Ghosts of Bungo Suido (2013)

by Deutermann, P. T

  “Yes, sir, of course, but—”

  “Captain Martell, since I started these proceedings, it seems to me I can stop them. I need some time to reconsider what I’m going to do about this allegation of collaboration. I believe I have two options: one, to proceed to a formal accusation and a general court-martial, or two, to dismiss the whole thing. In the meantime you and your members can stand down. I will be in touch. Mike, let’s go. Commander Hammond, don’t leave town.”

  With that admonition, Lockwood and Forrester left the courtroom. Gar and his attorneys stood there, none of them sure what to do next. Captain Martell picked up his cap and told the other two captains to come with him. Captain White glared at everybody and then stomped out of the court after the members. The only one left was the CincPacFleet public affairs officer, who was staring in astonishment at the departing captains. “Can anyone tell me what the hell just happened here?” he asked the nearly empty room.

  Sharon smiled at the PAO. “Commander Hammond here,” she said, “either just got himself off the hook or he did a lateral arabesque from the frying pan into the fire, if I can mix my metaphors, and all by speaking very convincingly and yet very much out of turn.”

  “Not for the first time, either,” Gar said with a wry grin. “Anyway, what could go wrong now, hmm?”

  FORTY

  That afternoon Gar took a taxi downtown to Waikiki Beach. He rented a lawn chair and an umbrella and then found a beach huckster who could round up an ice bucket and a bottle of Scotch and make it appear beside his lawn chair right there on the beach. There were returning sailors and soldiers on the beach, along with a surprising number of young women. He wondered where they’d all been during the war. There it was, that phrase: during the war. Now that the war was over, he wondered how many men felt like he did, that there was a big-ass letdown gathering itself just over the horizon.

  Earlier he’d gone to lunch at the O-club with his two lawyers. They talked about anything and everything except the proceedings at the court. Sharon kept smiling at him, but it was a sympathetic smile. She asked him what he was going to do for the rest of the day, and he said he was going down to the beach and get boiled. She thought that sounded like fun, but first the two of them faced the prospect of going back to headquarters for a séance with the indomitable Captain White. Lieutenant Falcone said he thought he’d go back to the BOQ and call in sick. Sharon said she was actually looking forward to it, as there were some things she wanted to say to the good captain.

  The sun was warm, the breeze a comfort, and the Scotch was cold, but Gar’s efforts to get drunk fizzled out. In his weakened condition it wouldn’t take much whisky to make everything go away, but then he’d just end up sick and hungover. Besides, he had things to think about, like the future. Based on the general tenor of Uncle Charlie’s remarks at the end of the court session, he didn’t really expect a court-martial. That said, he knew he was finished in the navy. There’d certainly be no promotion now, and he’d probably get an assignment offer that would make it clear they wanted him to retire and simply go home. He didn’t want to go back to coal country in Pennsylvania, but there was an empty house and fifteen very pretty acres waiting for him to just turn on the lights and move back in. His parents had been able to hold on to the place only because of Gar’s Depression-era contributions, so he didn’t think any of his relatives would care. He’d have to buy a car—did he have the money for that? There was so much about life back in the States that he didn’t know. He could make a running surfaced attack on a Jap destroyer, but how was he going to get all the way back to Pennsylvania? Bus? Train? He thought about that and fell sound asleep.

  He was startled awake by the sound of a beach chair scrunching down into the sand next to him. The sun was in his eyes as he woke up, but then he saw that it was Sharon standing in front of him, looking shapely indeed in a white bathing suit.

  “You pass out or were you just napping?” she asked as she flipped a towel onto the chair and then sat down next to him.

  He hefted the bottle of Scotch and saw that it was only one-quarter down. “I think I just fell asleep,” he said. “Couldn’t manage a proper drunk.”

  “Here,” she said. “Let me help you with that.”

  He grinned and passed her the bottle and one of the glasses the beach man had brought him. “Ice in the bucket,” he said.

