My Troubles With Time (13 page)

I pushed the time machine on its trolley out of my garage into the back yard and climbed in. As soon as I turned on the engine, the gauges showed that the recharged batteries were providing full power. Knowing that I might never return to the present, I cast a last look around me and began a slow ascent from the trolley.

As soon as I was sure the machine had cleared the trolley, I began the trip backward into times. On full power, the time machine moved effortless through the decades until I reached the evening of December 6, 1941. I then rose to an efficient cruising height and headed westward across the country, circling to the south to avoid the higher elevations of the Rockies.

When I reached the Pacific, I could no longer check my navigational systems with landmarks on the ground. This made me a bit nervous. My nervousness increased as my estimated arrival time came and went without any land in sight. However, the systems worked perfectly and I spotted Oahu in a few minutes, my arrival apparently delayed by the strong head winds I encountered.

Rather than select a landing site immediately, I made a circuit of the island to orient myself. The naval base came into view and then the lights of the naval vessels. The great concentration of lights on the battleships moored on Battleship Row made it easy to identify them.

Flying over the main road leading from the base, I found a tavern a few miles from the base next to the road. I descended further and spotted a creek running through a depression behind the tavern. The headlights I had installed on the front of the time machine revealed a small clearing in the woods bordering the creek.

It was then that I suffered my first setback. Attempting to land the time machine gently in the clearing, I miscalculated. The machine struck the branch of a large tree with a loud crash, veering sharply. At the same time, I was thrown forward, hitting my forehead on a control lever.

For a moment, I feared the machine would hit the ground with such force that it would disintegrate, but I succeeded in righting and landing it without further incident. I touched my head and found that blood was coming from a gash on my forehead. After some minutes I was able to stop the bleeding with the aid of my handkerchief and I climbed out to inspect the damage.

My visual inspection of the machine revealed no major damage. The only injury to the exterior was one broken headlight. I climbed back into the machine and increased the running speed of the idling engine. The motor hummed perfectly and the panel lights indicated all systems were operating normally.

Turning off the motor, I climbed out of the machine again and collected branches and shrubbery from the woods to cover the machine. After a half hour’s work, I decided that it would not be detected by any casual passerby.

The hill behind the tavern was harder to climb than it had looked from the air, and it took me longer than I had expected to reach the road. My watch, which I had set on Honolulu time, indicated it was close to 11 p.m.

I had counted on the tavern staying open late on a Saturday night. I was not disappointed. Cars were parked by its entrance and I could hear a sentimental song being played on the juke box inside.

Entering the tavern, it took me a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. When they did, I saw it contained some dozen patrons. Most were men seated on bar stools. Two couples were waltzing on the small dance floor to the music from the jukebox. I surmised from their short haircuts that several of the men at the bar were soldiers or sailors wearing mufti while on leave.

The bartender approached me. “What can I get you…” he began and then stopped. “Your head,” he said with concern obvious in his voice. “Are you all right?”

“I had a slight car accident,” I improvised. “I’m fine. But I have to get to the navy base to report to my ship as soon as possible. Can I use your phone to call a taxi?”

“There’s no need to do that, Lieutenant,” he said and turned toward one of the men at the bar. ”Smitty,” he called. “Come here! I’ve a fare for you.”

The man he had addressed got off his stool and walked towards us, carrying a glass of beer in one hand. As he came up, the bartender pointed to me. “The lieutenant, here,” he said pointing to me, “Has had a car accident. He has to get to the navy base right away. I’d like you to help him out.”

“Sure thing,” said Smitty. He gulped down his beer, wiped his mouth with his hand and turned to me. “Let’s go, Lieutenant.”

I thanked the bartender for his help and followed Smitty out of the tavern. “I had knocked it off for the evening,” he told me, “But, hell, it won’t take more than a few minutes to drive you to the base.”

He led me to a decrepit looking taxi and held the door for me to get in. I could not guess the age of the vehicle, but I was dubious that it could still run. It started off in a cloud of exhaust fumes towards the base.

