“I have a faint memory that there are such people. Surely there are many people who can swim?”
“If they get too clumsy, there will a lot less.”
“Too few people has never been a Chinese problem.” He smiled.
“That is a bit cold.”
“But realistic. I shall make inquiries. You will pay cash?”
“Of course. And they might as well spend it in your establishment.”
“I cannot complain. Is there anything else?”
“A case of your vodka to encourage the troops and perhaps a bottle of your fine brandy for myself.”
“As you wish. If you could find me a source of fruit?”
“Would dried do?”
“I assume so.”
“For some reason, the Army insists that prunes are what hard-working soldiers most desire for breakfast. I suspect a California Congressman has something to do with all that. Most of them are thrown away. I will ask.”
“This may prove a profitable conversation for us both. Good day.”
“And you, honored sir.”
>>>>>
Eppi was hard at it, there were a lot fewer bubbles rising from the Whatever Maru. A sailor saw me coming, he waved my lifeboat all the way around the sunken ship to reach the Eiben. Eppi greeted me, but his attention was all on a manifold of pipes and gauges coming off that huge compressor. It was loud in action, making conversation difficult. “Stand well back. There is no telling when this old girl is going to break loose of the bottom and come on up. Sometimes we have to drag wire cables under the hull to break the suction of the mud.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“You have no idea.”
“I brought three of your grappling hooks, and Master Wu says he will find you some swimmers.”
“Good enough. Better than good enough.” He twisted a valve a hair. “And that launch?”
“I will check when I got back. I have been rustling lesbians all morning.”
“You can’t say this is a boring duty post…” At that word water welled up above one end of the barely sunken ship. It took a minute to realize that the big bitch was on the way up. Eppi had no hesitation, he spun valves closed at one end, opened the others all the way, yelled, “Here she comes!” Everybody sprung to action, the helmsman opened the throttles, the big wheels spun, the Eiben walked back a few dozen yards, crewmen frantically hauled lines on board, made them fast. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed as the pressure of water above the deck lessened, the Bitch Maru surfaced. I backed up until my butt was pressed against the far rail, and watched amazed, as the huge, stinking, barnacle encrusted hulk erupted from the water. Eppi opened all the valves full, and air began to scream from holes and cracks below the waterline. Crews sprung to action, pounding caulk into any leak they could reach, while the other whaleboat’s crew towed a salvaged petrol tank alongside the salvaged ship, and began to lash it tight to whatever cleats and bollards they could get a line around.
I could see I had no chance of getting any more business done this day, so found a soft spot on some piece of machinery, opened my bottle of brandy, and took a little sip. The Eiben’s crew hauled on lines to bring the Ugly Maru alongside and lashed her tight. It was well dark before all the frantic activity slackened, Eppi shut down the compressor and looked around to see what needed to be done next. “You still here?”
“You seemed a bit preoccupied. Can I get a ride back to the dock?”
“By all means.” He waved to the crew of the other lifeboat, they pulled close to the rail. I lumbered on board, he waved bye-bye. “Don’t forget my launch.” He called.
“On the way.” No trouble sleeping that night. Justine and her flivver were gone, most everybody racked out, I noticed a line of finished jobs lined up neatly beside the shipping dock, each with the paperwork on a clipboard next to it. I called out, “Well done, Hoskin,” I left the vodka where they would find it, and passed the hell out. I still had most of the bottle of brandy left. Getting old, I guess.
>>>>>
Any hopes I had of sleeping in were shattered by the cheery arrival of Justine at the ass crack of dawn. I am not a morning person. Dawn is often the time I call it a day. She asked if I was decent as she opened the door. I assured her that only idiots took off their pants to sleep in a war zone.
“I will remember. I did not sleep well, there were explosions in the distance.”
“Yes, our evening zeppelin raids. Almost every night. I think I rolled over. Make sure you extinguish all lights at night. No telling where they will bomb, but no need to make it easy for them.”
“I’ll make a note.” And she did. She had a leather shoulder bag, containing a stack of clipboards and folders, a liberated fountain pen, and was loaded for bear.
“Is that bag new?” I asked.
“It is. One of the floors of the Sisterhood seems to have been a leather good shop. If we knew what to do, we could make shoes, that would be a great help.”
I showed her the bottoms of the civilian shoes I was putting on at the moment. “Tell me about it. Tell you what,” I said, tying the frayed laces, “I have to go over to DAT House, let’s see if they have any cobblers in that mob.”
“Is there any hope? Those bums?”
“They are… A lot of small town cobblers were put out of business by the big factories. And don’t call them bums, they are mostly hobos. There is a difference.”
“Elucidate, if you please.”
“Hobos and tramps are out of work people trying to make a living, moving place to place, riding the rails, looking for work. Hobos ride the rails, tramps walk. Bums are beggars, and bindlestiffs are thieves who prey on hobos, stealing their bindles, their bundles, their possessions. The lowest of the low.”
“Social strata among the indigent?”
“Don’t forget it. They will not mess with you, because you are a women, but no sense offending unawares.”
“I do not love men. It’s true.”
“Were you, forgive me, molested?”
