by M. L. Maki
MEDICAL DEPARTMENT, USS CARL VINSON, 1152, 21 DECEMBER, 1941
Sam and Gloria are walking by Medical down a thwart ship blue-painted passageway. Hanging on the wall are the pictures of all the corpsmen who have received the Medal of Honor. It’s generally quiet, but today, those working here are even quieter, but the moans of the wounded can clearly be heard. Then they hear, “Get out. I will take care of your friend, now get out.” A doctor in scrubs escorts Fireman Newburg out.
Newburg says, “Sir, I was ordered to stay with him. ORDERED! All the others died, sir. Ham has to make it.”
Sam says, “Hey there! Have you had anything to eat?”
“No, ma’am, but I’m fine. I can wait.”
Sam says, “No, you can’t. Come with me.” Then to the doc, “I’ve got him, sir.”
The tired surgeon says, “Thank you, Lieutenant,” and walks back into Medical.
Newburg set his feet, “NO!”
Grinning, she asks, “Rank, name?”
He looks her in the eye, “Newburg, Greg, Fireman.” Then, in recognition, “Ma’am, are you the ladies from the helicopter?”
Sam says, “Yeah, and you need some coffee and something to eat, Fireman Greg Newburg. This is Lt. Hoolihan, and I’m Lt. Hunt. Let’s get you fed.”
Taking his arm, she starts him moving as she talks, “Who ordered you to stay with your friend?”
“My CHENG ordered me to. He saved my life. He saved Ham’s life. He saved all our lives. He told me, he said, ‘Fireman Newburg, stay with these guys.’ I did. When all the people left the ship, they didn’t help me. They said to jump, but Ham and the guys, they couldn’t jump, so I stayed. And…and…and then you came. You brought the helicopter and it was like a miracle. God brought you angels to save us. That’s what Ham said.”
Sam glances a look at Gloria, “Is that your friend in surgery?”
“Yes, um Ham is not really my friend. Um, he’s my LPO. Me being his friend would be like being your friend, ma’am. Um, begging pardon. I’m just fireman.”
“You’re a very brave fireman, and I’m honored to know you.”
Taking off their covers as they enter the mess decks, they head for the chow line. Gloria asks the crew waiting in line, “He’s off the Stoddert. May we cut?”
The sailors make room, and Gloria nabs a tray for Newburg and they start down the line. “What do you want?” asks Sam.
He looks surprised that they’re actually in line, “Um, a slider, please, and um, fries, and corn, please.” The mess attendants fill his plate as Gloria points to his choices, getting plenty of ketchup for his fries. Sam take him to a table with his tray, and Gloria joins them with three coffees. Newburg starts eating, then notices they aren’t. “Um, ma’am, aren’t you eating, too?”
Sam says, “No, Greg, we’ve already eaten.”
Between bites, Newburg says, “I’m not brave like you said. Ham and the CHENG, they are brave. Ham, he didn’t even want me down there, like I wasn’t good enough. He said I wasn’t old enough to shave, so I needed to go topside. Why would he do that if I was brave?”
Sam looks him in the eye, “He said that do save your life.”
Newburg starts to cry, “Me, and now I’m crying like a baby. He stayed down there. He was the last guy out, ‘cept maybe the CHENG. And he saved me, too. Ham is the brave one.”
Sam sees how carefully he’s holding his slider, “Have the corpsman looked at you yet?”
“I’m fine. The others, they need help, but I’m fine. Just a couple of little burns. No worse than I get all the time just working.”
“Answer the question, Fireman.”
“Um, no ma’am. They just been pushing me away from Ham and the others. The others didn’t make it.” He starts crying again, lifting a hand to wipe his tears.
As he does, Gloria gasps, “Greg, show us your hands.” He puts them out, palms up, and they see several blisters, the largest as big as a silver dollar.
Sam asks, “How do they feel?”
Newburg shrugs, “They hurt some, but I’ve done worse. Steam is hot, you know.”
“How old are you, son?”
“Seventeen, ma’am. Been in the Navy seven months.”
Gloria says, “Finish up, you need to get those burns looked at.”
When they return to medical, they see a corpsman in black BDUs carrying a tray of supplies into a ward. Sam says, “He has burns on his hands that weren’t treated, can you check them, corpsman?”
