Whispers of a New Dawn

by Murray Pura

  “Yeah.”

  Becky leaned her head into his. “I don’t know how far I can go with this. Maybe as far as marriage. Maybe not. But that probably doesn’t interest you.”

  “Why couldn’t you go as far as marriage?”

  “Because I was almost there once. And even with giving Moses back to God and trying to get on with my life I’m finding it difficult to picture being at the altar.”

  “With me?”

  “With anyone.”

  “What about engagement?”

  “I don’t think I can do that either.”

  Raven gave her a big smile. “Well, don’t worry, I haven’t given either of those things a thought.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Oh, you haven’t?”

  “No. Just being with you keeps me busy enough. What to say. How to act. I don’t have time for the stuff you mentioned. Just you, right now, that’s enough.”

  The cat’s eyes emerged. “But you’re a wolf.”

  “I am.”

  “Are you a nice wolf?”

  “A very nice wolf.”

  She lay back slowly on the sand. “So then be nice to me.”

  He ran his hand gently over her cheek and neck. “I’ll do my best.”

  NINETEEN

  Okay. We stick together. Both jeeps. No one takes off on his own. The Shore Patrol is keeping an eye on us, so everybody be on their best behavior. Okay, Lockjaw? Batman?”

  Batman squinted over the water at Ford Island. “What do they think we’re going to do, Harrison? Run off with a battleship?”

  Harrison leaned over the wheel of one of the jeeps. He was in his whites. “I think the SP is more concerned with some sort of Army-Navy rivalry turning into a Monday-afternoon brawl.”

  Harrison’s buddy, Dave Goff, also in his whites, was at the wheel of the other jeep. “I thought the SP only dealt with stuff on shore—you know, sailors on leave, the ones hanging out at bars.”

  Harrison shrugged. “They’re around. So let’s all be good.”

  “Aye, aye, skipper,” said Shooter.

  Harrison put his jeep into gear. “We have clearance. We don’t want them to revoke it. Let’s head over the causeway. We’re coming in at the north end of the island and starting down the eastern shore.”

  The two jeeps drove slowly to Ford Island. Harrison, Batman, Juggler, Shooter, Raven, and Becky were piled in the first jeep. Goff, Jude, Kalino, Hani, Wizard, Lockjaw, Whistler, and Manuku in the second. Wizard was wedged up against Hani and Lockjaw up against Kalino. Harrison began to speak loudly and point as the big ships loomed larger and larger on their left.

  “Okay, so we’re at the north end of the row. The first one is the Nevada. Fore River Shipbuilding laid her keel in their yard in Quincy, Massachusetts. Launched in July 1914. Roosevelt was Secretary of the Navy then and he attended that. Her twin sister is the Oklahoma. Identical ships for the most part. We can’t see the Oklahoma too well from here. It’s way back and anchored next to the Maryland. Right behind the Nevada is Goff’s ship.”

  The jeeps pulled onto the island and were waved ahead. Harrison took a road that led as close to the water’s edge as he was allowed to go. He stopped in front of a ship that towered over the Nevada moored in front of it. He nodded at Goff.

  Goff stood up in his jeep. “My lady. The Arizona. Roosevelt was there when they laid the keel in Brooklyn. Launched her in 1915. Pennsylvania class—you can see how much bigger it is than the Nevada class. Hull number BB-39. The Navy modernized her at Norfolk in 1929—new antiaircraft guns, among other things. We were based in California until last year. Now the whole crew has turned Hawaiian.”

  Manuku, Hani, and Kalino laughed.

  “How many of you?” Manuku asked.

  “Fourteen hundred.”

  Batman whistled. “That’s a handful for your Shore Patrol, Goff, if they should come out and try and take on the Army Air Forces.”

  “It would be over before the Shore Patrol could show up, sir.”

  “Unless we went easy on them.”

  Goff grinned. “Unless.”

  “It’s massive.” Becky was staring up at the funnels. “It looks like an ordinary gray warship from shore and now I’m sitting under a giant.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s pretty easy to feel like a dwarf on Battleship Row.”

  Harrison eased his jeep forward down the line. “This is the Tennessee. Anchored alongside is the West Virginia.”

  Becky looked back and forth between the Arizona and the Tennessee. “Is it possible that the Tennessee is larger than the Arizona?”

