Kilroy Was Here: A TIPOTS Christmas Story
Norfolk Naval Base, VA
24 December 1941
1700 HRS Local
“Any day this week, Ladies!” Master Chief Petty Officer Roy Gatling, USN, bellowed out over the babble of men working to load the blue Mack truck that was sitting outside Warehouse 19. 19 was one of the few intact warehouses at this end of Supply Row, still showing the scars of the German raid in September. The engineers were busily knocking down what was unsafe to leave standing and were working around the clock to repair what was still in one piece. That, of course, meant that they were getting in the way of his work crews as they tried to get a half dozen trucks loaded before 1800, and the longer it took, the more unhappy Chief Gatling got. And as any old sailor will tell you, an unhappy chief is an unpleasant chief. Standing in the cold, soaking rain of a December night in Norfolk only made matters worse.
The sailors were passing bags, boxes, and other odds and ends out of the warehouse and into the truck, where it would be driven down to pierside and the battleship Washington, preparing to head out on the 30th. Most of Texas’ crew had been crossdecked directly over to the new battlewagon, still working out her kinks after an abbreviated shakedown cruise. The skeleton crew that had brought Washington down would, in turn, transfer to Texas as she finished her repairs and – with a little luck – take her out again in early February. In the meantime, Washington’s new crew was being sent hither and yon on various and sundry details that often had nothing to do with getting their ship ready. Work like that took no notice of holidays and today was no different, though even Roy Gatling wanted to get things done and get back to the ship in time for the goat locker celebration at seven. And if these idiots would just get it in gear, he’d make it with plenty of time –
Oh, hell, Gatling thought as he looked up and saw a staff car approach bearing flags with the single white star of a Rear Admiral – and it was pulling to a stop. Gatling rolled his eyes and shot a withering glance at the sailors, who were now frozen in the staff car’s headlights like deer in the road, but every one of them was perfectly attired and as neat as a pin. Whatever this guy wanted, it wasn’t because the men looked bad. The car, backlit by a work light, idled to a stop and the driver jumped out to open the back door. Gatling sighed and sent a silent prayer upwards to the God who had abandoned him and his sailors, then roared, “Detail, ten-HUTT!!” and saluted as the admiral strode towards them. “Good evening, sir!” Gatling bellowed. “What can we do for you, sir?” The admiral, still backlit, paused and folded his arms, shaking his head lugubriously. “Chief, I’m disappointed,” the Admiral said with a smile in his voice. “A couple of months and you forget your friends.”
Gatling froze in momentary confusion, and then peered closely at the Admiral. In turn, Rear Admiral Brian Shannon, USN, leaned forward and grinned, “Boo.” Gatling’s face split in a grin from ear to ear as he completely forgot proper etiquette and discipline and rushed forward to practically pick Shannon off the ground while the detail watched in mystified silence. Once he was back on solid ground, Shannon roared with laughter and clapped Gatling on the shoulder. “What are you doing out here, you old pirate?”
“Cap’n Courbet got tagged to send a detail crew, so…” Gatling’s explanation trailed off into a shrug and Shannon nodded in sympathy. “For what it’s worth, Chief, it could be worse.”
“How?”
“You could work for Admiral King.”
Gatling looked at Shannon with an expression of near horror. “That bad, sir?”
Shannon shook his head. “Nope. It’s worse. Right now I’m tempted to take off these shoulder boards and help you.”
Gatling laughed and replied, “We can always use another set of hands, Admiral.” The Chief was about to say something else, when a thoughtful look passed over his face and then said, “Actually Admiral…maybe I could ask for your help with something…?” Shannon gave the Chief a puzzled look and then said, “For you, Chief, anything. What’s up?” Shannon didn’t mind doing a favor for somebody like Roy Gatling - the grizzled old Chief had held his hand on a couple of occasions after he’d taken command of Texas back in late ’39, and he owed him more than a few. In reply, Gatling looked conspiratorially from side to side and said, “Admiral, could we…?”, while twitching his head to one side. Shannon nodded and followed Gatling a few feet away into an alcove that led back to a set of double doors. Gatling looked around again, almost as if he was expecting the Shore Patrol to break in on them at any moment. Shannon was thoroughly mystified now and asked, “Chief, are you in some kind of trouble? I mean, I’ll do anything I can to help, but –“
Gatling shook his head vigorously. “No sir, not at all – I mean, I’m not in trouble…in fact, this is kinda for somebody else, not for me.” Now Shannon was thoroughly confused – and mildly suspicious. “Chief, I’ll be happy to help, but will you please spit it out?”
Gatling nodded apologetically. “Yessir, I’m sorry – I’m not used to asking an Admiral for help. You know about the Carnaveron Castle?” Shannon had to think for a moment, and then realized what Gatling was referring to. As the situation in the UK had gotten worse, someone over there – with the best of intentions – had ordered the evacuation of as many children as possible out of the country as famine began to be a terrifying possibility. The results had been awful – of three ships two had been sunk with heavy loss of life and a third…well, Shannon had been at CINCLANT when Bill Halsey had ordered the search called off. They’d never found so much as a piece of wreckage. One of the other two had been the Carnaveron Castle, a nondescript tramp steamer that had it not been for the war would have spent a quiet, uneventful life wandering from one port to another. Instead, it would be remembered for having been torpedoed within sight of Cape Charles by a lurking U-boat. The U-boat had followed her victim to the bottom a few minutes later, but it was far too late. Nearly two hundred children – and most of the adults – had gone down with the Carnaveron Castle. The surviving kids had been brought ashore, where two local churches had done their best to try and take care of them. Trouble was, they were going to spend Christmas alone in a school gym, three thousand miles from home. There was no way anyone was even going to think about trying to get them back to England, the Brits barely had enough food for the people left over there, and every bite and piece of clothing that could be scrounged together here was being diverted to the Fleet and the Army. The kids were warm and safe and dry, but that was about all that could be said for them.
