The Passion and the Glory

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Here they come,’ remarked Commander Fisher, Florida’s executive officer.

  Glasses swung skywards to look at the Japanese planes approaching from the south.

  ‘Prepare to open anti-aircraft fire,’ Lew said, and the orders were passed down to the fire control room.

  The Japanese came on, but the American Hellcats were waiting for them. Vapour trails and tracer streams creased the brilliant blue of the April sky, and planes, and men, began to fall. The anti-aircraft batteries chattered as one or two of the enemy got through, and these lone marauders were shot down without difficulty.

  ‘It’s all too easy,’ Fisher remarked.

  ‘It’s all damned nonsense, the way they fight,’ Lew agreed. ‘Stand by main armament.’

  The fleet was nearly in position, some ten miles off the coast; the roofs of Hollandia could be made out in the distance. A few moments later the great ship was reeling to the delivery of its sixteen-inch shells, each weighing more than two thousand pounds. Earth and wood and metal, and human beings, were thrown into the air by the huge explosions. Lew wondered if there were any Dutch colonists left in the city. But war was full of such absurd, and tragic, anomalies.

  The fleet steamed slowly west, the guns continuing to blaze. The Japanese attackers had now all been destroyed or driven off and the only remaining danger could come from submarines or MTB’s, but the American destroyers were keeping an eye on that possibility, racing round and round the great ships they were protecting.

  He wondered where Walt was. Somewhere close, he supposed, and hoped. The news of the boy’s promotion to a command, had been the best he had had in many a long year. He didn’t doubt that Walt, now he had overcome the setback of his court martial, was going to wind up an admiral; he was the fighting seaman par excellence, a true re-incarnation of old Harry McGann. In more ways than one, Lew thought ruefully, thinking of various other snippets of news that had come out of Honolulu. Old Harry had also carried on with another man’s wife, and eventually made her his own; Elizabeth Bartlett had indeed been the co-founder of the family. He could only hope that Walt would also find that kind of happiness, whatever the scandal involved.

  ‘Signal from flagship, sir,’ Fisher said. ‘Battle squadron will withdraw.’

  ‘Acknowledge,’ Lew said. Hollandia was a flaming mess, and the assault craft were moving up through the fleet. The reconquest of the Pacific had advanced another stage.

  *

  ‘There’s these guys here to see you, Walt,’ said Captain Phillips. ‘All the way from Pearl.’

  Walt inhaled as he looked at the two very obvious detectives; if the lieutenant was American, the sergeant was Hawaiian. But they were looking even more uncomfortable. They were out of place in this tropical paradise called Majura which was still being converted into a major naval base. In their civilian clothes they stuck out like sore thumbs when surrounded by sailors and marines and seabees; even the few women on the atoll were in uniform, either nurses or waves. Most embarrassing of all, they were here seeking an interview with one of the most famous heroes of the war, and a lieutenant commander who had only just brought his submarine in from a long patrol.

  ‘Lieutenant Gundarrson,’ the lieutenant explained shaking hands. ‘Sergeant Omaru. We’re Honolulu PD.’

  Walt nodded, and grinned at them. ‘Am I in default of a parking ticket?’

  He was pleased with his reaction; they could have no inkling of the lead in his stomach. During the months since he had been in Pearl he had done a lot of brooding on what had happened.

  Some of it had been disturbing, such as when he remembered that Linda had not shown the slightest grief over her husband’s death, or even horror at the sight of his dead body. She had, in fact, calmly taken control of events, as she had the habit of taking control of events in bed. He loved that habit, so it was unfair to criticise her for carrying it on into more serious matters. But then he would remember that she had been more excited by the amount of money being discussed than her husband, and that she had reminded him of it just before he had left.

  As if it mattered. To have Linda for his own he’d marry her if it cost a million … and if she had murdered Jordan O’Malley. What a crazy thought!

  Yet he had taken Sea Lion out of Pearl the next morning with his mind a jumble of mixed emotions. To be in command of his own ship had to induce a certain euphoria. To know that Linda would be waiting for him when he returned was to increase that desire to shout and sing with joy. To remember that he had just killed a man, even if accidentally, was to drive a wedge of sickness into that happiness. Because when it had happened, he had hated O’Malley enough to wish him dead.

