Day of the Bomb (2 page)

Twenty hours since his last food because
supper had been skipped to practice the Professor’s Method to win
at blackjack followed by fifty-nine hands dealt and twelve shots of
hootch drunk. The hootch was courtesy of the dealer who served it
free of charge whenever a player won three hands. Any other
drinkers paid two bits. Nasty hootch: raisins, canned peaches and
fruit cocktail, and coconut juice set to cooking with a couple
pounds of sugar. Jason had vomited part of it over the rail into
the tossing water but the hootch that remained within him now
served no purpose but to dehydrate and disorient him.

***

Army-Navy football games are nothing
compared to an Army captain on the receiving end of a Navy captain
laying down a barrage aboard the latter’s ship.

“Where are they? I asked you to bring them to
the officers’ mess a half hour ago!”

“That’s what’s wrong with you swabbies, sir.
You don’t understand the Army’s chain of command. I told my
lieutenant who told his top sergeant who…”

“Get your troops on deck! Now!” Five minutes
later Captain Uley addressed the two companies of soldiers who had
irritated him since they had come aboard. Now his patience, which
he claimed rivaled Job’s, ended. “I’m Captain Uley for those of you
I have not met. In all my thirty years of service to our country, I
have never witnessed such a SNAFU as this. One of your men goes
missing and he’s floating somewhere out there.” His palm swept
toward the expanse of blue behind the ship’s stern. “Now I realize
most of you think the U.S. Navy is just a taxi service meant for
nothing else than hauling you from island to island just so you can
get your brains blown out by some Jap bullet. In any case, I don’t
have any time left for chains of command. Right now I’m in charge
of this vessel and I’m ordering the men who played cards with PFC
Jason Dalrumple last night to step forward. If they don’t I am
going to make every marine on this ship into military policemen.
Their first task will be to search every one of your lockers, beds,
duffel bags, and the uniforms you are wearing for anything I deem
to be contraband. Their second task will be to make your life hell
until I can finally deposit your sorry butts at your
destination.”

The Green Wall, Army style; the unwritten
variation of the universally understood Code of Silence. Army,
Navy, Marines, Coast Guard, Army Air Force members, enlisted and
drafted, knew that code better than any of the tales of the two
million court-martials that would take place during WW II. The only
thing worse than being court-martialed was to rat out someone who
would face justice military style. But one of the troops on deck
that morning possessed enough contraband that he loved more than
the code. He pushed one of the card players out of the ranks and
toward the sweating, cursing captain. He was in the grunt’s face
before he could slip back into the empty space where he had
stood.

“All right, soldier. Who are the other two? I
know there were three of you playing cards with PFC Dalrumple.”

With the jig up and the Code of Silence no
longer guaranteed, two others joined their comrade in cards.

“Follow me. Carry on, captain.” Captain Uley
saluted the one who commanded the assembled men. “Dismissed.”
Accompanied by an Army lieutenant, he led the way to one of the few
places the three soldiers had not yet stepped foot in on the
transport ship – the officers’ dining room. Once there, Captain
Uley took the first man inside and had the other two wait in the
hallway with a marine armed with a .45 and nightstick.

“Have a seat, corporal.” Captain Uley pointed
at a chair as he sat. “Your Lieutenant is here to ensure you are
treated fairly. Since you outrank your fellow gamblers outside, I
thought we’d start at the top and work our way down.” He smiled.
“Chain of command. Or as you grunts put it, hurry up and wait.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many players were there?”

“Four.”

“Just four the whole time PFC Dalrumple
played?”

“Yes.”

“Who won the most money?”

“Jason did. I’ve never seen anyone so hot. He
cleaned me out.”

“So after the game ended, you mugged him and
tossed him overboard.”

“No. Sure I was sore but not that sore.” He
stood and waved his arms. “You’re just wasting your time with
me.”

“Simmer down, son. Do you know anybody else
that might have rolled him?”

“No.”

“One last thing. Which one of the four of you
dealt the hands? Or did you take turns dealing?”

