by Roger Jewett
“I’m not sure,” Warren answered. “The ship is an old bucket and its skipper, Lieutenant Commander Hacker, is an asshole. He’s a mustang and doesn’t think much of anyone who is an Annapolis graduate, especially me.”
“How come you wound up aboard her in the first place?” Troost asked.
“It’s a long story,” Warren said.
“I’d like to hear it.”
Warren shook his head. “I don’t want to tell it,” he said.
“Naval aviation is where the future is,” Troost commented.
“Sir, I don’t want to discuss it.”
“That’s your privilege,” Troost said. “But it’s also my privilege and my duty, as your father, to say that, after having flunked out of flight training, don’t make leaving the navy your second blunder.”
“I’ll remember that, sir,” Warren answered.
Troost knew his son well enough to know that anything else he’d say on the subject would be superfluous. Warren’s stubbornness easily matched his, when it came to meeting him eyeball to eyeball.
“She’s asleep,” Lillian announced, as she re-entered the dining room and sat down at the table again.
Troost stubbed out his cigarette. “In a few days,” he said, “I’ll be leaving for Pearl and —”
“But you just came home,” Lillian exclaimed.
“Orders,” Troost answered, knowing she probably understood the meaning of that word more than she understood anything else. “I’m assigned to Admiral Kirst’s staff at Pearl.”
“Staff,” Warren repeated.
Troost nodded. “King called me late Friday afternoon,” he said. “I’ll have the written orders early tomorrow morning.”
Warren grinned. “You got your stars, didn’t you?”
“Dad, you’re an admiral!” Lillian exclaimed.
Troost smiled. “Yes, I’m a rear admiral.”
Lillian launched herself out of the chair and, throwing her arms around her father, she kissed him on the top of his head. “I’m so happy for you.”
Warren offered his hand. “Congratulations, Dad,” he said, vigorously shaking his father’s hand. “I know how important this is to you.”
“Mother will be so proud,” Lillian said, sitting down again. “I just know she will.”
“She will,” Warren agreed.
“Yes, I think so too,” Troost said for the benefit of his children, though he was sure Gloria would resent it, as much as, perhaps even more, vehemently than she resented other assignments in the past that advanced his career.
“This calls for a celebration,” Lillian said.
Troost waved his hand.
“At least a toast!” she offered.
“I’ll settle for that,” Troost told her.
“You make it, Warren,” Lillian said, after their glasses were filled with wine.
The three of them stood up.
Warren extended his glass to his father and said, “To you Dad… I — I mean, we love you.”
“To the newest and best admiral in the navy!” Lillian exclaimed.
Troost touched each of his children’s glasses with his own and said, “May each of you have happiness and success in life.” Then he drank.
“When will I be able to join you?” Gloria asked.
“I don’t know,” Troost answered. He had waited until after dinner the following evening to tell her about his promotion and orders. They were alone. Earlier in the afternoon, Warren had hopped a flight from the naval air station at Floyd Bennett to Norfolk, and Lillian had phoned and said she’d be out for the evening.
Gloria chipped at a piece of piecrust with her fork; then looking at him, she said, “I’m happy for you.”
“I knew you would be,” he murmured.
She smiled at him. “All day I felt as if something was going to happen,” she said. “I just felt it.”
“I suppose January would be reasonable for you to join me,” Troost said.
“And when was the navy ever reasonable?” she challenged, dropping the fork on the plate.
Backing away from a confrontation, Troost said, “I’ll find a nice house in Honolulu for us — maybe one of those new, tropical ranch types.”
She uttered a snort of disdain. “I surely don’t want you to pick out a house without me.”
“I might come across —”
“I don’t ever want to live in an old barn like this again,” she said, looking around. “I hate this place.”
Troost placed his elbows on the table. He liked the old quarters house. It had character.
“Well, at least I’ll be an admiral’s wife,” she said. “I know there has to be something in that, though, for the moment, I can’t for the life of me think of what it might be.”
Troost wanted to escape. He knew exactly what was coming.
“But admirals’ wives seldom, if ever, get the credit for what they have done to help their husbands to become admirals.” She smiled at him. “You’re the one who wears the stars, but I’m the one who put them there. I made it possible for you to become what you are and now with a war coming, your star is rising and mine — mine never had a chance to climb…”
Troost ran his hand over his face.
“I’m going to be left here alone to pack everything up and —”
“Lillian will help you,” Troost said.
“She’s worse than useless,” Gloria shot back. “All she’s interested in is her acting and someone named Rich. Good God, when I was her age, I already had the responsibility of caring for a dying father and —”
Finally exasperated, Troost said, “Gloria, I’ve heard that more times than I want to remember. It has nothing to do with our situation. I can’t delay my going to Pearl.”
“You could if you wanted to!”
“I —”
“You’re an admiral,” she shouted. “You can do anything you want — anything — but you can’t get away from here fast enough. You just can’t wait, can you?”
Troost stood up.
“Where are you going?” Gloria yelled.
“Out,” Troost answered. “I’m going out.”
“Where? Where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” Troost answered. “I don’t know.” And he went to the closet for his coat and hat.