  And then to remember that he had left her there. He had run out on her the way he had run out on Janice Te Hota. He was the biggest shit on earth.

  But she had seemed so confident that she could handle everything, without involving him, and without involving herself, either. So what the devil were these two characters here for? It could be nothing else. The thought of Linda on trial for murder was not possible.

  ‘If we could have a few words, in private, Commander,’ Gundarsson said, with an apologetic glance at Phillips.

  ‘Sure. Go ahead. Use the inner office,’ Phillips invited. ‘Join me when they take the cuffs off, Walt,’ he added. He was curious, of course, but he was a patient man.

  Thus he had to be patient as well, Walt realised. And whatever happened, he had to back Linda to the hilt. If only he knew what she had actually done, or was considered to have done.

  He ushered the detectives into the inner room, gave them

  seats, sat down himself. ‘You guys look kind of serious,’ he remarked.

  ‘I guess it goes with the job,’ Gundarsson acknowledged. ‘You mind if my sergeant makes notes?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  Omaru took out his notebook.

  ‘I want to ask you some questions about the last time you were in Pearl, Commander.’

  Walt nodded. ‘February 12. I was just there the one night.’

  ‘And you were pretty busy.’ Gundarsson looked at some notes he already had. ‘You’d just been promoted, you had a new command, and as you say, you had just the twenty-four hours to replenish and put back to sea.’

  ‘You seem to know a hell of a lot about the Navy’s business,’ Walt commented.

  ‘The Navy is happy to co-operate with the police, Commander, when it’s necessary.’

  ‘You’re starting to sound like if I’m wanted for something,’ Walt suggested.

  ‘Nothing like that, Commander. I’d just like you to tell us, as far as you can remember, what you did when you were in Pearl.’ Walt did some rapid thinking. He had to play this very carefully, exactly as he would have done if nothing had happened at all. They certainly wouldn’t expect him to tell them he had visited a married woman at her home, if he had nothing on his mind. ‘I didn’t do much,’ he said. ‘Saw Admiral Nimitz on landing, had a drink in the club, then got down to replenishing the ship. Got to bed at midnight. Sailed at dawn.’

  ‘You took no time off, never left the base?’

  Walt looked at him. ‘Is that important?’

  ‘Mighty important.’

  Walt frowned. ‘Maybe you should tell me what you’re driving at.’

  ‘Okay, Commander. I would like to know if you left Pearl Harbour at … ’ he glanced at his notes. ‘About half six on the afternoon of February 12, last, and visited Mr and Mrs Jordan O’Malley at their home in Honolulu.’

  ‘That’s important, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe you’d like to tell me why? I like to keep my private life, private.’

  ‘Sometimes that ain’t possible, Commander. I’ll tell you why after you tell me if you went there.’

  ‘Okay, so I went there.’

  ‘You a friend of O’Malley?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so.’

  ‘Then it was Mrs O’Malley you went to see? She a close frien
d of yours?’

  ‘I don’t see that’s any of your business, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Commander, you were in Pearl Harbour for twenty-four hours only, and you had a lot to do. Yet you took time off to visit these people. You had to have a good reason for going.’

  ‘Okay, so Mrs O’Malley and I are friends.’

  ‘Good friends?’

  ‘Yes, for God’s sake. I’ve known her a long time.’

  ‘Is she your mistress?’

  Walt glared at him, and by now he wasn’t acting. ‘You are asking for a poke in the nose, Lieutenant.’

  ‘It would help the lady if you told the truth, Commander.’

  ‘Help the lady?’ This time his alarm was real, too. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You went to see the O’Malleys about seven o’clock, Commander. What time did you leave?’

  ‘About a quarter to eight. You telling me Linda’s in some kind of trouble?’

  ‘Was O’Malley there when you left?’

  ‘Well, of course he was. What the hell is this?’

  ‘And the place was okay?’

