When Donovan saw Peete’s fists balling and unballing, he sent for Kruger to break it up. Later, Donovan and Kruger discussed transferring Peete to keep the peace and keep from wrecking two naval careers.
The Fibber McGee show broke for a commercial. Donovan heaved himself up from the armchair and walked to the back bedroom to unpack his things. He opened the closet to hang up his blouse and found Ralph’s bathrobe. It was the one Diane wore that night he’d told her about the dream. His mistake came when he picked up a sleeve and drew a breath. She was there: that delightful combination of perfume and shampoo and female; her aroma, her essence.
In the living room, Fibber McGee opened his closet. The whole world tumbled and crashed out, the audience roaring with laughter.
But something different had tumbled from this closet.
Diane.
He checked his watch. The Fibber McGee show had another fifteen minutes to go. But Walt’s car keys were still nestled in his pocket.
Diane.
With luck, it would be quiet at the hospital. They could have a cup of coffee or something.
He grabbed his blouse and cap, knowing that he would probably make a fool of himself. But then he didn’t have that much time. Right after the Marines hauled off Watson, the guard mail truck pulled up to the gangway. Packed with updated codebooks, operations manuals and official mail were orders for the USS Matthew (DD 548) to get under way the following Friday to escort a convoy to Pearl Harbor, whereupon they were to report to commander Destroyer Squadron 77, now swinging at anchor in the Ulithi “toll.
* * * * *
The evening was still warm, but when Donovan walked into the Roseville Community Hospital lobby, it felt cold, stark. “ sharp tinge of alcohol grazed his nostrils, reminding him of his recent surgery. Outside, he’d chatted with two MPs who lingered near their jeep. They were both from the Deep South, and he enjoyed their accents as he felt the heat and heard the trains making their racket over in the rail yards. Cars zipped past, and people bustled about.
In here, it was quiet.
Good. She’s got nothing to do.
“Help you, Commodore?” It was a gray lady, a volunteer; a fifty-plus redheaded, corn-fed woman close to two hundred pounds. With name tag that read GL”DYS, she was seated at a desk in the corner behind a neglected ficus whose leaves had dropped on the floor.
He walked up to the desk. “Right, Gladys. I’m looking for Dr. Logan.”
“Dr. Logan’s in emergency.” Gladys’s jaws worked industriously as she chewed gum while thumbing a tired copy of Colliers.
“I know that. Can I speak with her?”
Gladys lay down her Colliers and scooted forward. “Dear boy. I never go into emergency. You’ll never know what you’ll find.”
“Telephone?”
“Only if you have an emergency.”
This is going nowhere. “How do I find emergency?” It seemed a strange question since that was the way he’d first entered this hospital fifteen days ago. But then, he’d been unconscious.
Gladys looked him up and down and said, “Is there an emergency, Commodore? You look okay to me.”
“Please?”
She gestured to an urn behind her desk. “Like some mud? You know, real navy coffee?”
It looked as thick as bottom paint. “Maybe later, Gladys. Now, where’s emergency?”
“Hmm,” she snorted. Gladys nodded over her shoulder to her left. “Down that hallway, through the set of double doors, and then through the next set of double doors. But you won’t find a reception nurse there. Just a bunch of people milling about, half of them bloody and groaning, the other half sitting back and drinking coffee.” Gladys seemed to think this was funny and gave a short laugh.
Donovan looked off into space.
“gain, she looked him up and down. “Say, you aren’t a bill collector are you?”
Pointing to his commander’s stripes, Donovan said, “Do I look like a bill collector to you?” He plopped his hat on for emphasis.
“Good luck, Commodore.”
Donovan bucked through the two sets of double doors, walking into a room surrounded by six curtained-off beds. Here, the alcohol-ether smell was far more pronounced. Two nurses rushed pass, ignoring him, pushing a cart laden with gleaming surgical instruments and dressings. Swishing aside the curtain, they disappeared into the space.
“ young voice groaned from inside.
“ woman cooed, “It’s okay, Bobby. We’ll be home soon.”
The boy whimpered.