HM1 Larry ‘Munchkin’ Shockley, the SEAL corpsman, says, “Sure.” To Greg, “Let’s see your hands.”
Greg shows them, “No big deal, like I told them. I had worse.”
“They need cleaned and bandaged. If you let burns like these go, they can turn septic and cost you your hand or your life.” Then to Sam, “I have him, ma’am. Is he one of your airmen?”
“No, he’s off Stoddert. One of our pick-ups last night.”
“Oh, he was with the burn victims. That explains why he’s been underfoot. I’m sorry, um, sorry we didn’t tend to you. What’s your name?”
“Newburg, Greg, Firemen.”
“I have him ma’am. We have to attach him to a unit; shall I give him to your squadron?”
“Sure, that fine. It’s VF-154.” She grins at Newburg, “You’re officially a Black Knight.”
HANGER BAY 3, 1230, 21 DECEMBER, 1941
Chief White gives out assignments to the division and asks, “Anything to add, Lieutenant?”
“Just this, things have changed after the Stoddert. Keep every bird as ready as we can, fueled, armed, and ready to fly. I can’t say anything more now. Chief, a word?” and walks away from the group. “Chief, we have a new member in our division, Fireman Greg Newburg. He’s is medical right now getting his burns tended.”
“Where did we get him, Stoddert?”
“Yeah, Hoolihan and I picked him up, with most of his watch team, off the fan tail, just before she sank. Most of them didn’t make it.”
“Understood. It was a gutsy thing you and Lt. Hoolihan did last night, LT, a fine thing.” He smiles, “Aye, ma’am, I’ll send someone to fetch him.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
Then they hear, “All hands, this is the Captain. The sun has crossed the yard arm and I think it’s a good time for ice cream. Stand down for the afternoon, unless otherwise assigned, and grab a bite of goodness on the aft mess decks courtesy of the wardroom. That is all.”
BLACK KNIGHT READY ROOM, 1330, 21 DECEMBER, 1941
Sam walks in and all eyes turn to her. Holtz is doing paper work, some of the guys are playing Hearts, and others are watching Raiders of the Lost Ark on site tv. Thud is leaning back reading a book, as is Puck. There are a couple of tubs of ice cream open on a table and most of the guys have a bowl in front of them. Ensign Robert ‘Bo-Bo’ Bolen, says, “Well, if it ain’t the Admiral’s girl Friday.”
Sam tenses and looks around, realizing they are all looking at her.
“Stow it, Bo-Bo,” says Holtz
Samantha squares her shoulders and walks over to Puck. “Why, Boss, worried she might just tattle and ruin your chance for an eagle on your collar?”
“No, I’m worried you’ve pulled too many g’s and now you’re thinking with your ass.”
Sam sits down next to Puck, and he asks, “Any word on what’s going on?”
Looking straight ahead, she says, “I can’t say until the Captain makes his announcement, sorry.”
Gloria walks in, all smiles, looks around and sees Sam. She kneels on the chair in front of her friend, “So, what’s going on?”
“Can’t say, Gloria.”
The 1MC comes on, “Good afternoon, Carl Vinson, this is the Captain. I hope you’re enjoying your ice cream. Now, I need you all to listen up, because this is a difficult announcement. As you know, three nights ago we experienced a severe lightning storm. Since then, we have been out of communication with Washington, D.C. and Hawaii. We have tried to re-establish comms
to figure out what happened. Some believed the storm to be some type of attack. After the sinking of the Benjamin Stoddert it seems likely. I can now explain in part what happened. I cannot explain how or why, but I can explain what and when. The Stoddert was sunk by three Japanese Long Lance torpedoes fired from a WWII Japanese submarine. The reason the Japanese fired on us is because the date right now is December 21, 1941. Crew, you heard right. December 21, 1941. I do not know how that storm brought us back in time, but I do know it did. Because it did, we are now in a state of war with Japan, Germany, and Italy. I want each of you to focus on your duties and keep working safely. Trust that we will keep you informed and take care of you as best we can. Thank you, Captain out.”
The ready room is quiet, the Bo-Bo says, “Bull shit. Tell me, Hunt, what shit is the CO smoke’n? He has to be smoking something.”