  Goff snorted. “Not by much.”

  Harrison smiled. “The Arizona’s about 608 feet long but the Tennessee—I boned up on all this for y’all—is 624. Tennessee displaces almost 41,000 tons but Arizona only a bit over 37,000. So you have a sharp eye, Miss Whetstone. Glad you’re an aviator.” He pointed. “West Virginia, ‘Wee-Vee,’ is one of our three Colorado-class battlewagons. Those are our newest and best. Sorry, Goff.”

  Goff folded his arms over his chest. “Matter of opinion.”

  “Wee-Vee was launched in ’21 at Newport News in Virginia. Fourteen hundred officers and men—like Arizona. Incredible armor protection. Different lines than the ships built in ’14, ’15, or ’16, like the Nevada and Arizona. Her sister ship is the Maryland, astern of the Tennessee—see how similar she is to the West Virginia? Built in Newport News too, launched in ’20, exact same length. And anchored alongside her—Oklahoma. ’Member I mentioned it was sister to the Nevada that’s at the top of the row? Same class, same lines, launched in 1916, New York.” He pointed. “Glance back at the Nevada and compare the two. Both of them are a lot smaller and shorter than ships like the Tennessee, West Virginia, Maryland.”

  He glanced around. “Have I lost you? The guys call me the Professor. How’s everyone doing?”

  Raven gave him thumbs-up.

  “Waiting to see a sailor’s hornpipe,” said Wizard.

  “Or some swabbie swabbing the deck,” added Whistler.

  “It’s like driving beside great tall buildings.” Kalino craned her neck. “With men all over them.”

  “Forget the Navy men,” grunted Lockjaw. “The Army’s all you need.”

  “I like to fly, Lockjaw.”

  “The Army Air Forces, I mean.”

  “But aren’t those Navy planes beautiful?” Kalino pointed. “Wouldn’t you like to fly one of those?”

  Six aircraft painted dark blue zoomed over them, motors snarling.

  “They’re from the Naval Air Station here on Ford,” said Goff. “Grumman F4F Wildcats.”

  “Yeah, we know.” Shooter put on his Ray-Bans. “We’re on the same side.”

  “The paint’s all wrong,” grumbled Lockjaw. “You need green or silver.”

  Kalino smirked. “A plane is a plane.”

  Harrison inched ahead with his jeep. “Okay, take a look—we’ve got California here. And right across the water from it—there on the main shore, moored to the quay—that’s Pennsylvania. The California was built in California—yeah, really—at Mare Island Naval Shipyard, launched in 1919, and was once flagship of the Pacific Fleet. Pennsylvania is another old girl, putting on the years but still sturdy, launched in 1915 at Newport News—hello?”

  The occupants of both jeeps were staring at the huge ship that loomed up astern of California.

  “Which carrier is that?” demanded Batman. “I don’t see them that often.”

  “The Enterprise,” Harrison said. “The Big E.”

  “What kind of planes operate off it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Dive bombers like the Douglas Dauntless. Douglas Devastator torpedo planes. Wildcat fighters.”

  “All those?”

  “Yes, sir. The Enterprise can handle almost eight dozen aircraft—ninety on the nose.”

  Batman stood up in the jeep as it continued to move toward the huge carrier. “Ninety planes? Taking off and landing out at sea? With all the ammo and fuel
and chow the aviators would need?”

  “Yes, sir,” responded Harrison. “All that and more.”

  Another formation of Wildcats swept by overhead. Wizard squinted at them. “We’ve been at Wheeler too long. No one ever talks about the Navy planes up there.”

  “Or the carriers.” Lockjaw tapped Goff on the back. “Can’t we get any closer?”

  “No, sir. She’s taking on supplies. What’s today—Monday the twenty-fourth? Thanksgiving’s over and they could weigh anchor anytime. Scuttlebutt has them heading out for a training exercise soon. A longer one.”

  “When?”

  Goff shrugged. “Pick a number. The boys on the Arizona say by the end of the month. Some say December.”

  They watched supply trucks pulling up and sailors busy on shore and on deck with cargo. Officers marched about giving orders and sometimes lending a hand.