Shannon looked at Gatling and wondered why the subject had come up. “Chief, I think everybody here has heard of the Carnaveron Castle. The question is why does it matter?”
“Well, Skip – I mean, Admiral…some of the other chiefs and I were talking in the Goat Locker the other day, and…well…we were trying to figure out some way to help the kids out.”
“Seems reasonable enough, Chief – but did you go to Beau with this?”
“Yessir, we did. Cap’n Courbet really went to bat for us, sir, but the Fleet Quartermaster put the kibosh on it, says there ain’t enough for the Navy, much less a bunch of kids.” Shannon frowned at that, but as soon as he heard ‘Fleet Quartermaster’, he knew what to expect. Captain Edward Danby was probably the most arrogant, hard-nosed, by-the-book SOB who’d ever put on a Captain’s eagles – and in that, he matched the man who’d put him there, Admiral Ernest J. King. All the ships and commands assigned to Norfolk had adopted some kind of charity that Christmas, with the exception of the Fleet Quartermaster, affectionately known by the initials FQ. Danby seemed to revel in being a true and genuine ass, and it drove most decent officers nuts. Shannon looked at Gatling for a moment and then quietly said, “Chief, what is it exactly you’ve got in mind?”
Gatling looked around again and led Shannon back to the truck, where the detail snapped to attention once more and presented awkward salutes. Shannon returned them with what looked like an awkward wave and climbed into the truck behind Gatling, who threw a tarp back off a pile of boxes with all the flair of Harry Blackstone revealing his lovely assistant after making her disappear. There, piled almost as tall as he was, were crates of – well, of everything needed for a successful Christmas dinner for yourself and a few dozen close friends. Frozen turkeys, cans of cranberry sauce, bags of stuffing, canned fruit, boxes of potatoes – with the rationing rules in effect right now, there was enough in this truck to feed a hundred families tomorrow. Shannon knew that the mess halls were already cooking their Christmas dinners, as were the enlisted and O-clubs. The ships all had their provisions, so…. “Chief, where’s all this stuff going?”
Gatling looked him dead in the eye. “Admiral, we got directed to take this stuff over to the FQ’s tonight. Apparently he is entertaining tomorrow.” Shannon’s jaw tightened for a moment, then his eyes suddenly grew wide as he realized what Gatling had in mind. Whirling to face the Chief, Shannon shook his head in disbelief. “Chief, you are joking –“, but Gatling was shaking his head with all the solemnity of a doctor delivering bad news. “Admiral, I have never been so serious in my entire life. Cap’n Danby might be the FQ, but sir…I mean, geez, he turned down tryin’ to feed those kids, and this stuff is going to his private party...”
Brian Shannon was not a by-the-book martinet, far from it, but there were channels, for cryin’ out loud… but there were also a bunch of orphaned kids who weren’t even going to get a decent Christmas dinner tomorrow, while the FQ sat fat dumb and happy at his quarters and stuffed his face…and yes, he was an admiral, but a very junior one…and Gatling and his detail stood there looking at him in the cold rain, expecting him to do the Right Thing. Screwing up his courage, Shannon asked Gatling, “All right…where are we taking this stuff?” Gatling’s face split into a huge grin. “Saint Mary’s Star of the Sea, up t’ the fortress.” The Chief cocked his head in the general direction of Fort Monroe – five or six miles and about an hour away by the Strawberry Banks ferry. Oh boy, thought Shannon. First they’d have to get off base, then get to the ferry terminal, across Hampton Roads, up the road to Monroe, unload what they could, then get back. About two hours, maybe three, but only if they could get on and off Monroe without any problems. That would make it 2000 hours before they got back, he was supposed to meet Marie at Admiral Halsey’s residence at the same time for the CINCLANT Christmas party – Shannon paused and smiled wickedly, then turned to Gatling. “Chief, get the truck secured and ready to roll. We’ll get over there and drop off SOME of this, okay? I’ll get you guys out of here and back, but first I need to make a phone call.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Gatling and his detail jumped to work getting everything tied down as Shannon jumped down out of the truck and ducked inside Warehouse 19. A young sailor, sitting behind a counter, jumped up and gave a quivering salute as Shannon smiled and waved, then grabbed a phone. Quickly dialing a Monroe number, Shannon waited impatiently while a series of buzzes and clicks popped in his ear, finally followed by a bored voice answering, “Fort Monroe HQ, Lieutenant Dale.”
“This is Admiral Shannon at CINCLANT. Let me talk to Lieutenant Colonel Blair.”
“Yes, SIR!” The Lieutenant perked up right quickly and there was a bang as he dropped the phone, followed by the sounds of footsteps charging into the distance. Within a few moments, Shannon could hear the click of women’s heels, and a southern-accented voice saying, “This is Colonel Blair, how can I help you…Sugah?”
Shannon blushed furiously even at that distance, and whispered, “Dammit, Marie, someone might be listening!”
