To Hunt and Protect

by M L Maki

  “Mike, you saw nothing.”

  “Come on, Kiche. Practice the story. I was down the street and couldn’t stop it, but I hauled you out. We waited for Doc, but he didn’t show.”

  “Okay.” They go aboard the Horne and get directions to medical. Then Mike knocks, the HM2 on duty answers, “What’s up?”

  Mike, “We’re on the San Francisco, but our doc is on liberty and my friend got beat up last night.”

  “You know, I have to report a liberty incident.”

  Kichiro, “I was stupid to walk into a white only bar.”

  The HM2, “The local’s beat you up?”

  Kichiro, “Yeah.”

  “You’re the fourth I know of. No shame on you to report it and the command needs to know.”

  “Okay.”

  The corpsman gets him on the exam table and starts by checking his eyes, “You have a concussion.”

  “But everyone says I’m thick-headed.”

  “Thick-headed with thin skull. You have a concussion.” The corpsman gently pushes on the swollen skin, “Sorry. No broken bones that I can feel.” He turns to Brown, “ST1, can you wait outside? I need to strip him down to his skivvies.”

  “Why?”

  “Did they only hit you in the face?”

  “No.”

  “You could have internal injuries.”

  “Okay. My hand hurts, too.”

  Brown steps out and Kichiro strips down with the help of the corpsman. Though his skin tone is fairly dark, the bruising on his body is obvious. The corpsman helps him back on the exam table, “Now, I’m going to check your internal organs. You have to tell me if it hurts and how it hurts, okay?”

  “It all already hurts, man.”

  “Where?

  Kichiro points at the bruising on his left side, where it is the worst.

  “I see. I need you to exhale when I tell you and try to relax, okay?” The corpsman begins his examination.

  “Oh, mother fucker, that hurts.”

  “Right. That’s your left kidney. I need to make a phone call.”

  Mike, outside medical hears, “Lay stretcher bearers to medical.” He opens the door. He sees the corpsman putting Kichiro into a gown. “ST1, get his stuff. You’re going to the hospital with him.”

  “Roger that, Doc. What’s wrong?”

  “Not sure. The hospital should confirm that it’s a lacerated or bruised kidney. He may have some broken ribs, too. He definitely has a concussion. Go with him. I’ll take care of your command.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO

  Morrison is writing letters at his desk when there’s a knock on his door. “Enter.”

  The HM2 from the Horne comes in, “Sir, you have a sailor, TM2 Kichiro, who was assaulted last night. He was brought to me. I just sent him to the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. I can’t issue a diagnosis. Only a doctor can do that, sir. But he has a concussion and I’m very concerned about his left kidney.”

  Morrison writes down the name of the hospital, “Thank you, corpsman. Do you know what happened?”

  “He said that without realizing it, he went into a ‘whites only’ bar.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “A ST1 is with him. I didn’t catch the name.”

  “No problem. Thank you.” Morrison is wearing his khakis, so he grabs the correct cover and strides into control and picks up the 1MC, “Navigator, lay to control.” Then he picks up a phone.

  “Horne quarterdeck. How can I help you, sir or ma’am?”

  “This is Commander Morrison from the San Francisco. Do you have a driver available?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s standing by to take you to the hospital.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be up in a sec.” He sees Backes walk into control, “Greg, Kichiro got assaulted. They’re taking him to this hospital.” He hands him the address, “I need you to inform the captain.”

  “Are you going alone?”

  “What else can I do?” Greg nods and Morrison shoots up the ladder and across the brow. He gets in the back of the sedan, “Royal Prince Alfred Hospital.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A few minutes later the car pulls up to the hospital. Morrison, “I have the number to call for you. Go ahead and get back to your duties.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir, I hope he’s alright.”

  “Me, too.” He walks into admitting and looks around. People are staring at him. He says loudly, “One of my sailors was just admitted. Where do I need to go?”

  A woman at a desk raises her hand and he walks over, “I’m Lieutenant Commander Morrison, USN. Do you know what room he’s in?”

  The woman looks him over, “Who are you?”

  A man in a summer suit walks up beside him. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Morrison, the XO of the San Francisco. I’m looking for Scott Kichiro. He’s a TM2 on my vessel.”

  “Oh, let me check.”

  The man says, “Commander, I’m Special Agent Donald Matthew, NIS.” He shows his badge and offers his hand.

  Morrison takes his hand, “I didn’t know we had the Naval Investigative Service in 1942.”

  “We didn’t. Like you, I came back with the carrier. I’m attached to the Secretaries office while they stand one up. What do you know about your sailor?”

  The woman says, “Mister Kichiro is in room 407. The lifts are down the corridor to your right.”

