by M. L. Maki
“Yes, sir.”
PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO, WASHINGTON, DC
1540, 16 August, 1942 (2040 GMT)
Liz and John, wearing their dinner dress whites, walk in. The photographer says, “Sir, the FBI has collected a copy of your photos. Do you know why?”
Liz and John exchange a long look.
John, “No idea. Thank you.” They look over the photos. As promised, the negatives are included.
Liz, “Thank you, very much.”
Back in the car, John pulls away from the curb and says, “Lean forward and look out the side mirror. That grey sedan is following us again.”
“I see it. Probably FBI.”
“Yeah, we’re going to find out.” They pull onto the Navy Yard and John speaks to the security guard, “We’re being followed by the grey sedan across the road. Any chance we could get a patrol car to stop it and see who it is?”
“Yes, sir.” He picks up a phone.
John, “We’re going to turn around.”
“Yes, sir.”
John follows the military police vehicle out the gate. The police pull across the front of the grey sedan, and John pulls up right behind the sedan. John and Liz get out. The Navy Yard police unass their vehicle and draw their weapons. The FBI agent gets out of his car and carefully presents his badge.
John, “Why are you following us?”
The agent smiles, “I’ll remember that trick.”
John smiles too, “I’m hoping I don’t need to teach you any more tricks. Do you have any questions we can answer? Do you need to see ID? How can we end this, so you can stop wasting your time?”
The agent smiles, “There is nothing you can do, Jap.”
John, “Okay. So, you don’t get lost, we’ll be heading to the White House now. Good day, Special Agent.”
They get back into their car and drive to the white House. After they park, John and Liz wave at the agent. Liz takes John’s arm and they walk toward the entrance. Klindt, Lee, King, and their wives are waiting.
Klindt, “Who were they?”
John, “They’re our tail. It seems my lineage is a matter of interest to the FBI.”
Admiral King, “What? You’re an officer.”
“The agent knew that. He said there was nothing we could do to save him the trouble of following us everywhere. He was very clear. There’s nothing I could do. He called me a Jap. Great hospitality here.”
Klindt and Lee exchange a meaningful look.
King, “We’ll see about that. Thank you, Commander. It’s time to go in.”
The White House Chief Usher, Howell Crim says, “Welcome to the White House. Please, follow me.” He leads them up the stairs.
They are met by the First Lady at the top of the stairs, “Admiral King, Mattie, welcome.” She shakes their hand. She greets the other two couples, and then greets John and Liz, “Welcome Commander Morrison. Commander Petrea.”
John, “Thank you ma’am. We are honored.”
Eleanor says, “It is us who are honored. Commander, we are aware of your record.”
John, “Thank you.”
Liz, “Wait. What’s his record? He hasn’t told me.”
They hear Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s distinct voice, “And why wouldn’t you tell her, Commander?”
John, “I don’t wish to boast.”
FDR laughs, “Oh heavens, Commander. Of all people, the woman you love should know your truth. Commander Petrea, your darling has sunk fifty-two submarines and seven warships. Two of those being the German battleship Tirpitz, and the Japanese battleship Haruna. No unit in all the allied forces have come even half close to the accomplishments of this young man.”
Klindt, “You would do well to share that detail with Director Hoover. He’s had John followed around like he robbed a bank.”
FDR, “Why?”
Klindt, “Sir his birth father was Irish, but his birth mother was Japanese.”
FDR looks long at Klindt. Klindt holds the gaze, “I will inform the FBI that all US services have primary jurisdiction over every serviceman for all but criminal matters occurring away from their base or vessel.”
Klindt, “Thank you, sir. It’s a beginning.”
FDR, “Admiral, you need to understand the fear of the American people. Had we not separated out the Japanese, there would have been lynchings.”
Lee says, “Yes sir. That is why the machine guns at the camps are faced inward, to protect the Japanese from their neighbors. It shouldn’t be as much of a concern now. Those neighbors are probably too busy enjoying the stolen property of the Japanese detainees to bother them.