Marie’s laugh fairly glided over the phone lines. “There isn’t – he’s off in the corner making sure that no one can hear important officer things. What’s up?”
Shannon looked around defensively almost before he realized he was doing it. Being a criminal gets hold of you fast, he thought. “Look, Marie – I don’t have time to explain – but I need to get a truck through the gate at Monroe in about an hour. Can you arrange it?”
There was a mystified pause on the other end, then Marie replied, “Sugah, the gates are closed at five for everything except emergency and foot traffic. What do you need to bring a truck over here for?” Shannon thought for a moment, and then said, “Marie, you wouldn’t believe me, and I’m not sure I believe it myself. Just trust me – I need to get through that gate.”
Pause. “The last time you said ‘trust me’, I –“
“I know, I know, okay,” Shannon said quickly. “You did get promoted out of it.”
“Among other things.” There was a resigned sigh, and then Marie said, “Admiral, it’s a good thing I love you. You’re still at Norfolk?”
“Yeah. Just have to get through the gate here.”
“GO. I’ll have the duty officer at the ferry meet you and call me when you get there.”
“Thank you, Marie. I’ll explain all of this later…and I owe you one, sweetheart.”
The laugh that came through the phone was both loving and wicked. “Sugah, you have NO idea. See you in a bit.”
The phone clicked off and Shannon hung up, sprinting back outside. The big Mack deuce and a half, painted a glossy navy blue was already revved up and idling, a thin blue/gray cloud drifting up from its exhaust pipe. Shannon motioned to Gatling and then jogged to his car, which still sat patiently across the street. Leaning in the window, Shannon said, “Look – little change in plans. Follow me…we’re going across the Roads for a bit.” The driver, a young petty officer named Coulter, just nodded and smiled, for One Does Not Question Admirals. Shannon patted the top of the staff car, gave Coulter a thumbs up, and ran back to the truck. With a mechanical grunt and a snarl of grinding gears, the Mack took off and Coulter fell into line behind it.
Within a moment or two, a massive black Packard staff car pulled up to 19 with a screech of brakes on the slick pavement. A sailor leapt out and opened the rear door while trying to stand at attention at the same time as Captain Edward Danby, USN, stepped out to survey the scene with look of mild disdain. Turning to the sailor, Danby said quietly, “It’s not here.”
“No, sir.”
“There is supposed to be a truck here with my name on it, and it is not here.”
“No, sir.”
Danby nodded at this with the look of a man who considered himself put upon by a world filled with people who lived solely to annoy him. Well, this particular set of people would find out that one did not annoy the Fleet Quartermaster. Striding purposefully into 19, Danby marched up to the counter that Shannon had stood at moments before. The same young sailor was still there and came to attention once more. Danby examined him closely and snarled, “Your uniform is wrinkled. Put yourself on report.”
The sailor’s face fell in dismay. “Yes, sir.”
“Now – there was a truck here that was supposed to report to the Quartermaster’s residence. Where is it?”
The sailor frantically looked around the counter, then grabbed a clipboard and quickly leafed through the papers on it. “Sir,” the sailor said with a nervous voice, “that truck was finished a few minutes ago. It should have already rolled.”
“I know that, you moron. WHERE DID IT ROLL TO??”
The sailor was nearly in tears under the unexpected assault. “Sir, I – I don’t know! There was an Admiral in here a few minutes ago to make some phone calls, I thought he was here for the truck!” Danby’s ears perked up at that, like a watchdog detecting a threat. “What admiral?” Danby growled, leaning so far over the counter that the sailor thought he was going to fall over it. “I didn’t get his name, Sir, honest! All I heard was him calling over to Fort Monroe and making arrangements with someone over there to get in!”
Well now, thought Danby, this finally made sense. Someone had decided that they were going to sabotage his party, his moment, and his chance for a long overdue promotion. This wouldn’t do, not one little bit. Giving the sailor one more unpleasant look for effect, Danby spun out on his heel and headed back to his car. There was only one gate open after 1700, the one down on Granby Street, and he was going to have a great deal of pleasure in going there to take his property back.
Part II
The traffic going out of the Granby Street gate was heavy, and the Marine and Navy guards were being most conscientious – which meant that things were going very slowly. Shannon peered ahead and saw the Navy guards handling the outbound traffic checking paperwork for each military vehicle headed out. “Um, Chief,” Shannon said quietly, “we do have paperwork…don’t we?”
Gatling pondered this for a moment, and then smiled at Shannon. “Ah…no sir, we don’t.”
“And how exactly do we get off the base?”
Gatling looked at Shannon as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head. “Well, sir…you are an Admiral…”
Oh-kay, Shannon thought. He was going to be a thoroughly accomplished felon by the time this was all over. The truck inched forward, and finally got to the gate, where a petty officer jumped up on the passenger side running board. “Okay, where the hell do you think – JEEZ!” The petty officer almost jumped clean off the truck when he saw Shannon’s shoulder boards. “Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you-“
Shannon gave his best no-sweat grin and said, “It’s all right. We’ll just get out of your hair-“
The petty officer gave a relieved smile. “Thanks, sir. Just let me see your orders real quick.”
Shannon blinked and smiled as if he had no idea what the guard was talking about. “What orders? Chief, you know anything about orders?”
Gatling shook his head in absolute innocence. “Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no orders, sir. I just drive the truck.”