“If you go out that door, Andrew, don’t think you’re going to make it up in bed with me,” she screamed, following him out to the door.
Troost whirled around. “Don’t ever threaten me with that,” he growled fiercely.
“I give you —”
“Nothing,” Troost said flatly, “or damn near nothing.”
“Oh!” Gloria cried, her hand flying to her mouth.
The moment he spoke, Troost was sorry. He shook his head, turned, and closing the door behind him, left the house.
Troost made arrangements to fly out of New York early Thursday morning to San Francisco aboard an Army Air Corps transport (with a stopover in St. Louis), and then from San Francisco to Pearl by a Navy transport plane. If there were no delays, he’d reach his destination late Sunday.
But now it was 1500 Wednesday afternoon. A drizzling rain was falling and Troost’s driver, scanning the numbers of the houses on Horatio street, exclaimed, “It’s across the street, Admiral.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Troost said.
“Aye, aye, sir,” the man answered, bringing the car to a stop at the curb. A moment later, he left the car, went around to the right rear side, and opened the door.
Troost left the car, returned the driver’s salute, and walked toward the entrance of number 26. The previous day, he had asked Lieutenant Commander Joseph Collins, a shore patrol officer he knew, to use his connections with the New York City Police Department to find out where Professor Richard Gordon lived.
Troost entered the building’s vestibule and looked at the names below the brass mailboxes and above the black bell buttons. There were four apartments on each floor. Gordon’s
apartment was on the fifth floor, apartment B. Troost had no intention of revealing his presence or his identity until he was standing face-to-face with Gordon.
Arbitrarily, Troost chose a bell to ring. Within moments, he was buzzed into the house.
A door opened and a woman called, “Who is it?”
“Sorry, wrong apartment,” Troost answered.
The door slammed.
Troost began to climb the narrow, steep staircase. Each of the landings was illuminated by a single electric bulb. There was a skylight on the roof and the hallway, though clean, was filled with the heavy scents of fried fish and something that was seasoned with garlic, and what smelled like cabbage or cauliflower being cooked.
When he reached the fifth floor, Troost paused, looked at the letters on each of the doors, and discovered that B was a front apartment. He started toward it, then suddenly realized his heart was beating very fast. Maybe he had no right to do what he was going to do. There was still time for him to turn around.
He squared his shoulders. He wasn’t about to stand by and let someone take advantage of his daughter. Troost went up to Gordon’s door and rapped three times on it.
No one answered.
Troost rapped again, using more force.
“All right, I heard you the first time,” a man called out from behind the door.
“Then why the hell didn’t you answer,” Troost mumbled under his breath and knocked again.
“For Christ’s sake, hold your horses,” the man said, working the lock.
The door swung open.
Troost found himself looking at a thin man with a balding head, who smelled of cologne, wearing a red silk bathrobe over his otherwise naked body.
“Oh my God!” Gordon exclaimed, looking at Troost.
“Who is it, Rich?” a woman called from the bedroom.
Troost glared at Gordon.
“It’s not —”
“I know she’s not my daughter,” Troost growled. “But she’s some other man’s, isn’t she?” And without waiting for an answer, he shoved Gordon aside and went straight into the bedroom.
Naked, the young woman was sprawled out on the bed. She took one look at Troost and screamed.
Gordon rushed into the bedroom.
“Get your clothes on, young lady,” Troost ordered.
“Who is he?” she cried, looking at Gordon.
“Tell her,” Troost said, driving his forefinger into Gordon’s chest. “Tell her who I am.”
“Admiral Troost —”
“Lillian’s father?” the young woman asked.
Troost nodded. “Now tell me who you are?”
“Iris Freely,” the young woman answered.
“Tell her what you promised to do for Lillian.”
Gordon hesitated.
“Goddamn you, I said tell her,” Troost growled, backhanding him.
Gordon staggered. Blood leaked out of the right corner of his mouth.
“What are you doing?” Iris shouted, covering her body with a sheet.
Troost looked at her. “He promised to put my daughter in summer stock.”
Iris’s eyes went wide, her jaw dropped, and her lips began to tremble.
“Isn’t that so, Rich?” Troost said. “Didn’t you promise Lillian that? Weren’t you giving her coaching lessons the same way you are coaching Miss Freely?”
“Rich —” Iris started to say; then suddenly she began to weep.
“I’ll wait for you in the other room,” Troost said, dragging Gordon after him.
“Let go of me!” Gordon complained.
Troost pushed him down on the couch.
“You’re crazy,” Gordon said, pointing a finger at Troost. “You’re one of those crazy, power-happy —”
“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Troost ordered. Pushing his face very close to Gordon’s, he said, “If I ever hear you’re coaching my daughter again, I’ll kill you.”
“She wasn’t a virgin —”
Troost grabbed him by the neck and shook him. “Listen to me!” he shouted.
“You’re choking me!” Gordon screamed, fighting to free himself.
Troost released him and stepped back. “Stay away from her,” he said, breathing hard. “Stay away!”
“I’m ready,” Iris said, coming out of the bedroom.
Troost pointed his finger at Gordon. “Don’t let there be a second meeting between us,” he said.
