Not Forgotten

CHAPTER 1

The lulling sound of the water lapping against the seawall, the bright moon in the cloudless night, the warm, light breeze coming off the ocean, all made the moment so special. He wondered if his senses were heightened because of the setting or because he was with a woman he hoped to express his love for. It didn’t matter, it was all so perfect as they strolled hand in hand along the seawall of Cavite Bay. Along the seawall were low lights, far enough apart as to only cast individual glows along the bay. The young couple, Michael Bradford and Mary Hayden, slowly came to the next light, and without a word from either of them, they stopped and gazed over the bay. The lights were atop miniature lighthouses that were themselves atop the seawall. As Mary stood next to one of the lights, Michael could see how beautiful a woman she was. Thoughts of love, commitment, marriage, children, quickly flooded his mind. Wait a minute! Children? Michael had never thought about having children before; he wondered why he was thinking of them now. He realized it was just another of many thoughts of commitment he’d been guilty of frequently having the past few weeks. Though he had denied the reason before, he knew it was because of love; a combination of feelings, desires, dreams, acceptance, and a multitude of others; it was difficult to find descriptors of what love must be. He could barely admit to himself that he was in love, so how could he tell her? He was embarrassed to even admit to himself that he was, well, giddy, as giddy as a high school boy with his first sweetheart, only more so now.

Michael wanted to yell to the world that he was in love, yet he was afraid to even whisper it to her; afraid that it might shatter the dreams he had that moment. Even though he felt he knew her so well, he did not know how she would react to his profession of love. His thoughts drifted back to earlier in the evening at the restaurant when a song by Bea Wain had played on the radio. The song was Always and Always. How he wished it was the woman he loved singing it to him, how his love would tell him she would always be his.

As they stood silently, hand in hand, at the miniature lighthouse, Mary gently squeezed Michael’s hand, and they looked into each other’s eyes. As he smiled, he noticed she was gently crying. No, this isn’t right, he thought. Perhaps they are tears of joy; yes, they must be tears of joy! She took his other hand, then gently holding both, she looked into his eyes. The words she had spoken took a moment for him to register, then he realized his world was collapsing around him. So many thoughts flooded his mind, so many questions, yet he couldn’t utter a word.

Mary was waiting for a response from Michael. She asked him if he had heard what she had said. He told her, Yes, then repeated what she had said moments before. She had told him she was moving back to the States. Michael asked Mary how she could do that; they had known each other for so long. He reminded her that they had attended the University of Michigan where they had met. He also reminded her how she had returned to Manila, in the Philippines, to be with her parents, and how he had followed her. He was now a local banker here, anticipating becoming wealthy in a few short years. Michael again asked Mary how she could move back to the States.

After what seemed to be an eternity of silence, Mary spoke. I’m moving to Washington State.

Michael asked, What about us?

Oh, Michael, she said halfheartedly, once I’m settled, you can visit. Maybe I will be able to talk you into staying.

Mary, you are the only one for me. You are the love of my life. Michael was surprised how easy it was to use the word love under the circumstances.

And, Michael, you are the love of my life, too, replied Mary.

Michael wondered why the word love, when said by Mary, sounded somewhat hollow, as if it didn’t ring true.

They embraced and Mary gently cried. Without any further words spoken between them, they walked to his car. As Michael started the car, he was aware of a silence in the car, an almost eerie silence. The motor turned over a few times and then came to life. Mary adjusted the knobs on the radio and pulled in an American station in Manila. The song playing on the radio was Dark Eyes, and, under the circumstances, it sounded almost haunting. They slowly drove by the Canacao Naval Hospital and headed towards Manila.

Upon arriving at Mary’s parents’ house, the car slowed to a stop in front. Normally they would spend 15 or 20 minutes talking, but tonight was now different. It did not seem appropriate to stay any longer than to say a pleasant Good night, exchange a kiss, and say that they would see each other tomorrow.

Professor Hayden, Mary’s father, was in the living room going over assignments his students had turned in. He was a professor at the University of the Philippines, teaching political science. He had previously served for two years as the Vice Governor General of the Philippines. Additionally, he was a contributing writer for The Christian Science Monitor.

When Mary entered the house, he looked at her, as if trying to gauge how the evening went by her facial expression. Did you break the news to him? Mary’s father asked her.

Yes, she said with little apparent emotion.

How did he handle it? queried the professor.

Oh, as well as can be expected, she said.

