.”

  “Well, I thought so, too, but things must have taken a turn for the worse in England,” Sloan responded, “So there’s really nothing I can do. I must go home right away, James. My ship leaves in three days.”

  “Oh, my…I assume you are going to see Isolde before leaving.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve already arranged to have dinner with her.”

  “Where will they ship you, do you know?”

  “No, I’ve no idea at all. I don’t even know what branch of service it will be, although, since my father served in the army during The Great War, I suppose that is the most likely possibility.”

  “This is absolutely shocking. We must have a going away party for you.”

  “That isn’t necessary, James.”

  “Perhaps, but I’d like to do it anyway, with your permission, of course.”

  “Alright, but please don’t go to any trouble.”

  The Following Evening

  Sloan stood silently by the wharf, contemplating in the fading rays of sunshine the unknown that lay before him. In less than thirty-six hours he would be boarding the Fremont in this very harbor, bound for England and a world at war. Suddenly the click of feminine heels on pavement drew him back and, turning to his left he saw her approaching, a smile spreading across her otherwise forlorn features.

  “Sloan! Dear Sloan,” she managed to blurt before grasping him in a tight embrace, a flood of tears staining her smile, “We must make the most of tonight. It may be our last for a long while.”

  Desperately holding back tears of his own, all he could bear to respond was, “Isolde, dear Isolde.”

  The pair dined at Clambake, one of Boston’s finest seafood restaurants, something they would never have thought of doing under normal circumstances. But of course, this wasn’t a normal circumstance at all.

  After they had completed their repast, the mood turning solemn, Isolde exclaimed disconsolately, “I don’t understand, I thought your father had arranged for you to remain in school here in the United States.”

  At this he responded introspectively, “Yes, I thought so too, but there are limits to his political powers, Isolde, and the situation in Europe has deteriorated significantly. What with the capitulation of France, the advance of the Germans in North Africa, and the attack on Russia in the East, the Allies are in dire straits. The Axis powers could well take all of Europe and Asia before long.”

  “It all seems so far away,” she murmured, suggesting, “Surely the United States won’t be drawn into it.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” he replied, “This war is far from over. Look what happened in the Great War. Both sides thought it would end in a matter of months, but it lasted more than four years, and millions upon millions of lives were lost. And to be honest, it appears that Hitler and his henchmen will not rest until they’ve had their full revenge.”

  Drawing one hand to her throat, Isolde exclaimed, “Now you’re scaring me! You could get wounded, or worse, Sloan!”

  “There is that, but there is nothing at all that can be done about it, dear Isolde. I must report, or I face a court martial for draft evasion. I’m afraid that, given the two alternatives, the former is the only reasonable course of action. So I’m bound for England on tomorrow’s tide, I’m afraid.”

  “I can’t stand it!” she exclaimed. “How shall I go on without you, dear Sloan!”

  “You must, and you shall. And for my part, I shall promise to come back, when it’s all over. Should I survive this war, I promise to return to Boston.”

  She eyed him mournfully, then mumbled, “I suppose that is all one could expect,” and, contemplating for a moment, she added, “What about Sabrina?”

  “What about her?” he inquired dismissively.

  “Don’t you want to see her before you go?”

  “I doubt that she would see me even if I tried, after the events of the summer. Besides, there isn’t time for me to go to Pennsylvania.”

  “But you adore her, Sloan. Anyone can see that!”

  “Isolde, let us not concern ourselves with personal feelings at this juncture in time. Whatever any of us feels at this moment, with time the war shall change everything. When it is all over, we may consider our own emotions, but for now, duty must take the forefront.”

  “What a load of unmitigated balderdash!” she responded bluntly, “Wherever on earth did you come up with that?”

  He peered dejectedly at her for a moment, then offered, “From my father, Isolde. He lived through the most horrible war in the history of humankind and, having lost a leg, he came home from the war and sought out his long lost love, only to find her on her death bed, dying from the influenza epidemic. He somehow righted his life thereafter, married her sister, who became my mother I might add, and has subsequently enjoyed a long and happy life.”

  At this she stared at him in wonder and murmured, “Well, that may be, but I know how I feel, and I shall feel thusly forever.”

  “Right, as you should,” he offered and, placing his hand over hers, he repeated, “As you should. Now, I must be on my way, dear Isolde.”

  “May I see you off, Sloan?”

  “Please - no, Isolde. This setting is so much more fitting. Can we let this be the place of parting?”

  “Yes, I suppose you are right,” she responded, tears now streaming down her face yet again, “Alright then, give us a hug, dear friend.” And at this he did her bidding, subsequently turning to leave.

  As he strode away she murmured, “Bye, dear Sloan, dear dear Sloan,” but he was already beyond earshot.