Eleanor says, “Would any of you care for a cocktail while you argue?”
Roosevelt, “Indeed, dear.” Roosevelt pours the cocktails and hands them around. He takes a sip, “Ahh. Yes.” He smiles at Morrison, “Well Commander, what are your thoughts?”
Everyone else stops talking.
“Sir, my birth grandmother and mother are currently living in one of the camps. I was eight years old when my parents died. I was adopted by the Morrisons. My mom’s father died serving in the 100th Battalion in Europe. Truth, he’s alive and in training now, but I never knew him. The time my mother spent as a criminal, who had committed no crime, scarred her for the rest of her life. It’s amazing she fell for my birth father, Lieutenant Joseph Fallon. He represented a government she was afraid of. All of this happened within the borders of the land of the free. It seems that freedom only counts for white male protestants, sir.”
FDR, “I wouldn’t say that.”
Morrison, “Yes, sir.”
FDR, “Go ahead, son. Speak your mind.”
John, “Well, it seems to me, if every American is not free and equal, then all the patriotic speeches about freedom and the moral difference between us and the enemy we fight amounts to the difference between dark grey and black. If every American is not free, none of us are free. If one among us can be legally discriminated against, then none of us is equal. Politics are meaningless without principles. Sir, America is a good country, but we are not a great country. Not the great country we could be. Until we deal with the original sin of slavery. Until we create a nation where every person, regardless of nation of origin, skin color, religion, disability, or sex is equal in the eyes of the law, the employment line, housing, banking, and the right to worship as their conscience dictates, we are not a free country. Until we are all equal, none of us are. You asked me to speak my mind, sir.”
Liz pulls John to her and kisses him on the cheek.
FDR looks at everyone in the room, “Son, are you interested in writing speeches?”
John smiles, “They’ll be hard to write from an internment camp, sir.”
“I’ll see what might be done. I understand your passion. Where passion meets politics, the politics generally wins. Enough now. Let’s eat.”
CHAPTER 14
KLINDT HOME
When they get inside, John asks, “Craig, did I go too far?”
Craig laughs, “You did exactly what I hoped you would, only better. I’ve always known you to be well spoken. I didn’t know you could be so eloquent.”
John, “Thank you. When do I fly out tomorrow?”
Craig, “Noonish.”
John looks at Liz, “Enough time to get a simple elegant ring.”
Julie, “Really? When?”
Liz, “This afternoon.”
Julie, “Where did you go? Oh, I wish I could have seen it.”
John and Liz start giggling. Liz, “It was upstairs, and we were in bed. I’m glad you didn’t.”
Craig, “Me too. Congratulations. Any idea when and where?”
John, “Where will be near New York, so our families can attend. When, will be when the stars line up perfectly.”
Craig, “Who do you want to stand up for you?”
John, “Greg Backes and you.”
Liz, “Samantha and Gloria.”
Craig, “My gift. Well, my first gift will be
to align the stars. I can do that. Let your families know. It should be when you’re XO is transferred to PCO the Groton. It’s being built at Electric Boat right now. It won’t be ready for a PCO for a few months, but it will give me some flexibility. Your grandpa will get his first command about the same time. It will get him here. At about that time, Gloria and Samantha should be on leave.”
Liz looks at John, “The stars will align. Thank you, sir.”
John, “Liz, I’ll have my grandma get with yours. How do we get them some money?”
Liz, “Western Union. I’ll coordinate it with my grandma. They have a phone.”
Craig, “What do your grandparents do, Liz?”
“Grandma is a good Italian wife. Grandpa owns a tugboat.”
Julie, “John, I was very proud of you tonight. I think we’ve accomplished what organizing we need to. Why don’t you too get some sleep. Craig, I’m tired, too.” She smiles.
