by M L Maki
Brown, “Thank you, Mary.”
After their lunch, Mike says, “I need a newspaper.”
Guthrie, “Why?”
“Because, I’m going to buy a car.” Brown gets the paper off the end of the bar.
“All they have are old ones.”
Brown looks at his friend, “Dude, you see that car? He points at a 1935 Morris.
“Yeah?”
“It’s only five to eight years old. Hell, they made the Model T until ’27. That’s only fifteen years ago. Buying a Model T is like buying a ’75 Ford in 1990. None of these are that old.”
“Do you really want a hand crank car?”
“By ’42, most already have starters.”
“How did you learn so much about cars?”
“My dad and grandpa collected them. The first car I ever drove was a 1924 Model T. I want a mid to late thirties Ford, if I can find one. They came with a flat head V-8.”
They find themselves walking to the towns service station. Brown asks the attendant, “Excuse me, sir. Do you know where I can find cars for sale?”
“Yessir. I know a few brief fer sale. Watcha eenen?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”
“What sorta car ye be looken for?”
“A mid to late 1930’s Ford coupe or sedan.”
“I know one, and a fair deal, too.” He makes a call. In a few minutes, a man pulls up in a Ford coupe. It is a beautiful sapphire blue and in very good condition.
The man gets out, “You the sailor looking for a car?”
Brown, “Yes, sir, if the price is reasonable. That’s a 1936, right?”
“It is. My son bought it new.”
“He’s willing to part with it?”
“Lad, he was lost to the war. He was on the Repulse in the far east.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir.”
“Well, yes, and I as well. It seems fitting to sell the car to another sailor, as we have no need of it.”
“Mind if I look it over?”
“Please do.”
Mike pours over the car, checking wires, tires, suspension, title, everything. In the end, he asks, “How much do you want for it?”
“It was nearly six hundred six when he bought it, and it’s in pretty good shape. Would three hundred be fair?”
“It might be, but I have two hundred in cash, right now.”
The man offers his hand, “I’ll take it.”
They shake hands, “Now, can you explain to me how to register it here?”
An hour later, Guthrie and Brown are bouncing up a country lane to Sheamus Stewart’s farm. They see a white-washed two-story brick house, with white outbuildings. The fields are well tended and divided with stone fences. They drive by a herd of cows poking their heads over the stone fence bordering the lane. As they get closer, they see a huge garden plot. The barn is solid and clean. There are no farm implements out in the weather and the yard is clean and mowed.
Mike turns the car to back it up where it won’t get in the way, when suddenly a little boy darts out into the drive way behind him, and he slams on the brakes.
Guthrie, “What?”
Mike turns off the engine and sets the hand brake. He gets out and goes to the boy, “Hey there.”
The little boy stops, still, “I’m sorry, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jean Luc Stewart. My dad was in the navy.”
A woman in a cotton dress and apron dashes out of the house, “Jean Luc, what were you thinking?”
Mike, “I saw him, ma’am.”
She looks at him with beautiful brown eyes. In accented English, “I’m sorry, sir. He’s normally more sensible.” She pushes a strand of black hair off her face and smiles.
Mike, “How old is he?”
“Jean Luc is four. Please, come in.”
She takes Jean Luc’s hand and leads them into the house. It is solid and tidy. Everything is functional and clean. “I take it your Jean Luc’s mother?”
“I’m so sorry.” She curtsies, “I’m Laureen Stewart.”
“I’m Mike Brown, and this is Leroy Guthrie. Mr. Stewart did say we were coming, right?”
“I did. Welcome to our home.” Sheamus comes out of another room, “So, you’ve met Laureen and our wee one?”
The little boy runs to Sheamus, “Papa! Papa!” He lifts his arms to be picked up, and Sheamus complies.
Laureen, “Jean Luc nearly ran under his tires.”
Sheamus, “Dinna dae that, wee one. Na git washed fer supper.” He sets the boy down. Jean Luc runs out of the room. “I thank ye fer comin.”
Mike, “We’re very thankful for the invitation.”
Laureen, “Excuse me, I must see to the supper,” and she walks into the kitchen.
Guthrie, “Thank you, sir.”
Sheamus waves his hand, “Tis nuttin. Yous say ye sank the Krauts, aye?”
Mike, “Yeah, we did.”
“Wa is ya doin onda boot?”
Mike smiles, “We operate the sensors that detect the other ships around us.”
Laureen comes out with a beer for each of them. She smiles when they all say, ‘thank you’ at the same time.
Mike, “Jean Luc said his father was in the navy?”
“Aye. That he was. Gun officer on da Hood.”
Guthrie leans forward, “What’s the Hood?”