  Off the coast of Newfoundland - September 7

  Fast asleep within his bunk, Sloan was awakened by the sound of an enormous explosion, thereby assuring him that the ship had been struck by a torpedo launched from a German U-Boat. Having prepared for just such a possibility, he quickly bounded from bed, feeling the ship already listing noticeably to starboard.

  He had read about the situation in the North Atlantic, hundreds of Allied and American ships already having been sunk by the Germans. He had even imagined what he might do if he were aboard a sinking ship, in this, a war unlike any other. He was therefore rather better prepared than most of the other three hundred passengers aboard the ship. Accordingly, he quickly dressed in his warmest clothing, placing his valuables within his coat pocket, and made for the deck as rapidly as humanly possible. He was one of the first passengers to reach the lifeboats, and none too soon, for the torpedo had struck amidships, blasting through two of the ship’s main bulkheads in the process.

  An officer motioned frantically to him as he came alongside the life boat, screaming, “Hurry, man! The ship’s going down! Anyone onboard this ship in five minutes is going to the bottom alongside the Titanic! Hurry, man!”

  At this, Sloan paled, replying, “Shouldn’t we wait for the women and children?�
�

  “What women and children? There are very few of them onboard this ship! Not many are willing to chance the crossing for the very reason that we are faced with at this moment. Now, there’s no time to lose. Get aboard the lifeboat, now!”

  At this, Sloan scampered over the side, jumping haphazardly into the boat alongside several other terrified looking passengers. Several more passengers followed and, the boat now little more than half full, the officer ordered, “Lower away!”

  Sloan called out, “But we’re only half full, sir!”

  “Shut up! Lower away!” the officer ordered yet again, and the boat suddenly lurched downwards. Moments later the bow slapped the surface of the Atlantic, Sloan noticing that it was an unusually calm night on the open sea.

  Several of the passengers within the lifeboat now grabbed oars, Sloan included, and pulled as quickly as possible away from the rapidly sinking ship, in hopes of reaching far enough away to avoid being capsized by the ship when it went down.

  Sloan watched as two more lifeboats were launched, then a third, and finally a fourth, but that was the last one launched, the ship going down half a minute thereafter. He gazed in distress as two partially launched lifeboats fell sideways into the sea, expelling their passengers as the ship went down. Just before the ship disappeared beneath the surface, he watched in horror as several people jumped over the side.

  “Hurry!” Sloan shouted to his fellow passengers, “We’ve got to get back to the ship! There may be survivors!” But to his amazement, the remaining occupants simply halted rowing, stunned into immobility by the horrifying scene unfolding before them. Grabbing an oar, he tugged on it desperately, but to no avail. It simply wasn’t possible for one person to row several hundred yards back toward the spot where the ship had gone down.

  As it was, the screams from the dying ended shortly thereafter, all having quickly perished from the freezing cold waters of the North Atlantic.

  There were by this point several men moaning onboard the lifeboat, as well as one middle aged woman wailing at the top of her lungs. Pushing his way over to her side, Sloan commanded, “Please madam, control yourself!”

  Ignoring his entreaty, she kept on wailing. He summarily leaned forward and, slapping her soundly, he exclaimed, “Shut up! If you want to live through this night, stop wailing, madam,” at which, staring at him in shock, she abruptly stopped.

  Sloan then turned to the remaining passengers and inquired, “Anyone know anything about boating?” As no one responded, he inquired, “Anyone know how to swim?”

  Several of the passengers raised their hands, and at this revelation, Sloan exclaimed, “Good! Now, I’ve read a bit about the Titanic, and if memory serves, there was another ship not too far off, and those who were lucky enough to escape in the lifeboats were rescued by morning. So I suggest we all batten down the hatches, and await sunrise as calmly as possible.”

  “What does ‘batten down the hatches’ mean?” one young man queried inanely.

  Glancing in his direction, Sloan responded authoritatively, “It means, stay low and keep as warm as possible.”

  “Right. Got it,” the young man responded, clearly pacified by Sloan’s self-assurance.

  Thereafter, the forlorn group spent the entire night on the open sea, the temperature hovering just above freezing. By sunrise it was apparent that, due to the frigid temperature and the lack of warm clothing worn by the passengers, they would not last long before the situation would become dire indeed. Hoping to ward off the inevitable, Sloan announced, “Alright! Everyone wake up! Now, swing your arms to and fro, like this!”

  At this, one young man moaned lethargically, “Why ever for? I’m cold!”

  “Precisely!” Sloan commanded, “Get those arms moving! Everyone, get the blood flowing. Help should be here soon!” at which one of his charges began to do his bidding, followed shortly thereafter by the remaining few.

  Toward mid-morning they heard the sound of a ship’s horn and, gazing in the direction of the sound, they saw a ship steaming their way. The survivors suddenly began screaming and waving frantically in fear that their rescuer would fail to see them. The ship continued straight toward them, affecting their rescue shortly thereafter. Although more than three-fourths of those on board had gone down with the ship, all those in Sloan’s care survived.