Craig, “One other thing. Because you’re nukes, use the classified pouch. The only person besides the two of you that has access, is me. I will honor your privacy.”
“Thank you, Craig.”
“No problem. Good night.”
In the room, Liz kisses him, “We’re going to get our wedding.”
“We are.”
They undress and put away their dinner dress uniforms.
“I love you, Liz.”
“I love you, too.”
“I need you, love.” John takes her in his arms, then picks her up and puts her on the bed.
JEWELRY STORE, WASHINGTON, DC
0910, 17 August, 1942 (1410 GMT)
Julie accompanies them into a jewelry story that specializes in estate sales.
Liz, “I like this set.” She points out a rose gold ring with an oval alexandrite stone, surrounded with diamond chips, like a ship’s wheel. The rose gold wedding ring tucks under the stone. “I won’t wear it at sea. Just the wedding ring.”
John, “When you’re at sea, it would be better for you not to wear anything. I love all ten of your beautiful fingers.” He finds a matching rose gold wedding band. “We’ll take the set.” He pulls out his wallet and pays in cash.
Julie, “John, what are you doing with your pay?”
John, “I’ve been trying to figure that out. I no longer have a bank account. Most of my last seven months of pay is locked in my safe on the ship. I brought a thousand with me for ‘in case’ money.”
Liz, “It’s a problem. Pretty much all banking is local. Even the Navy Federal Credit Union exists only over here, and right now it isn’t open to active duty.”
John, “Do you have an account in Bremerton?”
“I do. I can give you the information.”
John, “Okay, if it works for you, I will wire money into your account. If I have need of it, I’ll ask for a wire via telegram. God, this is clunky.”
Liz, “I have a phone, John. You can call me.”
“Okay, that works.”
Julie, “Why is it clunky?”
John, “In 1990, every major bank had offices in every city and many towns. I could set up an account and access my funds via branch office nearly anywhere. That, and the advent of the teller machine and the debit card means I can access my funds nearly anywhere in the world. My pay is direct deposited by the government into my account and I have access to my funds. If I set up an account here, I have no way to access my funds in Scotland. If I set up an account in Scotland, I have no way to access my funds here. It’s clunky.”
Julie, “I see. What’s the Navy Federal Credit Union?”
Liz, “I don’t know much of its history. In 1990, they have branches near every Navy base worldwide. Any active duty member, DoD employee, or their family can join. I was told that right now it’s for civilian employees here in DC.”
“You could use personal checks.”
John, “True, but companies often will only accept local checks. Out of town checks are considered untrustworthy.”
Julie, “Another thing we need to fix.”
John, “After the war, the country becomes exceedingly mobile. People travel for work and pleasure a lot. Access to funds is important.”
Julie, “But if someone steals your card, they could rob you blind.”
Liz, “The system isn’t perfect. The card has a magnetic strip and a four-digit number is needed to access the account. Once into the ATM, there are daily withdraw limits. Computers in the machine contact computers at your bank and confirm the funds are available, before you can withdraw them. The machine also let you deposit checks and cash into your account.”
Julie, “Let’s get you fed and on your way. John, Liz, could you each write me up a report on banking reforms? I’ll see to it that they make it into the correct hands.”
John, “Will do.”
Liz, “Yep.”
LIBERTY BOAT, HOLY LOCH, SCOTLAND
1634, 17 August, 1942
Ensign Mike Brown, “How are you doing, sir?”
LCDR Greg Backes, “I’m good. In fact, I’m doing well.”
“Any plans for dinner, sir? If not, you’re always welcome at my place.”
“Now that you’re married, how’s it all going?”
Brown smiles, “The best. The absolute best decision of my life.”
Greg smiles, “I’m glad. Thanks, but I already have solid plans.”
“You have that smile, sir. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, I’m trying to keep it quiet until I am sure. I don’t want to screw up the family. They’ve lost enough.”
Brown, “She’s a widow?”
