The Passion And The Glory
Christopher Nicole
© Christopher Nicole 1989
Christopher Nicole has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1989 by Severn House Publishers Ltd.
This edition published in 2018 by Endeavour Media Ltd.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 1
Annapolis and Malaya — 1941
The music stopped, there was a round of gentle applause, and the couples left the floor, the blue uniforms of the midshipmen, dotted with glints of gold braid, contrasting pleasantly with the brighter colours of their partners’ dresses, the bare shoulders and upswept hair worn by most of the girls.
The hall itself was high-ceilinged and wide, draped with flags and bunting. It was an ordinary Saturday night dance, but at Annapolis, Maryland, every Saturday night dance was a special occasion.
Midshipman Walter McGann escorted Linda Brewster towards one of the huge windows which looked out at the river, hurrying on its way to debouch into Chesapeake Bay. He knew it was very cold out there — or he would have been tempted to suggest a walk. Linda Brewster had been growing on him for six months. She had dark brown hair, which, although it was currently upswept he knew was quite long — he had played tennis with her during the summer. Her face was crisp rather than soft, but she had splendid grey eyes and a wide mouth; it was a most kissable mouth — something else he had discovered last summer. Her figure was muscularly good when displayed in a tennis dress, and even more attractive in a shoulderless ball gown. And above all, she was tall, five feet ten inches in her socks.
That was very important, for Walt McGann, like all his famous family, was very tall indeed. He was the shortest of the current male generation, and he was six foot three. His brother Clive, and his father, both towered above him, just as he towered above most of his brother officers. He also possessed the craggily handsome features and the lank black hair which had been handed down from generation to generation: they could be found in the painting which hung in the lounge of the family home in Long Island, of his most famous ancestor, Fighting Harry McGann, who had sailed and fought with John Paul Jones against the British in the War of the Revolution, and had set a standard to which his descendants had always aspired. Yet the McGanns, including Fighting Harry, had more often than not married British wives; Walt was half English himself, and his brother was actually serving in the Royal Navy.
Lucky devil, he thought: Clive McGann had already seen a considerable amount of action.
‘Punch?’ he asked, as a waiter approached with a laden tray of various non-alcoholic fruit cocktails.
‘I’d love one,’ Linda said.
Walt secured two glasses, gave her one, touched it with his own. They had so far enjoyed an easy friendship. The kisses of last summer had not provided the launch into intimacy he had both hoped for and feared. Not because she hadn’t enjoyed them, he was sure. He was even sure she might have enjoyed a further mutual exploration of the senses. But he had been determined always to act the gentleman, and besides, he had been as much a virgin as she, had not really known how to go about it. Thus he had been content to let things take a natural course, had not been the least disturbed by the prospect of their temporary separation as Linda went to college in September.
He hadn’t allowed for the sophistication with which she would have come into contact. Even if it was a pseudo sophistication, she had yet left Annapolis a girl and come back a young woman. She had seemed as pleased as ever to see him, had willingly accepted dates … but he had discovered a certain barrier between them. She kissed more tentatively now, and he, reluctantly, had again postponed the idea of carrying their relationship any further for the time being.
Which made him want to extend that relationship more than ever.
Linda fanned herself. ‘I think they have the heating up too high,’ she remarked.
‘Yes. If it wasn’t so darned cold we could take a walk.’
She gazed at him; it was not a look he had ever noticed before.
‘There’s always the gallery,’ he said, suddenly breathless.
She put down her glass and got up. The music was starting again, and they might have been returning to the floor. Instead they walked round the dancers to the stairs, which led up to the gallery from which several people were looking down, and doing other things as well; it was a place of dimmed light and carefully observed privacy.
Taffeta rustled as Linda climbed the stairs, ankle length skirt raised a few inches in one hand, hips moving beneath the suddenly tightened material. Walt was aware of a very unusual feeling, an almost reluctant acceptance of the fact that, recent evidence notwithstanding, she was willing to be alone with him, as she had last summer. Perhaps his fears had been just fears. But now he had to consider just what he intended. They were both eighteen. Too young for marriage, too old for boy and girl flirtations.
She stood at the balustrade, looking down. ‘My father once said, that if you were to take away the music, while people went on dancing, you’d think it was the most stupid pastime in the world.’
Linda’s father, an attorney, was not the least difficulty to be considered. He stood behind her, and daringly put his arms round her waist, clasped them on her stomach. To his delight, she leaned back against him; his mouth rested on her hair. ‘I suppose you’re all booked up for Christmas,’ he said. The date was 6 December, 1941, and there was less than three weeks to go.
‘Not entirely,’ she said.
‘There’s a ball on Christmas Eve. How about it?’
‘I think I’d like that.’
‘And then there’s New Year’s Eve … ‘
‘I’d like that too.’
His hands moved up, touched the underside of her brassiere; she didn’t move. He felt about to burst, took his hands away, and slid them down her arms to her gloves, held one, and turned her. She gazed at him as he gently drew her into the shadows at the rear of the gallery, choosing his spot; several of the alcoves were already occupied. ‘I love you,’ he said. He didn’t know if he meant it or not, but he hoped he did.