Her father then asked how she was doing. Again she replied, Oh, as well as can be expected. Mary then walked briskly towards her room, not to be seen again that night.

–––-

The dawn of first light was met with hushed movements from the kitchen of Catherine Browning as she prepared breakfast for her family. Her movements between the stove, icebox, sink, and table appeared to have been choreographed, she moved with such grace. Her husband, Captain David Browning, often kidded her about doing so many things at one time with such poise. He would facetiously compare it to a three-ring circus clown act, chuckle, then get distance behind him before she would playfully toss a wooden spoon at him. Though they had been married for more than 10 years, they still acted as young newlyweds, newlyweds with two sons.

David walked into the kitchen as she was putting the plates, bowls, and silver at the appropriate places on the table. In anticipation of his commenting about a three-ring circus clown act, she had placed a wooden spoon in the pocket of her apron. No sooner did he say, My, my, what do we–, when she cocked her arm back, holding the wooden spoon, ready to send it to its target. With both hands in front of him, open palms facing her, he quickly said, No, no, I’m wearing a uniform. You know the rules! He quickly added, No wooden spoons, especially those with hotcake batter on them, can be thrown at me when I’m wearing a uniform. With a Cheshire cat grin, he started to turn, feeling victorious, when, with a loud whap, he was hit in the back of the head with a dry dishcloth. Stunned, he turned and quizzically stated, That’s not fair, it’s not in the rules!

Catherine responded in a laughing way, Exactly! Now, go get Steven and Paul up for breakfast!

With a respectful, Yes, ma’am, he saluted and walked down the hallway.

Catherine paused and gazed at her husband walking down the hall. She was so proud of him and loved to see him in his U.S. Army Captain’s uniform. She felt proud and grateful to be his wife. What a great husband he was to her and a great father he was to their two sons. She felt these were the best years of her life, so much to be thankful for and so much promise for the future.

Minutes later, she could hear giggling and laughing coming from the boys’ room. She said, Breakfast is ready, you had better not be playing in there!

Three voices sounding as one said, Yes, Mom!

Moments later, David appeared with the two boys and they sat down at the table, all eyes on her. As Catherine looked at them, she thought to herself how she was raising three boys, not two. After breakfast, she attended to the chore of clearing the table while David got the boys dressed for school.

As was her ritual, she left the coffee pot and the two cups on the table. While the boys were washing up, brushing their teeth, and combing their hair, she and David would steal a few minutes from them to spend together over a final morning cup of coffee. It was perhaps the most peaceful five minutes of their hectic mornings. They would discuss what was on their personal agendas for the day and possibly for later in the week. She reminded him of the Hail and Farewell he was to attend at the Officer’s Club that coming Friday night. This military function was held to greet, hail, the incoming transferring officers, and it also served to bid farewell to those officers transferring out. She then told him about her plans to shop at the base commissary for their weekly groceries. David asked her if she had given any thought to what they should get the boys for Christmas, which was just over two months away. She had thought about it but didn’t have any idea what to get them. To make matters worse, the boys hadn’t expressed any interest in toys recently. He told her not to worry, he would have an idea soon. With this said, she realized he already had an idea but wouldn’t tell her yet.

As David finished his coffee, he stepped over to the sink and placed the empty cup and saucer in it. He turned to Catherine and gently kissed her on the lips, saying, I love you. He then walked to the hallway and told his sons he was leaving for work. They both came running down the hallway, grabbing their father around the waist, saying, Bye, Dad! As he slowly broke their hold on him, David reached for his garrison cap and placed it on his head, slightly cocked to one side. He then walked out the door, got into his car, and headed for Clark Army Airfield.

–––-

George Lewis was slowly turning the page of the October 1941 issue of Popular Mechanics when he felt the nose of the airplane pitch slightly downward. Looking out the window of the huge Pan American Airways flying boat known as the Honolulu Clipper, he could see a shoreline 8,000 ft. below. The flying boat was built to land in open water, the huge fuselage looking more like the hull of a ship than it did that of an airplane. The clipper did a slow, banked turn to the left, descending towards the ocean. This was his first trip to the Philippines, and he knew it would be a while before he traveled back to the States to visit family. George was an aircraft mechanic for Pan American Airways. His job for the next couple of years would be to keep these giant flying boats doing what they do best, fly. He had recently received his airframe and power plant rating, better known as an A&P certification. He was not quite yet 23 years of age, but he would be responsible for the mechanical safety of this airplane. It was certainly a large airplane, it was a Boeing B-314.

