A CALL TO COLORS: A NOVEL OF THE BATTLE OF LEYTE GULF

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  Gladys stepped up with a tray of coffee. Nodding their thanks, they each picked a cup and drank. Much better, thought Donovan.

  Sabovik sipped again and continued, “You’re right. It is all boulders and rocks in there. If he’d hit one, we’d still be scraping him off.”

  “What happened?” asked Donovan, his curiosity up.

  “We ran over a trestle. Nitro fell right over the side and into Jasper Creek, about a twenty-foot drop. I yelled to Soda Whiskers and he slammed on the brakes right away. But it took the damn thing forever to stop so I jumped off and ran back to the trestle. A guard shack was there and I found the sonofabitch asleep. So, I kicked the kid in the butt and we ran down and found Nitro on the riverbank, slithering in mud. He was about ten feet from some rapids and, jeepers, he’s lucky he didn’t fall into that. Otherwise–” He drew a finger across his throat.

  “So we wrestled Nitro back up to the guard shack about the time Soda Whisker got the engine back to us. Luckily, we were about two hundred feet from highway 80. So the guard dialed up an ambulance and we had Nitro down the mountain pretty quick.”

  “What were you doing there to begin with?” asked Donovan.

  “Just intelligence stuff.”

  “Like spies?”

  Sabovik ignored the question and asked Diane, “Can I see him?”

  “For just a minute. No trip-hammer questions. He’s woozy.”

  “But I have to talk to him.”

  “I’m afraid not. A minute and that’s it,” said Diane.

  Sabovik nodded and turned to Donovan, “Now let me ask, what the hell are you doing here, Captain.” He spit the word Captain.

  Donovan stammered, “Saying hello to my old friend Ben Soda Whiskers.”

  “How do you know him?”

  Donovan waved to Diane. “We bunked in the same ward. I had an appendix attack and Soda Whiskers was in for something else. The good doctor here took care of us. We played some poker, and I ended up owing him money.” That wasn’t true. Soda Whiskers owed everyone else money, Donovan twenty dollars. He had written IOUs, but never paid.

  Sabovik stepped closer. “You sure they didn’t operate on your head?”

  Donovan said, “John, for crying out loud. Don’t you think–”

  “Okay, okay.” Diane stepped between them and pushed them apart. “Commander Sabovik, down the hall, turn left to room 131. Commander Donovan, out. Go back to your hotel.”

  Hotel, that’s a good one. Donovan said, “But–”

  “Go. Now.” She pushed on Donovan’s chest until he stepped away. The she turned. “Follow me, Commander Sabovik.” They walked through the double doors, leaving them swinging.

  * * * * *

  Something rustled the side of his bed. Startled, he sat up quickly. “Battle stations!” he shouted.

  She gave a low chuckle and pushed him back down to the pillows. “Easy, Captain. The ship’s still afloat.”

  Donovan checked the radium dial on his watch: 0117. It was still warm outside, and he was covered with just a sheet. He’d had trouble sleeping in the last three days. The images of that horrible night aboard the Tampa two years ago off Tassaforonga Point kept racing through his mind. The ship, saturated with fuel oil, burning brightly, men screaming as they scrambled up from the engineering spaces; Tiny’s lopsided grin as he crawled out of the director and willingly walked to his death in that damn eight-inch turret. And now he wished Sabovik had carried out his promise to kill him.

  But she was here and he relaxed a bit. “Some habits are hard to break,” he said. “You’re late.” Her hair was down and mussed around her face. She wore just a bathrobe and... and... smelled wonderful.

  “Guy fell through a window. Lot of sewing there. And then there was an auto wreck out on 99.” She looked down. “One of them didn’t make it. An old man.”

  He sensed she wanted to get it out and drew her down to him, wrapping his arms around her. “Not your fault.”

  Her voice rose. “Damn drunk hit him. Head-on. You should have seen the bastard. All he needed was fourteen stitches in his forehead. He sat there and kept laughing.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I wanted to do it without Novocain but they made me.”

  “Shhhh.” He stroked her hair, then her back. She raised her legs to the bed and nestled beside him. He kissed her neck, then her ear as she moved closer.

