Battle Stations

by Roger Jewett

  Because his destroyers and cruisers would be involved in gunfire support of the amphibious landing forces, Troost studied the charts of the area and found that there were enormous stretches of coastline and open water that were completely uncharted. His ships would have to depend on their Fathometers to find safe water. But there was an even more serious situation: the navy wasn’t ready to undertake an operation that would undoubtedly bring it into a confrontation with numerically superior Japanese surface forces and land-based aircraft. He and others senior to him voiced this objection. But nothing they said had any effect. The operation was scheduled for Friday, August 14th. “H” hour was 6:14 local time.

  Troost stacked the sheets neatly, summoned his aide, Commander Ritten, and handing him the stack of papers, said, “Have this delivered to Admiral Floyde’s office now.”

  “Aye, aye sir,” Ritten answered; then he said, “You had two calls, Admiral. One from your son and the other from Mrs. Hasse. Your son asked if your dinner appointment with him tomorrow night was still a go situation. I took the liberty of telling him it was.”

  Troost nodded. “Did Mrs. Hasse leave a message?” he asked.

  “No sir,” Ritten replied.

  “As soon as you get rid of that OPS plan, take off,” Troost said, and lifting the phone, he asked the operator to connect him with Kate’s number. “Did I wake you?” he asked, when she came on the line.

  “No, I was reading Louis Bromfield’s latest novel, Wild is the River,” she answered.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I have a few things to finish before I leave,” he said.

  “Have you had any dinner?”

  He laughed. “I don’t even remember if I had lunch.”

  “I’ll have something ready for you,” she said.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you in a little while,” he said, and put the phone down.

  “We’re shipping out soon,” Glen said, looking across a small round table at Lillian. He had called her the previous evening, and at the end of a stormy conversation she agreed to meet him the following afternoon in the cocktail lounge where they’d first met.

  “That’s what you do in the navy,” she answered, pushing the side of her blonde hair back into place.

  “Listen, I wanted to see you because I had to see you,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about us.”

  She looked particularly beautiful. She wore a white linen skirt and a white silk blouse, open at the neck.

  “Us? What do you mean by us?” she practically shrieked. “There isn’t any us.”

  Glen lifted the shot glass in front of him and downed half the scotch he ordered. “I wanted to set things straight between us,” he said.

  “It’s a little late for that,” she answered bitterly.

  “Have something to drink,” he said.

  Lillian shook her head. “I don’t want anything from you, not even a drink.”

  “Then why did you come?” Glen asked.

  “Because —” she faltered.

  “Listen,” he said, taking hold of her hands, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “For someone who didn’t want to hurt me, you sure did a good job,” she responded in a thin voice.

  “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “All right, you’re sorry.”

  “Marry me,” he said.

  She pulled her hands away. “What?”

  “I never loved Lucy,” he said, taking a cigarette and lighting it.

  “She’s going to have your baby.”

  “When I get back to Pearl,” he said, “I’ll ask her for a divorce.”

  “But —”

  He took hold of her hands again. “I love you,” he said. “After I met your brother —”

  “When did you meet him?”

  “A few weeks back,” he said. “Listen, I don’t want to talk about him or anything else. I want to talk about us.”

  “What do you want me to say?” she asked.

  “Yes. I want you to say yes.”

  “I can’t say yes just like that. Not when I know that your wife is going to have a baby.”

  “I love you,” Glen said.

  “I just don’t know.”

  Glen finished the scotch and looked straight at her. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I tried. I even tried a couple of other women, but it wasn’t the same as it was with you.”

  “I’d like a drink now,” Lillian told him. “A very dry martini.”

  “I’ll get it for you from the bar,” Glen said. “Want anything else?”

  She shook her head.

  Glen left the table and walked to the bar. “One very dry martini,” he ordered.

  “One very dry martini,” the barkeep repeated.

  “How much?” Glen asked.

  “Six bits.”

  Glen put three quarters down on the bar, left a 15-cent tip, and returning to the table, said, “When you finish your drink, let’s get out of here.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Someplace where we can be alone,” Glen answered, devouring her with his eyes.

  Lillian picked up her drink, sipped at it, and then, looking at him over the rim of the glass, said, “My mother won’t be back until sometime late this evening.”

  “I love you,” Glen told her.

  Warren arrived at the Sing Bo restaurant a few minutes early and gave his name to the maître d’, a small Chinese man.

  “Yes, there’s a reservation for three under that name,” the man said.

  “For three?” Warren questioned.

  “It was made by your aide.”

  Warren smiled. “My father’s aide,” he said. “Lieutenant commanders don’t have aides.”

  The man nodded and asked, “May I show you to the table, Commander?”

  “I think I’ll wait at the bar,” Warren said, knowing he’d feel very uncomfortable sitting alone at the table.

  The man gestured toward the bar. There were several couples there.

  “On second thought,” Warren said, “I’ll go to the table.”

  “Please follow me,” the maître d’ said.