She stood against him. ‘I … ‘ she licked her lips. ‘I wish we knew each other better.’
He was too unsophisticated to understand her meaning. ‘We’ve known each other for yonks,’ he said, and kissed her.
She responded, her tongue moving against his, her body moving against his, too. It was the longest, most passionate kiss of his life. He could not stop his hands moving down her back to her buttocks, but then again hastily took them away; he was about to become an officer and a gentleman. ‘Oh, heck,’ he said. ‘Linda, I want to marry you.’
She pulled her head back. ‘You can’t.’
‘Not for a while. But only a little while. I’m going to be commissioned in the spring.’
‘Ensigns can’t marry.’
‘They can get engaged.’
‘Whatever would your dad say?’
‘He’ll go for it. I know he will.’ Walt knew enough about the youth of Captain Lewis McGann to feel sure of that; Dad had been married at a very early age — owing to circumstances. ‘What about your folks?’
‘I … I guess they’d be happy,’ she said.
‘And you?’
&
nbsp; She gazed at him with that peculiar intentness she had. ‘Mrs Walter McGann,’ she said. ‘It’s such a famous name. You’d be at sea.’
‘A lot of the time,’ he agreed. ‘It’s the family tradition. But I’d be home often enough. If I was stationed at Pearl, like Dad, you could have a house out there, and I’d be home every weekend.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘Suppose there was a war.’
‘With Japan? There won’t be. No chance. They have more sense than to take us on. Maybe with Germany … but we’d just go in and clean it up, like we did the last time.’
‘Oh, Walt,’ she said. ‘If you were to be killed … ‘
‘McGanns seldom get killed,’ he promised her. ‘Will you marry me, Linda?’
She clung to him again, as if making sure he was really there. He felt even more he was about to burst, with a mixture of love and desire. But the desire could wait; this girl was going to be his wife. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘we’ll buy the ring.’
‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow is Sunday.’
He grinned. ‘Okay. We’ll buy the ring Monday. Tomorrow afternoon I’ll come and see your dad.’
*
‘Guess what,’ he remarked to Midshipman Tom Rigby, as they undressed. ‘I’m engaged.’
‘To the Brewster dame? I saw you canoodling on the balcony.’ Tom Rigby was short and stocky; the two had been roommates for the past year. ‘You screwed her?’
‘Of course I haven’t screwed her.’
‘Never marry a dame until you know what she’s like in bed,’ Tom said, sagely. ‘Heck, she mightn’t like it.’
‘Linda will like it,’ Walt asserted.
‘You got permission?’
‘Nope. I have to work on that, tomorrow.’ He lay down, stared into the darkness as Tom switched off the light. He was so exhilarated he knew he wasn’t going to sleep. And there was so much to be thought about. There was Dad, and there was the commandant — and there was old man Brewster. Dad should come first, simply because he carried the most weight. If Captain Lewis McGann approved, the commandant was unlikely to disapprove. And if the Navy approved, old man Brewster would hardly object. Yes, Dad first. He’d get on the phone to Honolulu first thing tomorrow morning. He was almost tempted to do it now; the time was three o’clock, so it would only be about ten in the Hawaiian Islands. But maybe Dad was in bed.
Anyway, what he really wanted to do was lie there and think of Linda, remember the feel of Linda. They had stayed in that alcove for twenty minutes, before she had had to flee to the Ladies’ to repair the damage to her lipstick. And her dress. He hadn’t been able to stop his hands roaming, had touched both her breasts and her bottom. But then, her hands had roamed as well. That was the sweetest memory of all, even if he had been surprised at it. He hadn’t known girls wanted to do that. Maybe not all of them did — it had been after touching the front of his pants that Linda had fled to the Ladies. But she would do it again, and once they were engaged, officially, there would be no need for her to flee anywhere.
He thought he was the happiest man on earth.
*
The next morning passed very slowly. There was church parade, and then a long empty morning. Walt attempted to study, the theory and practice of torpedoes. He had volunteered for the submarine service, simply because no other McGann had ever served beneath the sea, and he was terribly aware of the burden of posterity riding on his shoulders. His more than Clive’s, because Clive, due to the long estrangement between their father and mother, had been educated in England and had joined the Royal Navy. Clive was breaking new ground.
But he was following in a set pattern. His father had actually fought with the Royal Navy, at Jutland in 1916, as a very young volunteer. But as soon as the United States had entered the war, he had returned to join the Navy, had won the Congressional Medal of Honour for bringing his sinking ship to safety against tremendous odds, and now commanded the battleship Oregon. His grandfather, Joe McGann, who was still alive and living in the family home in Long Island, had fought at Santiago against the Spanish in 1898 — and had married the beautiful Cuban lady who had been Walt’s grandmother, and who had drowned on the Lusitania.
His great grandfather, Jerry McGann, had been with Farragut at Mobile Bay. His great great great grandfather, Toby McGann, had fought the British in 1812 and been with Stephen Decatur at Algiers in 1816. And Toby McGann’s father had been Fighting Harry McGann. One hundred and seventy years of naval tradition and glory, all now requiring him to advance it a stage further.