Mike, “I’m so sorry. So, very sorry. Guthrie, the Hood was a battle cruiser sunk by the Bismark.”
Guthrie, “But it hasn’t happened yet, right?”
“It sank in 1941, before we came back, Leroy. He lost his son.”
Guthrie, “I’m sorry, sir.”
Jean Luc, with clean hands and face, comes running in and climbs into his grandfather’s lap. Sheamus, “The wee one donna unnerstand. Just knew we was blue.”
Mike, “Even if Laureen wanted to return to France, she couldn’t now.”
Laureen comes in, “I’ll never take Jean Luc away from his Papa. Supper is ready.”
They’ve been smelling the tantalizing odors coming from the kitchen. When they walk in its to a large table in a huge kitchen. The food is in pots on the table. Laureen, “Papa, the prayer, please.”
Sheamus says the grace, praying for peace, and the food is handed around the table so everyone, but Jean Luc, can serve themselves. Guthrie, “Ma’am, it smells divine. What is it?”
“My father’s recipe for fish stew.” She ladles Jean Luc’s portion into his bowl.
Guthrie, “Managing a place like this must be quite a lot of hard work.”
Sheamus, “We get by. A good day’s work keeps a man’s belly where it should be.”
Mike, “Especially, when there’s food like this. It’s absolutely amazing. Thank you, so much.”
Laureen, “You’re welcome. I learned to cook in Marseille from my father. We owned a restaurant. It’s where I met William.”
They grow quiet. Mike, “It’s difficult. It creates a hole that nothing can fill.”
“I have my Jean Luc.”
Sheamus, “Did Ian McPherson sell you his car?”
“Yes, sir. He said his son owned it.”
“Aye, a nother un not coming back. You’ve a thought to what you’ll be doing with it when you’re to sea?”
“I was hoping to park it near the pier.”
“Aye, but some bloomin’ truck is liable to run it down, and she’s a fine car. Ye should leave it here. We’ll fetch it for you as you need.”
Laureen looks at her father-in-law in surprise. She looks back to Mike and smiles.
USS BEAVER
Morrison and Backes are enjoying meat loaf and talking. John, “I toured the maintenance shops. We’ll have to keep an eye on quality, but Simmons has brought them on pretty well.”
“Good. He’s no doubt the right man for the job, but I wonder some what would happen if the ram rod up his ass ever broke.”
John chuckles, “Some of that is going from first class
to lieutenant in one difficult step.”
“Your admiral friend, again?”
“Yeah. Think about it. It makes sense because our senior enlisted are systems experts and commissioning one of them doesn’t deplete the officer corps we need out here fighting. It’s a smart way to build a cadre of manufacturing and maintenance experts while still expanding the service.”
Backes, “True, but don’t those thoughts cause your academy ring to spin around in panic?”
“It doesn’t, though by rights, it ought to.”
“So, Simmons is a nuke?”
“Yeah, he was an ET1. They pulled him from the Long Beach.”
STEWART FARM
Sheamus, Laureen, and Jean Luc walk their guests out of the house. Mike shakes Sheamus’ hand, “Thank you very much, sir.”
“Yer welcome, any time.”
Mike, “The day after tomorrow, I’ll bring some civvies and lend a hand.”
“Thank you for that.”
Mike offers his hand to Laureen, “It was very nice to meet you, Laureen. Supper was wonderful.”
She accepts his hand, “Thank you. It was nice to meet you, too.”
Jean Luc puts up his arms, “Uppy.” Mike reaches down, picks him up, and tosses him into the air, catching him in a hug.
Mike, “Jean Luc, I need you to take care of your mom and grandpa, okay?” He smiles at Laureen.
“Okay.” Mike puts him down and he and Guthrie get into the Ford and drive down the lane.
Laureen, “Da, why are you match-making?”
“That one. He’s a good man, Laureen, and they ain’t popping up like weeds.”
“Yes, Da, but he would take us from you.”
Sheamus shakes his head, “He’s a sailor, yes, but he has the love of good land in him. Did ya see howen he looked over the place when he got here? He knew of what he looked. Let us just see about Michael Brown. That, and you ain’t no nun. I saw ye making eyes at him.” He smiles at her. “I ain’t getting any younger. This place will need caring for if it’s to last until the wee one is ready. It’s his future I’m thinking of.”
“He is what you say, strapping.”
“He is that.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0900, 31 March, 1942
The weapons hatch is open and the crew is on-loading the new torpedoes. Kennedy walks down the brow from the Beaver, “Commander, the crane has a current certification and our fish are well within its limits.” Outboard of the San Francisco is a barge with thirteen Mark-48 torpedoes.
