by C T Glatte
They were halfway through shoveling huge mouthfuls when a screeching wail interrupted them. The entire room went silent as men stopped eating and focused on the awful noise. Someone yelled, “Air-raid, take cover!”
Jimmy looked to Hank with his mouth overflowing with eggs. Hank sprang off the bench grabbing a handful of Jimmy’s uniform, “Come on! We gotta get to cover.”
Jimmy swallowed and jumped to keep up with Hank. A half second later the hall was filled with soldiers all moving to the exits at once. The flow quickly slowed as they bottlenecked. There was panicked shouting and Jimmy felt someone shove him hard in the back. He stumbled and almost went down. Fear coursed through him as he realized that falling would probably end with him being trampled to death. He concentrated on staying upright.
Jimmy felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. It was followed seconds later with a rolling thunder clap. There was an instant of stunned silence then the mayhem increased tenfold. Jimmy felt the air being pushed from his lungs and thought he might pass out at any moment.
The pressure suddenly lifted and he felt the crowd dispersing. He noticed the heavy denim tent wall had been slit and soldiers were streaming through the gaping hole. He couldn’t find Hank but he yelled anyway, “Hank, over here.” Jimmy didn’t wait for his friend, but veered to the right toward the much wider exit. Another blast shook the ground and he realized it was much closer. He surged through the tent wall and took in the scene of mayhem. Soldiers with wild eyes were everywhere. Men darting here and there without any idea where safety was.
Another blast and this time Jimmy saw the explosion ripping through barrack tents on the outer edge of camp. He heard the yammering of a machine gun coming from somewhere within the camp. He remembered seeing a couple sandbagged enclosures with mounted .50 caliber machine guns and figured that’s what he was hearing.
He veered away from the blast and followed a group of soldiers running as though they were qualifying for the Olympic one-hundred-yard dash. He kept up easily.
There was a shrieking coming from the sky. He turned his head and saw a black aircraft slicing toward him. He hadn’t seen many airplanes in his small town, but the ones he had seen were nothing like this and never this low. He thought it might hit him with it’s big front propeller. He dove to the right as the fighter unleashed the six guns. He felt the air around him come alive with angry snaps. The ground erupted with geysers of dirt and gravel and he waited to die.
The plane zipped past with a roar and he realized he was still alive. He lifted his head and dirt and chunks of debris filtered through his hair. The men he’d been following were simply gone. He saw parts of them scattered around the road, but couldn’t discern one from another. There were steaming holes and craters along the road as if it had been recently and haphazardly plowed.
He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward on shaky legs. He heard someone yelling from his right and saw a group of men hunkered in a slit trench he hadn’t noticed before. They were motioning frantically. He adjusted course and felt his legs steady beneath him. They carried him to the trench as if on autopilot.
When he was close, a soldier reached up and pulled him into the trench and he hit the bottom and felt the wind leave his lungs. He lay on his back, gasping for breath. There was another great thump and the dirt sides of the trench crumbled and bits of it fell onto his face. He watched as dark clouds of debris filled the small portion of sky he could see. He closed his eyes waiting for the end.
As quickly as it started, it stopped. The hammering of bombs and machine guns was replaced with the moans and screams of wounded soldiers. He felt someone shaking his shoulder, “You okay?”
Jimmy opened his eyes to slits. He nodded and felt bits of dirt roll down his cheeks and tickle his ears. He sat up. “Yeah, I think so. I’m okay.”
The soldier gave him his hand and helped him to his feet. “The way you were laying there, thought you were a goner.”
Jimmy brushed the dirt off. “Thought I was too.” The other soldiers were hoisting themselves out of the trench and helping one another to their feet. Jimmy took the grimy hand of a soldier and came out of the trench. He looked to the sky.
“Don’t worry, they’re gone,” said the soldier.