But what Dad was going to say to the idea of submarines didn’t bear consideration. Nor had he told Linda, as yet. First things first. Down to last night it had been none of Linda’s business. Today it was important to get the matter of their marriage sewn up first.
He kept one eye on his book and one on his watch, as the hour hand crept agonisingly on its way. Twelve o’clock. Seven in Hawaii. Dad would surely be awake by now. He closed the book, went to the telephone booths. They were all occupied and he had to wait ten minutes to find one empty.
‘A collect call to Pearl Harbour,’ the girl said. ‘Captain Lewis McGann. Hold the line.’
Walt waited, carefully phrasing what he intended to say. Something like, ‘Hi, Dad, how’re things? Say, I’ve met this gorgeous chick and … ‘ No, that didn’t sound the right approach at all. He had to be serious, reflective …
‘There are no lines available to Hawaii,’ the woman said. Her voice was strange.
‘No lines? At seven o’clock on a Sunday morning?’
‘No lines,’ she said, and closed the key.
‘For God’s sake!’ He gazed at the receiver for several seconds, contemplated trying again, then hung up and went outside. He hadn’t considered simple things like a telephonic breakdown. Maybe he should send a wire. But it was difficult to put things across in a wire, unless he was prepared to spend a fortune.
Maybe the lines would be open after lunch. He returned to his room, threw himself on his bed, feeling unutterably frustrated, and listened to a loud noise, composed mainly of people shouting. It was coming closer, ranging up and down the corridors. Walt sat up, gazed at the door as it burst open to admit Tom Rigby. ‘We’re at war!’ Tom gasped.
Walt stood up. ‘At war?’
‘With Japan. The bastards are attacking Pearl Harbour!’
*
No one seemed quite to know what to do. There was little information other than that the Japanese navy and air force had launched a pre-emptive strike on the American base at Pearl Harbour, and that there had been the most tremendous battle. The cadets clustered around wireless sets all afternoon, but information came in only very slowly. And all of it was bad. The battleship Arizona had blown up. The battleship Nevada had sunk. Then the battleship California. Then the Oklahoma. Then the West Virginia. And then the Oregon. Dad’s ship! Had he been on board? That possibility loomed even larger than the unacceptable fact that five battleships had been sunk in one morning; nothing like it had ever happened, in any war, since the building of the first ironclad.
Walt was nearly frantic with worry, kept trying to use the phone … but everyone else in America was using the phone. It was six o’clock before he remembered that he’d been due at the Brewsters at four. And at six o’clock they were all summoned before the commandant.
‘As of now, you are fighting sailors,’ the commandant said.
‘Apparently the Japs haven’t only struck at Pearl Harbour. They have also attacked the Philippines, British Malaya, and Hong Kong. We need every man and ship we have. The senior class will be assigned immediately. There will be no passing out parade. All leave is cancelled. This country is at war.’
The midshipmen were jubilant. Walt was less so; he wanted to fight as much as anyone, but the fact was that his father and stepmother were in Pearl, his sister was in Hong Kong, married to a British naval officer … and he had no idea where Clive was, but he suspected it was somewhere in the area. His brother was serving on
HMS Prince of Wales, one of the newest of Britain’s battleships, and in his last letter he had merely said he was off to the tropics. With an empire like the British, that could have meant anywhere in the world, but it hadn’t taken too much insight to guess that if the British, hard pressed everywhere, were sending a battleship to the tropics, it would be Singapore, as tension with Japan had been steadily mounting throughout the year.
No passes were being given, but Walt at last managed to get through on the phone to Linda.
‘Oh, Walt,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it terrible. What are you going to do?’
‘Well … I guess we’ll have to leave things as they are for the time being,’ he told her. ‘I’m being posted tomorrow.’
‘To go to sea?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Oh, Walt … when will I see you again?’
‘I have no idea. I’ll write. Listen, Linda, we’re engaged, right?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said.
‘Then it’ll all be okay. My first furlough, we’ll get married. No one is going to stop us, in a war.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Walt … take care and come back for that furlough.’
‘You can count on that. Linda … I love you.’
‘I love you, too,’ she said.
He hung up. He felt like a split personality. One half of him wanted to be down at her house in the town, holding her in his arms. The other was glad she was put aside, as it were, and he could get down to the real business of fighting.
The commandant sent for him. ‘You’ll know the USS Oregon has been sunk, Ensign McGann,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, I am happy to tell you that your father is unhurt.’
‘Oh, thank God for that, sir.’
‘So, you’ll be in action together, maybe. What’s your brother doing?’
‘He’s with Prince of Wales, sir. Royal Navy.’
‘Lucky man,’ the commandant said. ‘She’s in Singapore, according to our latest reports. Do you realise that, apart from our three carriers, which thank God weren’t in Pearl when the Japs attacked, Prince of Wales and Repulse, which is with her, are the only capital ships, on our side, operative in the Pacific at this moment? You can bet your last cent they are going to give the Japs one hell of a whap. I wish I was with them.’
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