Pacific Nocturne, 1944

by Don DeNevi

  “I’ll let you go in a moment. Those with specific custodial duties will meet back here with Assistant Commander Shepherd and Chief of Staff Sims. Now, go get a sandwich and a cup of coffee or glass of milk. The rest of you will go about your assignments.”

  “If there is an incident, anecdote, or vignette that tells you exactly who Hope is, what his character is all about, what the core of his heart is all about, it is this one:

  “Recently, there was one camp in the Aleutians, he couldn’t get to for one reason or another. So, in order to watch his performance, some 600 troops marched more than 10 miles across rain-swept countryside to see and hear him. But by the time they arrived, exhausted but eager, the show was over and Bob and his entourage were gone, already at his sleeping quarters preparing for a sound sleep. But suddenly an officer knocked on his door, and, after Hope responded in his pajamas, was told the 600 riflemen were walking back to their camp. Hearing this, Hope instantly called his troupe together, threw them into jeeps, and after six or seven miles, overtook the troops, cold, wet, and discouraged, and started performing on the spot, in a drenching downpour, including the sleet, winds, and heavy rain. That one incident where Bob, Jerry, Frances, Terri and the other two in which everyone clowned around in heavy sleet, strong winds and in the rain for 90 minutes, endeared him to our troops more than any other story.”

  “Well, men, that’s all I have to say. Mr. Hope is coming to give us an enormous lift with his wonderful sense of humor, and I have seven decaying Marines on slabs in the hospital refrigerator,” said Commander Rupertus softly, as tears began to well up in his eyes. Peter and Pinoe, the two closest to him, were amazed. Neither had ever observed such a high-ranking military officer allow himself to break down under any emotion.

  Finally, the major general, controlling himself not to wipe the tears away from his eye, concluded,

  “ . . . and so, men, amid the ribbing humor, the adlibbing, hollering, the often-risqué dialogue, remember that lurking in the shadow somewhere is a murdering Marine who undoubtedly will strike today or tonight to make a name for himself. Don’t let the Ghoul do it.”

  As the major general turned to walk out to the jeep for a ride back to his Banika office, Reverend Pinoe suddenly stood up and approached Rupertus, saying,

  “Neither your wrath do I fear, nor any disciplinary action I may have coming, but I must say this. Never did I expect to see a tear in the eye of the Commander of the 1st Division, Marine. Red eyes are rare among men who order men into certain death day after day. Yet, to observe you of the high rank to allow your officers to acknowledge your humanity is the privilege of my lifetime. God bless you, Commander. I wish every warrior of all our services could know such empathetic decency.”

  With that, Peter stood up and said,

  “He’ll come this afternoon or tonight, men. Alert everyone, especially all on Banika. The Ghoul craves darkness for his deeds. And, all of the dead learned this the hard way. My hunch, intuition, and my unconscious, say the same thing: He strikes tonight on Banika during that performance. He’ll come up close and personal, this officer of ours. Then, he’ll plunge a Ka-Bar into your chest and stomach. No one from his troupe, especially Hope himself must be left alone for even a moment. If he needs to nap, you nap beside him; if he needs to pee, you pee right alongside of him; when he eats, we’ll all eat alongside of him.”

  “This $7,500-a-week Hollywood legend, this inexhaustible man who comes to make us grin and laugh, didn’t have to come to the Russells. Now, he faces murder. Your only job, men, is to keep the Ghoul at bay until we finally catch or kill him. Keep our visitors safe and secure.”

  With that, the meeting was over and the participants headed for the sandwich counter with soft drinks and coffee, then their assignment posts, or an additional where they were now.

  Peter, with Pinoe in tow, walked over to where Bill and Ellen sat. Keck and Maxwell huddled for a moment, Keck shouting over to Peter that several jeeps would be ready for departure to the landing strip at 1300. Hope was expected within the next two hours to arrive.

  “Well, you two, fancy meeting you here! Ready for roars of laughter?” Peter asked, grinning.