“He’s not.”
Book looks up from the game of Hearts, “Come on, Hunt. Give. Why does the Skipper think we are in WWII?”
Sam looks at Holtz, “Sir?”
“Go ahead, Lieutenant, explain,” replies Holtz.
Sam walks up to the front white board and writes down the reasons from the brain trust. She has everyone’s complete attention. Next, she writes down the supporting evidence. As she finishes, Thud raises his hand. She nods, and he asks, “So, the Hewitt was outside the storm.”
“Yes.”
Bo-Bo raises his hand, “Oh, teacher, teacher, does this mean I can date Marilyn Monroe?”
“She’s like nine years old, dumb ass,” says Swede, “now, stow it. I want to hear the grownups talk.”
Sam asks, “Questions?”
Papa says, “Just about a thousand, but the most relevant is: what does the Captain plan on doing?”
“He wants us to wrap our heads around being in World War II. I’m not able to say much more than that.”
“Hey, guys!” chortles Lt. JG Lorne ‘Jedi’ Luke, “We’re gonna get to shoot down some Japs. Hell, we’ll all make ace. Even nerd boy, Thud, might shoot something down.”
Thud shrugs his shoulders and goes back to reading.
“Quiet down!” Papa looks at Sam, “He mentioned to you what he is planning to do, but you don’t think you have permission to say. Am I close?”
She makes eye contact with him, and lowers her gaze before saying, “You’re very close, sir.”
“Okay, I take it he wants to go kick some ass. I don’t care where, yet, just that we will attack.”
“Yes, sir.”
Papa looks out over his people, “Okay, ladies, I want every bird A-1 ready. I know we just checked them. Check ‘em again. Keep your eyes on the prize, people. I want to be able to launch everything as soon as we are given a mission. That means get out there and get to work. Let’s go, people.”
As they leave, Puck and Sam lock eyes briefly, and Papa calls out, “Lieutenant Hunt, a moment?”
“Yes, sir,” and turns back.
“You need to decide who you’re working for. It’s bullshit that you are keeping secrets from me. I can’t have it. So, what’s it going to be, Lieutenant? Are you going to trust the man who writes your FITREP, or play I got a secret?”
Sam takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, looking him in the eye, “Sir, this isn’t about secrets, this is about the chain of command. When the Admiral and the Captain both tell me that what I know is classified and it doesn’t leave the room, what am I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to shut up about it to everyone, but me. Is that clear enough?”
“Interesting, sir.”
“Are we clear?”
“Oh, we are clear, sir.”
“Where are we going to strike.”
“Fine. The Philippines, sir. The Japanese are invading the Philippines right now. We are going after their carrier and support ships.”
Looking at her, thinking, he says, “What’s the deal between you and Lee? I’ve known the Captain for a long time. He likes you for some reason. Why?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“He’s single…you two got something going on? I don’t care about the regs. I just want to know.”
Sam presses her lips tightly, then, “NO, SIR! That’s an insult to your commander.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m just asking. He does like you, that is clear enough.”
“Has it occurred to you that he is following orders from higher to support integration of women into the Navy?”
“Yeah, but that’s not it. It’s a puzzle, and I hate puzzles. It doesn’t make sense, you’re just not that good.”
She looks up, clenching her teeth, and makes eye contact again, “Sir, thank you for that vote of confidence.”
Startled, he says, “I don’t mean it meanly, it’s just the plain truth…um, is that you can tell me, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, you could you please talk to Admiral Ren or Captain Johnson to get your information, instead of forcing me to break my orders.”
“Um, I see your point, Lieutenant. Okay, you’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
PASSAGEWAY OUTSIDE OF BLACK KNIGHTS READY ROOM
Lt. Hunt walks out of the ready room in a controlled fury, nearly running into Lt. Robert Issa, UDT/SEAL. She says a curt, “Excuse me,” and moves to go around him.
Issa raises a hand, “Lieutenant, could we talk?”
She finally recognizes him as more that an obstacle. He’s the guy who chewed her out in the water. Instead of a wet suit, he’s wearing black BDUs with Lieutenants bars and the SEAL trident. “WHAT!”
“Lieutenant, we talked in the water last night, right?”
“Yes,” forcing herself to calm down.