  Warren sat facing the center of the room. The restaurant was crowded, but the noise level was tolerable. The food, from what he could tell as the waiters passed him, looked and smelled delicious.

  He lit a cigarette. Certain the third person would be the woman with whom his father was having an affair, he wondered how he’d react. He stubbed out the cigarette in a brass ashtray and checked his watch. His father was already five minutes late. He looked at the nearby tables. Several were occupied by officers his own age and their wives or sweethearts. He was sorry Irene wasn’t with him, but she was on duty and wouldn’t be off until the next morning. He pursed his lips. Despite the fact they were still lovers, they were becoming more distant from each other in anticipation of the day he’d leave and —

  His father and the woman were being escorted to the table by the maître d’.

  Warren stood up.

  “My son Warren,” Troost said. “Mrs. Hasse.”

  Warren shook her hand.

  “It’s a pleasure,” she said.

  The three of them sat down and Troost said, “I’m sorry I’m late but the traffic is very heavy.”

  “Have you been waiting long, Commander?” she asked.

  “Please, call me Warren,” he said, before he added, “A few minutes.”

  “Then you must call me Kate,” she said. “Everyone does.”

  “Would you care for something to drink?” Troost asked.

  “Only if the two of you have something,” Kate responded.

  “I’ll —” he was going to say I’ll pass, but he caught the look in his father’s eyes and said, “Yes, I’ll have a scotch and water.”

  “Kate?” his father asked again.

  “Gin and tonic,” she said.

  “And I’ll have a vodka martini,” T
roost announced.

  As soon as the waiter took the bar order, Kate said, “Andrew tells me that you’ll be finishing your training soon.”

  “Wednesday of next week,” Warren answered.

  “From what your father has told me,” she said, ‘the training consists of a lot more than learning to handle a PT boat.”

  “I’m told it’s similar to the training given the British commandos,” Warren said.

  Their drinks came and Troost raised his glass, “To peace.”

  “To peace,” Warren and Kate echoed together.

  The three of them touched glasses and then drank.

  Warren could see that his father was very much in love with Kate. His voice even sounded different when he used her name. Softer. And there wasn’t any doubt in Warren’s mind that she was in love with him.

  When it came time to order, his father summoned the maître d’ to the table and said, “I’d very much appreciate it if you would do the ordering for us.”

  “I would be pleased to,” the man said and left the table.

  “Admiral Sprat told me it’s the best way to order here,” Troost explained.

  “I was wondering how you found this place,” Warren said. “Ordinarily, I know you don’t like Chinese food.”

  “Andrew, you never said a word about that,” Kate chided. “And I’ve been making you various Chinese dishes.”

  Troost smiled. “They’re fine,” he said, patting her hand. “If they weren’t, I would have told you.”

  The dinner started with fried dumplings, followed by a spicy soup with bits of shrimp and other seafood. After the soup came four large casseroles: one was a chicken dish, another was mixed seafood with Chinese vegetables, the third was pieces of spicy steak, and the fourth was pork fried rice.

  The three of them used chopsticks, and as they ate, Warren found himself talking more to Kate than to his father. He was surprised to learn that she was going to the university and that she wanted to write.

  “She’s very good,” his father said, when she mentioned her desire to write. “I read some of her stories and they held my interest.”

  Kate squeezed his hand and laughed. “Of course, he’s not prejudiced, is he?”

  “Purely an objective viewpoint,” Troost responded.

  Before any of them realized it, they had finished eating and it was almost curfew time.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Kate said, “I’ll visit the powder room before we leave.”

  Warren and his father started to stand.

  “Please,” Kate said. “There’s no need to do that.”

  Warren waited until his father sat down before he did.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” his father said.

  “I like her,” Warren told him. “She’s good for you.”

  “Very good for me,” Troost said.

  “You look happier than I ever remember.”

  “I am. I really am. What about you?” his father asked. “I mean, is there anyone special in your life?”

  “I’ve been seeing an army nurse,” Warren said. “But neither of us is sure.”

  “Sure?”

  “Dad, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Troost shrugged; then he leaned toward Warren. “You know there’s a big operation in the making,” he said.

  “I heard rumors about it.”

  “It’s true,” his father said. “I’ll be there, and I know several PT squadrons will be used in the operation.”

  “Then maybe I’ll see you wherever there is?” Warren responded.

  “Maybe,” Troost said; then he asked, “Do you love the woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I take it she loves you?”

  Warren nodded.

  “Then don’t waste the time you have,” his father advised. “Don’t waste it!”

  “Waste what?” Kate asked, returning to the table.

  Neither Warren nor his father realized she was close by until they heard her voice.

  “Just some fatherly advice,” Warren said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Kate put her hand over Troost’s. “Your father is a very wise man,” she said.

  Warren looked at her, then at his father. That was something his mother never would have said, much less believed. “Yes,” Warren answered, “I’ve always thought he was.” Then he added, “I’m happy he has you.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said, and she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

  Named the City Desk, the bar was practically alongside the New York Post building on Front Street. This was the third time Jacob had gone there to meet Connie and it was also the third time she was late, though this time he expected her to be.