Shannon smiled and shrugged. “No orders, and we have to catch the ferry and get to Fort Monroe! So, we’ll get rolling –“
The petty officer shook his head firmly. “Beggin’ the Admiral’s pardon, but we’re supposed to have a set of travel orders on every vehicle leaving the base. If you don’t have any, I’m gonna have to call back to Ops and get some kind of clearance.” Shannon thought fast and gave a conspiratorial glance around before motioning the petty officer to come closer. “Son, do you know who ordered this truck?” The petty officer shook his head. Shannon looked around once more, leaned over and whispered a name, just loudly enough to be heard over the other traffic sounds. The petty officer’s eyes widened in a mixture of fear and disbelief. “Sir….you mean?…”
Shannon nodded solemnly. “Exactly.” The petty officer wasn’t at all sure what to do next, but when he shot a glance at the line of cars that was steadily backing up behind them, he knew he had to do something. Sighing heavily, the petty officer looked back at Shannon and said, “Look, sir – just gimme your name and we’ll get you rolling.” Now this was a problem. Giving his real name would be a potential problem down the line…on the other hand, there were dozens of Admirals here at Norfolk,…and then Shannon saw the graffiti in an alley across the street, one that had become increasingly common in recent years all over the country. Shannon smiled as innocence itself at the guard and said, “Kilroy…Admiral Kilroy, CINCLANT.” The guard quickly wrote it down on a notepad and saluted. “Okay, Admiral, you’re on your way!” Shannon returned the salute and Gatling put the truck into gear, rolling them away from the gate with a hiss of tires on rain-slick concrete. If the Strawberry Banks ferry was on time – and it usually was – they had just about fifteen minutes to catch it.
A few minutes later, the guard looked up to see a staff car – a Packard, from the looks of it – pull out of the line of outbound cars and bump down the shoulder towards him. Cripes, the guard thought, some impatient clown who can’t wait his turn – the guard held up his hand, and for a moment he thought the staff car was going to barrel right over him – but instead, it screeched to a halt just in front of him. Running up to the driver’s window, the guard roared, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?? For God’s sake –” It was only then the guard noticed the driver furtively nodding backwards at the passenger, who was already up and out of the car. “You – I am Captain Danby, the Fleet Quartermaster! Did a truck on its way out come through here?”
The guard nodded. “Yessir, just a few minutes ago! “ Danby looked around wildly. “Well – where is it?”
The guard swallowed nervously. “Sir, I – that is, it –“
“YOU LET IT GO???”
“Yessir.”
Danby was about to go completely berserk, but then got control of himself and snarled, “Where were they headed – and who was in that truck??”
“Sir, they said something about the ferry over to Fort Monroe, and there was an Admiral Kilroy in the truck!” Danby was speechless with fury and was barely able to spit out, “Put yourself on report!!” before jumping back into the Packard. The car lurched into gear and took off; turning left and almost ran into another staff car, this one with two blue four-starred flags snapping in the rain. Both cars shuddered to a stop, and Danby leapt out to run to the passenger window of the second staff car. Saluting, Danby was greeted by a ferocious roar from the back seat. “Danby, you ass!! What are you trying to do, kill us both??”
“No, sir!! I’m trying to catch some thieves, sir! They just got out of here with a truckload of supplies that were meant for – ah…um…one of our fighting ships, sir! “
There was a pause before the gravelly voice came out of the back seat once more. “You know where they’re headed?”
“Yes, sir! Over to the other side of the roads – probably to meet an accomplice and sell it all on the black market!” There was a pause, and the voice from the back of the second staff car said, “All right – lead on, we’ll follow you. I want to see this.” Danby saluted again and ran back to his car, and the two vehicles headed off for the Willoughby Spit ferry terminal.
It’s been more than half a century now since the Strawberry Banks made its run every hour between Hampton and Willoughby Spit, the outcrop of land northwest of Norfolk that’s now home to upscale hotels, restaurants, and condos. The big six-lane tunnels of Interstate Two that now run fifty feet beneath the seabed of Hampton Roads and the giant Trident Bridge have long since replaced it, while the last of the ferries is now a floating restaurant itself in Norfolk. But in 1942, that was the only way to get across the roads quickly and a couple generations of soldiers, sailors, and Marines experienced the thrill of trying to catch the last ferry across to make it back before liberty was over. It was getting close as Chief Gatling nimbly rolled the truck onto the dock, past two Navy tugs that were tied up alongside. Strawberry Banks was at the end of the dock, and there was just enough room for him to ease the truck aboard, expertly guided in by a deckhand. As Shannon and Gatling got out of the truck, more deckhands closed the gate across the ferry’s stern, and there were two sharp blasts on her whistle.
Gatling smiled at Shannon and patted him on the shoulder. “There you go, sir. Smooth as silk.” Shannon merely looked at Gatling and said, “Chief, this isn’t quite what I’d expected. We’ve gone from doing a reasonably good deed to lying our way through a guard post – “ Gatling held up a calming hand. “Not to worry, sir. We’ll be on the other side in a few minutes, and at Monroe five minutes after that. We get the kids their chow and we’re home free.”
“You make it sound terribly easy, Chief.”
“Piece of cake, sir. I remember me and some friends on the Florida once stole – that is, we borrowed a captain’s gig off the Arkansas – now that was hard…”
The two staff cars rolled up the dock with Strawberry Banks already some distance out into the Roads, and Danby stormed out into the cold December wind as the ferry, lit only by a few dim lamps, churned across the green water towards the Peninsula.