  “Yup,” responded Bill, standing up with an ear-to-ear smile. “It’ll be just like being home when mom and dad sat in their cushioned chairs and sis, big brother, and I laid on our backs on the living room floor. Then, at exactly 5:00pm on late Sunday afternoon, the Pepsodent Hour came in on our small radio and for 60 minutes, we heard nothing but wisecracks and funny stories.”

  Pinoe nodded, then added,

  “It’s well known in our military circles that Hope’s an indefatigable man, running himself wild. All of us chaplains received brief biographies and summaries of his USO work in case he suddenly dropped in, like he’s doing today in our theater of operations. The bulletin mentioned he didn’t care if he did six or eight shows a day, since he not only loves our boys, but also wants to do his part for the war effort. He says he wants to disprove the photo that says when he’s shown with countless of our fighting boys shaking his hand, it’s not because he’s too old for the draft. No, sir. I agree with Bill, Bob Hope is a direct and straight link into our living rooms back home.”

  Turning to Ellen, Peter exclaimed, “Ellen, what are you doing here? I was hoping you’d be asleep until showtime. You just went through hell, young lady! Are you in pain?”

  “For a little scratch? Of course not. Just couldn’t sleep with all the excitement. Bill and I discussed the situation after you left us on Banika and decided to simply walk over here. I’ll go back with the other nurses after the afternoon performance to relieve one or two of our nurses in the Base Hospital so they can attend tonight’s performance on Banika.”

  “I’m delighted, Ellen. Let’s head over for a sandwich or two; it’ll be a long afternoon before we have another meal.”

  As they walked across the open-air patio in the hospital, Peter noticed for the first time how subdued everyone was who was eating, or about to eat, sitting at tables or standing in the queue. The usual aura of assurance that accompanied officers in starched, freshly ironed khaki uniforms was replaced by a gloomy apprehension. Silent officers in neglected, wrinkled uniforms stood in line, waiting to help themselves to cheese and tuna sandwiches stacked high on silver trays. Ample raw vegetables, freshly baked bread and Australian butter were also available on the single table. Coffee, pastries, and fresh ice cream were also present. Green-leafies, soft drinks, and Pacific Island fruits were made handy on a third table. Amid the absence of the usual chatter and chuckling, a prerecorded baritone soloist was singing “The Road to Mandalay.”

  Peter nodded to Bill,

  “I’d swear half these officers think they’re going to a firing squad rather than lunch.”

  “Sullenness commingling with feeling of expectancy, not only for Mr. Ghoul, but also Mr. Hope,” Bill responded, equally sullen.

  “I heard,” interjected Pinoe, standing side-by-side with Ellen, “that six Piper Cubs will land on the dirt road down from Tent City, and that our 12-member band will be playing ‘God Bless America’ as the group assembles after landing. One of the nurses is supposed to sing it. Will make a wonderful impression on Mr. Hope.”

  Suddenly, Ellen, unable to contain herself, began to weep uncontrollably, unashamedly.

  “Why, Ellen, what brings this on?” asked Peter, knowing the answer all too well, as Bill stepped toward her, and Pinoe placed an arm around her, whispering a quiet reassurance in her ear.

  Stepping away from the queue, and its inquisitive onlookers, Peter asked quietly, “Need to return to the nurses’ barracks? What is it, Ellen?”

  In between soft sobs, Ellen said throatily,

  “The vocalist chosen to sing ‘God Bless America’ was Pauline, my friend, who was murdered last night. She had been told about it last night before her night shift, and was proudly telling me and Rachael; she immediately wrote her mother and father, and was flying so, so high, then stabbed
so brutally, laying in a pool of her own blood, so young, such a dedicated nurse, engaged to a boy who was part of the Normandy invasion, she... “ Ellen was shaking so emotionally the three men sat her down at the nearest table.

  Pinoe, seeing the utter anguish on Ellen’s face, said in a lowered voice to Peter and Bill, “Get something for all of us to eat and drink. Ask if you can crowd in at the head of the line - - you have one of our nurses in pain. I’ll stay and counsel with her until you get back. Then, I’ll leave for the hospital where I have men waiting. I’ll be back for the 1330 departure to pick up the Hope gang.”

  Peter turned to Ellen, struggling to control her weeping, “Ellen, we’ll bring back whatever’s on the table. We’ll all share. After some fresh food and coffee in your stomach, you can decide what you want to do.”