“What do you think of next year’s pennant race, Lieutenant?” Smitty asked, turning around. He was driving with only one hand on the wheel and I feared the taxi was about to go off the road.

With great effort, I managed to avoid asking him to keep his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel. My knowledge of baseball in the 1940’s was negligible, and I struggled to come up with an appropriate reply.

In the recesses of my mind I recalled that the New York Yankees were a perennial contender. “The Yanks probably will take it again,” I said.

“What do you think about the talks going on in Washington between the Secretary of State and the Japanese Emperor’s special emissary?” I asked, changing the subject to a topic I knew something about. “Do the people in Honolulu think there may be war?”

“No way,” he answered. “The Japs won’t dare attack us. And if they do, we’ll wipe up the floor with them in a couple of weeks.”

I nodded in agreement. There was no way to tell him what was going to happen tomorrow. I wondered how he would feel after the Japanese attack.

The taxi pulled up to the gate to the naval base and stopped in response to a signal from the marine sentry. “You’re working late,” he said to Smitty, then shined his flashlight into my face.

“Oh, sorry, Sir,” he said, saluting. “I didn’t realize Smitty had an officer in the back. Where are you heading?”

“I’m reporting to the
Nevada
,” I said, fishing out of my jacket pocket the orders I had fabricated assigning me to the ship.

He gave them only a cursory glance before returning them to me. “Good night, Lieutenant,” he said, motioning Smitty to proceed.

We drove through the navy base and on to a pier. Smitty stopped the car and turned to me. “This is as far as I can take you, Lieutenant. You’ll have to get a launch to take you out to the
Nevada
.

“Many thanks,” I said. “How much do I owe you?”

“It was too short a ride to charge you, Lieutenant. Besides, I like to help the navy out.”

“I can’t let you do that,” I protested. “I’m indebted to you for driving me here.”

I took out one of the dollar bills I had purchased at the coin dealer and handed it to Smitty.

“I hope that’s enough,” I said, getting out of the taxi.

“It’s too much.”

“Nonsense! You have done me a favor! Keep the change!” I said. I was astounded at my uncharacteristic generosity. I had paid the coin dealer more for the bill than Smitty probably earned in a month.

“Lieutenant,” he called as I started to leave. “If you need help getting to your car, give me a call.”

I thanked him and wrote down the phone number he gave me, knowing I would never use it. The taxi left and I walked up to two shore patrolmen I saw at the end of the pier. “Good evening, Lieutenant,” they said, saluting.

I returned their salute and asked them how I could get out to the
Nevada
as soon as possible.

“You can ride the launch taking the liberty men back,” one said, “If you don’t want to wait. I’m afraid it would take some time to get a launch just for you.”

He pointed to a launch tied up at the pier. Thanking the shore patrolman, I descended the ladder to the launch. It was filled with sailors, most much the worse for wear. When they identified me as an officer, they crowded into the other end of the launch.

Going up to the petty officer in command of the launch, I told him I had to get to the
Nevada
as soon as possible. In deference to my rank, he immediately gave orders for the launch to cast off and we sped directly to the
Nevada
.

Standing to get a better view, I was fascinated by my first look at battleship. The
Nevada
had looked impressive from the pier, but it was even more so close up. She had been put into commission in 1916, the same year as the
Arizona
, but was slightly smaller in length and had only ten 14-inch guns to the
Arizona’s
twelve.

As soon as the launch was secured, I thanked the petty officer in command and climbed the gangway to the
Nevada
deck. Saluting the flag, as I had seen naval officers do in the movies, I turned to the petty officer at the top of the gangway.

“I am Lieutenant Maynard Snodgrass,” I said, “Reporting on board on transfer from the Navy Department.”

As I handed him the orders I had fabricated, I breathed a prayer that my impersonation would not be discovered. Without looking at them, he removed a copy of the orders and handed the remainder back to me. He then folded his copy and inserted it at the bottom of the clipboard he carried.

“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant,” he said. He paused and looked puzzled. “They didn’t tell me you would arrive tonight. Everyone is on shore or asleep. I don’t know which cabin you were assigned to.”