“I, um, owe you an apology. I was an ass, and I’m sorry.”
She takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly, “Apology accepted.”
“Are you okay? You seem really pissed.”
“I just had an unsettling discussion with my commander. I’m sorry if I was short with you.”
“Oh, I have those about all the time. I understand. And, Lieutenant, if I couldn’t handle one pissed of lady, I wouldn’t be much of a SEAL. Can I invite you down to the squad by for a cup of coffee and a chat?”
Sam smile, and totally ignoring her orders, says, “Yes.”
The SEAL squad bay is on the 01-level aft of elevator 4. As he shows her in, she pauses; there is cammo netting, guys lounging in hammocks, and piles of equipment in green bags and boxes, everywhere. On the far wall is a map of the region with pins and notes scribbled on it. Under the map is a large table with twelve chairs. One guy is in a chair reading a novel with his feet up on the table, and another is sleeping on it. Three guys, one of them a Chief, are breaking down, cleaning, and re-assembling what look like AK-47s. Issa says in a loud voice, “Welcome to my home. Guys, this is Lt. Hunt. We met in the water surrounded by bodies.” Looking at her, “You said you’re a ’14 driver, yes?”
“Yes.”
They all look at Sam with interest. “The coffee is over here. Hey, Broke Dick, get off the table.”
Sam grins, “Is he always this nice to you?”
Broke Dick stands up, all six feet six inches of him, “No, ma’am, yes ma’am, I mean, Broke Dick is my name.” The guys laugh.
“Okay, like Spike is mine.”
Issa asks, “How do you like your coffee?”
“Black, no sugar.”
He hands her a cup with a SEAL trident, “Broke Dick missed a drop zone during parachute training and hit a young elm tree square in the….”
Sam winces, “OOWE!”
“Anyway, that’s how he got his name. How did you come by ‘Spike’?”
“My first RIO,” sitting down, “He was excitable, like the cartoon character, Butch. So, Spike. What do they call you?”
“’Abdul’, because my family is from Lebanon.” The guys gather around like kids listening to their adults talking.
“Lebanese, I see.”
“You’re
good in the water.”
ET3 Gerry ‘Meat’ Monahan says, “I bet she was.”
Sam grins as Issa cuffs him upside the head, “As a swimmer, Meat. Stow it.”
She chuckles as the young SEAL explains, “I’m just saying, sir, she is undoubtedly a good swimmer.” Then she laughs, shaking her head.
Issa, realizing he needn’t fight this battle, says, “She had the balls to SAR swim without any training, so yeah, I’m sure she is.”
“So, you guys are awfully relaxed after the Captain’s announcement,” comments Sam.
“SEALs are pretty single-minded,” says Issa, and the Chief, Mark ‘Fang’ Fronzac finishes, “Yep, if they can’t drive it, eat it, drink it, fuck it, or shoot it, they don’t care.”
“Oh my,” says Sam.
Meat asks, “Is it true? Are we going to get to fight World War II all over again?”
Sam says, “Looks like.”
Meat high fives a teammate, “Cool!”
Issa says, “Yeah, but what about our families back home? My wife was pregnant with our second.”
“My God, I’m sorry,” says Sam.
“Yeah, but it isn’t like they’re dead. It’s more like they never existed. My wife isn’t even born yet.”
“Neither are my brothers. If I remember correctly, my parents aren’t even married yet.”
Meat says, “Don’t date your dad. That would be weird.”
Chief Fronzac says, “True, Meat, but your grandma is probably looking pretty hot right now.”
Sam puts he head in her hands, laughing, as Meat replies, “I’ll kick your ass for that! That’s just sick.”
Fronzac, laughing, says, “You can’t kick that high, and besides, that’s no way to talk to your elders. I could be your grandpa.”
Issa laughs as Fang and Meat start wrestling, saying, “You see, SEALs are generally not deep thinkers. Give us a mission we can do and we’ll figure it out.”
The combatants bump into her chair, and she says, “Really.”
Issa, seemingly uninterested in the fight, answers, “Yep, pretty much. You want deep thinking you have to talk to a nuke. As for us, if you absolutely have to kill someone overnight, call us.”
Sam laughs, “I’ll remember that.”