Donovan found a chair next to an oxygen bottle, eased it behind an empty metal desk, and sat. There was nothing on the desk, no telephone, nothing in the drawers.
Bobby cried out.
The woman soothed, “It’s okay. It’s okay, hon.”
“ man said, “That should take care of the pain. Now we can get to work. Oops, forgot something. Be right back.” The curtain swooshed aside and a balding doctor with a thin mustache walked out, his lab coat spattered with blood. He walked to a cabinet next to Donovan and began rummaging. “Come on, where is it?” he muttered. Then he looked over. “Hi Navy. You looking for something?”
Donovan stood. “Dr. Logan?”
“Ahhh. The green-eyed monster.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He smiled. ““n in-joke. Sorry, Dr. Logan is in surgery with that young Marine. “re you next-of-kin? “ friend perhaps?”
“Well, no. But--”
“Well, are you his commanding officer?”
“No, I’m afraid not. You see--”
The double doors opened and a man wearing fatigues walked in. Donovan’s heart jumped. It was John Sabovik. His face was darkened with some sort of dust, and his shirt and trousers were grease-smeared. Sabovik’s eyebrows went up momentarily when he spotted Donovan. Then he whipped off his cap and walked up to the doctor. “Where is he?”
The boy groaned again, and the nurse stuck her head out the curtain, her brow furrowed.
“In a moment,” the doctor said to her. Then he turned to Sabovik, his voice all business. “What do you want?”
“I was told Nitro is in here,” said Sabovik.
“Who?” asked the doctor.
“Captain Collins, the Marine,” replied Sabovik, his voice tight.
“Ahhh, yes,” said the doctor, his face darkening. “The Marine. He’s in surgery right now with Dr. Finnigan and Dr. Logan.”
“Diane?” asked Sabovik, his hands on his hips.
“Yes, I hope that meets with your approval.”
“Well, yes, that’s great,” said Sabovik with a sidelong glance at Donovan. “But how is Captain Collins?”
The boy groaned.
“Just a few more minutes, Bobby,” said the woman.
“I have work to do, gentlemen,” said the doctor. “Now I must ask both of you to wait in the reception room.” He palmed their elbows and began walking them to the double doors.
Sabovik jerked his arm away. “But I must see Nitro, I mean– “
“You’ll see him after we’re done, Captain–”
“Commander. Actually lieutenant commander,” said Sabovik.
“I’ll get word to Dr. Logan that you’re waiting. Now please.” The doctor waved a palm toward the double doors.
“I’d at least like to–”
Bobby began crying.
The doctor jammed his hands onto his hips. “I’m giving you a count of three to get out of here. Then I start calling in the artillery.”
Donovan said, “John, you always were blockheaded. Come on, you’ll find out soon enough.” He headed for the doors.
Sabovik stood rooted to the spot.
“Are you coming, Commander?” said Donovan.
Sabovik exhaled. “I’m sorry, Doctor. Of course I’ll wait in the lobby. Please let Dr. Logan know I’m here at your earliest convenience.” He walked past Donovan and through the double doors.
CH APTER TWENTY FIVE
August 25, 1944
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Roseville Community Hospital
Roseville, California
Donovan followed Sabovik through the double doors to the main lobby. With Sabovik dressed in utilities, Gladys said, “Hey, soldier. How ‘bout a cuppa Joe?” She poured dark, steaming liquid into a paper cup and shoved it across her desk.
“No, thanks,” muttered Sabovik. “And I’m Navy, not Army.”
“Touchy, touchy,” said Gladys, munching gum. “How ‘bout you, Commodore?” she asked Donovan.
“Sure.” Donovan took the cup and pitched a quarter across. “Thanks.”
Gladys picked up the quarter. “Gee, now I can send my kid to college.” Her jaws worked her gum for a moment. “On second thought, keep it. It’s supposed to be on the house.” She flipped the quarter back to Donovan.
“You’re a doll.” Donovan sipped and nearly gagged, thinking maybe it really was bottom paint. He walked over to Sabovik. “Come on, John, time to talk.” He laid a hand on Sabovik’s arm and extended his right hand, offering to shake.
