Final Harbor

Chapter 10

The Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Waikiki Beach was the R & R center for submarine crews in from a war patrol. The men were given two weeks to unwind from the rigors of a war patrol while repair crews at the Submarine Base, called “relief crews,” repaired and repainted their ship. The hotel’s spacious grounds were large enough for those men who, after weeks of living shoulder-to-shoulder with others, wanted nothing more than solitude and quiet. The comfortable rooms were a welcome contrast to the steel-framed bunks and the confining curve of the ship’s hull. The sunshine and high blue sky were savored by men who in the course of a long war patrol often never saw even the night sky.

As Mako’s crew came piling out of the buses they were met by a grim-faced Chief Boatswain’s Mate and his crew of Masters at Arms, the hotel police force.

“Pile your gear on the starboard side of the lobby,” the Chief barked. “My people will stand watch over it while you eat. When you’re through with chow fall in by your gear.”

The Chief Bos’n’s Mate lined them up after they had eaten. His seamed face split in a small smile as he told them to stand at ease.

“I don’t want any of you people to get the wrong idea,” the Chief began. “We’re not here to make trouble for you unless you insist on it. There ain’t too many rules you have to obey. But there are some rules and here they are.

“You’ll keep your rooms shipshape. No laundry will be hung from the room balcony railings. You’ll wear uniform of the day at all times outside of your rooms unless you’re going to the beach to go swimming. No drinking in the rooms. You got three bars on the first deck, do your drinking there.

“No broads are allowed on the grounds or in the hotel. And if any of you people want to fight,” his tough face broke into a wide smile, “I got two Fleet champions in my detail. They’ll give you all the fight you want, inside the ring or out.

“Honolulu is under martial law. That means nobody except security personnel is allowed on the streets between sundown and sunrise. That goes for all civilians, too. I mean you can’t go out on the streets after sundown! You go wandering out of this hotel after dark and some trigger-happy Army fuck-off is liable to shoot you dead!” He took a deep breath.

“Now because all of you people are war heroes you get some special privileges.

“There’s some whorehouses downtown. The cab drivers know where they are. They open at zero eight hundred for ordinary sailors who ain’t heroes. You people can get in the whorehouses at zero seven hundred. To do that you have to get a special pass from the desk that lets you out of the gate at sunrise. You’ll find cabs coming to the gate right after that. Now lemme give you some advice about them whorehouses.

“First place, they’re on the second deck in one block of town. On the first deck there’s a big grocery store. You’ll find a lineup of women doin’ their shopping. Be on your best behavior when you go through that line. Don’t make no cracks! Them women know what’s topside in that building.

“When you get topside you’re going to be the first people of the day. You don’t have to take no wet decks. But those places are so busy you only get three minutes with a girl. If you can’t get it off in three minutes they give you a rain check and you can go back another day for half price.

“Another thing: The Army polices the whorehouses. They got MPs in there with clubs. Most of those fuck-offs are Reserves, cops from the South. They like to break heads. So don’t start any trouble in the whorehouses.

“One last thing: Don’t get any ideas you can make it with the women around town. Those broads got the pick of the crop. They’s about a thousand men here for every woman and they don’t have to pick crazy submarine sailors.

“We want you to have a good time while you’re here. You get drunk we’ll put you to bed if you don’t make no trouble. You get sick someone will clean up after you. Now line up at the desk over there, Chiefs first, and get your rooms. You’ll find chow schedules and laundry lists in your rooms. That’s all. Dismiss.”

“Those bastards tell you rest and recreation,” Ginty growled to one of his torpedomen as he found his sea bag in the pile near the wall. “First thing they do they hit you in the ass with a Chief Master at Arms who looks like he’d have fun biting a sick bulldog in the ass! Soon’s you get your gear in your room you get your ass in gear and make the arrangements for the beer party. Go to that fuckin’ Chief and find out the drill and take care of things. Check with me later.”

By five that afternoon — seventeen hundred hours in Navy parlance — the Mako beer party was rolling in high gear. The amateur drinkers had long since staggered off to their rooms. The Masters at Arms kept their distance from the party, moving in only when a Mako crew member decided it would be fun to go in the sea for a swim. The Masters at Arms were gentle but very firm. No swimming unless in the uniform of the day for swimming, regulation trunks.

The hard-core drinkers had gathered in a circle around Ginty, who presided at the beer keg tap. A kitchen worker from the hotel appeared with a big box of sandwiches and Ginty rewarded him with a beer. Spook Hernandez turned to Ginty as he handed out the food.