  “You know, y’all are pretty lucky,” said Harrison. “The ships are in port at the same time because we’re here on a Monday. They haven’t been at Pearl together on a weekend since July fourth. Either there are six battlewagons out at sea as Task Force One on a Saturday and Sunday or there are another three out with Vice Admiral Halsey’s carrier task force. They trade weekends back and forth.”

  “Ha.” Lockjaw rolled a pair of Chiclets around with his tongue. “So what’s the skinny on the Enterprise, Harrison?”

  “Another Newport News child. Commissioned in ’38. Just over 824 feet. Top speed about thirty-two knots. Twenty-two hundred in the crew. That includes the aviators.”

  Lockjaw slipped three more Chiclets into his mouth. “I wouldn’t mind trying that. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  “Not much of a runway,” grunted Wizard.

  “That’s all the room I need.” Lockjaw glanced at him. “You’re just worried the wind on deck would mess up your hair.”

  “Where’s the Saratoga?” asked Jude.

  “Not in Pearl. Not today. And not for a while.” Harrison pointed with his chin. “But the Lexington’s on the east side.”

  Harrison steered the first jeep south of the landing strip as three Dauntless dive bombers came in over their heads and touched down one after the other. Goff followed. Lockjaw remained standing as the Arizona sailor drove, his eyes glued to aircraft that flashed through the sky. He spotted the Lexington and slapped Goff on the back.

  “Willya look at that?” he almost shouted.

  She was tall and long and gray. Unlike the Enterprise she was not taking on supplies and sat silent and grim in the water. Harrison and Goff pulled over and stopped. Everyone except the two drivers got out to stretch their legs and look the carrier over.

  “Lady Lex. Almost 900 feet in length.” Harrison draped his arms over the steering wheel. “Handles seventy-five aircraft. Started out as a battleship. They changed her over during construction. Just shy of 50,000 tons for a deep load. Launched in ’25 and commissioned in ’27. Quincy, Massachusetts. Over twenty-seven hundred in the crew.”

  “What kinds of airplanes?” asked Lockjaw. “Since you’re a walking naval encyclopedia.”

  “Same as the Enterprise. She has the Devastator and the Dauntless—but no Wildcats. The Lady carries Brewster F2A-3 Buffalos for fighters. The battleship in front of her is the Utah. She’s the Old Girl, launched in 1909. She’s been refitted and rearmed. They do a lot of gunnery training with her.”

  Lockjaw looked from one ship to the other. “Maybe not a Navy man. But a Navy pilot.”

  “Aviator.” Harrison held out his hand for some Chiclets and Lockjaw gave him two. “Naval aviator.”

  “Bite me,” grunted Batman.

  Jude stared at the Lexington. “No news of deployment?”

  “Not that I know of,” replied Harrison. “Maybe Dave’s heard something.”

  Goff shook his head. “There are always rumors. Once the supply trucks roll up we’ll hear more rumors.”

  “You thinking of jumping ship, Lockjaw?” asked Whistler.

  “Dunno. What do you think I should do, Kalino?”

  “Jump.” She squeezed his hand.

  They wound up back at the Whetstones, where Ruth and Lyyndaya had prepared a supper of hamburgers and potato salad. Manuku immediately went to Ruth’s side.

  “Can I help you with anything?” he asked.

  “Yes. You can help eat all the food.”

  “No, really.”

  She smiled at him. “No, really. I don’t need your help with anything right now. But you can give me a hand with the cleanup later.”

  “I’d like that.” He jabbed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’m going to pull up a couple of chairs outside by the banana plant. Join me?”

  “Yes. I will as soon as everyone is served.”

  “Great.”

  Nate came over to Raven. “How was Pearl?”

  “It was swell. We got close to the ships. You have no idea how huge they are until you’re standing next to them like that. Especially the carriers.”

  “Did you hear?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nomura presented another proposal from Tokyo. He’s told Washington it’s the final one.”

  “When was this?”

  “Back on Thanksgiving Day—the twentieth.”

  Raven handed him a plate with a burger and potato salad. “You eating?”

  “Yeah, thanks. Where’s Becky?”

  “In the kitchen.” Raven took his own plate and salad and a bottle of Coca-Cola and sat down on a couch. “Tell me about the Japanese terms.”

  “They said they’d cease operations in China. All military operations.”