  With that, Peter, accompanied by Lundigan, walked hurriedly to the front of the queue. Turning back for a quick glance, Peter saw that Pinoe was embracing Ellen, whispering into her ear. She was smiling and waved, indicating Ellen was well again.

  Then, with trays in hand loaded with sandwiches and beverages, and dishes and utensils placed on the table, the men snacked. No one said a word for a few moments. Peter finally said,

  “Ellen, help yourself. You really should eat if you’re going to be up all day.”

  Pouring a cup of coffee from a small pot Bill borrowed from the main table, Ellen said quietly,

  “Pauline told me confidentially she hoped that if she had to die in this war, it would be peacefully. Preferably, as she slept in her bunk in one of our wards. Her call to service, she said, came on the Sunder afternoon of December 7, 1941, knowing that our boys were hurting and in pain across the Pacific and she should be with them. The next morning, Monday, December 8, she enlisted in the Army. The Army grabbed her because she had a Bachelor’s Degree of Nursing from St. Mary’s College in Moraga, California. Without any Army training, she was commissioned as a lieutenant to develop a fast-paced plan to recruit and train young women for the program. Then, for three years, she tended our boys in the Pacific because the 1st Division was in an urgent, desperate need. The Army loaned her to the Corps. Pauline was on leave from the Army to help the Corps, then was murdered by a Marine!”

  With that, Ellen began to shake and sob uncontrollably again. Peter and Pinoe placed their arms around her shoulders without words and soon Ellen regained her composure. She continued,

  “For us, the veteran nurses and the new ones, she’s been a legend, a model of what nursing service is. She always worked 80 hours a week, without comment or complaint. And, she was a fighter, too. All the Medical Corps dealt with her because she was a tireless advocate for quality of patient care, and a spokesman for patient rights. No one messed with her because she was as unafraid as she was merciless in her beliefs, and tireless in seeing to it they were achieved.”

  “And to see her cut down by perhaps a man she helped,” interjected Pinoe.

  “That’s very right,” stammered Ellen. “While under her care, all patients were treated equally. Each man was treated with kindness, gentleness, and dignity. She even offered a whole new concept, one that encouraged the wounded or ill to be actively, not passively, in their own care. She went out of her way to praise those nurses who worked just as hard, cared just as much, and felt as much as she did that private or general, kitchen cook or invasion strategist, was a brother, and she was going to love him, exemplified by her basic care. She didn’t care about herself, but she was determined that those such noticed would not go unnoticed. But in her case, she did receive notice, proven by the awards she received. The rest of us chucked when she merely packaged them up and sent them home to mom.”

  Again, there was pause as the sobs and tears began to flow again. Ellen concluded,

  “What endeared me as well to her was her care for domestic animals. The Japs left two dogs behind. God only knows what breed they were and who they once belonged to. Skin and bones, they were near death. But, so typical, she simply made them her own. They are up under her bed waiting for her to come off-duty to take them for a walk, then feed them. She honestly believed, not just in words, but in her warm heart, that all living creatures were sacred and deserved life as long as it lasted, naturally.”

  “I loved Pauline, and now she’s gone, having died at the hands of a murderer she would have given her life to care for and protect.”

  With that, Pinoe raised himself, stood up, patted her on the shoulder and walked away.

  Meanwhile, Peter and Bill remained silent, heads lowered, offering nothing except their soft breathing.

  Ellen understood. Then, very slowly, with both her hands, she stretched across the table, each hand reaching for Peter’s and Bill’s. Clasping them, she said softly, “Will one of you, I don’t care who, or which of you, but will one of you be intimate with me later tonight? I really need for one of you to hold me, to caress me. Please?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  -

  “Is that him?”

  Neither Peter nor Bill said a word. For a full minute, neither of the two friends moved a muscle other than their facial features, which somehow produced the emergence of grins.

  Blushing, Ellen cast her eyes down.