“No. My younger sister was. She did not survive. The IB goons got her. I heard her scream. In the back of the railroad car. I was manacled. I could not help her.”
“I’m sorry. Life is very hard these days.”
“Is that all you can say?” She was not pleased.
“We have all suffered. My father and mother were caught up in the Red Scare. My mother died. She was not well. A week in a camp was too much for her. It was winter. In Connecticut.”
“Those were the Palmer Raids?”
“The second batch, in January 1920. That was when John Hoover got his start. They rounded up anybody with a Russian name and held them without trial for weeks and months. Eventually the Assistant Secretary of Labor, Louis Post went to bat for us and they let most of us go. Five hundred were deported, but the rest of us, them, got loose.”
“Were you arrested?”
“I wasn’t that lucky. I was in the army, getting ready to go to France. I had turned eighteen in July, I was done with training, was in a depot in New Jersey.”
“You poor man. Never got to see your mother again.”
“Yeah. They buried her in a Potter’s Field someplace. My dad never knew where. Least of our worries.”
She tried to change the subject. “You said Connecticut, is that where you are from?”
“We lived there. New Haven. I was born in Odessa. Crimea. And you?”
“I’m from Boston. Rather a good family. I’m the dingy ewe.”
“Swarthmore is in Philadelphia?”
“South of there. I was supposed to go to Radcliffe, but I was a bit of a trouble maker.”
“And a lesbian?”
“They never knew that.” She flipped through her clipboards. “What is on the agenda for today?”
“We have a cup of tea, see what there is for breakfast, and then see who wants the mostest the fastest.” I tucked in my shirt. She averted her eyes. “We have a launch to deliver to Eppi,
Commander Epstein, and we need to see what jobs are needed from our shop. We have to sort out the men in the DAT House, and then something else will come up. No doubt.”
“Commander Epstein?”
“We are here to support Commander Edward Epstein. He is Chief Salvage Officer for this area. His job is to clean up at least one of these harbors here, and make room for more ships like yours to dock safely. Ship? Mines?”
“Is that what happened? I had no real idea.”
“Trust me.”
“I am not able to truly trust any male.”
“Fair warning. Let’s eat. Just don’t forget. Eppi is the boss. What he says, we do.”
“What of Hodges?”
“Eppi works for Hodges, but at the moment, clearing the docks is the main job. You know anything about boats?”
“We had a ketch. I liked to sail. That’s all. It was quiet.” She shrugged. “I prefer to be alone.”
“Yeah. You sure came to the wrong place. Let’s eat.”
>>>>>
Breakfast was rice and fish. An improvement. I hunted up that old woman, asked her name, which seemed to please her, she said “Su-mi.”
“Su-mi, keep up the good work. You have much English?”
“Some. Russian more.”
I could cope. We chatted in Russian for a while. She had been cook for the third son of the Vice Governor of Port Arthur back in the old days, I gave her more money, told her to see if she could bake biscuits, she said, if she had an oven, she could. I took her over to Pomeroy, acted as translator, until he got the idea. I figured they could work something out, find another interpreter, as long as Su-mi knew she was in charge. I was not sure if she was a Chinese amah, or a babushka, or both, but either one was a force to be reckoned with. The two of them were scratching plans on the wall with charcoal when I left, so something would happen. She had been cooking on an open fire behind the building, and doing a good job, and if I knew black folks, they would much prefer biscuits to rice for breakfast. Incentive, that’s what that’s called. They ate more wheat than rice up here anyway, and noodles, but their bread was fairly strange to me.
The launch was dry and tied to the dock, Stearns was reassembling the engine with the air of a man who had done that job that many times before. He said, “This time for sure. Maybe.” I knew the feeling.
“Commander Epstein wants this boat as soon as you can get it to him, if you have to carry it on your shoulders. Understand?”
“I can paddle it, I suppose. If I don’t hit a mine.”
“Be very careful, is all I can tell you. You get it there, you can probably be in command of the Chief Salvage Officer’s personal launch. Is that worth something to you?”
“Could be a cushy job, could be hell on earth.”
“It will be what you make it. Eppi is a good man. Your choice.”
“I suppose if I had enough Chinese, they could carry the damn thing. It weighs a ton or more.”
“Work it out.”
“Yeah.” His mind was on the motor, so I left him to it. The DAT House was getting settled, the ‘bos had pulled the crates off of all the trucks and were making a warren of little rooms out of the lumber. Good enough. We walked down to the Cannery, I found Sovine, told him I wanted anybody with ironworking experience to report to Eppi at the Salvage Dock.
“I got a bunch of those Mohawks, from New York. They work high iron. They have no fear, but the market crash put a lot of them on the road.”
“Really? I never heard of them.”
“Well they keep to themselves. They have a section in Brooklyn they call Little Caughnawaga. I think that’s right. They have no fear.”
“You said that twice.”
“It’s true. Where do you want them? They love to work. And drink.”
“Send them down the docks to the Salvage Dock. That way.” I pointed, “There is a bar, the only open one in town. Have them report to Commander Epstein. He has work for them.”
