Battle Stations

by Roger Jewett

  Even as the audience gave Miss Swarthout and the orchestra a standing ovation, the red ON THE AIR sign went off and the green one came on.

  Suddenly the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats.”

  The applause died and Mrs. Miller looked questioningly at her son.

  “Maybe there’s been an accident,” Miriam offered, as she sat down again.

  Again the announcer spoke, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have been advised that, approximately one hour ago, Japanese aircraft attacked and bombed Pearl Harbor and —”

  “Oh my God,” a woman screamed, “my son is there — my boy is there.”

  “Please,” the announcer said, “please listen to me. All military personnel must report to the nearest army or navy installation.”

  Mrs. Miller grabbed hold of Jacob’s hand and held it tightly.

  “Where is Pearl Harbor?” a voice called out.

  “Any word about casualties?” a man called, two rows down from where Jacob was sitting.

  “Only that there are casualties,” the announcer answered; then he said, “Outside of the studio and on Broadway thousands of people have gathered. Please, be careful when you leave.” Then he turned to Miss Swarthout, who stepped forward and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please join me in singing our National Anthem.”

  The entire audience stood up and began to sing.

  When it was over, the doors in the rear of the studio were opened and people began to leave.

  “Jake, are you going to go right away?” Miriam asked, as they moved into the aisle.

  “Pretty soon. First we’re going to have that late lunch, then —” He stopped. A woman in front of them suddenly began to sob. He looked at his mother; she was biting her lower lip. There was nothing he could say to assuage her fear, and he certainly couldn’t reveal his own. In some strange way he could accept the possibility that he might be killed more easily than he could the possibility that he might be maimed, which in his mind was worse.

  The street was crowded with people. Men and women cried openly. There wasn’t enough room on the sidewalk for all of them.

  Newsboys hawked their Extras and mounted policemen patroled the streets.

  Holding on to his mother and sister, Jacob walked toward the moving headline sign around the middle of the Times Building at the foot of Times Square.

  Tony and his father were at a table in Toots Shor’s. His father was a tall, muscular man with thinning black hair, coal black eyes, and a hard-featured face. There was no mistaking the relationship between the two.

  His father picked up the bottle of champagne from the nearby ice bucket, and filled Tony’s glass and then his own before he said, “Now we talk; later we’ll eat.”

  Tony smiled. “I knew there had to be a reason why you didn’t want to have Sunday lunch home,” he said.

  “Too much noise with your sisters and their kids,” he answered; then with a broad smile, he added, “Makes me feel 200 years old. Here I have the best food, friends if I want them, and beautiful women to look at.”

  “Just to look at?” Tony teased, aware since he was a boy of 12, when he saw him humping the butcher’s young wife on the couch in the back room of the club, that his father played around.

  His father waved his hand dismissively at him, but he didn’t answer.

  “Okay, okay,” Tony said, “have it your way. Let’s talk.”

  “Tell me what happens to you now?” his father asked, lifting the glass of champagne and slowly sipping it.

  “I’ll be assigned to a submarine.”

  “And then what?”

  Tony said, “Tell me what you want to tell me and cut the rest of the crap out.”

  His father put down the glass. “I can arrange things for you. You can put in the time you have to in Washington and then, when you’re finished being a sailor, you come in with me and your uncle Mike.”

  Tony looked hard at his father. He had expected him to say what he did and now he had to answer. “I don’t want you to fix anything. Nothing.”

  “But —”

  “I don’t want any part of the family,” Tony said, in a low tight voice. “I thought you knew that.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, who did I build the organization for?”

  “Papa, after —”

  “I know, after you and Frank pulled the freight yard job and you almost got tagged because Frank set you up, you didn’t want anything more to do with…” At a loss for the word, he motioned with his left hand until he said, “I let you go your own way. You went to college in New Haven and joined the reserves and became a navy officer. I’m proud of you, Tony — very proud. But I built something out of nothing and it can be yours. There’s a war coming and we’re going to make a lot of money when it does come.”

  “That’s not the kind of money I want,” Tony said shaking his head.

  “What do you want?” his father asked.

  “I’m not —”

  “The Japs bombed Pearl Harbor!” a man yelled, running into the restaurant. “It’s on the radio. The bastards bombed us!”

  The people at the tables started to yell. Several ran into the street and one came back shouting, “It’s true, it’s true. We’re at war.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Tony said, rising to his feet. “If it’s true, I’m sure I’m going to have to report right away.”

  His father looked confused. “We haven’t eaten.”

  Tony stood up. “I don’t want to eat now.”

  “But you’re home for 30 days,” his father said, dropping a 50-dollar bill on the table and standing.

  “Not anymore,” Tony answered, heading for the coatroom. “This changes everything. It’s a different ball game now.”

  They had to wait a few minutes before they could get their coats, and when they were finally out on the street, they moved with the crowd toward Times Square.

  “For Christ’s sake, will you look at all these people!” his father said, as they finally came onto Broadway, where everyone was looking up at the latest news reports as they moved around the Times Building.

  “Now will you let me do something for you?” his father asked, almost shouting to make himself heard.

  “No,” Tony said. “No.”