  “Doesn’t matter who, just so long as it’s one of you,” she continued in a mumble. “Not interested in anyone else in the whole of the Allied armed forces in the South Pacific . . . I so want someone to touch and hold me... “

  Her eyes remaining drooped, more embarrassed than guiltily, she insisted, a hint of mirth creeping into the tone, “It’s not romantic or sexual pleasure I seek, only you, Peter or William, to hold me, to hold me dearly, with strength. Nothing more... “

  Regaining his composure from a stance of reflective silence, Peter said hesitantly in a barely audible voice,

  “Well, if Bill who’s not pledged to anyone won’t, I will, with your understanding, Ellen, that my Joan is the only woman on this earth that I can embrace... “

  “But I have my Rena Morgan in New York who still doesn’t know that... “

  “Oh, for goodness sake, I wasn’t asking either of you to get a ladder and climb up and grab the moon for me, I simply wanted one of you to allow me to rest my head on your shoulder. I’m over it now. And frankly, your reluctance helped me return to reality.”

  “Ellen, I fully understand and am ready to engage in that with one of the few women on this earth I want as a lifelong friend. Freud once said, ‘Women don’t become prostitutes because they yearn for money or sex. They become ‘women of the night’ because they simply want to be held.”

  “Yes, that’s it. With Pauline gone in less than a few hours ago, she and I relieving girls too exhausted to work last night, and tonight to give up her own enjoyment so others would have theirs . . .”

  “Oh, Ellen, I understand, I understand... “

  “I tried to save her, I tried... “, and she burst into tears again.

  “Bill, I must go now, and fetch Mr. Hope. Why me, I have no idea, but I must report to the Commander’s car. Stay with her, and when I see you at afternoon’s performance either here or tonight, over there, I’ll tell you all about Hope the gossip and insights of all who are with him.”

  As Bill smiled, and nodded at Peter, as he placed his arm around Ellen, Peter nodded approvingly, and without further word, turned and walked through the open patio area toward the hospital entrance where he was to meet Major General Rupertus.

  What immediately struck Peter as he exited the open structure of the hospital was the force of all the early noontime wind sweeping across Pavuvu from the Solomon Sea “Slot”. Wind-swirling sand off the high dunes near the channel beaches attempted to penetrate his eyes, throat, lungs, all adding to the pain of his cracked lips. Although not a full-blown sandstorm, it was nonetheless barely bearable.

  “How sad,” he thought, “if the performance was hampered or halted because of tornado force winds,

  Swallowing dryly, Peter looked all around him. Ru
pertus, Shepherd, and Sims would be along in a few minutes, followed by other officers of the 1st Division. Five staff cars were lined up, their PFC drivers standing outside by the drivers’ seats with the back seat doors open, and the car motors idling.

  Behind the staff cars, were 10 large platform trucks capable of conversion into troop carriers, their motors idling as well. Helmeted Marines carrying an assortment of weapons, mostly machine guns and rifles, were lounging, relaxing, smoking, talking quietly across the street from General Headquarters on and around the benches in the tiny memorial garden the center of which was the post fluttering the American flag. Of the ten trucks, four carried moveable searchlights and anti-aircraft guns, the weapons poking their long, covered muzzles skywards.

  “Wow!” thought Peter, “are we going through these melodramatics for ‘show’ to impress the USO, or is there a real threat on the lives of our visitors?”

  Glancing at his wristwatch, Peter saw that it was two minutes after 1330. Suddenly, the front door to General Headquarters swung open and Major General William H. Rupertus, Division Commander, stood there in a Marine wrap. Exiting behind him were Brigadier General Lemuel C. Shepherd, and Chief of Staff Amor LeRoy Sims, equally resplendent in their respective uniforms garnished in earned medals. All casually and calmly walked down the steps, exuding confidence. Bringing up the rear were a dozen well-armed, heavy-jacketed, binoculated, goggled, scarfed motorcyclists who would lead the parade to greet the Hope troupe after landing.

  Rupertus appeared friendly and cordial, even cheerful, despite the wanton murders of his troops. As Peter waited patiently by the lead staff car, the Commander, with his assistant commander and chief-of-staff in tow, walked across the road in order to mix and talk with his soldiers, patting some on the back, laughing heartily with others. For an afternoon and evening, all was well in the commander’s mind, and he was grinning for the first time in a week.