“Better than the States. No work and then they deport you for living on the road.”
“I need anybody with any knowledge of airplanes, too. Have them gather at the Shop, and I will ride them to HQ. We have an air force. But they will be working for a woman.”
“Really? That’s odd.”
“Even worse, one of the women from the hold. They do not love men.”
He let that soak in. He was real big, but not real slow. “Yeah, I got that. But a job is a job.” He shrugged. “What else you got?”
“I need machinists on the Machine shop, a few draftsmen, anybody can make machine parts, run a lathe.”
“Shit, I can do all that. I’m not much of a draftsman, but I can fake it.”
“Close enough. Reading prints would be a help. Any auto mechanics can go to the DAT House. I’ll direct them once you get them sorted. Soldiers will be drafted soon enough, unless I miss my guess. There is a war coming.”
“Here? Fuck. I had enough of those games.”
“Yeah. Me too. But…” I didn’t have to spell it out. Another dough.
“I hear you…” I turned to go and Justine made one of those throat noises that well bred people use instead of saying, “Hey, asshole, you forgot something.” “Oh, yeah, the Sisterhood, all those women, need a cobbler or two. They have a sewing factory, some machines to sew leather.”
He finally looked at Justine, blinked a few times, then said, “I’ll ask around.”
I finished up. “You have plans for this place?”
“I haven’t even had time to think about it. We need rations, we are almost out of what we took from the ship.”
“On the way. I’ll call HQ. If you have any fishermen, you could try fishing, but the bay is full of marine mines. It should be full of fish. Nobody has messed with it for years.”
“Jeeze, we might be better off in the Army. Three hots and a cot.” He shrugged again. A lot of that going around. “There is a bunch of canned goods here and there, but most of the labels fell off. And they are in Chinese. I guess we will have to take our chances.”
“Just like the rest of life here. The General says we have a month, maximum, before the war hits.”
“I don’t get all that. The war in France is over? The krauts are headed this way?”
“That’s the best bet. Horse, foot, and Marines.”
“Why the fuck can’t I just quietly die of boredom someplace? That might actually be fun.”
“Cheer up, Sovine, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
>>>>>
That about did the morning, so we walked up to the Feniks, got some food from one of the street vendors nearby, and introduced Justine to Eppi. We found that Sterns had managed to get the launch to the Salvage Dock without getting blown up, so we ate dumplings with communal chopsticks, drank green tea that might have had some actual tea in it, and said hello to Eppi. He was covered in sea slime and oil, looked happy as a Kewpie doll, and had pumps drying out the Rescue Maru. “We have half our dry dock. I called the Navy on shortwave, I have been given Top Priority, and a genuine salvage ship is on the way here from Pearl Harbor. Two weeks. We can do this.”
“Fine. I’m going back to the Shop. Any more work for us?”
He gestured to one of his aides, the only clean one, the guy dug around in an oversized suitcase doing duty as a briefcase and portable office, handed me another novel-thick sheaf of papers. I just saluted, without any trace of mockery, gave the papers to Justine and headed home. Time to get on the phone.
When we got there, a couple of Signal Corps types were installing a small switch board, a rack of batteries and a very complex radio. “General Hodges’ compliments,” the sergeant saluted, handed me another stack of papers, a manual for the radio installation, and a note on the General’s letterhead.
“Things are moving fast. Would appreciate you selecting a crew to monitor radio traffic, especially German. USA, and Japanese shortwave. See if you can locate translators of all the major languages. If not, please advise.�
�
“PS. We have received word that Gen. Mitchell’s ship was sunk by enemy action. Enemy unknown.”
A fine kettle of fish. I signed receipt of the paperwork, turned to Justine, showed her the note. “Here is what I need. Can do?”
“I… Do not know if we have any Japanese speakers. And Chinese?”
“Hodges did not specify Chinese. I will assume he has that and Russian under control. I have an inkling…”
“Which is?”
It was none of her business, but I explained. “He specifies German and Japanese. Japan was officially an ally of England and an undeclared enemy of Germany. If England is out of the Empire business, there is a whole shit pot of real estate up for grabs.”
“Don’t be silly. How can the largest, most prosperous empire on the face of the earth, just evaporate?”
“You just watch. And it’s not just England per se, it is France that is no more. It all depends on the Peace Treaty, but France is now a province of Grosser Deutschland, and a pretty damn beat up province at that. All the French Colonies in Africa are up for grabs. I have it in my head that the French colonial empire is, or was, one of the largest in the world, behind the British Empire, the Russian Empire, and the Spanish Empire.”
“Simple geography. Proving what?”
“If all that stuff in Africa, most of North Africa, Morocco, French Algeria, Oran, Tunisia, and Libya is gone, then the Mediterranean is a German and Ottoman lake.”
“Italy?”
“Is pretty well battered to a pulp. They lost a lot of men in the Alps, what is left of their army is keeping down any number of revolutions, last I heard. That’s why we got all the refugees in the States. Egypt and the Suez are British, but how long can that last?”
“Not long. Edward is a weak reed. I know him. Or, at least, my family does.”
Polar Bear Blues Page 9