  “And withdraw their troops?”

  “I guess so.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “A million gallons of aviation fuel.”

  Raven whistled and bit into his burger. “That will put a lot of Zeros and Vals into the air.”

  “Do you think Roosevelt will give them what they want?”

  “Maybe. If they think the Japanese are serious about pulling out of China. If they think it will avoid a nasty armed conflict.” He looked across the room to where Ruth was just stepping outside with Manuku. “Hey, Ruth. This hamburger is terrific.”

  “I didn’t make all of them, you know. Becky’s mother did quite a few.”

  “I’ll thank her as soon as I see her.” Raven turned back to Nate. “The bigger question is whether the Japanese want to avoid war or if they think it’ll help them get what they want—places they can capture that will furnish them with the oil and iron and rubber they need.”

  Nate had hardly touched his food. “Sometimes I think I’ve shaken the old bugbear. But things bring it back.”

  “It’s not just you, Nate. I have memories of my kid brother that can come on so strong it makes me wince at the controls. I swear I’m going to break the stick in two, I squeeze it so hard. So go easy on yourself.”

  “Maybe I won’t make it back.”

  “You’ll make it back. Beck mentioned you’d asked about going up with her.”

  “Yeah. She said I’d be better off with Mom or Dad. I told her no, I needed to get back in the air with my wild flying sister.”

  Raven finished his Coca-Cola. “When?”

  “Next week.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. We’ll get you into a P-40 in no time.”

  Nate shook his head and nibbled at his hamburger and bun. “I don’t think so.”

  “Unless you want to go Navy and fly a Wildcat. Lockjaw’s got his blood up about that all of a sudden.”

  “Navy?”

  “Aw, he saw the Grummans and the Douglases tearing air when we were at Pearl. The idea of heading to sea and taking off and landing from the Enterprise or the Lexington got him going on all cylinders.”

  Nate looked out the patio doors to the palm trees and the sky. “I used to love flying. More than Mom or Dad. As much as Beck. Now I freeze up when I think about it.”

  “So did I. If Becky could poi
nt me in the right direction she can point you there too.”

  Nate half laughed. “I used to do a corkscrew and a barrel roll at the same time when we were barnstorming. Wouldn’t that make her jump in the cockpit if I pulled one of those off again?”

  “Do it.” Raven got to his feet. “Can I get you a Coke? I’m going to get myself a spoon for this salad. And another burger.”

  “Sure. Thanks. That would be good.”

  The sun vanished and stars appeared in the warm velvet dark as Nate and Raven sat together. People continued to eat and talk. Finally Raven went looking for Becky. He couldn’t locate her anywhere in the house so he wandered outside, hands in his pockets, and found a spot where he could get a good view of Pearl Harbor. Lights gleamed on the quays and on the battleships and carriers. He wondered what it would be like to try to land on the Lexington or Enterprise in the dark with a storm howling about your plane and oil leaking from the engine back over your canopy. He saw himself at the controls, lights on the flattop giving him something to shoot for, coaxing his Wildcat or Dauntless down and down, wings swinging from side to side, trying to match contact with the deck with the pitch and roll of the sea.

  “Hey, stranger.” A warm hand slipped into his pocket and wrapped itself around his fingers. “Sawbuck for your thoughts.”

  “Sawbuck?” Raven put his arm around Becky. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “It’s worth it.”

  “Yeah? Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since you helped your mom and aunt serve the food.”

  “Oh, I had some letters Mom wanted to see. My grandparents wrote me and Nick from Pennsylvania.”

  “They didn’t write your mom?”

  “No.”

  “Are they your dad’s parents?”

  “No, they’re Mom’s.”

  Raven gave her a puzzled look, his forehead creasing. “What gives?”

  Becky leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ll try to explain. Mom and Dad were baptized into this certain religious group—the Amish—when they were young. The group doesn’t believe in war and doesn’t permit its members to enlist in the military. And it doesn’t allow anyone to assist the war effort in any way either—you know, like buying war bonds or attending a parade of soldiers or even joining the medical corps. So Mom and Dad are helping train Army pilots to fly better—or at least Dad is, since Mom is only teaching woman civilians. But they lump them both together for coming out here and helping Peterson, and no one is permitted to write them.”