“None of us. It was some guy who just likes
to deal but not bet money. He says he wants to be a dealer in Las
Vegas when the war is over.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. Some new guy I don’t
know.”

“Dismissed. Send in the PFC on your way out.”
He turned to the lieutenant. “You know any troopers that like to
deal blackjack?”

“Just one. Sergeant Winslow.”

“Is he new?”

“No. He’s been with us since
Guadalcanal.”

The second gambler proved to be the most
nervous when undergoing questioning. He fidgeted nonstop. Only
after his lieutenant offered him a cigarette did he stop drumming
his fingers.

“Settle down, son. This isn’t a court
martial.”

His boots stopped tapping the floor. “Thank
you, sir.”

“But there will be one if you lie to me, boy!
Who won the most money in your card game?”

The boots started tapping out what sounded
like Morse code. “That would be Jason.”

“So after he cleaned you out you followed him
up on deck, got into a fight, and he accidentally fell overboard.
You got scared. Instead of yelling, ‘man overboard’ like we trained
you to do, you hightailed it on back to your bunk and hid under
your blankets.”

“Huh? The last I ever saw of Jason he was
talking to that ensign friend of his. The one he calls the
Professor. He’s the one you should talk to, not me. I didn’t do
anything.”

“Who was the dealer for your game?”

“Sergeant Winslow.”

“Thank you, send in the last man.”

“Yes, sir.”

The third soldier bumped into the table as he
balanced himself on a chair against the rolling motion of the
ship.

“Have a seat, private. You old enough to be
in the Army? You look too young for it.”

“My parents signed papers so’s I could join
up when I turned seventeen, sir. I’m eighteen now. I know how to
fight. Just ask the lieutenant there. He’ll tell you all about
it.”

The lieutenant smiled. “No doubt about any of
that.”

“I see. Well, it sure would be a crying shame
for them to start getting letters from you from the prison at Fort
Leavenworth, Kansas. That’s where they send all of you doughboys
right? I remember a few from World War I that I personally had
shipped there because they didn’t want to follow my captain’s way
of doing things aboard his ship. You’re a good fighter, huh? You’re
going to need to be one sharing a cell with some other soldier who
went bad. Because based on what I know so far you’ll probably get
twenty, maybe even thirty years for being an accessory to PFC
Dalrumple’s murder.” Captain Uley hoped his glare backed up his
accusation, tossed out in hopes of ending this unscheduled
ordeal.

“Murder? They killed him? I just heard
Winslow grumbling and cussing that he was going to get his money
back. That didn’t make any sense because he was just the dealer and
didn’t place a single bet. You think maybe he fronted one of the
other players some money? The rumor is that he’s a loan shark. I
heard he charges a hundred percent interest.”

“That’ll be all. Lieutenant, please go get
Sergeant Winslow and bring him here. Have him bring some of the
hootch he served last night.”

***

“Have a seat, sergeant.” Captain Uley
studied the buck sergeant’s beady eyes, which reminded him of the
rattlesnakes he had shot as a youth on his grandparents’ ranch. But
this was one snake of more value alive than dead, at least when it
came to retrieving the last man who went overboard. “Did you deal
all of the hands for PFC Dalrumple’s games last night?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll address the captain as sir, Sergeant
Winslow!” The lieutenant’s face turned red. His spittle flew toward
his trooper.

“Yes, sir.”

“How many hands did he win?”

“Thirty six out of fifty-nine hands. I keep
track every time I deal.” He pointed at his head. “Obviously, he
was cheating. No one wins that many times. I learned how best to
spot cheaters because the casinos count on the dealers to catch
them so they can toss them out on the sidewalk. That’s where I’m
headed before too long. Las Vegas, here I come, right back where I
started from.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“I have a witness that you served a shot of
hootch every time a player won three hands. Let me have some of
it.”

He pulled a thin metal flask from his pants
pocket and handed it to him. Captain Uley splashed a drop on his
finger and tasted it. “About the strength of wine. How many shots
did you give him?”

“Twelve. One for every three times he
won.”