  “Straight’s the way to do Scotch,” she said. “Put water in it and you get a damn headache.”

  “Spoken like an expert,” he said. “How’d it go with Captain White?”

  “Oh, him. I went into his office, closed the door, took off my clothes down to my skivvies, and then screamed at the top of my lungs. His staffies came running in and I started crying hysterically and pointing at him. They were, how to put this—aghast?”

  He laughed. “I’d like to have seen that,” he said. “But really—did you two part friends?”

  “We parted on a highly professional basis,” she said. “Lawyer to lawyer. We spoke at length, as the expression goes, until I brought up Mrs. White.”

  “That sounds to me like a spider fight,” he said. “But he’ll be polite from now on?”

  “Oh, yes, I do believe he will,” she said. “And you were right about him and Forrester—they were trying hard to hang you out to dry. For the sake of the Service, as he so reverently put it, but I get the feeling there’s still more to this, and I’m still not sure what it’s about.”

  “Minoru Hashimoto, perhaps?” he said.

  “Yeah, what was all that? Hashimoto didn’t come up in our little tête-à-tête. Should he have?”

  “Lockwood called it a sideshow, but the sealed orders were clear—Hashimoto first, then go raise hell if you can.”

  “The admiral said he never saw those sealed orders.”

  “I’ll bet there’s a copy up at CincPacFleet headquarters,” Gar said. “The orders were signed out by Admiral Rennsalear.”

  “Christ, you’re thin,” she said, running her fingers over his rib cage. Her fingers lingered, but he was too tired to react.

  “I’m positively fat compared to some to some of those guys,” he said. “The Brits had been in captivity since early ’42. They were walking cadavers. I heard that over a third of them died in Guam after liberation. Fucking Japs.”

  “Wait till you read what they found in eastern Germany and Poland,” she said. “The Nazis were every bit as monstrous, only on a much bigger scale.”

  “I’m tired of all of it,” he said. “Tired, tired, tired. And sad. We won. Whoopee. I can’t even look out onto the ocean without wanting to just weep.”

  “Hey,” she said. “I booked a room nearby. Why don’t you and I go there right now and just, oh, I don’t know, lie down? Hold each other? You can let go and I’ll just keep you company. How’s that sound?”

  “Like heaven,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, sea dog,” she said. “This whole thing has been a really big deal.”

  It’s not over yet, either, he thought as they gathered up their towels. He could remember telling her how good he was at being a CO, and that he was something of a lone wolf. Well, there were two situations where you found a lone wolf: when he was a natural-born predator, and then again when the pack finally drove him out.

  FORTY-ONE

  The summons came at noon the following day. The BOQ front desk called him and told him that his presence was requested at SubPac headquarters at 1300, with his counsel. Gar had to assume SubPac had notified Captain White’s office, since he did not have a telephone. He showered, shaved, and put on his service dress khakis. He didn’t want to think about the previous night with Sharon. He’d ended up drinking too much, bawling like a baby, and then falling asleep. The good news was that she hadn’t seemed to mind very much in the morning. He was pretty sure they hadn’t made love. He liked to think he would have remembered that.

  The yeomen in Admiral Lockwood’s office were very polite when
he arrived. Gar couldn’t tell if that was because he was a condemned man and everybody already knew it, or they didn’t want whatever he had rubbing off on them. Five minutes after he got there, Sharon and Falcone showed up. Sharon looked fine, but Falcone looked like he wanted to try out the dive, dive command and simply disappear. While they waited in the anteroom, two very serious-looking captains arrived and were ushered directly into Lockwood’s office. The yeomen told them it would be just a few minutes more.

  “Who are those guys?” Gar asked.

  Sharon shook her head. “Not from PacFleet, that I know of,” she said. “Never seen them before.”

  “Maybe they’re executioners,” Gar said.

  “No,” Sharon said with a straight face. “Executioners are always enlisted.”

  Gar chuckled. Falcone tried to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off.