  Walt stared at him.

  ‘I mean it wasn’t messed up? There hadn’t been a fight?’

  ‘For God’s sake, a fight?’

  ‘He didn’t threaten you with a gun?’

  ‘A gun?’ Walt allowed his voice to rise an octave.

  ‘Maybe you’d like to tell me just why you went to the O’Malley’s, Commander. Believe me, it is important.’

  ‘I … ’ he had his nerves back under control, could resume his role. He glanced from one detective to the other.

  ‘Okay, so it’s an embarrassing subject,’ Gundarsson agreed.

  ‘Here’s how we see it, Commander. You and Mrs O’Malley have been having an affair. Right?’

  Walt allowed himself an embarrassed nod.

  ‘So you went to see her with what time you could spare in Pearl. I guess you didn’t expect O’Malley to be there. Right?’

  ‘I … ’ this time Walt’s hesitation was genuine; he had no idea how to reply.

  ‘But he was. So I guess you had to play it straight.’

  ‘I guess I did,’ Walt conceded.

  ‘So you left. You heard from Mrs O’Malley since?’

  ‘No.’ He hadn’t.

  ‘Yeah. Well … seems that O’Malley could’ve been suspicious. After you left, he and his wife had one hell of a fight. Broke the place up. He hit her, even threatened her with a gun. An empty gun, but she took offence and slugged him back. And he died.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Walt shouted. ‘Linda killed O’Malley with a punch?’

  ‘Nope. He died of heart failure.’

  ‘Oh, thank God for that.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I mean that she didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Yeah? Commander, everybody who dies does so because his heart stops beating. What we’re trying to establish is if the heart failure was caused by the punch.’

  ‘You have got to be joking. A woman, punching a man?’

  ‘It left a bruise.’

  ‘Then she was acting in self defence. Anyway, what about the forensic people?’

  ‘The punch didn’t kill O’Malley, by itself, Commander. And if the reason Mrs O’Malley hit him was self defence, she’s in the clear.’

  ‘Of course she’s in the clear,’ Walt said angrily. ‘Why does she say she hit him?’

  ‘In self defence.’

  ‘Then what the hell is this all about? You guys must be out of your minds, trying to prove differently.’

  ‘We’re just trying to establish the facts. This is a difficult case, Commander. It looks open and shut, on the surface: husband beating wife, wife hits back, husband dies. So he had it coming. But there are some aspects of what happened we don’t care for. Such as, the gun was wiped clean of prints. Why? Mrs O’Malley is a bit vague about that. Says her husband dropped the gun when he fell, she picked it up, then worried about her prints being on it.’

  ‘A natural reaction,’ Walt said.

  ‘Maybe. But supposing wife had motive for wishing husband dead? Supposing wife knew husband had weak heart? Supposing wife engineered fight? That starts to stink.’

  ‘Now you look here,’ Walt said.

  ‘No, Commander, you look here. Because you could be the motive. Did you ask Mrs O’Malley to get a divorce and marry you?’

  ‘We discussed it.’

  ‘Would O’Malley have been willing?’

  ‘How the hell do I know?’ Walt demanded. ‘We hadn’t got to that stage yet.’

  ‘Okay, Commander. Just tell me one thing more. Why did you give Mrs O’Malley a cheque for a thousand dollars?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘It’s her business as well.’

  ‘So what did she tell you?’

  The lieutenant grinned. ‘That you often gave her money.’

  ‘Well, that’s true.’

  ‘So maybe you weren’t planning on marrying her after all.’ Angry as he had become, Walt preferred not to answer that one; if Gundarsson got the idea Linda was a high class call girl it might take off some of the heat.

  ‘Thanks for your time, Commander.’ Gundarsson stood up, Omaru closed his book. ‘It may interest you to know that you’ve corroborated Mrs O’Malley’s testimony, as far as you could. We’ll be getting back to Pearl.’

  ‘Is Mrs O’Malley under arrest?’ Walt asked.

  ‘No. We’re just asking her to stay in Oahu until our investigations are completed.’

  ‘Are they completed?’