George had spent time in Seattle, Washington, watching these behemoths being built. He knew these flying boats were powered by four Wright 1600 horsepower Twin Cyclone engines. The range on this aircraft was over 5,000 miles and approximately 200 miles per hour. It was difficult for him to imagine a plane or its crew staying aloft for 20 hours or more without stopping to refuel. This particular model of flying boat was definitely built for long trips. The 74 seats in its cabin could be converted to 40 bunks when flying at night. The fuselage was wider than that of a Pullman train car and had better features. The dining lounge served meals prepared by Four Star restaurants. There were dressing rooms and even a bridal suite when the need was there. A smile came to his face thinking about a newlywed couple spending their first night together in this bridal suite 10,000 ft. high.

Through his training with Pan American Airways, George also knew that there were Clipper flying boats built by other companies. He recalled reading that Pan American Airways received their first flying boat around 1934, a Sikorsky S-42, the first of nine or ten to be built. Another aircraft company, Martin, built three M-130s for his company, two of which were still in use. The Honolulu Clipper was the first of 12 built by Boeing for Pan American Airways and the type he would have the most exposure to during his stay in the Philippines.

The plane briefly leveled off at about 2,000 ft. above the ocean and was making a straight-in approach, descending to a hopefully smooth landing. Looking at the water, George did not see any whitecaps or foam spray. Good, no wind to speak of, he thought. He momentarily thought he could look at the shoreline and get his bearings of where he was. What a knucklehead! he thought to himself. He had never been here before, so he would not recognize any landmarks to get a reference or a bearing. Oh, well, might as well as enjoy the scenery, he thought to himself. He did recall from a map that the Pan American base was located on a peninsula in Manila Bay between Cavite Naval Base and Sangley Point.

The nose of the plane pitched slowly back to level flight, then slightly nose high as the powerful engines were throttled back slightly. Out the window, he could see the ocean only feet away. He mentally played a game anticipating when the flying boat would touch the water’s surface. Every few moments, he would say to himself, Now, yet the plane did not touch the water. He could feel the plane decelerate, yet the ocean surface remained only a few feet below. How could he be mistaken when he was certain that, as a plane’s speed decelerates, it loses altitude. While pondering this thought, the plane’s hull touched the water’s surface, quickly and gently slowed, and water sprayed onto his window. It was a smooth landing, he could hear the pitch of individual engines changing. He knew the pilot steered the flying boat on the water by changing engine speeds alternately between the engines on opposing wings.

It was evident to George that the pilot had great skill and experience in maneuvering the floating behemoth to the waiting dock. The engines finally throttled all the way back to idle, then to off. He knew the ground crew had the flying boat secured to the dock and were now getting the gangway in place for the passengers to disembark. Hmmm, he thought, if the ground crew is not working on solid ground, then why aren’t they called water crew? The cabin door opened and the salty sea air flowed in. George noted how heavy the sea air felt to breathe.

Walking down the gangway, he saw three uniformed Pan American employees, and he asked one of them where he should go to report. The employee who appeared to be in charge, Bill Spencer, identified himself and greeted George with a handshake. Spencer then pointed in the direction of some aircraft hangars and identified an office next to one of them. Upon entering the office identified by Spencer, George looked around and noticed no one was there.

Is anyone home? George called out.

From a back office, an employee said he would be there in a moment. A man came from around the corner and asked him if he was George Lewis.

Somewhat stunned, George said, Yes.

Seeing the look of astonishment on George’s face, the employee laughed and said, Surprised that I knew who you were?

George said, Yes, and thought perhaps the Manila office had an employee picture of him.

The employee explained that Pan American Airways had numerous weather reporting stations in that part of the Pacific Ocean. In addition to keeping the Pan American base in Manila current on weather conditions throughout that portion of the world, they also relayed flight locations of incoming Pan American aircraft. He further explained to George that throughout each flight the flying boat contacted each reporting station for a weather update, and, if necessary, made a change in course or altitude to avoid bad weather. Once the reporting station passed the flight off to the next reporting station, it then contacted the base in Manila to advise of the plane’s location and status. As a result, the Manila base could calculate down to within a few minutes the arrival of a flying boat when it was still a couple of hours away. The employee added that he had a flight manifest of the on-board passengers and that George was the only Pan American employee on that flight. The employee then told George that he had been expected in the office within 10 minutes after splashdown of the plane. Jokingly, the employee pointed out that the plane had landed 15 minutes earlier and asked George why he was five minutes late. George’s mouth dropped open, and he was speechless since he had been in the office for only a minute or two and was already in trouble. George then realized his leg was being pulled when the employee started laughing. The employee told him to relax, he was only kidding him. The employee then said that things were much different in Manila than in the States. He said that, though George would need to be serious about his work, the atmosphere would be much more relaxed and informal; it would be almost a working vacation.