  Jacob sat at the bar and tried not to feel out of place. But it was almost impossible. Everyone else there had some connection with the newspaper. He was the only one in uniform. Despite the fans, the place was hot and filled with cigarette smoke, which made it seem as if a gray cloud had settled in the center of the room.

  Two men on Jacob’s left were arguing loudly about the Brooklyn Dodgers’ chances of winning the National League Pennant race, while a group of four on the other side of him were talking about going to the races the following day.

  Jacob was on his second bourbon and soda when Connie came up behind him and said, “Sorry I’m late, love, but something big seems to be brewing.”

  He turned around. “Where?” he asked.

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Somewhere out in your old stomping grounds,” she said, then called out to the barkeep, “Willy, give me the usual.”

  “You must know a little more,” Jacob said.

  She shrugged. “Just rumors for now,” she responded. “But we do know that a number of ships have left Pearl and other ports. Your old ship, the Big E, appears to be involved.”

  Jacob finished his drink. Suddenly he felt trapped. He looked around. What the hell was he doing there?

  “Is anything wrong?” Connie asked.

  He shook his head. “I just need some fresh air,” he lied.

  “Can you wait until I finish my drink?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “But —”

  “Ah, Connie, there you are!” a man called out. “I was hoping to see you.”

  Jacob turned around. The man was tall, somewhere in his 30s. He had a drink in his right hand, a cigarette dangled out of his mouth. The top button on his shirt was open and his tie pulled down.

  He came straight up to Connie and put his left arm around her and his hand over her breast. “My God, I’ve missed you,” he said, kissing her on the lips.

  Connie pushed his hand away.

  “Come on, Connie,” he said. “I was hoping we’d make some beautiful music together again.”

  She flushed.

  “You know I’ve still got the hots for you,” he said; then suddenly he looked at Jacob.

  “Why don’t you leave Miss Burke alone,” Jacob said.

  The man looked at him. “Who the hell is that?” he asked, pointing at Jacob.

  “Lieutenant Commander Jacob Miller,” she said. “Mr. Niles Drumb.”

  Jacob made no effort to shake Drumb’s hand.

  “Ain’t you the guy who killed all those Japs?” he asked, and before Jacob could answer, he turned around and shouted, “Hey, guys, we got a 100-percent gold-plated hero here!”

  “It’s all right,” Connie yelled. “Niles has had a few too many.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jacob said, dropping three singles on the bar and reaching over to help Connie off the stool.

  Drumb grabbed hold of Jacob’s wrist. “I got first dibs,” he growled.

  Jacob backhanded him across the face.

  Connie gasped.

  Drumb’s head went to one side. Blood spurted from his nose. His cigarette fell to the floor. He dropped his drink. “Son-of-a-mother-fucking-bitch!” he roared and flung himself on Jacob.

  “Don’t,” Connie screamed. “Oh don�
�t!”

  “Fight,” a man yelled. “Fight!”

  “I’ll kill you,” Drumb growled, getting his hand around Jacob’s throat. “I’ll kill you.”

  “Someone do something!” Connie cried.

  Jacob felt Drumb’s fingers press in on his windpipe. He struggled to free himself; then suddenly he thrust his arms upward, breaking Drumb’s hold.

  “Enough,” Connie yelled. “For God’s sake, enough!”

  Drumb panted, launching himself again at Jacob.

  Jacob threw a right cross. Drumb staggered. Jacob jabbed a left at his chin and loosed another right cross. Drumb crouched and tried to rush him. Jacob caught him with an upper cut. Drumb dropped to his knees. Blood was pouring out of his nose and mouth. He looked at Connie, then tried to get to his feet.

  Still breathing hard, Jacob grabbed hold of him.

  Drumb tried to shake him off. “Don’t need your fucking help, Admiral.”

  “Looks to me like you need all the help you can get,” Jacob answered, pulling him up to his feet and sitting him down on a bar stool. “Take care of him, Connie,” he said.

  “Wait, I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” Jacob answered quietly.

  Drumb’s head slumped down on the bar.

  “I want to go with you,” she cried.

  Jacob put on his white beaked hat. “He loves you,” he said. “He just proved that the hard way.”

  “Oh God, I didn’t want this to happen,” Connie wept.

  Jacob squared his shoulders and walked slowly to the door.

  CHAPTER 41

  Troost was on his bridge on the Appalachia. He was in command of the ships that would provide fire support to the First Marine Division, which later that day would storm ashore and take the airfield that the Japanese had hacked out of the jungle. His ships moved steadily through the morning twilight around the western end of Guadalcanal Cape Esperance to Lunga Point, where the amphibious assault would begin.

  One by one the ships of the bombardment force signaled “Ready to commence firing,” and at 0600 the Appalachia’s main battery of eight-inch guns and her secondary five-inch battery opened fire. The sudden fire from the big guns sent a heavy shock through the ship.