  “I don’t want you to risk your life —”

  “It’s my life and my risk,” Tony answered. “Stay out of it. And I mean stay out of it.” He was looking at his father and suddenly crashed headlong into a woman. He wheeled around and grabbed her. “I’m sorry. I —” He found himself looking at another ensign.

  “Are you all right, Mom?” Jacob asked.

  Mrs. Miller nodded.

  “I didn’t see her,” Tony said. “I’m sorry.” His eyes moved from the officer, to the young woman next to him, then back to the officer. “I’m Tony Trapasso. This is my father, Dom.” He offered his hand.

  “Jacob Miller,” Jacob said, shaking it. “My mother and my sister Miriam.”

  The two men looked at each other for a moment and smiled, then Jacob said, “I’m home on leave.”

  “Me too,” Tony said. “I just finished submarine school in New London.”

  “Flight training in Pensacola,” Jacob said.

  “Any details?” Tony asked, looking toward the Times’s sign.

  “Manila has been bombed too,” Jacob responded.

  Tony shook his head. “I didn’t figure it would come this way, did you?” he asked.

  “No,” Jacob answered, “not this way.”

  Suddenly a loud speaker blared: “All military personnel must report to an army or navy base immediately. Army and navy personnel on pass immediately report back to your units. Army and navy personnel on extended leave must report to either Governor’s Island or Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn. All navy personnel report to the Brooklyn Navy Yard.”

  “I guess we go to the navy yard,” Tony said to Jacob, but looking at Miriam.

  She smiled, then cast her
eyes down.

  Suddenly speaking Italian, Tony’s father said, “She’s like a ripe peach — ready for the plucking.”

  Tony forced a smile and answered in Italian, “You have a dirty mind.” Then Tony said, still looking at Miriam, but speaking to Jacob, “My father just said he’d drive to the navy yard.”

  “Are you joking?” Jacob asked.

  Tony shook his head. “Am I joking?” he asked his father.

  Mr. Trapasso shook his head. “The car is in a garage a few blocks from here — near Toots Shor’s.”

  “I was going to take my mother and sister to Lindy’s,” Jacob said.

  “I lost my appetite. I couldn’t eat anything now,” Mrs. Miller said.

  “Are you sure, Mom?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Miriam?” Jacob questioned.

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t eat anything either.”

  “We’ll take your mother and sister home first,” Tony said, “then we’ll go to the navy yard.”

  “Thanks,” Jacob said. “Thanks Mr, Trapasso. I really do appreciate this.”

  “Hey, aren’t all of us in this war together?” Tony asked.

  “Yes, we’re in it together,” Jacob answered.

  “Now all we have to do is get through the crowds,” the older Trapasso said.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Admiral,” the flag bridge watch officer said, “Endeavor is preparing to launch the morning search ahead.”

  “Thank you,” Troost answered.

  “A signal is flying to put her into the wind on course 034 true.”

  “Have the screening ships acknowledged?” Troost asked.

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Putting the phone down, Troost went to look at the unfolding horizon. First light was still minutes away and by 1300 they’d be back in Pearl. The delay in fueling had cost them a full day in their planned return. He had already shaved and showered, and his steward brought him juice and coffee. Ordinarily, he’d wait until the scouting aircraft from the Endeavor returned safely before he left the bridge to have breakfast. But because this morning the scouts searching ahead of the group were directed to land at Ford Island at Pearl, Troost retired to the flag mess, where he had a slice of dry toast, one poached egg, and two more cups of coffee.

  After breakfast, Troost decided to visit the navigation bridge, rather than return to his own. The ship’s navigator and chief quartermaster were busy at the chart table, fixing the ship’s position, and the task group was turning, with the Endeavor at the center as the guide.

  For several minutes, Troost watched the maneuver through a pair of high-powered binoculars; then he went to the telephone bank and, picking up the signal bridge phone, said, “Admiral here. Signal the destroyer Cresip that she turned too slowly.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” the SO answered.

  “Over and out.” Troost put the phone down and walked to the forward part of the bridge. “Overall,” he commented to Hasse, “not bad at all.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Hasse said. “I’d be willing to bet Admiral Gower’s thinking the same thing.”

  “The admiral appreciates good seamanship and smart ship-handling,” Troost responded.

  For several minutes, neither man spoke; then Hasse said, “Admiral, if you don’t have plans for this evening, why don’t you join Kate and me for dinner at the house?”

  “Are you sure Kate wouldn’t mind?” Troost asked, aware of how much he always enjoyed Kate’s company.

  Hasse shook his head. “It won’t be anything elaborate, but it will be adequate and the bar is good.”

  Troost grinned. “You have a guest,” he said, waiting until he saw the Endeavor turn, before he put the glasses up to his eyes and focused them on the Cresip. “Better,” he commented and lowered his glasses. “Much better.”

  “Do you think Admiral Gower will go to a readiness condition three before we make Pearl?” Hasse asked.

  “Not likely,” Troost replied. “He’ll want to be safely at anchor before he does. That reminds me, when we left Pearl, I was surprised to see some of battleships tied up at Ford Island the way they were. It struck me that they were very vulnerable to an air attack.”