George was given a voucher for temporary quarters at a hotel contracted by Pan American World Airways. The hotel was in Manila, had a restaurant, and he would receive free meals from a separate menu. The temporary quarters were good for 30 days. George was assured that he would be able to easily obtain a permanent residence, most likely an apartment, since he was single. He then signed a receipt for $20 in cash that he received for spending money. The employee made a quick telephone call, then told George his bags would be at the office in a moment. A 1938 Plymouth pulled up to the building. The car was a dark navy blue with the white Pan American Airways P A A logo on the front doors. He was told his bags were in the car and that the driver would drop him off at the Hotel Manila, and then George would be free to do what he wanted for the rest of the day. As George reached for his paperwork, he was told he would be picked up at 6:30 the following morning at his hotel and driven to work and not to oversleep.

George opened the rear passenger door of the car and climbed in. The driver greeted him, and George noticed he was a Filipino who did not look older than 16 years of age. George mentioned this to the driver and asked if he was old enough to have a license. The driver replied that he was 25 years old and married with three children. My gosh, George thought, he’s older than I am, I should be more respectful! The Plymouth left the Pan American base and headed for the Hotel Manila.

–––-

U.S. Navy Nurse Donna Bentley was on her morning break sitting at the table underneath palm trees in front of the Canacao Naval Hospital. She and two of her fellow nurses were discussing how the shift was going. Donna, sipping a cup of hot coffee, looked beyond the seawall and saw the Pan American Airways giant flying boat land on the ocean. Such a smooth landing for such a big, lumbering airplane, she thought. The Pan American Airways flying boat typically landed and took off in front of the Naval Hospital. In the year she had been in the Philippines, she had seen this ritual almost daily and was still amazed by it.

So, Donna, you want to go into town with us today to shop? asked Peg Nash. Donna, are you listening? she asked.

Donna said, Yes, that she would like to go shopping.

As she continued sipping her coffee, Donna thought about how different this was from her home in southern Georgia. She recalled going to the beaches on the Florida panhandle, but it was all so different here. It was, well, tropical here and the culture was different. She found it exciting to travel around Manila and surrounding areas and see the sites.

It seemed like a dream that only a handful of years before she had become a Registered Nurse. She spent two years as a probie nurse at Fulton County Hospital before she received her graduation pin and was certified as a Registered Nurse. She had then submitted an application to become a Navy Nurse in 1938. She had her military physical in November 1939 and spent 1939 and 1940 on a two-year duty assignment in San Diego, California. She received her permanent change of station (PCS) orders for transfer to the Philippines in late 1940.

Donna remembered that, during the transfer to San Francisco, California, from San Diego, her family had visited with her for two weeks. Her family had traveled to San Francisco and were on the pier waving to her as her ship left for Hawaii, her first stop on the way to the Philippines. She then traveled to Guam for a short stop, then continued on to the Philippines.

Donna’s two co-workers rose from the table as she finished her last sip of coffee, and she joined them in returning to work at the hospital. As they entered the large open double doors of the building, they continued making plans for the trip into town that afternoon. Perhaps they would have time to visit one of the pubs patronized by military members as well as Westerners; Westerners being the term given to the non-Asiatic people in Manila.

Late that afternoon, the nurses were in Manila shopping. Their first stop was Josie’s, a local dress shop. Though the majority of the dresses were made locally, occasionally some imports would come in from Australia, Great Britain, and America. Each nurse would try an outfit on and let the other two judge it. Their minds were not set on having to buy a dress before leaving, but occasionally a certain dress would catch the eyes of one of them and the purchase would be made. If only one of the nurses bought a dress on a trip, all three felt good since it was a team effort, a concept the Navy had tried to instill in them for the past two or three years, with marginal success.

Peg Nash commented, If only the Navy would train its men to work together as we women do when we shop, get our hair done, plan weddings and baby showers, they would be more successful in getting everyone to work as a team.