  St. Johns, Newfoundland – The Following Day

  Sloan sat listlessly within the warehouse, relieved to simply be out of the blowing gale without. They had been issued blankets, along with a warm breakfast, and now the passengers were simply awaiting their fate, whatever it might be. As he waited, wondering how long he would be forced to remain in Newfoundland, an American officer came forward and inquired, “Are you Mr. Stewart, sir?”

  “Yes, I am,” Sloan replied, standing as he did so.

  The officer said, “You are to be commended, sir. Several others who were in your lifeboat claim that you saved their lives.”

  “I doubt that, sir,” Sloan denied, “I did what anyone would have done under the circumstances.”

  “Still, you are the one who took charge, Mr. Stewart,” and so saying, the officer saluted him and, holding out a congratulatory hand, he posited, “I understand that you are on your way to England to report for military duty. Is that correct?”

  Taking the proffered hand, Sloan responded politely, “Yes, sir, that is indeed correct.”

  “Excellent. It so happens, we have a military aircraft at the airfield at this very moment, sir, and it is on its way to Shannon, from whence it will fly to England. There happens to be room onboard for one additional military person, and you being the only one available at the moment, I am instructed to inform you that you may make the passage by air forthwith, sir.”

  “Oh, that is splendid!” Sloan replied.

  “We must make haste, Mr. Stewart. Please follow me,” and so saying, the officer turned on his heel, Sloan following in close pursuit.

  The plane, with Sloan aboard, landed in England the following day.

  Cambridge, England - September 10, 1941

  Sloan stepped down from the train to the platform, glancing eagerly about for a familiar face. The bustle about him was quite surprising, as it had been the previous day in London. During his two-year absence, wartime had changed England immeasurably.

  Hearing a familiar call, he turned and, seeing him coming his way, he exclaimed, “Father!”

  “Sloan, hoowever on aerth aer, ye?” his father queried, immediately tugging him into a tight embrace.

  “I’m fine,” he responded with evident relief. “Where’s mother? Did she come with you to the station?”

  “Aye, ay coorse. She be joost oover thar,” and so saying, he pointed toward the end of the quay.

  Spotting her, Sloan waved frantically and broke into a trot, all thought having left him at the sight of her. Moments later he rushed into her waiting arms, exclaiming, “Mother! It’s been much too long.”

  “Yes, dear, so it has. But here you are!” she responded, kissing him on the cheek as she hugged him tightly.

  Alastair, moving with surprising agility on his prosthetic leg, arrived momentarily at their side, querying furtively, “Whit happened, son? Hoow did ye manage tae get hoome a week aerly?”

  Not wanting to alarm his parents unduly, Sloan responded evasively, “Long story…”

  “Ye moost ay floown,” his father put in, “Boot hoow did ye manage thit?”

  “I caught the ship, father, but it was torpedoed by a U-boat, and it went down three days out of Boston.”

  “Bloody hell!” his mother exclaimed in alarm, “Are you quite alright?”

  “Yes, but I was one of the lucky ones. Most of the people on board went down with the ship.”

  “Jobby! I woos fearin’ of thit,” his father said, “We hae loost literally hundreds ay ships oon the Atlantic since the war staerted. Soo hoow did ye get tae haer?”

  “I caught a m
ilitary plane in Newfoundland.”

  “Thit waer goowd foortune,” his father replied.

  “Yes, I suppose it was my first military act. But now I have three weeks before I must report, so perhaps we should make the most of it.”

  Burma – January, 1942

  Sloan gazed through the tiny window of the American C-47 ‘Gooney Bird’ aircraft. As he did so, it glided softly to the ground, the pilot executing a perfect landing. Outside, the airstrip appeared to be a veritable hive of activity and, as the aircraft taxied in, he contemplated to himself how he had arrived at such a desolate place.

  He had enjoyed a quiet few days at home, reporting thereafter for duty in London. By late November he had completed his military training and, having somehow been assigned the rank of lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Army, he had been issued orders for North Africa, where the battle with Rommel’s Afrika Korps continued to rage.

  Accordingly, he had been transported by air to Alexandria, where he had worked with the planners of Operation Crusader, the offensive that was tasked with pushing back the Axis forces in North Africa. This offensive having been somewhat successful, he had subsequently been transferred to Burma for the purpose of providing strategic planning support for a potential British offensive in Burma.

  Although he had studied up on the situation in Burma, he was totally unprepared for what he encountered there, jungle warfare being a far cry from the desert warfare he had so recently encountered in North Africa. To make matters worse, the Allied forces in Southern Burma were disorganized, disheartened and poorly led, as opposed to the Japanese forces, who were well supplied, highly motivated, and unified. As a result, the Allies were pushed halfway across Southern Burma within weeks of Sloan’s arrival there.