Jimmy asked, “How do you know?” The soldier shrugged and jogged away. Jimmy looked at the devastation around him. There were plumes of smoke graying the morning’s blue sky. He looked back to the road he’d been on and saw remains of the soldiers. There were other soldiers crouched around them, checking for survivors. Jimmy knew they wouldn’t find any. Hank, I’ve gotta find Hank.
He looked around frantically but didn’t recognize any of the other men. He oriented himself and moved toward his barracks. The moans and screams of the wounded were replaced with the incessant sirens of ambulances. Men scurried around like rats leaving a sinking ship. He looked at each man’s face, searching for his friend.
He finally got to the barracks. It was intact. In fact it looked as though nothing had happened and he briefly wondered if he’d dreamed it. He entered the tent and saw many men moving with purpose. Some were packing, others were already moving to the doors with their green bags slung over their shoulders. He heard a sergeant barking out orders, directing stunned men into action. Jimmy recognized him. He strode to him, “Sergeant Collins.”
The burly sergeant scowled at him and barked, “Get your shit together and move to the docks. We’re getting the hell outta here, Private.”
Jimmy asked, “Have you seen Private Gugliani, Sergeant?”
He shook his head. “Everthing’s a mess. Worry about yourself first. I’m sure he’ll turn up at the docks.” When Jimmy looked uncertain and didn’t immediately respond, Sgt. Collins barked, “Move it soldier, now!”
Jimmy jumped and moved off to his bunk. He noticed Hank’s bunk was as he’d left it. His gear and bag were neatly lying on the cot ready to go. He got his own gear ready, dragging his feet, hoping his friend would show up. With each passing minute he felt despair growing inside. He thought about the soldiers sprinting down the street and wondered if Hank was one of them. He shook his head trying to scrub the awful scene from his mind.
He lifted his duffel onto his shoulder and slung his M1 on his other shoulder. He took another look at Hank’s cot. Despair flooded him and he felt his knees weaken. He dropped his duffel and sat heavily on his bunk and rubbed his face.
“Hey, there you are!”
Jimmy snapped his head up and he bolted off the edge of the cot like he’d been zapped with electricity. “Hank, you’re okay!” He couldn’t help himself, he wrapped his friend in a bear hug and lifted him off the ground.
Hank shook himself loose and looked around the barracks in embarrassment. “Knock if off, Jimmy. Course I’m okay.” Jimmy’s smile covered his entire face. Hank’s smile faded, “Holy shit partner. That was something, wasn’t it?”
The smile disappeared from Jimmy’s face and he nodded. “Yeah, something.” He looked at the floor. “I thought I was a goner.” He shook his head. “There was a bunch of guys in front of me…“ he looked Hank in the eyes. “They - well they just got shredded. Like they went through a meat grinder.”
Hank put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay. Lets get the hell outta here before they come back.”
An hour later the chaos of the attack was behind them. Charlie Company, along with every other company in the division was lined up awaiting their turn to load the troop transports.
When they’d first arrived Jimmy flinched and nearly ran for cover when he heard, then saw the outline of distant planes in the blue sky. Sergeant Campbell noticed the troops looking sheepish and barked, “Relax men, those are ours. They’ll keep those nasty commie bastards off us.” The troops relaxed, but they all memorized where the nearest slit trenches were located.
Jimmy leaned close to Hank. “Where you think those red fighters came from? I mean they couldn’t come all the way from Russia.”
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Hank shrugged, “I heard guys talking about aircraft carriers, but who the hell knows. They don’t share that stuff with me, you know.”
“I’ll just be glad to get on the boat and get away from here.”
Hank shook his head. “Shit, we’ll be an even easier target then.”
Jimmy didn’t have an immediate response. The thought of being attacked from the air while cooped up below the decks of a ship suddenly hit him and his face blanched white. He slapped his rifle. “At least we can shoot back now.”
Hank nodded, “Nice of them to finally give us ammo.” He motioned to the left. “And they’ve beefed up the anti-aircraft.”
