“Beating fast for you, honey,” said Nitro.
“Watch this.” She ran her fountain pen toward his eyes, twice, then felt his forehead.
“You wanna go to the movies tonight?” asked Nitro.
She took a final look, then said, “They’ll be over for you this afternoon to cast the arm.” She looked at Sabovik. “You’re looking fine this morning, Commander. You look like a real navy officer for a change. My, look at all those ribbons. What’s that one for?” She pointed to a ribbon with a star.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” said Sabovik.
“Come on,” said Diane. “That indicates you were in combat, doesn’t it?”
“Nope, got it at the YMCA,” said Sabovik. “It’s for second place in the hundred-yard dash in high school.”
“Nonsense,” said Diane.
“Nonsense is right,” said Nitro. “It’s an action ribbon for the battle of Tassaforonga Point. The commander here put his butt on the line, protecting our Marines on Guadalcanal.”
“That’s enough, Captain,” snapped Sabovik.
It grew quiet. Diane said, “I’ll be across the hall if you need me.” Her eyes fell on Nitro. “You’re looking much better. We’ll probably discharge you tomorrow or the next day.” She walked out.
“Thanks,” Nitro called after her. “How ’bout that movie?” When she was out of earshot he gave Sabovik a sour look.
Sabovik’s head dropped. “Sorry, I just don’t like to talk about it.”
“Someday you should.”
Sabovik opened the pouch. “A bunch of stuff here for you.” He sniffed. “Weeeoou! You have a girlfriend?” He checked an envelope, then tossed it over. “It’s from Shirley McCann. Here’s another. And another, and…” He tossed over five more envelopes. “Geez, Nitro, all this from Shirley McCann. What would she say if she heard you talking to the good doctor like that?”
“Shirley?” Nitro grabbed the envelopes and sorted them by postmark. “Excuse me,” he ripped into the first.
There were two envelopes for Sabovik. One from a bill collector, another from his mother, dated two days ago. Unusual. His mother and father were Bulgarian immigrants. Her English was poor. He ripped open the envelope, finding her scrawl on a single lined page. “My God!”
Nitro looked up. “You okay?”
“It’s my dad.” Sabovik quickly walked to the room across the hall. Diane was bent over a tub of metal charts. “Favor?” he asked.
She looked up. “Sure.”
“I need to get a long-distance line to the San Fernando Valley.”
“Anything wrong?”
“My dad. He had another heart attack.”
She grabbed his hand. “In here.” She walked into a small room and picked up the phone. “After some strident words with the operator, she handed it to Sabovik. “Here. Give Reba the number. She can get you a line.”
Sabovik stammered out the number and the switchboard operator did her magic. “ distant phone rang an anemic tone. “Allo?”
The metallic voice sounded like a women, but that was all he could tell. “Hello, hello, who’s this?” demanded Sabovik.
“Allo? Allo? Is Johann?”
His heart sank. It was the voice of Stella Rahmmer, the next-door neighbor. “Yes, this is John.” He hated it when his parents called him Johann. “Stella?”
“Yes, yes,” Stella said. “John, your mother not here.”
“Where is she?”
Static ranged on the line. It was almost as if someone were tuning a vacuum tube radio. “Stella?” he demanded.
“Your mother... she’s at... the funeral parlor.”
Sabovik sat heavily. “What for?”
“Johann, I’m sorry,” bawled Stella. “Pappa Saboviks. He no more. His heart gave out.”
“No!”
Diane’s hand went to his shoulder.
“You should call her there.” She rattled off some numbers.
Sabovik wrote and then asked, “What happened?”
“Last week they were at the movies, he just keeled over. … God has him now, Johann. I’m so sorry. First “Alexander, now Constantine. Two fine Saboviks.”
“Oh, God.” Sabovik rested his head in his hand.
“They’re together, now, little “Alex and Constantine,” said Stella tearfully. “They are with God.”
Words didn’t come. Finally Sabovik said, “Thanks, Stella. I’ll call Mom at the funeral parlor.”