  Morrison, “Thank you.” The two men go to the elevators. “I know he’s from Guam. He’s a torpedoman and a very good one. He’s never had a liberty incident that I’m aware of. Word I received; he was assaulted for entering a ‘whites only’ bar.”

  “Well, I suppose we’ll see.”

  When they get to Kichiro’s room and knock, Mike Brown comes out. “Sir, he got beat up, bad. The doctor is with him right now.”

  Matthews, “Did you see it?”

  Brown, “Who are you?”

  Matthews shows his badge, “Matthew, NIS.”

  Brown, “No, sir. I saw him after. Sir, he was with TM3 Trindle. Trindle was chatting up a girl, so they split up. He decided to try a different bar.”

  Matthews is writing it all down. Then, the doctor comes out.

  “And who do we have here?”

  Brown, “Dr. Davison, this is my executive officer, Commander Morrison, and this is Special Agent Matthew. He’s a Navy investigator.”

  “I see. My patient needs to rest. He has cracked or broken ribs, a bruised left kidney, a bruised heart, possible liver damage, and serious concussion. He also has three broken fingers in his left hand. Officer, I would like him left alone for a bit.”

  Matthews, “Is he sedated?”

  Davison, “Of course not, he has a concussion.”

  Matthews, “Then, I need to talk to him.”

  Davison, “No. You will wait. You have no jurisdiction here. Let him recover a bit. There’s a waiting room down the hall. Thank you, gentleman.” He leaves.

  Once Davison is gone, Matthews moves toward the door and Morrison puts a hand on his arm, “Special Agent, it will wait.”

  “The kid is awake. I need to interview him.”

  “The doctor was clear. The waiting room is over there.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll not have his recovery endangered by you. Not going to happen. We follow the doctor’s orders.”

  Brown, “Special Agent, my XO knows who-flung-dug and origami. I wouldn’t mess with him.”

  “Who-flung-dung?” Matthews smiles, “Okay?” He turns and walks toward the waiting room, Morrison and Brown following. “You know, Commander, if I chose to, I could prosecute you.”

  Morrison, “And explain to Admiral Halsey how I temporarily delayed you in your duties based on the orders of an attending physician, and by doing so, slightly slowed a criminal case you have no authority to prosecute? Do what you have to do.”

  Brown, “Sir? I need to tell you something.”

  “Yes.”

  “I told Kiche to say I saw the assault, because of the captain.�
��

  “Were you anywhere near the bar where this happened?”

  “No, sir. I ate out and came back to the boat. I just don’t want to mess up a criminal case.”

  Matthews, “What’s wrong with your captain, petty officer?”

  Brown, “Special Agent, he’s a fuck head that has it out for Kichiro. Kiche is a good guy and an excellent torpedoman. He prevented a hot run during combat where we had an active torp in a tube. Did the captain ever thank him? No. He tried to mast him as we were leaving Pearl on a trumped up, bull-shit charge. He bad mouths Kiche in front of the crew. Other than having the bedside manner of a tyrannosaurus rex and the leadership ability of Jack the Ripper, the skipper is great.”

  Matthews looks at Morrison, a question in his eyes. Morrison, “ST1 Brown is accurate and succinct, as usual. Halsey knows about the issues with Commander Cumberland. It’s Halsey’s decision.”

  Matthews, “What do you think, Commander?”

  “I think I’m his XO and all of this begs the point. What are you going to do about Australians beating up my sailor?”

  “I’ll work with the local law enforcement.”

  An orderly comes in, “Commander, Mr. Kichiro has asked for you.”

  “Thank you.” Morrison and Matthews stand. Morrison looks at him, “I’ll let you know.”

  “I go in first.”

  “No, you don’t. He’s not a suspect in any crime.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Neither do you. I have a generally positive view of NIS. Don’t give me a reason to adjust that opinion down.”

  “What would you do?”

  That’s the thing, Special Agent. You don’t know what I can do, so, let’s work together on this.”

  Morrison leaves and Matthews sits down. He looks over at Brown, “Is he bluffing?”

  “Commander Morrison, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sir, have you ever heard of the western writer, Louis L’Amour?’

  “Yes.”

  “One of my favorite Louis L’Amour quotes is, ‘Lie to a liar, for lies are his coin; steal from a thief, for that is easy; lay a trap for the trickster and catch him at the first attempt; but beware of an honest man who knows he is right and just keeps coming.’” Brown pulls out a paperback and starts reading.

  Matthews, “Okay, but what does that mean?”

  Brown looks at the agent for a long while, stretching the stare out, “It means, a guy like you best not fuck with Commander Morrison. I’ve known him for years and I’ve never known him to lie.”

  Morrison walks into Kichiro’s room. Kichiro is laying on his back, his face turned to the wall.