Jimmy noticed the twenty-millimeter cannon with it’s four barrels pointed skyward. The four men manning it kept their eyes up, searching for enemy aircraft. Jimmy scanned the area and saw another three scattered around the docks. He supposed there were even more he couldn’t see. “Wish they’d been set-up a couple hours ago.”
Hank spit a stream of tobacco juice that spattered the oiled wood of the pier. “They definitely weren’t expecting an attack.”
A soldier in front of them, Private Wilkinson added, “It’s surreal isn’t it? They attacked our country. Really makes it real, you know?”
Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The government’s been stressing the danger for years but it seemed like they were just being paranoid. Trying to scare us out of the depression. But they were right all along.”
An order bellowed from a sergeant with a bullhorn. “Mount up Charlie Company.”
They shuffled forward, the lines of men splitting into lanes as they moved up the single file gangplank. Jimmy stepped onto the metal deck of the large transport. Like everything the military had, it looked new and well made.
Since the Scalps first came down from their ship, the United States had passed unanimous legislation to make it easy and profitable for private companies to work with the government producing war material. Automobile companies pumped out military vehicles rather than civilian cars. Armorers switched from deer hunting rifles and shotguns to M1s and Thompson submachine guns. Shipping produced war ships and troop transports rather than liners. The country had been preparing for war for the past ten years and most workers had forgotten the trials and tribulations of the Great Depression. Men like Jimmy’s father made a fortune as middle managers of these companies.
Before going below decks, Jimmy noticed that even the transports had anti-aircraft units scanning the skies. He hoped it would be enough to keep them safe.
Six
Ensign Rex Crandall read the report about the attack on Bellingham harbor in dismay. First-hand accounts were gruesome. Some fifty casualties with over half of them killed outright. He knew his son, Jimmy was in the division up there and he nervously read the names of the casualties. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he got to the end of the list and didn’t see Jimmy’s name. He didn’t know what he’d do if his son was killed.
He sifted through reports trying to figure out where the damned Russians had come from. He finally read a report from a fishing boat off the Washington Coast. The captain reported to a Coast Guard station that he’d seen a flight of at least ten aircraft he couldn’t identify. He’d been cruising half a mile off the coast. Rex looked at the time it was reported and realized it had to be the Russian fighters.
With the document in hand he stood and looked around at the other naval officers sifting through documents. The Ensign beside him asked, “Find something?” Harry Pako had worked in the same construction company as Rex before being called up. They’d been through the same whirlwind over the past six months that took them from a comfortable living and fancy suits to the Navy and wearing drab tan every damned day.
Rex held up the report, “I think so.” He smiled at his friend as he walked toward the office of his superior. Harry watched his progress. Rex stopped outside the office where an Army sergeant saluted. Rex still wasn’t used to being saluted and gave him a haphazard flick of his hand. “I need to see the Lieutenant Commander.”
The sergeant nodded and lifted the phone. He looked at Rex’s nameplate on the left of his uniform. “Sorry, sir. I have an Ensign Crandall here to see you.” He listened, then nodded his head. “Go right in, sir.”
Rex strode past without a second glance. He opened the door and stepped into the room. It was nothing special. The most notable feature a heavy, cherry-wood desk. The walls were sparse, the only artwork a picture of President Roosevelt. Behind the desk sat Lieutenant Commander Joe LaVoy. He didn’t look up and Rex had a great view of his bald pate surrounded by a ring of hair. It reminded him of an island surrounded by a hairy sea.
The lieutenant commander finished writing then looked up. He had dark bags beneath his brown eyes and his mouth seemed to be in a perpetual frown. “What have you got, Ensign…“
He strained to see his nameplate. Rex filled in the blank, “Crandall, sir.”
Commander LaVoy leaned back in his chair. “You worked for Meyer and Stein Construction, is that correct?”
Rex nodded. “Yes, sir. Up until six months ago.”
He started to hold up the report but LaVoy continued, “How you finding military life? Quite a change from your cushy life before, no doubt.”
Rex knew the men who’d made the military their career, looked down upon this new influx of recruits. “It’s a change, but I’m happy to do my part, sir.”