“That’s all right,” I answered. “Just point me toward the officers’ cabins. I’ll camp out in the first vacant bed I find and get my permanent cabin tomorrow.”

He looked relieved and gave me the directions. After several false turns, I eventually located the right deck and slowed my pace, studying the occupants’ names listed outside the cabins. Most were fully occupied, but I finally found one with a vacancy and entered.

As I expected, all of the occupants were ashore. Selecting a bed at random, I lay down. I was exhausted from the day’s events, more from strain than the actual physical exertion. I looked at my watch. It was past midnight. In less than eight hours, the Japanese would attack.

Rather than sleep and risk arising too late to take the
Nevada
to sea before the Japanese attack, I decided to remain awake and fully dressed and to use the time to thoroughly plan my actions. My eyes began to burn. I shut them momentarily to rest them. The next thing I knew, light was pouring through the cabin’s porthole.

Leaping to my feet, I looked at my watch. It was 7:20 a.m.! I had barely enough time to get the
Nevada
under way. Rushing out of the cabin and on to the deck en route to the bridge, I passed several sailors carrying musical instruments. I assumed they were gathering to play the National Anthem as the flag was raised at 8 a.m.

Suddenly, I saw a man in an officer’s uniform, his back toward me. I stopped, shocked. His uniform was not the navy blue woolen one I had procured. I was wondering what to do when he turned and my heart fell to my feet. His collar insignia was gold oak leaves. He was senior to me, a Lieutenant Commander!

I cursed myself for my careless reading of the accounts of Pearl Harbor. The Lieutenant Commander facing me was undoubtedly the “lieutenant” I had believed was on board.

I wanted to run and hide, but that would have been foolish. I forced myself to approach and salute. “Maynard Snodgrass, Sir,” I said. “I reported on board last night from the Navy Department.”

He looked at me quizzically. “I’m Lester Travis,” he said, Welcome aboard. I didn’t know we were expecting a new officer. To what department have you been assigned?”

“Gun Control, Sir” I answered, picking the first that came to mind.

It was a bad choice. “That’s odd,” he said. “It’s my department. We don’t have any vacancies. You’d think they would have told me you were coming.

“Oh, well,” he added with a smile. “We can always find work for you to do.”

He shook hands and said in a low voice, “I guess, Maynard, you’ve never served on a battleship before. Discipline is tighter than on a smaller ship. You’d better put on the uniform of the day. And shave.”

He stopped and looked at me. “That’s a nasty scab you have on your forehead.”

“I had a car accident on the way to the ship last night. My kit is still in the car. That’s why I haven’t been able to change or shave.”

“You’d better go down to sick bay and have someone look at it. You might need a stitch. In the mean time, I’ll see if we can’t get together some things for you to borrow until your stuff arrives.”

He seemed like a decent sort. I didn’t want to hurt him. Still, I had to get him out of the way. I wondered what the kindest way would be.

“I haven’t seen any other officers,” I began. “Are all the others ashore?”

“The Captain is, I know. He said he will be back early this morning. You can report to him then.”

“And the others?” I prompted. “I’d like to start meeting them.”

“I saw Ensign Hunter this morning. I think he’s the only engineering officer on board. Bob Stevens may also be on board. He’s an ensign, too. I’ll try and introduce you to them.”

“Then you’re the most senior officer on board?” I went on.

“Yes, why?” he looked at my oddly.

“It’s just, sir, that I have something I want to show you. It could be something serious.”

I led him to the railing and pointed downward. “There, sir,” I said, “You can just see it on the bow.”

He stared at the point in the hull in which I was pointing. Naturally, there was nothing there.

“I don’t see anything.”

“You’ll have to lean a bit further, sir. Here, let me help you. I looked around. There was no one near us. Feeling like a heel, I pushed hard on his back. He clutched at air, toppled over the railing and fell.

I stared at the ocean waiting for him to surface. When he did, I thanked God that he did not seem to be hurt. Grabbing a life preserve, I threw it to him.