  ‘Could be. You got a message for the lady.’

  ‘Yes,’ Walt said. ‘Tell her I’m sorry to hear about O’Malley. And tell her too, that I love her.’

  Gundarsson grinned again. ‘You got it.’

  Phillips was waiting for him. ‘What in hell was that all about?’

  ‘Just a dame I know in Honolulu has got herself into some trouble.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Walt lied.

  ‘Well, get her off your mind,’ Phillips recommended. ‘We’ve another big one coming up: the Marianas. Saipan and Guam.’

  ‘Heck,’ Walt said. ‘There isn’t anything between Guam and the Philippines.’

  ‘Except the Philippine Sea.’ Phillips grinned. ‘That’s where you, and every other sub I can find, are going. Because the brass figure the Japs are going to fight for Saipan, with everything they have. Including their fleet.’

  Chapter 12

  The Philippine Sea, Manila and New Guinea — 1944

  The position allotted to Sea Lion, some hundred miles west of Saipan, was just over two thousand miles west of Majura, and required nearly three weeks of hard motoring to reach. In the first week Walt kept the submarine on the surface whenever possible, but as they closed the Japanese held islands it was necessary to spend most of each day submerged.

  He had blooded his crew on their first voyage together, on two Japanese transports, had led them through the inevitable depth charging which had followed, and had as much confidence now in them as they in him. Galt was proving an admirable executive officer, and the two newcomers, Lieutenant Platt and Ensign Foy, had shaken down well. Best of all the crew was truly keyed up, because this was beginning to look like a decisive battle. If the enemy would really commit his entire fleet to the defence of this bastion of his stronghold — the first islands in the inner perimeter to be attacked — then the greatest naval battle in history was in prospect.

  That the Americans were committing their main strength was certain: in the task force, numbered 58, commanded by Vice Admiral Mitscher, there were no fewer than seven heavy and eight light aircraft carriers, mustering between them eight hundred and ninety aircraft, and several battleships. Amongst these was Florida, so he and Dad would be going into battle again together, hopefully in closer support than off Guadalcanal, and hopefully with better success. There were also eight heavy cruisers, thirteen light c
ruisers, and sixty-seven destroyers accompanying the fleet.

  And this was quite apart from the invasion fleet, Task Force 52, commanded by Rear Admiral Turner, and containing five hundred and fifty ships, mainly transports for Lieutenant General H.M. (Howling Mad as he was nicknamed) Smith’s Second and Fourth Marine Divisions, but including another eight escort carriers, half a dozen more battleships, eleven cruisers and fifty destroyers.

  And in addition, unattached, were the submarines. Walt could not imagine that any nation in history, even in the days of the triremes, had sent quite such an armada to sea.

  Every man and every ship had a vital job to do, and total concentration on the job and the enemy was essential. But achieving that concentration on the long, eventless — they were under orders to attack nothing until in position west of Saipan — voyage was not easy to do. So much of Walt’s mind remained in Honolulu.

  He had written Linda before leaving Majura, but had had to be very guarded in what he had said; his letter would certainly be opened by censors who might feel obliged to pass its contents on to the police if they thought it might contain anything of importance relating to a murder case. Or even one of manslaughter. His problem was that he did not actually know what was happening. Gundarsson had said that Linda was not under arrest. He had not said that she would not be arrested at some stage. Obviously the police were suspicious. No doubt policemen were paid to be suspicious, but of course there were several factors which must be puzzling them. Even with Linda’s battered knuckles, and the fact that she was a big, strong girl, their forensic department must have had doubts as to whether a woman could ever land a punch such as the one which had felled Jordan O’Malley; Walt could only thank God that he had not caught him with all of his weight.

  Then there was the business of the cheque. He had forgotten all about it. Had Linda also? But the police had found it. If she hadn’t forgotten about it, it was criminally careless of her not to have destroyed it. She couldn’t have been that hard up, not with Jordan dead, and her parents there to be called upon until he could get back. And to have been so careful as to wipe the gun clean — as she had had to do because he had picked it up — and then forget the cheque was difficult to reconcile.