“What size were they?”

“About a fourth of a canteen cup each
time.”

The captain turned to the lieutenant and
asked for a conversion of the alcohol served by grimacing,
shrugging, and holding his palms face up.

“That would equal about a bottle and half of
wine, sir.”

“Thank you. Okay. So the hootch that you gave
PFC Dalrumple and the cards you dealt from the bottom of the deck
to your partner Corporal Bittendorfner weren’t good enough for the
two of you cheating polecats to keep Dalrumple from winning. So
maybe you drank a little too much moonshine and started thinking
crazy, something that comes real easy to you dogfaces. Not that I
blame you. You get to do all your killing up close and personal
while us Navy boys get to sit back, relax, and blast the Japs to
hell and back again with our guns miles offshore. You follow him up
on deck and put a knife in him, take his money, and throw him
overboard as shark bait.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You
must’ve tasted too much of my hootch.”

“Okay. You knocked him over the head, took
his money, and then threw him over the side because he saw it was
you.”

“Maybe someone else but not me. Jason was a
real first class dumb ass. He was waving his wad of dough around so
the whole company could see it. Any one of more than a hundred guys
besides me could’ve mugged him for it. Why are you picking on
me?”

“So, in other words, you went up on deck just
to knock him out and take the money. But he fought back and
accidentally fell overboard. That’s only manslaughter. Odds are you
won’t be executed for that.”

Silence.

“I knew it!” Captain Uley jumped to his feet
and pounded the table. “I’ve served on nine ships in my career and
watched your type operate on two oceans. In my book you’re nothing
but a bunch of no good two-bit sharks just waiting for your next
sucker to come along so you can take him for every cent he has.” He
leaned over the table until his face was a foot from Sergeant
Winslow’s. “Just tell me what time he went overboard so we can
narrow down the search or they’ll never find him, you idiot!”

Silence.

Captain Uley pulled his right hand back
behind his head and made a fist.

“Go ahead and hit me. General Patton did it
to one of his troops and they put his butt into a sling over it. At
least you could get your name in the papers so’s folks back home
could read about you.”

“Guard!” Captain Uley collapsed into his
chair.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take this man to the brig and strip search
him. Report back to me on how much money he has on him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go search his locker and belongings,
lieutenant.”

***

“So far, we’ve got nothing.” Captain Uley
pounded his fist into a palm bruised by similar repeated blows of
the past seven hours. “Sergeant Winslow had three dollars and
change all together. But his snake eyes tell me he’s knows exactly
when your friend went overboard.”

Ensign Rhinehardt’s Adam’s apple bounced up
and down. “What can we do now, sir? I’m more scared for him than I
ever was about going down because of some Jap sub getting off a
lucky shot at us.”

“Pray, son, that either your friend drowned
shortly after he hit the water or that one of the planes will
somehow spot him.”

***

Makata the tiger shark spotted Jason first during
his second afternoon of his being adrift and feeling more like
driftwood than a soldier. Such an odd shape of a man inserted in a
life preserver reminded the shark of a meal from a year ago. That
life vest had been uneatable but the flesh of what it supported had
proved tasty. Jason’s lack of food and water and the relentless sun
combined with a hangover had dropped him into a never land of
hallucinations. He had finished talking to his parents and was now
speaking with his girlfriend Thelma, or so he imagined.

“Yeah, that’s right, Thelma. Now that the
war’s finally over we can get hitched and you can have the kids you
always talk on and on and on about. Maybe we can even buy that
little place you like so much. Is it still for sale…What…Who bought
it…Oh. I guess we’ll just have to find another place, huh?”

The tiger shark could not
hear the human’s words but instead the conversations of a pod of
dolphins passing overhead screeched into her brain as the growing
pups in her womb demanded nourishment of any sort.
Let the dolphins have whatever it is up there.
There is always a dolphin calf or one that is old or sick at the
back of their packs.
She circled back for
easier prey.
Perhaps there might even be
enough left over to share with brother and sister sharks once first
blood is drawn by rows and rows of teeth.