Stella repeated the number then said, “Well, good-bye.” She hung up.
“Ahh.” Sabovik carefully cradled the phone and stood. “Thanks, Diane.” After a moment, he let out a sob.
“John, what is it?”
“My pop... he’s gone... “ He snapped his fingers. “Gone.”
“What happened?”
“His heart. Not the first time.”
“I’m so sorry,” she soothed, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s okay.”
Tears ran as he held her close. “First Tiny. Now Pop. What the hell’s going on?” he said bitterly.
“You have your mom.”
“That’s about it.” He gave another sob and buried his head in her shoulder.
“It’s okay, John. You want me to give you something?”
“Just another minute or two.”
“All the time you want.”
* * * * *
“An impatient Donovan asked a nurse and learned Diane had been headed for room 131, just around the corner. He walked to the room and looked in, seeing Nitro intently involved with a letter. Then he heard a mournful sob across the hall. The voice was familiar. Walking to the nurses’ station, he leaned around and peeked in the anteroom. They were embracing, their arms wrapped around each other. Sabovik’s face was buried in her shoulder. Diane’s face was turned toward him, her eyes closed.
A nurse walked over, closed the door softly, and gave Donovan a shame-on-you look.
“Sonofabitch,” he said incredulously.
The nurse walked up and said sternly, “Can I help you?”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Sir?”
“What a sap. I thought I knew better.” Donovan walked away.
CH APTER TWENTY SEVEN
28 August, 1944
USS Matthew (DD 548)
Mare Island Naval Shipyard
Mare Island, California
The morning dawned dim and gray on the Mare Island Naval Shipyard, where the engines of war continued their round-the-clock frenetic pitch. Switcher engines chugged alongside ships, pushing boxcars of deadly cargo; trucks rumbled, blasting their horns, angry sailors jumping out of the way; giant spidery cranes lifted everything from peloruse’s, to new five-inch gun barrels, to dry stores, to medical supplies, to crypto machines, to pallet loads of fresh bedding. Incongruous to the mood were the strains of America the Beautiful, as a new Balao class submarine slid down the ways into the fifty-one-degree waters of San Francisco Bay, sailors, shipyard workers, and civilians cheering as she went.
Activity aboard the Matthew was no different. With orders to sail the coming Friday, her sailors dashed fixing last minute disasters while others tied down gear for rough seas while still others tested equipment.
That was one of Donovan’s concerns: making sure everything worked. That’s why he’d called a department head meeting in the wardroom today and was chewing on them, one at a time. For the moment, it was gunnery officer Cliff Merryweather’s turn.
“I don’t know, sir, I mean I thought our shooting last week was pretty good, considering,” claimed Merryweather.
Donovan shot back, “Considering what?”
Looking at Kruger, Merryweather gave a lopsided grin and said, “Well, that’s kind of obvious, sir. The fact that we haven’t been operational for the past two months has taken our edge off. With time, we’ll be able to–”
“That’s not enough, dammit,” interrupted Donovan. He jabbed a forefinger at the green baize tablecloth. “We weren’t registering
hits close to the sled. The interval was horrible, an average of seven seconds. And I have to think the director is out of alignment.”
“But we aligned it two months ago. I mean the yard birds– “
“Don’t trust the yard birds, Lieutenant. The Japs won’t be shooting at them. They’ll be shooting at us. You specifically. And with your battle station on the flybridge, you’ll be the first to tell us all about what’s coming our way.”
Merryweather sat back and folded his arms.
Donovan sipped coffee and said, “I want a full battery alignment. And I want the computers checked as well, especially the mark 1. Also, I want to see your gun crews exercising on the loading machine each morning and each afternoon.”
Merryweather’s jaw dropped. “But Captain, this is our–”
“Our what?”
“Well, sir, our last week in the US”. My boys would like to spend some time ashore, if possible,” pleaded Merryweather.