Sabovik jerked his arm away; coffee splattered on the floor. “Get away, you sonofabitch,” he hissed.
Donovan glanced out the front door, seeing the two MPs still lingering. Carefully, he set down the coffee cup and drew to his full height. “You better be careful who you’re talking to, mister, or I’m going to brace you, call in those MPs, and have them shove your dead ass into the brig.” They’d joined the Navy at the same time. Donovan supposed he’d advanced more quickly in rank because he was a line officer. And now, he’d taken advantage.
A wide-eyed Gladys pushed back her chair. “Shit — I mean, dammit. I mean…”
She knocked over a cup of coffee. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... I mean this is supposed to be a hospital, isn’t it?”
“It’s okay, Gladys. Relax. The commander here has just had a bad day, haven’t you, Commander?”
Sabovik’s eyes were slits, his pupils burning coals.
Donovan looked over Sabovik’s shoulder. “Say something, Commander, or I snap my fingers and have those two corn-fed boys come in here, hook you up, and shove you in solitary.”
Sabovik exhaled, rested his hands on his hips, and bowed his head for a moment. “Okay, Mike. Here’s the deal. I’m not going to kill you. I’ve gotten over that part. But I don’t have to talk to you and I don’t want you around me because I think you’re one rotten sonofabitch.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My God, you still don’t understand. If it weren’t for you, Tiny would still be alive.”
“John, I couldn’t help it.”
“Bullshit!” Sabovik shouted.
“Oh,” peeped Gladys, her fist to her mouth.
Donovan rasped, “I couldn’t help it if that Jap round hit the mount.”
“But Tiny belonged in the director, didn’t he? What the hell was he doing down in the mount?” shouted Sabovik. “You lived and he died.”
“I... I sent him down there. I had to.”
“What the hell for?”
“We’d lost communications. The whole system went down. I sent Tiny to tell them to shift to local control.”
“And then what?” yelled Sabovik.
Gladys bolted from behind her desk, knocked over her chair, and scooted out the double doors.
“Keep your voice down, sailor,” said Donovan.
“A barely controlled Sabovik said, “And then what? Why didn’t he return to the director?”
Suddenly the lobby no longer felt air-conditioned. Donovan’s uniform was too tight, and he wanted to unbutton the blouse and loosen his tie. His hands felt clammy, and he wiped his brow. Sabovik had asked a question that had been buried almost two years ago with the battle off Tassaforonga Point.
Sabovik stood close, his eyes even more intense. “You haven’t answered me, Commander Donovan. Why didn’t Tiny return to the director? What the hell was he doing in that gun mount?”
In a flash, Donovan knew the answer. The nightmare became reality and engulfed him. He stepped back. “No.”
“No what, you dirty bastard.”
“Oh my God, I... “
“Spit it out. And it better be good, Captain.”
The words spilled out before he could contain them. “I forgot. Jesus, the ship was on fire. Everyone was screaming. It was all happening so fast, I forgot Tiny was in the mount. Damn, I... “
“You forgot because you turned yellow and lost your nerve, didn’t you?”
“No!”
“How the hell do you live with yourself?” Sabovik shook his head in disgust.
Two large orderlies in white coats burst into the lobby. Gladys followed, her hand pointing to Donovan and Sabovik.
“Everything all right here?” asked the taller one, a baby faced man; his cheeks and hands were pink and he had a short crew cut.
“Nooo.” Donovan hardly realized the orderlies were there. His stomach turned as he relived the horror of that night. The abject realization that he’d forgotten to recall Tiny sunk in. The thought disappeared for a moment as he tried to suppress it. Then it washed over him again with all its terrible finality. I forgot to recall Tiny. And Tiny died because of it. He looked up. Everyone’s eyes were on him. “I need to sit.” He walked over, righted Gladys’ chair and sat heavily.
The larger orderly followed Donovan over. “Maybe I should call you a cab, buddy.”
He’d forgotten about Tiny. Donovan couldn’t decide which was worse. The fact that he’d forgotten about Tiny or that he’d suppressed it all this time.
The orderly shook his shoulder. “Hey, Mac. I’m talking to you.”
“What?”