  “We have to do something about you and John,” she said.

  “First thing we have to do is to put me up in a decent hotel.”

  She gave a low laugh. “Best I could come up with for the moment.”

  He kissed her cheek, her hair, and began running his hands up and down her back. “That okay?”

  “Helps.”

  “Good for what ails you after a long day at the office.” He rubbed harder.

  She moved closer, throwing a leg over him. “You bet.”

  “You know John?”

  She tensed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just had an impression.”

  “He’s taken me to dinner.”

  “More than once?”

  “Twice.”

  “Wow, Sabovik gets around.”

  She rose up, looking down to him. “Is it important?”

  “Depends.” He pulled her head down, kissing her fully on the mouth. She yielded, and with no urging rolled all the way atop him. Running his hands up and down, he found the front of her robe and slipped a hand inside, finding her belly, then her breast. They kissed again, fuller, more deeply, urgently.

  “Mike,” she murmured.

  The kitchen light snapped on. Light knifed through the doorway and into Donovan’s eyes as if it were a sword. The light also fell on Blackie, who lay in his spot in the corner. He raised his head and looked at the doorway, his tail thumping on the floor.

  “Damn,” Diane muttered. She rolled off, crouching in the opposite corner.

  “It’s okay, Blackie. Shhhh...” A hand reached in and silently pulled the door closed with a click.

  She came to his side and kissed him. “Daddy must have worked late. Thought he was already in bed.”

  “He’s after your meat loaf.”

  She kissed him again. “Gotta go, Mike. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I hope so.” Donovan’s heart was beating fast. Her scent was there and he ran his hands though her hair. Phenomenal. He stretched and exhaled, trying to relax.

  “What don’t you crawl under the sheet and wait until he leaves?”

  “Mike, Dammit…”

  He kissed her hard.

  “... gotta go.” She slipped away and moved to the foot of the bed. Raising the window all the way, she said, “Haven’t done this in years.” Her teeth flashed with a wide grin. “Did this when Ralphie and I were kids.” Easing up the window, she crawled out.

  She reached back in and tapped Donovan on the foot. “I’ll fix you breakfast. Sleep well.” Then she was gone.

  With a graceful leap, Blackie was after her. Moments later, he gave a short bark.

  “Blackie, dammit, shhhhh.” Leaves rustled as Diane scrambled a tree limb up to her bedroom window directly above.

  Moments later, the pitch-black apparition leaped back through the window. He walked over to his bed, spun around twice, then settled down and exhaled with a groan.

  The floorboards creaked softly above and Donovan whispered “Thank you” to the ceiling.

  In a way, Walt Logan’s interruption was providential. The way he felt, he didn’t think he could consummate an act of love; he’d been so overwhelmed with the memory of that damn night two years ago. Even now, it flashed before him again, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep. But then the lovemaking had taken his mind off it. Diane had seemed willing and he was still breathing hard.

  “Thank you,” he said again.

  The refrigerator door closed softly in the kitchen. A plate clanked in the sink. Walt Logan belched, and the light under the door blinked off. Feet shuffled off to the stairs
.

  Donovan lay back, his hands laced behind his head. A warm zephyr eased through the curtain and teased his nostrils with a combined scent of summer wheat and locomotive fuel oil. The floorboards again creaked above. And in the distance he heard a Mallet’s mournful whistle followed by, ch-chuff, ch-chuff, ch-chuff.

  “Thank you.”

  CH APTER TWENTY SIX

  25 August 1944

  Logan residence

  Roseville, California

  “A putrid odor wafted across Donovan’s face. His eyes snapped open.

  Blackie’s head was inches away, his tongue lolling to one side. “What have you been eating?” Donovan raised a hand to pet the dog.

  Blackie rose on his hind legs. His paws flopped on Donovan’s chest and he slobbered on his hand. “Easy, easy,” soothed Donovan. “Again, he whiffed the dog’s breath. “You need to brush more regularly.