Susie Pitcher piped in, saying rhetorically, Well, what do you expect from an organization run by a bunch of men?

They all laughed as they exited Josie’s and headed for their next stop.

A few blocks away was a department store known as Aquinaldo’s that carried many stateside items not found at the commissary on base. As they browsed through the store, they saw many items that reminded them of home. Even though none of them were homesick, just seeing the items brought a sense of familiarity of times past. One of the departments featured radios and record players. Susie became excited and said, Listen, that’s the song from that Judy Garland movie we saw last year. That song is Over the Rainbow by the Tommy Dorsey band!

Peg agreed that the song was Over the Rainbow, but said the band was Glenn Miller’s, she was certain of that!

They both looked at Donna as if she was the final judge. Donna shrugged her shoulders and said, What song?

The three nurses giggled like schoolgirls as they moved to the next department store.

–––-

October 1941

Henry Burgess took a deep breath of the crisp, clean morning Wyoming air. How he loved living in Wyoming with its wide open expanse. He sensed that this coming winter would be a cold one, but then again, every winter in Wyoming is cold. He stepped back into the National Guard armory located in Sheridan, a town not too far south of the Montana border. He was a Second Lieutenant and a platoon leader in Troop E of the 115th Cavalry. He grinned, thinking how the U.S. Army and National Guard units still use the designator of Cavalry. He knew the Army did deploy cavalry units over 20 years before to Europe in the Great War. Scholars of military doctrine and strategy knew that the true cavalry, horse-mounted soldiers, were a thing of the past even 20 years ago.

Lieutenant Burgess’ unit didn’t have horses, it relied on armored cars for mobility. He admitted there were similarities between the old and new cavalry units. Still, he thought there should be a different type of designator for units of his type. Perhaps the modern units could be called Armored Cavalry since mobility was by armored car. In a fleeting moment, he realized that would be confusing since the term armor designates tanks. How about Motorized Cavalry? It was distinct, yet different from Armor type units. He thought further, How about a Mechanized Cavalry? Maybe Horseless Carriage Cavalry? No, too turn of the century sounding. How about Horseless Cavalry? Now, there was an oxymoron, kind of like military intelligence! He chuckled as his company commander entered the platoon leader’s office.

Captain Rollins asked, "What’s so funny?"

Lieutenant Burgess smiled and said, Nothing, just a small private thought.

Captain Rollins then said, Speaking of privates, are your men ready for travel to Washington State?

Lieutenant Burgess responded, Yes, sir, packed, ready, and waiting for word to convoy to the rail yard to have their vehicles loaded on the trains.

Good, tell your men we will be loading out at 0400 hours tomorrow. They can say their good-byes to their wives and families tonight, said Captain Rollins. He then added after a short pause, Remind them that this isn’t just a two-week summer camp, we will be gone for at least 30 days. Captain Rollins turned and left the room, passing by a large government wall clock indicating the time was 7:53 a.m.

Lieutenant Burgess wondered how many of the men would have joined the National Guard unit had they known that in February of that year it was to be called to active duty. He then realized that many, if not most, would have still made the same decision to join. War was on the horizon; those who denied it were only fooling themselves. He reflected back on his short military career. True, he joined the National Guard four years earlier, in 1937. Those four years were National Guard years, not active duty years, which made a big difference in experience. He had entered the National Guard in the enlisted ranks and attended college. He was fortunate enough to have been able to attend and graduate from Harvard, Class of 1940. He then received his commission as an officer, a Second Lieutenant. The following February, his unit was mobilized for active duty. Gosh, things are happening so fast! he thought.

Lieutenant Burgess called for his platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Wentze, and instructed him to have the men in formation in 10 minutes. Sergeant Wentze saluted smartly and, with precision movement, did an about face and left the office. Lieutenant Burgess drank from his coffee cup while jotting down a few notes. Meanwhile, Sergeant Wentze passed word through the squad leaders of the formation within 10 minutes.

Lieutenant Burgess stepped outside of the armory building and walked, almost marching, to his platoon, 2nd Platoon, standing on a drill pad. As he approached the parking lot looking drill pad, Sergeant Wentze turned towards the platoon at the position of attention. In a loud command voice, Sergeant Wentze called the platoon to attention. He then gave the command Report! Each row of men, designating a separate squad, had the highest ranking member at the far right position of the row, this person being the squad leader. In succession, each squad leader rendered a salute and reported that their squad was present and accounted for. After each squad leader reported, Sergeant Wentze rendered a return salute. With only a short pause, the next squad leader would render a salute and report his squad’s status. This sequence of saluting, reporting, return saluting, and dropping a salute, went on until the fourth and final squad reported. After the reporting by each squad leader was completed, Sergeant Wentze did an about face, remaining at attention.