Donovan shook his head slowly. “Unless you can guarantee me the battery will be fully aligned by the time we shove off next Friday, I’m putting the whole ship in hack.”
Corodini’s cup clanked loudly in the saucer. Kruger pushed his chair back.
“No liberty before we shove off?” sputtered Hammond.
“Mr. Hammond, do you want to meet the Japs with one hand tied behind your back?”
“No, sir.”
“Which reminds me, has the PRITAC transmitter been repaired?”
“Uh, tubes haven’t been delivered yet. And we’re still waiting on–”
“Mr. Hammond. I’m not interested in excuses. Didn’t you learn anything the last time we went through this?” Donovan waited until Kruger lit a cigarette and said, “Give the order.”
Kruger gave a long exhale. “Sir?”
“Battery alignment. Spare parts.” Donovan gave Corodini a look. “And the superheaters crap out every time we punch them up. Well, I want a stop to this. We have to train for what’s out there. And we can’t train with a sick ship. We must have things working. So therefore, Mr. Kruger, liberty is canceled until further notice.”
There was a stunned silence in the wardroom. Kruger’s eyes flicked to Al Corodini. His wife had delivered a baby girl Saturday morning and Corodini had proudly shown a picture. The chief engineer studied his coffee cup, his ears red. Merryweather looked at Donovan in shocked silence. Hammond simply glared.
“Mr. Corodini?” said Donovan.
“Yes, sir?”
“Are those superheaters working properly now?”
“Captain, we’ve had all four boilers up since last Saturday night. Superheaters are cutting in just fine. And we’re running down vibration hazards.”
“Very well. Congratulations on your baby.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
The morning was still cold. To Donovan it felt colder in here. And that suited him just fine. “Any more questions, gentlemen?” He made to push away.
“Yes sir,” said Howard Sloan, the supply officer.
Donovan raised his eyebrows.
“I’ll take the flak, Captain for the radio parts. They’ve been giving us the short shrift again at the supply depot, and, well, we’ll send over the goon squad again.”
Hammond gave Sloan a thank you look.
“See that you do.” Again, Donovan made to rise.
“And Captain,” said Sloan. He whipped off gold-rimmed glasses and ruffled through a bundle of supply requisitions. “There has to be a mistake on this chit.” He handed it over. “It was signed by you.”
Donovan examined it, nodded, and handed the chit back. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“I don’t understand, Captain. Why do we need all those hundred-pound bags of salt?” Sloan held up the chit. “Twenty-five of them?”
“Blood, Mr. Sloan,” said Donovan.
“Sir?”
“Mr. Sloan, the human body is a closed system. But when it’s penetrated with something like a bullet or shrapnel, it leaks, oftentimes profusely. But we still have to fight Japs while the battle goes on. That means continuing to man our stations on bloody decks. Those decks often become very slippery and we need something to quickly absorb the blood so we can maintain our footing.” He paused for a moment. “I want a bag of salt in each gun mount, one on each wing of the bridge, two in CIC, one in radio central, three of them right here, one in main battery plot and…” He looked into their shocked faces. “You get the idea.
“This is why we’re staying aboard tonight, gentlemen, so that we can properly fight this ship,” said Donovan. “As destroyermen, we’re the ones with our necks stuck out. If you haven’t thought about it, it’s not just our job, it’s our heritage. So make no mistake, I do intend to go in harm’s way.”
He stood. “That’s all.” Donovan walked out of the wardroom.
* * * * *
Donovan walked down the passageway and turned into his day cabin, closing the door. His in-basket was over the rim with official business, and he groaned, realizing he wouldn’t be able to sneak a nap today.
There was a loud rap at the door. He checked his watch and then called, “Enter.”
Kruger walked in and closed the door.
“Have a seat, Richard.”
Kruger stood at attention, his eyes fixed in the distance. “No, thank you, sir.”
“Sit down, dammit,” Donovan snapped.
Kruger gave him a look and took a chair saying, “I don’t know how to put this, but has anything happened to you?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You seem on edge.”
“I am.”