  “Holy cow!” He checked his watch: 0927. He hadn’t slept this late in years. Donovan sat up, scratched, and stretched, seeing an envelope under his door. He reached to pick it up, seeing it written in her classic green ink.

  Mike

  Got a call. Back to the hospital. “ lot going on, I’m afraid, and we’re understaffed. I was supposed to be off today. I might be able to spin away for lunch. Does that sound all right?

  XO XO

  Diane

  “That sounds just fine,” he said wiggling into his t-shirt and trousers. His brow furrowed as he realized he was getting in deeper than he thought possible. But he didn’t want to make any decisions yet, and he knew she didn’t, either – they’d spent so little time together.

  Then the grim thought came to him that war forces decisions. In a way, that makes it easier than civilian life, when you have all the time in the world. In wartime, you decide – right or wrong – and go on. No fooling around. But in another sense, quick decisions were the bane of the serviceman. Like getting engaged or going all the way with marriage. She’d already lost one guy over Bougainville.

  “Absently, he reached to his B-4 bag and unzipped a compartment. He found Carmen Rossi’s engagement and wedding rings and drew them out. The diamond’s facets glittered brilliantly in the morning light. Was it providence that Carmen gave him these just a short time ago? Stupid, Mike. Hell, they’d only known each other three weeks. He lay the rings on the bedside stand, took Blackie’s head in both hands, and rubbed the dog’s ears. “What do you think, big boy?”

  Blackie’s eyes closed as Donovan rubbed.

  “Come on, tell me.”

  The black Labrador groaned appreciatively.

  “Hi!” Diane plopped her arms on the windowsill and leaned in.

  “Ah. You startled me. Good morning.”

  Warm sunlight glistened on her auburn hair. She looked gorgeous. “Haven’t seen you since last–”

  “Ahh, yes. You just getting up?”

  “About time, don’t you think?”

  Blackie barked.

  Someone knocked. “Good morning!” Walt Logan’s muffled voice came through the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Might as well. Seems like a town meeting,” Diane called into the room.

  Walt Logan eased the door open and walked in. “Well, hello, Miss Nightingale,” he called to the window. “What brings you back?”

  “Forgot my glasses,” said Diane.

  Donovan’s heart jumped. Her glasses lay on the bedside stand, and Walt hadn’t seen them yet. And the damn wedding rings were there, too. Fortunately, they were on the other side of the lamp, out of her sight. He jumped to his feet and stood before the bedside stand. “Morning Walt.”

  Blackie barked again.

  Walt leaned over. “What’s into you, old fella? Didn’t I hear you last night?” As he bent to rub the dog’s ears, Donovan glanced at Diane, seeing her redden for a moment. Blackie slobbered Walt’s hand and wagged his tail. “You ready for some water, boy?” asked Walt.

  Blackie’s tail beat faster.

  “How ‘bout some coffee, Mike?” asked Walt.

  “Sounds great.” Casually, Donovan eased close to the table, reached down, and grabbed Diane’s glasses. He held them out behind him toward the window.

  She snatched them away.

  With a bark, Blackie rose on his hind feet and thrust his paws on Walt’s chest, his tail wagging in great sweeps.

  “Dammit, Blackie. Diane, why can’t you train this dog?” asked Walt.

  “He’s Ralphie’s,” she called back. “I have to go upstairs.” Diane stepped away.

  “Down, Blackie,” called Logan, pushing the dog away. Blackie’s tail wagged vigorously as he turned to follow Logan. Just then his tail swept across the bedside stand. The lamp, Donovan’s watch, loose change, an ornate Southern Pacific Railroad coaster, and everything else went flying through space and hit the floor with a clatter.

  “Dammit,” cursed Logan.

  Lowering his head and tail, Blackie slinked to the corner and sat.

  “It’s okay,” said Donovan. He and Logan dropped to their knees.

  “We all right?” Diane poked her head through the door.

  “Damn mutt is like a gorilla in a dentist’s office,” said Logan, picking up the lamp.

  Donovan’s heart jumped in his chest. Before him lay Carmen Rossi’s rings. Looking quickly from side to side, he realized they hadn’t seen them.

  Yet.