“GODDAMMIT!!” Danby’s voice roared into the night as he watched in impotent fury, trying to figure out how to stop that truck. His fury – and frustration – grew as the other staff car rolled up behind him, its lights casting harsh shadows on the tugs. This time, when the other car rolled to a stop, its driver nimbly leapt from the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door. The voice that came from inside was sepulchral, foreboding – and highly irritated.
“Danby,” it said, “What in the hell is going on? Where’s the truck?”
Edward Danby had not gotten where he was by being slow on his feet. There was a truck loaded with HIS dinner goods – the dinner that was finally going to get him his Admiral’s star – escaping across the Roads right now, and he would be damned if anyone or anything was going to stop him from getting it back. “Sir,” Danby replied, “They’re getting away – they must have confederates on the other side!”
The silence from inside the staff car was that of the grave, until the voice asked in a gentle tone, “Then how do you propose we stop them, Captain?”
Oh dear.
Danby’s indignation had blinded him to the fact that they were, indeed, getting away with HIS food, and there were a couple miles of cold, open water between him and his promotion. It was then that Danby looked up at the tug, tied up safe secure and warm - With a thin tendril of steam and smoke drifting up from its stack. Now, Edward Danby, in his climb to power and authority, had commanded one – exactly one - US Naval vessel, an elderly old minelayer named the Watchahussee. Danby had made sure his JO’s did nothing and that the Chiefs ran the ship, thereby insuring that nothing could go wrong to hinder his rise. Now of course, that also meant that Danby knew very little about how ships should be run, or even what made them run – but he did remember that if there was anything coming out of the stack, the ship had steam up.
And that ship was going to get his truck back.
Shannon and Gatling leaned over the ferry’s stern gate and watched the dock disappear behind them, its few dim lights slowly sinking behind a line of dark water. Shannon didn’t see this view often – whenever he was out here, it was usually on a bridge, trying to keep track of all the things that could possibly go wrong as he threaded a battleship through one of the world’s busiest ports. A gust of wind made him shudder down deeper into his coat as he realized that this would probably be the view he’d see from now on – that of a passenger. Admirals didn’t conn ships, no sirree. They rode on them, and that was certainly no damn fun.
“Miss it, sir?” Gatling’s voice cut through the wind and into Shannon’s reverie.
Shannon didn’t miss a beat. “Hell yes, Chief. All I do now is shuffle paperwork from one desk to the next, and keep an eye on idiots like Danby. Of which, I might note, there seems to be an unending supply.”
Gatling gave a snort of laughter. “Admiral, I know there seem to be a lot of guys like that out there – you should see it from where I stand. But for what it’s worth, for every FQ, there’s a couple of guys like you and Cap’n Courbet. You still outnumber ‘em, Sir.”
Shannon grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind. By the way, Chief, what –“ Shannon paused, then peered out over the rail. Something was moving behind them – directly behind them, and it had a bone in its teeth.
Part III
The tug USS Canocan – known with little affection to her crew as the Can’t Can – had been tied up and enjoying Christmas Eve routine when Danby had stormed aboard and commandeered her. Since her OOD (and acting commander) was an Ensign of little time and less experience and considerable awe of rank, the skeleton crew had thrown the lines over the side and started racing after the dim lights that were rapidly receding towards the Peninsula.
Edward Danby would not be denied now, not with victory so clearly in sight. He stood tall and proud on the bridge of the Canocan as she surged across the Roads, as determined and driven as if he was on the bridge of a battleship.
The Canocan’s crew, of course, was convinced that Captain Danby was quite mad. However, he had captain’s shoulder boards and he was indeed, in charge, much to the dismay of the crew, and orders is orders – a point especially clear to the nineteen year old who was at the helm. Canocan’s usual pilot had been ashore, and when the deranged Captain came aboard, he asked who had experience handling the ship. The Young Seaman raised his hand, omitting the detail that he had all of ten minutes behind the helm. He did remember two things, however – the Captain is always right, and never, ever do ANYTHING until the Captain tells you to. The sage old Chiefs who were – as they so frequently assured him – the ONLY reason the United States Navy hadn’t yet gone to hell in a handbasket told him so, and of course they must be correct. The Young Seaman, of course, resolved to follow his Chiefs’ wisdom to the letter.
Sadly, none of the Cant Can’s chiefs were aboard that evening, so the Young Seaman and Captain Danby were headed for the aforementioned Hell without even the comfort of said handbasket.
Shannon and Gatling watched the Can’t Can gain on them steadily. It didn’t take much effort to figure out why the tug was blasting along at flank speed – such as it was – and Shannon gave Gatling a look that had withered Ensigns and put the fear of God into Commanders.
“Chief,” Shannon snarled through gritted teeth, “they’re chasing us.”
Gatling looked at the oncoming tug with a mixture of admiration and amazement. “Admiral, I do believe you are right…y’know, I never thought they could move that fast, usually it takes hours for ‘em to get to us – “
“CHIEF!”
Gatling shook his head to clear it and smiled. “Sorry, sir. I suppose then we’d better get the truck revved up and ready to get clear once we dock.”
Shannon’s eyes narrowed. “Chief, they are going to dock before WE DO!”