Kruger sat back and folded his arms.
“I’m serious, Richard. These guys think this is a country club. Wait till they get out there. Hell, you know what it’s like.”
“Yes, I do, but that’s not going to help.”
“Spit it out, Richard,” asked Donovan.
“They want transfers.”
“Who?”
“Your four department heads, that’s who.”
“How about you?” Donovan began leafing through his mail. He found two envelopes from his mother. There was another flimsy letter with an “PO address stamped six weeks ago. The return address read CAPT. PATRICK DONOVAN, USAAF. His younger brother Pat was with the Eighth Air Force in England, flying P-51s.
“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” said Kruger.
“Well, you’re almost out of time, Commander. We sail, in case you’ve forgotten, on Friday.” Three more envelopes were junk mail. He pitched them in the wastebasket. “Well?”
Kruger leaned forward. “Mike... Captain. I’ll ask again. Anything on your mind? You really seem different this week.”
Donovan shook his head.
Kruger said, “What I’m trying to say is that these kids are going to war. They may not be coming back. How ’bout a break?”
There was one more envelope. A smallish one addressed in green ink and stamped SPECIAL DELIVERY. His heart jumped and he drew a breath.
“Captain? You okay?”
Donovan flipped the letter in the wastebasket.
Kruger’s brow furrowed.
“Junk mail. I’m okay.” Donovan said. “Like you, I realize they’re going to war, Mr. Kruger. But I think you’ve failed to take something into account. You say they may not be coming back. Well, sir, it’s our job to make sure they do come back. You and me. And the only way we’re going to be able to accomplish this is to have them ready to fight. To be ready for everything the Japs can throw at us. And it’s not going to be pretty, is it?”
Kruger said, “No, it’s not going to be pretty. But hell, Mike, only four more nights before we shove off.”
After a pause, Donovan said, “There will be an exception.”
“Pardon?”
“Mr. Corodini. Let him go ashore to be with his wife and new baby.”
Kruger’s shoulders slumped. “I wish it were that easy.”
“What?”
/>
“He figured you would say that. He said that if his boys are in hack, then he stays in hack with them.”
The corners of Donovan’s mouth raised. “He said that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Sir?”
“He’s backing his boys. I like that. How long to process those transfer requests?”
Kruger rubbed his chin. “Ten to fourteen days.”
“Hell, we’ll be halfway to Ulithi by that time. Tell>em to go ahead and submit them.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Kruger stood and turned to go.
“How long will it take Merryweather to get the battery aligned?”
“They’re on it right now. They figure a good four to six hours.”
“Very well, let’s see how it goes. Check with me at 1530.”
Kruger was surprised. “Liberty? You mean it?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. And Richard?”
“Sir?”
“I want you to get the ship under way on Friday.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
* * * * *
“At first, Donovan had chided himself for finally granting liberty on Monday. He did it with misgivings, but was pleasantly surprised to see the men turn to and work with determination. By Tuesday evening, the battery had been aligned – properly, he hoped the computers tested and adjusted, magazine powder tested, the radio gear fixed, myriad spare parts boarded, and any other number of other tasks things required for their deployment. Things picked up on Wednesday with a challenge from the crew for a baseball game against the officers. The officers lost fourteen to six, but they staggered back to the ship, singing and full of beer. More significant, Donovan hadn’t received any requests for transfer from his department heads.
The only thing that marred the week was another letter addressed in green ink. Late in the evening, he just stared at it. An hour later, he threw it in the trash.
And now, Friday, they were ready. Instead of the usual morbid September overcast known to the Bay Area, the day dawned warm and sunny with a light wind. Quarters were held at 0700. Special sea detail was set at 0730, the officers wearing dress khakis, the crew in undress whites. After dismissal, Kruger climbed to the bridge, walked up to Donovan, and saluted. “All present and accounted for, Captain, ship ready for sea.”
A CALL TO COLORS: A NOVEL OF THE BATTLE OF LEYTE GULF Page 24