  “Kiche?”

  He starts, “Um, sir?”

  “How are you?”

  “I hurt like hell, sir. Do you need a statement?”

  “We will, eventually. Right now, I want to know how you feel?”

  “I pissed blood, sir. Like a fucking vampire, or something. It hurt like a mother-fucker.”

  “I bet.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “For what?”

  “They had a sign. I thought it was stupid. Also, I figured it was only meant for their native people. I thought it was okay.”

  “I would have thought the same thing.”

  “Yeah, wow. Like, I kinda forgot you’re Japanese.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t sound like Jerry Lewis in his stupid movies.”

  Kiche chuckles, then winces, “No, you don’t. Every once in a while, I would like to hear you say, Godzilla.”

  Morrison smiles, “I just haven’t seen him yet. I need to know if you’re up to an interview. I’ll try to pile everyone who needs to hear it in at once, so you only have to go through it once. If you need to stop the interview, just let me know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, something you should know. Brown told us he told you to lie about him seeing the incident. Please, don’t lie. Okay?”

  “I won’t sir.”

  “I, or Brown, will be back in a bit.” When he gets out of the room, he sees Cumberland navigating toward the room with two uniformed law enforcement officers. He changes direction, “Officers, I’m John Morrison, TM2 Kichiro’s XO. I take it you’ve met Commander Cumberland?”

  “We got acquainted in the lift.”

  “Sir, gentlemen, if you would come with me. I have one other person I need you to meet before we see Kichiro.” At the desk, “Could you see if the doctor is available to meet with law enforcement?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Morrison takes them to the waiting room. “Officers, Commander Cumberland, this is Special Agent Matthew of the Naval Investigation Service and ST1 Mike Brown. We didn’t catch your names.”

  “I’m Sergeant Louis and my colleague is Sergeant Cass.”

  Morrison says to Brown, “Stand outside his door. No one but medical until we sort this out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Smiling, Cumberland asks Morrison, “So, what has our troublemaker done to get himself here?”

  Morrison, “Gentlemen, could you give me a moment with my commanding officer?” They step out, “Sir, you’re looking at this wrong.”

  Cumberland continues smiling, “What do you mean? He got into a bar fight and had his ass handed to him.”

  “Sir, please, that is not what happened. He walked into a ‘whites only’ bar and was assaulted. It’s aggravated assault, not a bar fight. Please, don’t fuck up a criminal investigation. It will just spill all over your command and make us both look bad. Besides, if we don’t fuck this up, you’re getting what you want: Kichiro off the ship.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Fairly certain, sir. That’s for law enforcement to determine. Understand, sir, we’re lucky he’s not dead, and you being all smiles when it’s your guy in the hospital makes you look…sir, the optics aren’t good.”

  Cumberland looks at Morrison. The smile disappears and he assumes a concerned manner. Just then, the doctor walks up. Morrison introduces everyone. Morrison, “Doctor Davison, could you describe the injuries to Petty Officer Kichiro and share your conclusions as to how they happened.”

  “Of course. Gentlemen, Petty Officer Kichiro has several cracked or broken ribs on his left side and left upper back. His left kidney has suffered significant blunt trauma. It will be some time before we can determine whether any function remains. His heart is bruised, also from blunt trauma. We are assessing possible liver damage and will not know for certain how bad it is for two or three days. He has a significant concussion caused by blunt trauma to the rear of the head. We’re waiting for x-ray results to determine if there is any skull damage or other broken bones. He also has three broken fingers in his left hand. I think we should take pictures of his bruises, as several of the pictures indicate the tread pattern of the shoes worn by his assailants.

  “Based on the localized nature of the injuries to his left side and back, it appears that the petty officer was hit first from behind on the head. He went to the ground and curled into the fetal position in an attempt to protect his vital organs. At this point, his assailants started kicking and stomping on him for some time. I’m speculating, but it looks like the broken fingers were caused by his placing his hands over his face, and then his assailants stomped down onto his hands and head.”

  Cumberland, “So, it wasn’t a bar fight?”

  Doctor Davison, “Not as I see it. In a bar fight, the injuries are to the head, face, and frontal torso. Also, in a bar fight, the injuries are not localized. In my experience, the injuries to your petty officer are indicative of aggravated assault; perhaps, attempted murder. That is for the officer’s and the Crown prosecutor to determine.”

  Detective Sergeant Louis, “What was his blood alcohol content?”

  Davison, “Point zed two.”

  Louis, “Can we have a signed statement, Doctor Davison?”

  “Of course.”

  Louis, “May we speak w
ith him?”

  “Keep it brief. He’s weak and will tire quickly. Also, please keep it very calm while in here. An increase in blood pressure with a lacerated kidney could be fatal.”