by Roger Jewett
She cocked her head to one side. “And what is it you think I need?”
“Love,” Warren answered.
She uttered a derisive snort. “You mean you want to bed me, isn’t that it, Lieutenant?”
Warren’s cheeks became hot. The women he knew didn’t use that kind of language, even though they were probably thinking it.
She smiled at him. “I just wanted to put it in perspective.”
Warren rested his elbows on the table. “I wouldn’t have tried to see you, if I didn’t want to, as you just said, ‘bed’ you.”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” she responded.
“But I can also give you something —”
“Just what the hell can you give or think you can give, me?”
“The feeling of being needed,” he said quietly. “The courage to live and not to think that you somehow cheated, because you aren’t a prisoner of war or dead.”
She gave him a long, hard look; then she said, “My, my, my! I never knew that you could do all that and get a woman pregnant, too.”
Warren didn’t answer. But he meant what he said: he could give her those things.
“I noticed you said nothing about love, I mean real love.”
“It might come,” he responded.
She picked up her glass and drank the remaining wine from it. “You don’t happen to give a guarantee that your service will work, do you?” she asked.
Because she was making him feel stupid, he said, “I think we had better drop the subject.”
“You’re angry, aren’t you?”
“Let’s say —”
“Frustrated? Annoyed?”
“The first time I saw you aboard the Nine Six, I wanted you.”
“That was probably because you were at sea too long,” she said.
“No. Because, despite the way you were dressed, I liked the way you looked and the way you handled yourself when I told you what happened to your father.”
The busboy returned to the table to clear the plates away; then the waitress returned to suggest they try the house dessert, which was a chocolate mousse topped with whipped cream.
“Sounds wonderful!” Irene exclaimed.
“One mousse,” Warren said, “and nothing for me.”
“Coffee?” the waitress asked.
“Demitasse, if you have it,” Irene answered.
“I’ll have one too,” Warren said and, when they were alone again, he told Irene, “I’m sorry the evening was such a flop. I really wanted to make it good for both of us.”
“Yes, I know that,” she responded. After the waitress returned with the dessert, Irene asked Warren. “Will you be assigned to another ship soon?”
“I’ve been accepted for PT boat training,” he said. “That’s six weeks long; then I’ll be assigned to a squadron.”
“Six weeks in Pearl?”
He laughed. “More or less.”
Without commenting, Irene began to eat, while Warren found himself becoming more and more ill at ease. He was very attracted to her, even though she seemed to be more remote than when he first saw her.
“The food here is very good,” Irene said, putting the small demitasse cup down in its saucer.
He wanted to say I didn’t think you noticed, but instead, he agreed and added, “It’s worth coming back to.”
“Yes,” Irene answered; then with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and a half-formed smile on her lips, she asked, “But will you invite me?”
He did a double take.
“Of course, you might not want to after tonight?” she challenged.
“Why don’t you let me decide that,” Warren answered.
“I share a small apartment with another nurse,” Irene said. “We could go there. She’s on duty from 2000 to 0400 and, because of the curfew, she won’t be back until 0800. That will give you enough time to decide —”
“I don’t have to go to bed with you to decide whether or not I want to see you again,” Warren said. “I want to see you.”
Irene reached across the table and took hold of his hand. “Come home with me,” she whispered.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“I’m sure I want to be with you,” she answered.
CHAPTER 32
Troost was asked to attend the night briefing at Admiral Sprat’s request. It was held at CinPacFleet Headquarters in the large conference room. This was Troost’s second visit to the room. There was, as there had been before, a yellow pad, a pencil, and a glass on the table in front of each chair; two large pitchers of ice water, one at each end, were placed to be within easy reach of everyone.
In addition to Troost and Sprat, Admiral Floyde, commander of Task Force Seventeen, was there with several captains and commanders.
Admiral Gower was absent. Troost had heard that the admiral was ill. He’d little doubt that the briefing would be about the recent battle in the Coral Sea, during which the Eire was lost and the Gettysburg badly damaged.
As soon as everyone was settled, Admiral Nimitz gave them permission to smoke; then he surprised everyone by not immediately mentioning anything about the recent events in the Coral Sea and instead told them, “All intelligence sources agree that two Japanese task forces are at sea. One is estimated to be heading to the Aleutians and might assault Attu and Kiska and attempt an invasion. The other and larger of the two is clearly heading for Midway Island. Commander Layton will explain this in detail.” And he nodded to the junior officer.
Layton, everyone knew, was one of the few men whom Nimitz retained from Kirst’s staff. His reputation for precise work and analytical thinking was well known.
He stood up. It was obvious he was nervous and was forced to clear his throat several times before he finally said, “Initial air attacks on Midway could occur on the morning of June fourth. The carrier strike force probably will approach Midway from the northwest on a bearing of about three hundred degrees, and launch at about one hundred and seventy five miles from Midway, at some time in the early-morning twilight.”