Gatling shook his head. “Nah. They won’t quite catch up. And you’ll notice, sir, that they are running pretty much at flank speed, whereas we – “ the Strawberry Banks gave a slight lurch – “are slowing back to dock. Whoever’s got the conn will have to be pretty sharp to notice us slowing up.”
Edward Danby snapped his fingers, and it took one of the crewmen a moment to realize that the captain wanted the megaphone that was on one corner of the tug’s bridge. The seaman handed it to Danby, who regarded him as if he had just handed the officer a dead mackerel, then held it to his mouth.
“ATTENTION! THIS IS THE UNITED STATES NAVY, AND YOU ARE ORDERED TO STOP AT ONCE AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!!”
Shannon blinked in befuddled amazement. “Chief, did he just say – “ It took a second for Shannon to realize that the big Mack was being revved up with clouds of blue smoke – and not incidentally drowning out any sound coming from the tug. And, with his foot trying to push the pedal through the floorboards, was Chief Gatling wearing an expression of beatific innocence.
Danby sneered as he lowered the megaphone and began to snarl a command, and then looked at the big ferry just ahead of them. Was it slowing up…no matter if it was. The little twerp behind the wheel would certainly know enough to keep them from running into something, for God’s sake. With that thought, he raised the megaphone once more and bellowed another order to stop.
Strawberry Banks was now slowing quickly – her slab-sided hull dragging through the water almost as effectively as any anchor as her huge single screw bit into the cold waters of the Roads. Shannon held onto the rail against the deceleration and watched in fascinated horror as the tug continued on, constant speed and bearing, decreasing range.
It took a second or two more for Danby to realize that they were getting close to the stern of the ferry – good. Put the fear of God into them…but it was Danby who was feeling truly nervous as he realized the damn ferry was COMING TO A STOP as the darkened ferry house started to fade into view on the far shore. Danby stared at it open-mouthed for a few long seconds before turning to the wheelhouse to see the helmsman, with an equally terrified expression, standing rigid behind the helm, holding it locked straight ahead.
Shannon watched as a figure in a blue overcoat stumbled towards the wheelhouse, throwing the door open and fairly leaping inside. His mouth went dry for a few seconds as he watched the tug continue to close the distance, then suddenly pivot to the ferry’s starboard, sending a wave against the ferry hard enough for Shannon to feel it. The one thing Shannon would always remember was not how close the tug passed, but the sight of an officer furiously whacking the helmsman with his hat.
Danby looked at his broken hat just long enough to miss that the Can’t Can had, fortunately, missed the stern of the ferry. He did not, however, miss the barge that was now directly in their path. White letters, proclaiming it to be YSR-52 – Danby’s mind raced, trying to remember what a YSR was…that would make it a…a…
Shannon and Gatling both said it at the same time, just before the sickening crunch of the collision:
“Honey barge.”
Several thousands of gallons of sewage poured through a gash in the barge’s flank, a lot of it rolling onto the tug’s deck in a malodorous brown wave, squirting out through the hawsepipes and back into the Roads as the tug’s crew came racing up on deck, slipping and occasionally falling in the awful mess. As the Strawberry Banks slowed and came to a halt, all Shannon and Gatling could do was stand there…and applaud.
It took just a few more minutes for the crew to get the gates open, and a minute or so after that Gatling rolled the Mack over the bow with a rattle of steel plates and a squeak of springs. Shannon was trying not to dissolve into laughter as he looked back out into the Roads, where flashlights and small spotlights played over the scene of the collision. It looked to have been more embarrassing than dangerous – the barge had plenty of excess buoyancy, and it would take a lot more than what just happened to sink it. Still…it HAD happened because of them. Shannon turned to Gatling, who seemed to be reading his mind. “Relax, Admiral,” Gatling said as he rolled the truck up the road towards the fortress. “Five more minutes and we’re home free.”
Shannon shook his head as he sat back in the seat, muttering, “I’m sure John Dillinger thought the same thing the last time he went to the movies…”
Part IV
Then as now, the main road into Fortress Monroe ran through Phoebus, once the encampment of freed slaves and now a massive gatepost that controlled almost all access in and out of the fortress. There was a brief stop in town as Shannon called Marie to tell her they were almost there and to try and explain exactly what in heaven’s name they were up to. After that, the Mack bumped down the hill, past the fishing boats that were now safely nestled pierside for the night, and up to the gate shack, warm and well lit at the foot of Segar Street. Shannon peered through the windshield, and sure enough, there was the form of a tall, blonde WAC officer standing beside it, trying to stay warm. Holding his hand up for Gatling to bring it to a stop, Shannon swung the door open and leapt down onto the pavement at a trot as the WAC came forward, followed by an Army sergeant with an MP brassard. The WAC came to attention and fired off a sharp salute. “Good evening, Admiral…Sugah.” Even in the dark, Shannon could see Marie Blair’s eyes twinkling, and thanked God the sergeant couldn’t hear her. He saluted as well when he drew up with them. “Good evening, Admiral…?”
Shannon was about to give his real name when he caught himself with a cough. “Kilroy, Admiral Kilroy from Atlantic Fleet HQ. Are we clear to get in?”
The sergeant nodded. “Yessir! Colonel Blair got everything cleared for you – if you’ll just sign here.” Handing Shannon a clipboard with a form on it, Shannon said a small, quick prayer that someone, somewhere would understand what he was doing, and scrawled a quick and hopefully illegible name at the bottom. The sergeant, happy to get back into his warm gate shack, saluted smartly, and trotted back with a whistle to the other guards. The gate itself swung upwards while Shannon and Blair jumped back into the truck and Gatling put it into gear to roll through.