  Lockwood’s aide appeared in the doorway. “The admiral will see you all now,” he said, indicating that they should go in.

  Gar went first, followed by the two JAG officers. Lockwood was at his desk. Forrester was standing behind him with a folder. The two captains were sitting in armchairs to one side, looking at Gar as if sizing him up for a coffin.

  “Reporting as ordered, Admiral,” Gar said. He didn’t salute, because the navy never saluted indoors.

  “Very well, Commander,” Lockwood said. Gar couldn’t exactly read Lockwood’s expression, but he sensed that it wasn’t Uncle Charlie sitting there anymore. Rear Admiral Forrester spoke.

  “Commander Hammond, I have been authorized by the chief of naval personnel to propose a course of action to settle, as it were, this allegation of unlawful conduct by a prisoner of war during wartime.”

  Gar blinked. Forrester was talking as if he weren’t standing right there.

  “You are talking about me, Admiral?” Gar asked. He saw Lockwood roll his eyes.

  “Yes, I am,” Forrester said. “The admiral has conferred with CincPacFleet, the chief of naval operations, and BuPers. They have agreed to the following … deal.” Forrester’s expression revealed his distaste at having to offer a deal. He took a deep breath before resuming. “There will be no court-martial. You will be allowed to retire immediately. You will be given five years’ constructive service in recognition of your time as a POW, so you will retire on full twenty-year retired pay. You will retire in the rank of captain, on a tombstone basis. Your retired pay will be computed at the rank of commander. The court of inquiry will issue a formal statement that there were no grounds for the allegations and that the entire matter has been settled to the satisfaction of the command authorities. Do you understand so far?”

  “I do, so far.”

  “Very well. That’s the navy’s offer. Here’s what you have to agree to do, in writing and under a sworn oath. You will never, ever, mention, talk about, write about, or in any way reveal the nature of your last mission to Bungo Suido and the Inland Sea of Japan, especially your additional mission of putting a Japanese national ashore during that mission. Especially that.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” Forrester said. Then he turned to the two captains. “Gentlemen,” he said, “anything to add?”

  The older of the two captains stared hard at Gar. “We are from the offices of Lieutenant General Groves, director of the Manhattan Project,” he said. “Our main concern, and the sole reason that the proceedings against you have been terminated, relates to Minoru Hashimoto. I can’t say this strongly enough: If you ever reveal what that was about, the United States government will find out and will smash you flatter than Hiroshima. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Clear enough,” Gar said.

  The captain turned to the two JAG officers. “That goes for both of you, too. I’m serious, serious as a heart attack about this.”

  Sharon and Falcone said they understood.

  “Commander Hammond, do you accept this offer?” Forrester asked.

  Gar hesitated.

  “He does accept this very generous offer,” Sharon said. “He would be a fool not to, no matter what this Hashi-whazzit stuff is all about.”

  “I’m sorry, Commander,” Forrester said. “I know you’re his lawyer, but this has to come from him.”

  Gar was looking at Lockwood. There was one more thing he wanted, and he knew Lockwood knew what that was. The admiral stared back at him for a long moment. Then he spoke.

  “You want an apology from me, don’t you,” he said.

  “That is not part of the navy’s offer,” Forrester protested.

  “Well, it should be,” Lockwood said. “And I am sorry I put you through this, Gar. You were right about our dropping back into the peacetime mode of doing business. None of us knows what’s coming next, so we all reverted to type, I’m afraid. But that’s not the way I treated my COs during the war, and I shouldn’t have cast you to the wolves just to protect our so-called Silent Service mystique.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your saying that, and of course I accept the deal. I know I’m lucky to get it.”

  “Then we’re done here,” Forrester said. “The terms of this agreement have been written down and will be signed by Commander Hammond and Vice Admiral Lockwood and then countersigned by the chief of naval personnel in Washington.”

  “And by his two lawyers here,” the stone-faced captain said. “Who have forgotten everything they’ve heard here today except my warning.”