“Beer’s all right as a belly wash,” he grumbled, “I need something better. Gimme the key to the alky locker in your Forward Room, Ginch. I got time to grab a cab back to the Base, get a five gallon can of alky and get back here before sundown. We can stow the alky in my room, big-deal the galley out of some grapefruit juice and have us a real submarine party, like the old days.”

Ginty shook his massive head. “Nope. Ain’t givin’ you no key to no alky locker. I do that and Dusty Rhodes finds out he’s gonna land on me like a fuckin’ ton of bricks!”

“What the hell you afraid of Rhodes for?” Hernandez demanded. “You’re bigger’n him. Fuckin’ Chief of the Boat got no business interferin’ with the troops on leave. Gimme the key!”

“Two things you gotta get straight, Spook,” Ginty said. “First thing is I ain’t afraid of Dusty Rhodes. I just got good sense which you ain’t got. The man was Fleet heavyweight champ for three years. I served with a dude in the Asiatic Fleet fought him. Got knocked out inna first round! Old Dusty got him a string of about twenty KOs in the first round!

“Second thing is that I ain’t given’ you no key to the alky locker so forget it and have another beer.”

“You’re a fucking shithead,” Hernandez said, “a real shithead! Don’t never come back to my After Room to borrow a tool because you dropped one in the bilges and you’re too lazy to dig it out! Just don’t come aft of the fucking Maneuvering Room, you hear?” He turned and began weaving his way through the sand toward the hotel.

“Fuckin’ Spics can’t drink,” Ginty pronounced. He drew a stein of beer and rubbed his head. “Got to get me a haircut tomorrow. Anyone seen old Hindu Hendershot? Bastard was here a while ago.”

John Maxwell, the Chief Yeoman, held out his empty stein. “Gimme a refill, Ginch. Hindu went lookin’ for that second class of his who wants to change his rate to radioman.”

“What’s he want with a fuckin’ Reserve?” Ginty grunted. He filled Maxwell’s stein and handed it back to him. “Shit, that Reserve, that Billy Strong, he had two beers and left!”

“Chief Hendershot, in his wisdom, has decided that Billy Strong has disgraced his electrical gang by wanting out,” Maxwell drawled. “So he’s gone to the guy’s room. He hopes the room is high enough up in the hotel that when he throws Billy Strong off the balcony he’ll bounce at least one floor high!”

“You better go find Hindu and change his mind,” Ginty said. “Hindu’s good people. He shouldn’t get fucked up over a Reserve.”

Maxwell smiled happily, the beer foam covering his thick black mustache. “You’re a First Class Petty Officer last time I looked at your service record, old Ginch. First Class can’t give orders to a Chief, you know that.”

Ginty lowered his head and stared at Maxwell. “I don’t want no trouble with you, Chief. But a Chief tells another Chief not to do something, savvy? First Class don’t go tellin’ a Chief not to throw a silly fuckin’ Reserve offa no balcony. Chief’s gotta do something like that. Another thing, you’re nothin’ but a fucking ex-Marine joined the Navy because the chow was better. So go find Hindu and do your thing.”

Maxwell rose and flexed his wide, muscular shoulders.

“I had a Gunnery Sergeant when I was in the Corps was just like you, Ginty. He was so ugly that when he farted you couldn’t tell which end it came out of!” He whooped with joy and dodged the empty beer stein Ginty threw at him. He was still laughing as he went up through the white sand to the hotel.

Breakfast hours in the Royal Hawaiian were generous by Navy standards. The dining room served coffee and doughnuts from 0530 to 0700 for early risers and for those who wanted to get into town to be first in line at the crowded brothels. Regular breakfasts were served from seven until mid-morning. Each table was stocked with pitchers of ice-cold milk and tomato juice for those who had imbibed too well the evening before. Ginty left his room shortly after eight and padded down the hall. He passed an open door and heard Hindu Hendershot’s Kentucky twang singing. He went into the room. It was empty.

“You in here, Chief?” he bellowed. “I can hear you moanin’ but where the fuck are you?”

“In the head,” Hendershot’s voice floated out of the bathroom into the room.

Ginty walked into the big bathroom and saw Hendershot, stark naked, walking up and down in a bathtub that was a third full of soapy water.

“What in the fuck you doin’?”

“Washing my clothes,” Hendershot said happily. “Walkin’ up and down on ‘em is easier than bendin’ over and doin’ it by hand. Makes my head ache to bend over the tub. Where you goin’?”