“Evening, Colonel!”, Gatling smiled. “Good to see you again!”
“And you, Chief,” Marie grinned back. “Good to see that the Chief’s tradition of petty larceny is alive and well.”
“All for a good cause, Ma’am, all for a good cause.” The Mack rolled past the old Arsenal and down the road to the Hotel Chamberlain, where Shannon and Marie had met last September, and then off onto one of the side streets toward the Fortress. Just before one gets to the Fortress itself, all crenellated red brick and sandstone caps, is Saint Mary Star Of The Sea church, a quiet gray granite structure at the corner of Frank and Tidball. It was lit just the way a church should be on Christmas Eve, all soft candlelight and glowing stained glass, a solitary yet comforting outpost of peace in a world that had gone thoroughly and utterly mad. The truck slowed as the church came into sight, and Marie pointed towards the front of the church. “Get as close to the steps as you can, Chief. We’ll be unloading there.”
“Yes’m.” The Mack pulled smoothly up to the very foot of the steps, and Gatling brought it to a halt, looking around for a moment.
“Colonel, not to appear ungrateful for everything you’ve done to help, but we need a crew to unload this beast, and I don’t see anybody.”
Marie grinned. “That’s because you’re looking about three feet too high, Chief.” Jumping out of the truck onto the steps, she gave a sharp, piercing whistle. With that, the doors to the church swung open, and Shannon watched in disbelief as a flock – no, a herd of kids came pouring out, hooting and hollering as they headed for the truck, guided more or less in that direction by a pair of nuns. Marie strode forward and held up a hand for silence. “All right,” she bellowed, “Listen up! We have maybe about ten minutes to unload this truck so you mob can have a dinner tomorrow – are you up to it?” The cheer that came back was enough of an answer. Shannon shrugged, and along with Gatling unfastened the canvas flap that covered the back of the truck and threw it over the top of the truck. Within a minute or so, the children had set up a line back into the church, and it was being rapidly emptied, faster than any work detail Shannon had ever seen.
It only took nine minutes for the last few boxes to start being passed down the truck bed when a pair of headlights suddenly swung around the corner and lit the scene like a Broadway show. A Jeep screeched to a halt, and four MPs piled out, leaving a solitary figure to stagger out, pulling a broken officer’s hat down over his head. The MPs formed a grim, foreboding line behind the truck as the unloading came to a halt, and the senior of them called, “All right, who’s in charge of this?!”
Shannon, Blair, and Gatling looked at one another, completely out of ideas this time. Gatling shook his head quietly and looked at Shannon with a sad smile. “Admiral…this was my idea. You did your best to help me, but I’ve gotta take the rap on this one –“
Shannon smiled back, putting his hand on Gatling’s shoulder. “Not on my watch, Chief. I might end up commanding that honey barge back there, but I’m not letting you go down for this.” With that, Shannon stepped forward and said, “Sergeant, I’m Admiral – “
“YOUUUUUUUUUU!” Captain Edward Danby pushed his way between the MPs, soaked in sewage from the waist down, his hat broken almost in two from front to back and sagging down almost over his ears. “I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE,” Danby screamed in an ecstasy of anger and frustration, ‘BUT YOU WILL PUT MY SUPPLIES BACK ON MY TRUCK, AND YOU WILL DO IT NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME? NOW, NOW, NOW!!!”
Danby was jumping up and down like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and the MPs were looking at him wondering whom they should arrest and/or shoot first. Their dilemma was resolved when another set of headlights, this time on a huge Lincoln staff car, came around the corner with a squeal of brakes. An Army colonel jumped out of one side, then raced around to the other to open the door. There was a brief pause while a set of Navy blue trouser legs swung out, followed by the rest of Admiral Ernest J. King, United States Navy.
As one, Shannon, Gatling, Marie, and Danby came to attention and muttered, “Oh, sh*t.”
King, wearing an air of absolute and utter disdain for the whole affair, strode slowly past the sputtering Danby and walked up to Shannon, Gatling, and Marie. King looked at Gatling first, eyes sweeping him up and down before finally saying, “I don’t know you.”
“Sir, no sir!”, Gatling replied, followed by an under-the-breath, “And thank God for small favors.”
King moved to Marie next, with an expression like that of a man smelling something even worse than Captain Danby. “You,”, he finally said, “I know. The broad.”
Marie Blair stood as tall as she could, with a smile that would have melted anyone else, and answered, “That’s Lieutenant Colonel Broad, sir!”
Brian Shannon had only time to roll his eyes heavenward in supplication but once before King stepped in front of him, eyes invisible in the shadow of his hat brim. It seemed forever before King spoke, but when he did it was in tones more appropriate for a funeral.
“Shannon. I should have known. I chase that ass Danby around all over Hampton Roads to locate some stolen supplies, and you’re at the bottom of it. I don’t suppose you have anything vaguely resembling an explanation?”
Shannon thought for a moment, his mind racing, until he finally realized that nothing short of the truth was going to save him – and that was unlikely at best. Oh well… “Admiral,…well….Chief Gatling…you see, the supplies-“
“SPIT IT OUT!!!”