  * * *

  Sharon had kept her hotel room at the beach, so they had a leisurely lunch out on the beachside verandah. They were both in uniform, he in khakis, she in whites. There were more civilians at the beach now. People wearing uniforms weren’t yet in the minority, but Gar knew it was only a matter of time.

  “Relieved?” she asked.

  “Overwhelmingly so,” he said. “Who’d a thought that one old man’s piece of this would end up saving my bacon.”

  “I don’t believe they’d have gone to court-martial,” she said. “Your little speech there at the end hurt their feelings. Either way, I still think I could have torn them up.”

  “You were eager to try, too, weren’t you?”

  “Yup. I like a good court fight about as much as a good martini.”

  “Mister Falcone did not look like he was ready for a good court fight.”

  “Captain White broke his teeth when he tried to give me an ass-chewing, so I think Falcone took the brunt. He’ll rebound—he’s got a ticket from Harvard, and his future is going to be all about who he knows and where they all are now.”

  “And you? Who do you know?” he asked.

  “Oh, my regulars. John Walker, James Beam, the Beefeater … What was that tombstone business?”

  Gar laughed. “It’s called a tombstone promotion. They usually do it when a captain retires. They retire him nominally in the rank of rear admiral so that when he dies his wife can put Admiral So-and-so on his tombstone.”

  “That was a hell of a deal,” she said. “Do you actually know what that was all about?”

  “Not anymore,” he said. “But someday I’d like to go back and see if the old man made it alive out of the war. I did tell him to do what he was supposed to do and then to get the hell out of there.”

  “You witnessed Hiroshima, then?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s a whole new day after that firecracker. But back to my question. What’re you going to do when they cut you loose? Where are you going to go?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve saved some money these past few years,” she said. “I’ll find somewhere and start over. Not like I don’t have a trade.”

  “I’ve saved a whole lot of money over these past four years,” he said. “Especially after the Japs picked me up. I’ll even be getting a retired paycheck somewhere along the line, and I have an actual house to go to back to in western Pennsylvania.”

  “And?”

  “And, well, maybe we could join forces? You have to admit, we make a good team. I regularly get myself into trouble, and
you seem to be pretty good at getting me out of it.”

  She smiled. “Is this a proposal, Commander?”

  “It’s a proposition, Commander. A proposal implies marriage, and as you know—”

  “Right,” she said. “Neither of us ever saw the need.”

  “There you go.”

  “I’ll think it over,” she said. “Some propositions need more time than others.”

  “In the meantime, can I buy the lady a drink?”

  She frowned. “That’s not going to change, Gar, at least not anytime soon. I know I have to do something about my boozing, but…”

  “I understand, but I’ve always been told never to drink alone. Look—the war’s over, and the world has changed in so many ways I’m almost scared to face it. I’ve seen things, done things, lost too many friends and shipmates, and now they’ve put me on the beach and told me to go away. I’d be a really famous martyr if there weren’t several thousand other people just like me headed back to the land of the free and the home of the badly bruised.”

  She reached across the table and gripped his hand, hard. “I may well turn out to be excess baggage, Gar. I wouldn’t want to hold you back down the line.”

  “Back from what, Sharon?” He covered her hand with his. “For the past four years I’ve been looking at the world through a periscope, trying to kill people. This morning I was wondering how I’d get back to Pennsylvania from California, and I realized I didn’t know how people do that back in the States these days. It’ll never be a question of holding either one of us back—it’ll be all about holding each other up, and learning how to live again.”

  She nodded. “I will think about it, kind sir. Sounds like we both have a couple of weeks.” She sighed and looked out to sea. “In the meantime,” she said. “How ’bout that drink?”

  He laughed. “You’re bad,” he said. “Really bad. What are we going to do about you?”

  She peered over at him through that waterfall hairdo. “We’ll think of something,” she said. “And if you’re not going to buy me that drink I’ll be forced to go back to my room, take off all my clothes, lie down, and—sulk.”