“Yeah. Battle of Britain. He flew the Hurricane.”
“Kids?”
“A cute little girl. She’s five.”
Brown, “Can I offer a mental exercise to help you figure out your feelings?”
“Sure.”
“Picture yourself at eighty. You’re in a rocker. Everything hurts. You haven’t had an erection in twelve years. You got the image?”
“Yeah.”
“Now look to your right. Who’s there?”
He smiles, “She is. That doesn’t prove anything.”
“You’re picturing her now. Age her. Silver hair. Wrinkles. A bit of a belly. The eyes though, they’re the same. Do you still love her?”
Greg looks at Mike, “I do.”
Brown, “Now work up a mad. Your brother drank all your whiskey, totaled your Vette, and killed your dog. Just mad.”
“Okay.”
“You got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Now picture her face. The mad gone?”
“It is.”
“Next exercise. You don’t need to tell me but think of the most annoying thing she does. Now picture her doing that thing, while she’s pissed off at you, even though you didn’t do it. Got it?”
“Her pissed off is scary.”
“Okay, you have already resolved the fight in your head. How did you do it?”
“I shut up and listened. Mike, I know how to make a relationship work.”
“Does she?”
“Yeah. She has more self-control then Gandhi. I love her.”
“I’m glad. Tell her so.”
“I will. Mike, where did you learn this curriculum?”
“From a friend. My first wife was divorcing me. It was hell, sir. It helped.”
“Do I know him?”
“Lieutenant Thurman Thorsen.”
“Cool. Next time I see him, I’ll say thank you.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“Nope, I bought a ’36 Dodge.”
WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT
1200, 17 August, 1942 (1700 GMT)
John wraps his arms around Liz and kisses her. “I’m already missing you, love.”
“I’m missing you, too. Call when you can.”
“You know I will. If you need me, call the shore det. They’ll get ahold of me when we’re in port.”
“Yes, love.”
> John smiles and kisses her again. He releases her, picks up his bag, and takes the lonely walk to his plane.
DUNOON DISTILLERY, DUNOON, SCOTLAND
1732, 17 August, 1942
Catherine and Angus Campbell show Greg around the distillery. “Where do you get your water?”
Angus, “From the town.”
“And where do they get it?”
Angus, “There’s a reservoir above the town. Why?”
Greg, “I know little about distilling whiskey. What I do know is water chemistry. You need to test the water for pH, turbidity, oxygen, and dissolved solids.”
Angus, “I’m not sure what all that is, but I make good whiskey. It sells.”
Greg, “How many units do you sell in the United States?
“I sell locally and to a blending house.”
“I also know a bit about what will happen to this industry after the war. The Americans will be flush with money and wanting the finer things in life. If you prepare this business to meet some of that demand, you’ll make very good money.”
Angus, “Well, most Americans can’t tell good whiskey from piss water. That should be easy.”
Greg shakes his head. “Not as easy as you think. You’re right about American tastes. Where you’re wrong is assuming it doesn’t matter. Americans care about awards. They want to know experts think your swill is good. If they do, then you need to make absolutely consistent batches, so what it tastes like today, is how it will taste ten years from now. That’s how you get and keep customers in America. To do that you need to control your variables. Water quality is a variable. So is your source for mash, your source for barrels, temperature, time, a thousand little details. When I have time, I can help you some.”
Angus, “How is it that you know all this?”
“Angus, I am an engineer who specializes in the physics of how things work. I can help, and I would like to help.”
FLIGHT LINE, RAF ALCONBURY
1814, 17 August, 1942
CDR Morrison carries his bag off the ramp of a C-130. The aircraft crew is helping the ground crew unload missiles and other equipment. Two F-14’s rest near the end of the runway. Others are being worked on in the hard shelters. The hard shelters look like hills. He smiles at the realistic looking fake trees on them. “Now, where the hell is the headquarters?” He walks toward the nearest hard shelter.