Layton continued, “Our sources indicate that the entire fleet is divided into two groups: the southern force, which includes transports and a second carrier force, consisting of the light carrier Ryujo and a new fleet carrier, whose name is indecipherable. But the main carrier force, designated Carrier Force One, will be the one to strike Midway. It is commanded by Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, who commanded enemy forces at Pearl.” He paused, poured a small amount of water into a glass, and drank it. “The entire operation has been planned and is under the overall command of Admiral Yamamoto. Carrier Force One consists of the carriers Akagi, Kaga, Hiryu, and Soryu, with a screen of two battleships, three cruisers and eleven destroyers.” Finished, Lay-ton nodded at Nimitz and resumed his seat.
Nimitz stood up again. “I need not tell you men that this is a most serious situation,” he said. “The Japanese forces are very powerful, and far stronger than those I have available to commit against them. But now we know the Japanese battle plan. That gives us an advantage which we must exploit to its fullest. If we fail to stop the attack and lose that island, the Hawaiian group and the west coast of the mainland will be in grave danger…” He paused a moment; then looking at Sprat, he continued. “Admiral Gower is in the hospital.”
The men at the table suddenly shifted their positions.
“He has recommended that command of our carrier force be turned over to Admiral Sprat. Even though Admiral Sprat is not an aviator, I have full confidence in him and he will replace Admiral Gower,” Nimitz said. “But that leaves Sprat’s command vacant.”
“Sir,” Sprat said, “Admiral Troost is an experienced destroyer man.”
At the mention of his name, Troost almost dropped his pipe. He was the most junior of the flag officers present, and there were others in CINCPACFLT Headquarters who were at least as qualified.
Nimitz rubbed his chin, moved his eyes to Troost, and after a few moments’ thought, said
, “I read your report of the surface strike on the Marshall-Gilbert. Overall you did very well.”
Troost flushed. He could hear his heart pound.
“All right, Admiral Troost,” Nimitz said, “you’re in command of the support force.”
Troost realized he was the center of attention. He flicked his eyes over the faces turned toward his. On several there was more than a hint of envy. With those few words, Nimitz not only gave him one of the most important commands in CinPacFleet, but also made him a target for more senior flag officers of the “black shoe” community who aspired to the ComCruDesPac command.
Nimitz smiled at Troost.
“Thank you, sir,” Troost said. “I’ll do my best.”
Nimitz turned his attention to Sprat and to Floyde, who would be the overall commander of the U.S. forces at sea. “Now, gentlemen, you are to go to sea as soon as possible with everything we have and that will include the Gettysburg. I’m assured she’ll be ready when we need her. Sprat and Floyde, it will be up to you and your men to stop the Japanese at Midway…”
The next few days and nights were hectic for Troost. He worked closely with Admirals Sprat and Floyde, Lieutenant Commander Layton, and the operations officers from Task Force 16 and 17 to produce CinPac Operations Plan No. 29-42 for the defense of Midway. The plan was based on two premises: the first was that the American force was inferior in numbers; the second was that Sprat would have had the advantage of knowing where and when the Japanese intended to strike. Having this information would allow him to surprise the attacking force. But it was recognized by everyone who participated in the preparation of the plan that luck and timing would play a vital role in its success or failure.
Troost managed to spend some time with Kate, and though he never mentioned the Midway operation to her, he had the feeling she knew something very important was coming up. Then on the night of May 27, he was late getting off the heavy cruiser Appalachia, the ship from which he chose to command, and when he finally arrived at Kate’s house, he found her standing in a darkened living room looking out at the night-shrouded garden.
“You’ll be leaving soon,” she said, without facing him.
Her words stopped him in his tracks.
“I’ve felt it for a while,” she admitted, still not turning toward him.
“I’ll be back before you realize I’m gone,” he said, closing the distance between them and putting his arms around her waist.
She leaned back against him.
“When?” she asked.
“Dawn tomorrow,” he answered, nuzzling the side of her face and delighting in her scent.
She put her hands over his. “I thought I’d never experience certain feelings again,” she said in a low voice and turned her face toward his. “I feel alive in a way that I haven’t in a long time. And I’m so afraid that it will vanish again,” she confided, “that I find myself wondering if I’m not making more out of our relationship than really exists.”
He brought her gently around to face him. “I don’t know what you think really exists,” he said, “but I’ll tell you what exists for me. A warm, loving, sensitive woman, who is able to physically express her love, who has become the single most important part of my life. A woman who has made me feel emotions and sensations I haven’t felt for years, or never really felt.” He took hold of her face between his two hands and brought it close to his. “All of that exists for me,” he said kissing her passionately on the lips.
“I guess,” she said, “I’m afraid of it suddenly ending.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” he said.
She reached over to the drawstring and drew the curtain closed.
Troost switched on a lamp.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Absolutely starved,” Troost answered.
CHAPTER 33
It was the kind of bar Jacob would have never entered on his own, but when he was with Yancy everything and anything was possible. The bar, Sing Tau, was on the edge of Chinatown, and though most of the patrons, from what Jacob could see, were officers, it was a scummy-looking place, with sawdust on the floor, yellow walls streaked with dirt, and an atmosphere clouded with cigarette smoke and the smell of sour beer.