“Yessir. These supplies were being diverted from the fleet to a private residence. Chief Gatling notified me, and I in turn decided that they were better off used for the kids. They had nothing for Christmas at all – this would have at least given them something.”
King looked at the long line of supplies, still being held by the kids, then back at the truck and Shannon, snarling, “Why didn’t you tell Danby?”
Shannon took a deep breath, then looked Danby dead in the eye. “Because, sir, they were headed for Captain Danby’s residence.”
King didn’t flinch, not even when Danby made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a gargle, and continued to make the noise until King slowly turned to look at him, and the noise faded into a nervous, terrified whimper. With that, King turned to Gatling, snapped his fingers, and growled, “Manifest.” Almost before King could react, Gatling was back with the clipboard and the truck’s paperwork. King riffled through it for a moment, looking over the scrawled instructions and authorizations, then turned back to walk slowly over to Danby. It was a very long moment before King spoke, but when he did it was like the Crack of Doom.
“You stole supplies for your own use.”
Danby could only swallow loudly.
“Then you were going to have ME eat them.”
Danby’s lips moved, but not a sound came from them.
Gatling leaned discreetly to Shannon and whispered, “Good thing his trousers are already soaked.” It was all Shannon could do not to explode in laughter.
King reached up and gently removed Danby’s hat, then carefully balanced the clipboard atop his head and pressed the hat back into place. Turning to the MP sergeant, King growled, “Take Ensign Danby away and hose him off, then bring him back here and make sure that he and he alone cooks every last bit of that food for those kids. Understand?”
The MP grinned wolfishly. “Completely, sir!” Turning to Danby with exaggerated solicitude, the MP smiled and said, “Come along now, sir – the showers are closed for the evening, but I know a nice fire hose that will do the trick.” As they led/pulled Danby away, he twisted away from the MPs for a moment and gasped to King, “Captain- I’m a Captain, sir!”
Ernie King smiled, a smile that would have terrified a shark, and said in a stiletto whisper to Danby, “All good things, Ensign…all good things.” The MPs led him down a gravel path towards a nearby building, and Shannon had to resist the urge to wave and say, “Aloha.” He was actually starting to feel pretty good about things when he heard the low growl of King’s voice again.
“Shannon….I understand an Admiral Kilroy was responsible for this.”
Shannon nodded and was able to get out a quiet, “Yes, sir.” King reflected on this for a moment, and then leaned in nose-to-nose with Shannon and whispered, “You tell…Admiral Kilroy…that if he ever, EVER does anything this stupid again…I will see to it that he spends what is left of his long, miserable career in the Aleutians. Do you understand me?”
Shannon stayed at attention, doing his best to look past the glaring eyes that were inches away from his. “Yes, sir.”
King looked at the three of them one more time with an expression that indicated he wished he could have keelhauled them, then snarled, “Merry damn Christmas,” and walked back to the staff car, which then rolled away with a his of rubber on wet pavement. Shannon, Gatling and Marie stood quietly for a moment as the car’s lights disappeared into the night, before Marie spoke up quietly.
“Did we just get away with what I think we just got away with?”
Shannon shook his head. “Colonel Blair, I have found in my career that one does not question miracles.” Looking at his watch, he continued, “And speaking of miracles, we’re going to need one if we want to get back to the other side for Admiral Halsey’s party. Chief – you drive!”
Gatling grinned and answered, “Aye aye, sir!” With that, he reached up to pull down the canvas flap and was about to fasten it when he suddenly stopped and looked at it in mystification. Shannon and Marie, about to enter the truck, realized Gatling was still there.
Walking back to the truck’s tailgate once more, they followed Gatling’s quizzical stare to see, in white chalk on the olive green canvas, a crude drawing of a man looking over the top of a wall, and under it – with a letter or two reversed, in unsteady capital letters:
KILROY WAS HERE
Gatling never shifted his gaze. “Sir, that WAS’NT there when we parked-“
Marie looked at Shannon, her expression just as confused. “Sugah, he’s right – that wasn’t –“
Shannon held up a hand for silence. “I don’t know how….but it’s here. Let’s just get back southside.”
Gatling got the truck started and rolled away, all grinding gears and blue exhaust. None of them saw one of the nuns who had been helping with the kids smile from the shadows of St. Mary's massive wooden doors and flip a piece of chalk in her hand before dropping it in her pocket and walking back inside, whistling "O Come All Ye Faithful."
A few feet away, a cold, hungry Corporal was guarding the building where Danby was being led to clean up. He’d been close enough to see everything and hear most of it, and frankly thought the arrogant little SOB was getting what was coming to him. The Corporal was an accomplished artist, stuck here until his transfer to Special Services was approved, and he knew, just knew, that there was a cartoon in this guy – but what? It had to be something that really showed what a creep who would steal Christmas from little kids would be. The Corporal pondered on this for a moment, then, as the MPs led him down the gravel path, he got his answer from the noise their boots made on the wet rock:
grinch-grinch grinch-grinch grinch-grinch grinch-grinch
With that, Corporal Ted Geisel smiled a great, grinchy smile….and knew he had his cartoon.
Maybe a story, too.
The End
The Gospel Of Luke, Chapter 2:
[9] And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
[10] And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
[11] For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
[12] And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
[13] And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
[14] Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
Merry Christmas to our family here on the Board, from me and LT Cupcake.
Mike
"007, there's two things I've always tried to teach you. First, never let them see you bleed."
"And the other?"
"ALWAYS have an escape plan."