  He grabbed at them, fumbled a grip on the wedding ring, and stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Anything else?” asked Walt, looking around.

  “Nope.” With his forefinger, Donovan quickly flicked the engagement ring under the bed, where it bounced off the wooden molding with a light ‘ting.’

  Later.

  “Bull in a china shop,” corrected Diane. Behind Logan’s back, she winked and flashed her glasses to Donovan. “Be right back.” She ran down the hall and up the stairs.

  Logan put the lamp back on the table and snapped on the light. “Working okay. No harm done. Got your stuff?”

  “No harm done,” said Donovan. He leaned back and pet the dog. “Good boy.”

  Once again, Blackie’s tail thumped proudly.

  Diane clattered down the stairs. “Found ’em,” she called, holding up her glasses.

  Walt said, “First time that’s ever happened. Usually, they disappear for days, if not weeks.”

  * * * * *

  Donovan walked her to the door. “See you for lunch?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t go out.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He took her hand. “Okay, I’ll wait till dinner.”

  “No, lunch is fine, but I have to stay at the hospital.” She tapped a finger on his nose. “I’ll treat you to one of our cafeteria sandwiches.”

  Donovan’s stomach rumbled at the thought of hospital food. “Maybe I better bring along Chinese food.”

  “Watch it, buddy. Roseville Community Hospital has a world-class selection of peanut butter. See you later.” She dashed out the door.

  * * * * *

  John Sabovik walked through the double doors and down the hospital corridor, a leather pouch under his arm. For the first time in weeks, he wore dress khakis with combination cap. It felt good not to be thumping around in heavy brogans, and be clean for a change. He didn’t smell like a combination of fuel oil, hydraulic fluid, and engine smoke. He didn’t know how the train crews stood it. The snow sheds, built to ward off avalanches in bitter winters, smelled terrible as one engine after another left its calling card. Even with the cab-forward locomotives there was still enough leftover smoke from other engines to make a man cough and hack for weeks. Once they had to stop in a tunnel and wait for half an hour. Sabovik thought he’d go crazy with the smoke.

  He found room 131 across from the nursing station. It was a private room with equipment for monitoring critically ill patients. Sabovik walked in, finding Nitro sitting up in bed, pillows braced behind his back, reading the S
acramento Bee. “ large dressing ran around his head, his arm was in a sling, his chest wrapped tightly. “Morning, jarhead. You ready to drop to the deck and give me fifty?”

  Nitro lay down the paper. “Not at the moment, sir.”

  Nitro’s crew cut stood tall, and his eyes were as round and blue and intelligent as Sabovik could remember. “How do you feel?”

  “My head’s fine. Everything seemed to kick in this morning. It’s my damn chest that’s killing me. Hurts to breathe. I can only sit a certain way, like this. They’re going to put a cast on my arm today.”

  “It’ll only hurt when you itch.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Sabovik set the pouch on a bedside stand. “Our mail.”

  “Okay.” With a grimace, Nitro reached for the pouch.

  “In a second, Nitro. First, can you tell me what happened?”

  “I wish I could. It all happened so fast.”

  “Do your best.”

  Nitro sat back and arranged himself. “Well, I jumped from the engine and watched as the cars went by. One car zipped past and, damn, the door was open, just as I thought. So I jumped aboard.”

  “Which one?”

  “Forgot to get the number. It must have been ten or twelve back.”

  “I’ll check the manifest. Then what?”

  “Hell, it was dark. I reached for my flashlight, but something conked me. Next thing I know, I’m spitting up water on a riverbank.”

  “How’d you get there?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Do you think someone pushed you?”

  “Don’t know. But then, thinking about it, I don’t see how it could have happened otherwise.” Nitro scratched and looked up. “Where did you find me?”

  Sabovik told him, then asked, “What else?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Come on, Captain, you should have–”

  “Good morning, everyone.” Diane Logan walked in and headed for the foot of the bed, pulling the chart.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” said Nitro. “I see you found your glasses.”

  “Umm. Enough to see you’re doing pretty well.” She walked over and picked up his wrist, taking his pulse.