Morrison, “Good. Okay, everyone. Gather around for a pre-evolution brief.”
Cumberland climbs up from below, “Morrison, everything is in order. I’m going to inspect the weapons storage site ashore.”
Morrison tilts his head, looking at his commander, “Yes, sir.”
Simmons, with the rigging crew, join Morrison, “Where is he going, sir?”
Morrison, “Not your concern. Who is the rigger in charge?” One of the men raises his hand. “Good, let’s begin.”
BUILDING 38, KEYPORT TORPEDO STATION
0135, 31 March, 1942
Kichiro carefully watches a technician assemble a swash plate drive motor. It’s brand new and still needs many parts to be finished before it can be tested. “Joe, pre-lube each part.”
“Yes, sir. Won’t the oil gum up if it gets cold?”
“It will thicken a bit in storage, but it will prevent corrosion which could lock up the whole thing.”
“How will this motor control its speed?”
“There’s a governor being built to prevent the motor from flying apart if it runs dry. The water resistance slows the motor when its fired.”
“Won’t it get hot?”
“It does, but not so much as to be a problem.”
“Sir, how long have you been working on these?”
“Seven years.”
CHAPTER 30
FLEET PIER, SANDBANK, SCOTLAND
1020, 31 March, 1942
Backes and Morrison step off the launch and walk up the pier. Sitting on the pier is a grey Chevy sedan with US Navy painted on the door. Leaning against the Chevy is Henry Morrison.
John, “Greg, allow me to introduce you to my grandfather, Henry Morrison. Grandpa, this is my navigator, Greg Backus.”
The two men shake hands. Henry, “I would think a lieutenant commander on a sub would be at least a department head.”
Greg, “I am. We have three departments; supply, engineering, and navigation. Weapons fall under navigation.”
Henry, “I had no idea. I had a thought to showing you around some, John. Backes, you’re welcome to join us.”
Greg, “I can smell beer from here. You guys have a good time. One thing, Commander, because of his appearance, I’ve been trying to make sure he isn’t alone in town. He bleeds red, white, and blue, but too many people can only see a rising sun.”
Henry, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Commander.”
Henry and John get into the car and leave. John, “Where are we going?”
“The ferry. I’m going to show you the Livermore and introduce you to my captain. I’m afraid it’s part business.”
“Are you being assigned here?”
“Yep. We’re to escort you in and out of port. Have you met Captain Holtz?”
“I have. We met in Australia. He’s an F-14 pilot.”
“Are those the triangular planes I’ve seen?”
“They are. We have ‘Top Gun’ on board the Frisco. I ought to show you the movie some time. It would be eye opening. We also have ‘The Hunt for Red October.’ That would be eye opening, too.”
“What are they?”
“Movies. ‘Top Gun’ is about F-14 fighter pilots, and ‘Hunt for Red October’ is a submarine movie about a defecting Russian submarine captain. They’re good movies, but they would also give you a look at how modern military equipment works. Of course, both movies get a lot wrong.”
USS BEAVER
1210, 31 March, 1942
Guthrie takes his tray of food and sits down next to Brown. Brown, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m missing my girls.”
“I know it sucks, Leroy. I can promise you, it will fade, but it may never go away.”
“Were you ever, you know, in a relationship?”
“I was married for two years. Her name was Lori and I was an idiot to marry her.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“Leroy, it isn’t that simple. Um, okay, is there anything wrong with sleeping pills?”
“I guess they serve a purpose.”
“Yeah. What about a laxative.”
Guthrie chuckles, “Well, it serves a purpose, even if it’s a shitty one.”
“Yeah, but you should never take a sleeping pill and a laxative at the same time.”
“Oh God. Okay, that makes sense. It wasn’t that either of you were wrong, just that you were wrong for each other.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you like Laureen?”
“I don’t know her yet.”
“Mike, we had dinner at her house. You know her.”
“Really. Is she a laxative or a sleeping pill?”
“Okay, that’s fair. What does your gut say?”
“My gut says Sheamus likes me and believes I would be a suitable son-in-law. I believe Laureen is smart and wise. She’s probably at best lukewarm on the idea. She’s very right to doubt.”
“You’re a good guy. Why should she doubt?”
“Because she’s already lost a sailor husband on a ship everyone thought was unsinkable. Why would she want to open herself to that kind of pain again?”
“You don’t think we’ll sink, do you?”
“Leroy, our boat is light years ahead of all the rest. It’s designed and manufactured better. But all it would take is a lucky hit, or a mechanic fucking something up, and we’d go down. There is a non-zero probability of our demise. Why would she risk it?”
&nb
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