“There won’t be,” Gordon answered.
“Come, Miss Freely,” Troost said, beckoning to her. “My car is downstairs.”
Without looking at Gordon, the young woman crossed the room, opened the door, and left the apartment.
Troost followed her out.
Troost stood against the door inside Lillian’s room. “I paid a visit to Professor Gordon this afternoon,” he said, wondering how long it had been since he’d been inside the room — years probably.
Lillian dropped the Cosmopolitan magazine she’d been reading.
“We had a very meaningful talk,” Troost said.
Lillian shook her head. “You didn’t…”
Troost nodded.
“Oh my God,” she wailed. “Oh my God!” And threw herself down on the bed, burying her face under her arms.
“There was another young woman being coached,” Troost said.
Lillian sat up. “I’m ruined,” she cried. “You’ve finished my career even before it started. Rich was going to give me my big chance!”
“And what were you giving him in return?”
“That’s the way it’s done,” she wept. “Don’t you understand — that’s the way it’s done. It doesn’t mean all that much, it really doesn’t.”
“What’s going on here?” Gloria asked, suddenly pushing her way into the room.
“He paid a visit to Rich,” Lillian shouted. “He’s destroyed my life.”
“He’s very good at doing that,” Gloria said.
Troost glared at the two of them, did a precise about-face and stomped out of the room. Tomorrow he’d be in the air and on his way to something new and exciting. He heaved a ragged sigh and, going into his den, settled down in the easy chair next to the fire.
CHAPTER 4
On Saturday, November 22, at the beginning of the Second Dog Watch, Warren and the chief quartermaster, Frank Berk, went to the Dee’s bridge to take a sextant sighting of several evening stars to obtain a fix on the ship’s latitude and longitude. This would be Warren’s sixth try in the last three days to “shoot the stars” to accurately fix the position of the ship. His lack of experience in practical navigation was catching up with him. This failure made it necessary for the ship’s mustang captain, Lieutenant Commander Dwight Hacker, to radio only estimated positions at the prescribed reporting times to the Service Force Commander at Pac Fleet Headquarters at Pearl Harbor. His inability to obtain a good fix provided Hacker with a reason for voicing his displeasure at having an Annapolis graduate, a “ring knocker,” and, what was even worse, the son of an admiral, as an officer aboard his ship. Warren was standing on the bridge looking toward the horizon, where a mass of red and orange clouds rested on the silver edge of the sea. Five days before, as the ship transited and cleared the Panama Canal, Hacker had called him to his quarters. “You’re finished with your make you learn. All of you Annapolis graduates are better than the rest of us — better in everything, even navigation. Right?”
Warren remained silent.
“Well, we’ll see. As of now, you’re the ship’s navigator,” Hacker said. “You better damn well be on the fucking mark, or even if you’re an admiral’s son, I’ll make you wish you weren’t on my ship. That’s all.”
The first two days out of the canal were a breeze. His morning and evening “Stars” resulted in fixes that seemed accurate. He plotted the Great Circle course the ship would sail from the Pacific end of the canal for the first 5000-mile leg to Pearl and the second leg of 5000 miles from Pearl to the Cavite Naval Station in the P
hilippines. He actually began to enjoy being the ship’s navigator.
On the morning of the third day, his problems began. Neither that day or the next could he get his lines of position to intersect at a point so that he could report the ship’s position to Hacker. The lines maddeningly persisted, morning and evening, in intersecting only in an area the size of a quarter. That was the beginning.
Warren shook his head. The Dee was carrying a load of navy standard fuel and diesel for yard craft at Cavite and Subic Bay. After it reached its destination, it was his guess the ship — nicknamed the Sick Bitch by the crew, because her number-two boiler was down for maintenance more than it was on the line — would be used as milch cow for various small ships and shore stations in the Philippines. If he and the rest of the crew, with the exception of Hacker, had their way, she’d be scrapped.
“Let’s see if we can’t do it this time,” Warren said, looking at Berk and moving out to the port wing of the flying bridge.
“Just give me the numbers,” the chief answered. He was a thin, raw-boned man with hash marks that added up to 20 years.
Warren lifted the sextant to his eye, sighted the first star, checked the scale, brought the star down to the horizon, and said, “Mark.” Then he gave the reading to the chief, who recorded it along with the exact time the mark was given. He shot a second and a third star. Afraid to trust his initial readings, Warren was just about to take another set of sightings before the horizon faded into darkness when he suddenly saw a white flash of light in the twilight.
“Did you see that, chief?” Warren asked.
“What?”
“A flash of light out there abaft the port beam,” he said, looking at Berk.
“I didn’t see anything, Mister Troost,” Berk answered.
“I’m sure it was a flare, could be a distress signal.”
Berk shook his head; then he asked, “Don’t you want to get that second set of readings?”
Warren nodded, started to lift the sextant again, and, changing his mind, said, “We’ll use the first, Chief. You start working the sights out. I’m going to call Hacker to the bridge.”
“First, let’s make sure we’ve got a good fix before you call the captain,” Berk said.
“Use what you have. Let’s see. what you come up with,” Warren said.