“Breakfast,” Ginty said. “Gonna eat this hotel right out of hot cakes and sausages. Get dressed and let the clothes soak. Come on and eat.”

A duty Master at Arms hailed the two men as they walked across the lobby.

“You Mako people, Chief?”

Hendershot nodded.

“There’s a notice going up on the bulletin board right soon,” the MAA said. “All you people got to be in uniform of the day at fourteen hundred. They’re gonna take you back to your ship.”

Ginty pushed forward, his big face hard. “Whaddya mean, take us back! We only got here yesterday!”

“It’s only for an hour or two,” the MAA said. “You’re getting a new Skipper. It’s a change of command thing.” He turned to Hendershot.

“Would you pass the word, Chief? Much obliged if you would. Lotta people don’t know we got a bulletin board.”

Ginty was starting on his third stack of hotcakes when Johnny Paul, his Second Class Torpedoman, came up to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Who asked you to sit down?” Ginty growled.

“Ginch, a terrible thing happened!” Paul said.

“What’d you do, piss the bed?”

“It’s Hernandez. You know, the First Class got the After Room?”

“I know who Hernandez is and where he works,” Ginty said. He speared a wedge of hotcake and pushed in into his mouth and chewed, his eyes on Paul.

“I don’t have to have his name, rate, serial number and blood type. What about Spook?”

“He’s blind!” Paul said in a low voice.

“You crazy?” Ginty said. “He was drinkin’ beer with us on the beach yesterday afternoon.”

“They heard him screaming!” Paul said.

“You are the worst bastard I ever saw to tell anyone anything!” Ginty said. “Will you the fuck get it out?”

“The below-decks watch in the relief crew on the Mako heard Spook screaming!” Paul looked around the dining room and then he bent over the table and dropped his voice to just above a whisper.

“Guy I know came out here to tell me. Spook and Barney Saunders, the quartermaster, went aboard the ship yesterday afternoon, late. The below-decks watch said they went up in the Conning Tower and closed the hatch to the Control Room. He said they had a bottle looked like it was gin with them.

“After a while the below-decks watch heard a funny noise in the Conning Tower and then he heard someone screaming and he opened the hatch and went up. Spook was on his hands and knees by the helm pukin’ and screamin’ and in between pukin’ and screamin’ he was yellin’ that he was blind. And that ain’t the worst part!”

“What’s worse?” Hendershot said quietly.

“Barney Saunders is over the other end of the Conning Tower, aft by the periscopes, and he’s sittin’ on deck and he’d put the muzzle of a forty-five in his mouth and blowed his brains all over the overhead!”

Ginty reached out a huge hand and clamped it around Johnny Paul’s arm. “Don’t you spread this scuttlebutt around, sailor! You do and I’ll personally break all your arms and legs! The shit that you people talk about! Worse than a bunch of fucking old women!”

“This ain’t scuttlebutt, Ginch!” Paul began to massage his arm where Ginty’s hand had grabbed him. The guy who came here to tell me is my cousin, he’s a Pharmacist’s Mate at the hospital at Aiea. That’s where they took Barney and Spook, to Aiea. My cousin said Barney is awful dead and Spook is blind from drinkin’ wood alcohol!”

“Shit!” Ginty said as he got to his feet. “Hindu, see you can get hold of Dusty. His old lady’s phone number ought to be in the book. I’ll try to raise Grilley, he’s a good head and we ain’t got Mike Brannon now. He’d sure as hell know what to do.”

Hendershot fell into step beside Ginty as the big man’s legs ate up the distance across the hotel lobby.

“Where the hell did they get the wood alcohol?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Ginty growled. “Hernandez wanted me to give him the key to the alky locker in my Room. Anybody but a Spic I mighta said okay, that torpedo alky is a hundred and eighty proof, good stuff for drinkin’. I told him to suck ass, he wasn’t gettin’ no key to no alky locker from me. He went off with a sour puss. Bastard musta got Saunders and gone back to the Base and found some wood alky somewheres and didn’t test it. Fuckin’ wood alky will turn you crazy! What a mess this is going to be with the new Old Man coming aboard this afternoon!”

“You know Captain Mealey?” Hendershot said as he opened a telephone book.

“No,” Ginty grunted.

“You’ll know him this afternoon,” Hendershot said as he ran his finger down the line of R listings in the telephone book. “I had him on an R-boat in Panama. Captain Mealey doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t swear and he don’t like sailors that do any of those things!”