The Commander nodded and leaned forward. “What’ve you got?” Rex handed the paper across the large desk and LaVoy adjusted his glasses and scanned through it. “A report from the Coast Guard?”
“Yes, sir. I think the captain of the fishing boat must’ve seen those Russian fighters that hit Bellingham. The timing’s correct and they were heading in the direction of the mainland, which means their carrier must be somewhere in that vicinity. Or at least it was.”
Commander LaVoy put the paper on the pile of others scattered around his desk. “So?”
Rex couldn’t keep the scowl from his face. “So, it helps narrow the scope of where the carrier is.”
Commander LaVoy shrugged. “We’re not sure there is a carrier, Ensign.”
Rex couldn’t keep the disdain from his voice. “There’s no land based fighter aircraft that could’ve hit our troops.”
“They were probably bombers. They can make the trip. Hell, they probably came from Alaska.”
“All first-hand accounts from men on the ground said they were fighters. They don’t have those kinds of fuel reserves.”
LaVoy scowled at him and when there was nothing else he uttered, “Sir. You forgot to say, sir.”
Rex felt the heat rising to his face, but he remained calm and said, “Sir.”
LaVoy stood and came from behind his desk. Rex was reminded how short the man was. Sitting in his chair, he looked like an average sized man, but when he stood, he was barely 5’2”. Rex realized he must boost his chair and he wondered if he had to jump to get back into it. The thought made him grin slightly. LaVoy stood in front of him with his hands clasped behind his back. “The fact is, Ensign, we don’t know what the Russians have and don’t have. Reports from the front lines tell of machines and guns we’ve never faced. The Korth obviously boosted their weapons with alien tech. Who’s to say what their fighters range is? We simply don’t know.”
Rex braced and stared straight ahead. “Sir, I was told to look for signs of an enemy carrier and I think this report helps pinpoint their whereabouts…if it exists that is.”
Lieutenant Commander Lavoy nodded and went back behind his desk. Rex watched him hop and scootch himself to the back of the chair. LaVoy lifted the report and read it again. “I’ll pass this up the chain of command, Ensign.” He looked over the top of his glasses, “dismissed.”
Rex braced and spun on his heel and left the room. He nodded at the sergeant as he passed and went back to his desk. Ensign Pako asked, “Well? What happened?”
Rex shook his head. “I’m worried.” He leaned forward and whispered. “If all the upper brass is like that guy? We’re truly fucked.”
A couple days later, Rex and Harry finished their day of sifting through endless reports. They left the compound building and made their way to the bus stop. Each of them owned an automobile, but burning precious gasoline for something as frivolous as driving to and from work was frowned upon. So, they rode the bus.
The Summer weather was gone, replaced with Fall’s instability. Along the Washington Coast that meant intermittent showers which could be gentle or torrential. Rex and Harry huddled beneath the crowded bus stop shelter along with other Navy men. They had umbrellas, but they’d arrived early and were lucky to get covered seats.
The Navy offered small residences as part of their jobs, but the thought of sharing a small space with up to four other officers wasn’t high on their list. So, they’d chosen to go in on an apartment in town. South Bend wasn’t a large town, but it was far enough off base to give them a feel of normalcy. Harry was a bachelor, never having a girlfriend for longer than a month. He liked it like that and Rex had to ask him to curtail his incessant late nights so he could get some sleep. There seemed to be no end to the flow of women.
Rex’s wife remained in Oregon. Rex thought it would be easier on her since she had a good core of friends and family to rely on. Being in South Bend would be like starting over for her, and he didn’t think she’d adjust well. Besides that, he liked his house in Oregon and the thought of selling it made him almost ill. It was where he would retire one day. He missed his wife, Miriam and wrote her once a week, but his relationship with her was based more on convenience than any sort of true love. They were compatible and had the same goals, but their relationship was never about passion. That was fine with Rex, he didn’t consider himself a passionate man, except when it came to making money.