“It’s almost curfew time,” Jacob said, squinting hard at Yancy, who had one hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon and soda and the other inching its way toward the breast of a woman he’d met an hour before.
“Curfew, curfew… I don’t care about curfew,” Yancy answered. He grinned stupidly at Jacob. “What I care about is this luscious bit of womanhood.” His southern accent became more pronounced.
The woman giggled. “Does he always talk so funny?” she asked.
“Only when he’s sober,” Jacob told her.
“All I need honey,” Yancy said, “is a little bit of lovin’ and I’ll be ready to take on the whole Jap navy.” His hand reached her breast.
She pushed it away.
“What’s a little squeeze between friends?” Yancy asked.
“I think it’s time for you to leave, Miss,” Jacob said in a low voice. “He’s a terror when he gets horny and he’s getting horny very fast.”
The woman looked at him as if he was out of his mind.
He nodded.
She disengaged herself from Yancy’s arm.
“Say, where you goin’, you little ball of fluff?” Yancy asked, trying to grab hold of her again.
Jacob came between Yancy and the woman. “She 100 bucks,” he whispered into Yancy’s ear.
Yancy’s eyes went wide. “100 just to fuck?” he roared.
Except for the sound of the jukebox, the bar became absolutely silent.
“I ain’t never paid for it in my life an’ I’m not about to now, even if there is goddamn war on,” Yancy declared.
“Shit, man, don’t a hero always get it free? Sure they do… I’m goin’ be a big goddamn hero… My daddy wants me to be a hero, an’ that little bundle of fluff is just waitin’ for me to be a hero, ain’t ya?”
“You’re right,” Jacob said and signaled the barkeep.
Jacob put 10 dollars on the bar. “That should cover it,” he said.
“More than cover it,” the barkeep answered.
“Okay, Yance, we’re going to shove off,” Jacob said, opening the door and gently pushing Yancy out into the night.
Glen reveled in Lillian’s naked body. It was lithe. Her skin was soft and she always smelled good, everywhere. He held her tightly against him. If there was a heaven, he was absolutely certain it would have to include a woman like Lillian for him.
“You look as if you’re deep in thought,” Lillian said, gazing up at him.
He kissed her chin. “The only thing I’m deep in is you,” he said grinning.
She smiled and traced a small circle on his bare shoulder. “I like that. Glen, have you ever thought about us?” Lillian asked, simultaneously wrapping her bare arms around his neck and her bare legs around his.
“Sure, baby,” he answered, wondering if she wanted it again. The second time around she was slower coming than she was the first, and he had to be back to the ship before curfew.
“I mean, not just about how good it is in the sack between us,” she said.
The question made Glen uncomfortable. It had a familiar echo, so familiar that he was beginning to lose his erection. She must have felt it dwindle, because she started to move against him.
“Do you?” Lillian asked.
“Sure.”
“So do I,” she said. “I really think about us. I think about us so much that I want you to meet my folks.”
“Folks?”
She laughed. “Yes, my father, Admiral Troost —”
“Admiral Troost!” he exclaimed. His erection completely collapsed. He bolted up, almost throwing Lillian off the bed. “I didn’t know he was your daddy.”
“Well, didn’t you see we have the same last name?”
“Sure, but lots of people hav
e the same name.”
She laughed. “I even have a brother in the navy. Lieutenant Warren Troost.”
“Christ!” Glen exclaimed. “I’ve been screwing an admiral’s daughter.” He shook his head with disbelief. This could ruin his career even before he had one. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the night table and took one out for himself.
“I’d like one, please,” Lillian said.
He held the lighter for her, then lit his own.
Lillian had pulled herself up to a sitting position and was leaning against the back of the bed.
“I have to leave before curfew,” he said, swinging his feet off the bed and planting them on the floor.
“We’ve got to talk,” Lillian said, blowing smoke out in front of her.
“Does your father know about me?” Glen asked.
“Not yet — but my mother does.”
“Christ!” he swore again.
“She was the one who suggested that I introduce you to my father, when I mentioned that I thought we’d make a nice couple.”
“Nice couple? What does that mean?” Glen asked, putting on his skivvies.
“Married,” she said.
“Married?” he repeated. “I’m already married.”
Lillian gasped and began to cough.
“I thought you knew that,” Glen said, putting on his pants.
“You neglected to mention it,” she cried.
Glen shrugged. “C’mon, it wouldn’t have made any difference to you. You wanted it from me as much as I wanted it from you.”
“Well, we got it,” she hissed. “We fucking well got it!”
He moved closer to the bed. “Got what?”
She rubbed her bare stomach. “Guess what you put here?” she challenged.
Glen tried to speak, but couldn’t get his thoughts in gear with his tongue. Finally, he said, “My wife is going to have a kid.”
“That’s her problem,” Lillian said and, patting her stomach, she added, “Mine is right here and so is yours.”
“You can’t prove it’s mine,” Glen said, reaching for his shirt. He was anxious to be out of the motel room and away from her as quickly as possible. “You’re with other guys —”