  “Admiral Kirst says it gives the local public confidence to see the array of warships that guard them.”

  “It doesn’t do that for me,” Troost said, remembering Kirst’s reaction when he’d suggested that Pearl might be a priority target for the Japanese.

  Hasse shrugged. “It takes a lot of guts to tell a four-star admiral what to do, doesn’t it?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear the question,” Troost said.

  Just as some of the men for the afternoon watch came to the bridge, a phone rang.

  The relief helmsman answered it; then he said, “Skipper, you better take this.”

  Hasse immediately went to the phone.

  Troost turned. The sailor stood stiffly by, but not at attention. Worry or pain — possibly both — marked his face.

  “Pearl is being bombed,” Hasse said in a quietly strained voice. “The RO is monitoring Pearl now… AIR RAID PEARL HARBOR X THIS IS NO DRILL.”

  Troost’s eyes went to the ship’s clock. It was 0700 local time.

  Another phone rang. Hasse answered it. “Signal flags going up on Endeavor’s yardarm. Signal reads: PREPARE FOR BATTLE.”

  Earlier, Warren had obtained a perfect fix, and was now relaxing in the new gun tub below the bridge. In another two days the Dee would be in Pearl and he’d have at least 48 hours to himself. He’d go straight to the Royal Hawaiian and —

  “Mr. Troost,” the chief in charge of the radio shack called down to him, “would you please come up here?”

  “Coming,” Warren answered. Leaving the railing and his daydreams about what he’d do in Pearl, he hurried up the ladder. “What’s up, Chief?” he asked, entering the radio shack.

  “Smitty here,” he said, putting his huge hand on the radio operator’s shoulder, “says he’s gettin’ a lot of gobbledegook out of Pearl. I’d called the XO, but I seen you takin’ the mornin’ sun and I figured you wouldn’t mind bein’ distoibed.”

  “I’ll remember that when I see you resting that gorilla-like body of yours,” Warren answered.

  The three of them laughed; then Warren asked, “When did it start?”

  Smitty looked up at the clock. “Make it 0650.”

  “10 minutes ago?”

  “Something is coming now,” Smitty said, beginning to copy. “Jesus, Pearl is being bombed.” He handed Warren the message: AIR RAID PEARL HARBOR X THIS IS NO DRILL.

  “You sure you got this straight?” Warren asked.

  “I sure as hell did,” Smitty answered.

  Warren reached for the phone and called the bridge. “Is the captain there?” he asked, after identifying himself.

  “He went down to the wardroom for breakfast,” Rawlins said. “Anything up?”

  “Radio message from Pearl says they’re being bombed,” Warren answered.

  “Better get it to Hacker on the double.”

  “I’m on my way,” Warren said, hanging up the phone. “I’m going to the captain.” He left the radio shack and ran along a short passageway and down two ladders, made a right turn, and entered the wardroom.

  Hacker looked at him. He was about to bite into a slice of toast.

  “Message from Pearl,” Warren said, holding the yellow copy paper in front of him.

  “Why didn’t the chief —”

  “I think you better read this now, Captain,” Warren said.

  Hacker glared at him, took the paper, and leaping to his feet, rushed out of the wardroom and up to the radio shack.

  Warren followed him.

  “Have you checked this?” Hacker shouted, entering the room and waving the paper in front of him.

  “Smitty just copied this,” the chief said, handing another piece of paper to him.

&nbs
p; Hacker read the message aloud. “Alert X Japanese planes attacking Ford Island, ships in Pearl Harbor, and army airfields on Oahu.”

  Hacker punched the 1MC button to the bridge. “Bridge, this is the Captain… Put the exec on the pipe… Rawlins, go to general quarters.”

  Within moments the Klaxon brayed.

  “Mister, Troost, come with me,” Hacker said, leaving the radio shack. “From now on, we will observe radio silence unless I say otherwise. You’ll take over coding and decoding all radio traffic. And you are now the gunnery officer as well.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Warren answered.

  When they reached the bridge, Hacker went directly to the 1MC and, depressing the buttons for all the circuits, he said, “Now hear this… All hands, now hear this… This is the Captain speaking… The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor… We are in condition one and can expect an air strike at any time… We are at war…”

  CHAPTER 12

  Glen Lascomb and Lucy Porter were lying on a large mound of hay in the back of the barn, where the yellow light from a single lantern hung from a beam halfway to the door did not reach them. Glen was a recent graduate of the Iowa State University Agricultural School, where he had played football and completed the Naval Reserve Training Program. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond curly hair and blue eyes.

  Glen’s hand was inside Lucy’s bra. Her nipple pushed gently into the palm of his hand. “Lucy, I want you so badly,” he said huskily.

  Lucy squirmed against him and ran her hand over his fly. “Fit to burst,” she giggled.

  “You’re just teasing me,” Glen said, gently squeezing her breast and at the same time trying to get his other hand up her dress.

  She started to move away.

  “C’mon Lucy. A man needs to be treated like a man,” Glen said.

  “I’ll do you like I always do you and that’s all I’ll do,” Lucy answered. “If you want more, you can go to those girls in Mason City. For two dollars, I hear, you can ride them —”