“Maybe I should call the cops, or maybe them MPs outside,” said the orderly.
Sabovik stood across the lobby regarding him curiously, his arms folded.
“What’s the word, Mac?” demanded the orderly.
Donovan stood. The orderly was taller and looked down at him. Aside from a bit of drool leaking from the side of his mouth, the orderly looked fit. Donovan wondered why he wasn’t in the service. Then one look into his dull, lifeless eyes gave the answer. “I’ll bet you have flat feet.”
“Huh?”
The other orderly giggled.
The taller orderly said, “Maybe you should–”
A loud female voice called, “Captain Collins is going to be okay.” It was Diane Logan wearing light green scrubs, cap and all, the double doors swinging closed behind her.
Donovan and Sabovik walked over to her, the orderlies in tow.
“Thanks, Luther, we’re all set here,” said Diane. “You, too, Rex.”
“You sure, Doctor?” asked Luther. “This guy’s bothering people.” He glanced at Gladys.
“Go,” said Diane. “They need you back in the commissary.”
“Yeah, I heard they’s cookin’ hamburgers tonight,” said Rex.
“Hamburgers,” said Luther. With a nod, he backed away and the two walked out.
“Gladys, could you please make us a fresh pot of coffee?” Diane asked over her shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am.” Gladys began fussing.
“Everything okay here?” asked Diane looking the two over.
“What’s the word on Nitro?” asked Sabovik.
Donovan found the way he addressed her to be curious. They knew each other.
“Hi, Mike,” said Diane.
“Evening, Doctor,” said Donovan. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.
“Nitro should be fine.” Diane whipped off her surgical cap and ran a finger through mussed auburn hair. “He has two broken ribs, a broken left arm, and several lacerations.”
“Whew,” gasped Sabovik. “Not bad for a dumb jarhead. Is that it?”
“No, unfortunately, that’s not. Nitro also has a concussion. He’s conscious now, but he’s not talking clearly. I think he’ll be all right after time, but for now, we’re erring on the side of caution.”
“Which means?” asked Sabovik.
“Which means we want to keep him for a day or two until we’re certain there’s no permanent damage. And that’ll help hold down chance of infection with the broken arm and ribs.”
“Okay,” said Sabovik. “How about–”
“Mind if I ask a question?” interrupted Diane, taking off her glasses. She exhaled on a lens and began polishing. To Donovan, her eyes were greener than her scrubs.
Sabovik said, “Shoot.”
“Nitro was wet and muddy. But we cleaned him up and got him into some dry garments. So what went on? Some sort of interleague football game?”
“I wish it were that simple.” Sabovik rubbed his jaw. “We were riding the 4293 westbound. We were delayed in Truckee for two hours and it wasn’t till after dark that we reached the summit and started down. Right after that, Nitro saw something that didn’t look right. We were going pretty slow, so I asked Soda Whiskers if he could slow a tad more to let NitroB“
“Ben Soda Whiskers?” Donovan and Diane said in unison.
Sabovik gave them a how-the-hell-do-you-know-Soda-Whiskers look. “Yeah, so what?”
Donovan shrugged.
Diane said. “He’s been a family friend for a long time. Gave me my first ride in a locomotive when I was nine years old. Daddy could have killed him.”
Sabovik said, “He’s a crazy bastard, I’ll say that.”
“And a love,” said Diane.
Sabovik scratched his head. “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way, but okay. Anyway, Nitro jumped out of the engine and grabbed a freight car ladder about ten cars back.” He paused.
“Yes?” asked Diane.
“But something was wrong. He didn’t come up on the walkie-talkie.”
“Where were you?” she asked.
“Jasper Flats, where it levels out.”
“Umm,” she mused. “Lots of boulders and rocks in there. Then what happened?”
“It was almost pitch black and I wouldn’t have seen anything. Except an eastbound was coming round a bend. The eastbound’s headlight caught Nitro flying though space. It looked like he’d jumped... or was pushed. But that’s almost impossible. Nobody else was around. We’d picked up speed by then and I thought he was a goner.”
A CALL TO COLORS: A NOVEL OF THE BATTLE OF LEYTE GULF Page 22