When Lieutenant Burgess came closer, he would stop at the position of attention approximately three paces away from Sergeant Wentze. The sergeant would render a salute first and hold it. Lieutenant Burgess would request a report of Sergeant Wentze, whose response was, Second Platoon present and accounted for, sir!

Lieutenant Burgess verbally responded, Very well, Sergeant, and saluted, immediately followed by the sergeant dropping his salute. As rehearsed as this type of reporting appeared, it was very routine. Compared to the reporting of an entire division, as was done on rare occasions, the platoon reporting seemed quite relaxed.

While standing at attention, Lieutenant Burgess gave the command, At ease. The men were then able to go from a rigid position of attention to a relaxed position which can best be described as casual standing, but they were not allowed to speak unless recognized to do so. Lieutenant Burgess then visually scanned every face in his platoon, all 37 of them. He told his men that the company had just received orders to move out at 0400 hours the next day. The only news that may have been a surprise was the time. Why 4:00 in the morning? As if he were able to read their minds, the lieutenant told them the unit was at the mercy of the train schedule. He also told his men there had been some discussion by the commanders of having the men spend the entire night at the armory building, but that had been overruled. He instructed his men to spend the night with family or friends and told them that the platoon’s next formation would be at 0315 hours the next day. He asked if there were any questions. The squad four leader, Sergeant Tucker, asked who was going to guard their equipment. The lieutenant looked at all the squads as if searching for a volunteer. After a pause, he spoke. Each and every man was certain that his name would be called out as the volunteer. Lieutenant Burgess answered Sergeant Tucker’s question with, I will. I want each of you to have time with your families. The lieutenant then asked if there were any other questions. When it was obvious there were no other questions, the lieutenant snapped to attention and said, Second Platoon, attention!

Sergeant Wentze, standing at attention and rendering a held salute, was directly facing the platoon leader.

Lieutenant Burgess raised his hand in a salute, saying, Sergeant Wentze, dismiss the platoon.

Sergeant Wentze dropped his salute after the lieutenant’s. As the lieutenant walked away, Sergeant Wentze faced the men, who were still standing at attention, and barked the command, Dismissed! One could hear the air rushing out of each man’s chest as they broke from their position of attention and hurriedly went their separate ways.

Lieutenant Burgess went into the main assembly room in the armory building and saw each of the platoon’s equipment stacked neatly. He went over to his platoon’s area and started looking over his men’s equipment. Even though he was the same age as most of his noncommissioned officers, younger than some of his senior sergeants, and only a few years older than the lower ranking enlisted men, he felt a paternal responsibility for all of them. He wondered if this paternal concern was the result of his officer’s training or a reflection of his personal character. He didn’t know the answer; perhaps it was both.

He bent over a pile of equipment and picked up one of his men’s helmets. He inspected it, turned it over, and checked the straps in the liner.

Did you find a deficiency, sir? asked Sergeant Wentze, who was standing only a few feet away.

Turning towards him, the lieutenant said, No, not at all. I can’t help but wonder just how well equipped we are.

You mean the platoon, sir? questioned the sergeant.

Lieutenant Burgess said, No, not the platoon, but the whole United States Army. Seeing the puzzled look on the sergeant’s face, he explained, Sarge, look at this standard issued helmet. It hasn’t changed or been improved since the Great War 20 some odd years ago, and it’s not even our design, it’s the blasted Brit’s design! Also, look at this rifle, a Springfield 1903 bolt action, almost 40 years old! I wonder if Uncle Sam realizes the increased risk these men are at if, no, not if, when we get involved in the war?

Well, sir, we have two great trench clearing guns, said Sergeant Wentze.

Sure, the Thompson submachine gun and the shotgun, replied Lieutenant Burgess, but I have two questions about them. One, do we have any in our unit? The answer is no. Two, will we be fighting in a trench warfare situation? I doubt it. With the advancement of the tank, armored cars like we have and even more accurate artillery, I honestly do not think we will ever see protracted trench warfare again.

After thinking it over for a moment, Sergeant Wentze agreed that trench warfare was probably a thing of the past. Sir, if I may change the subject, if you would like to leave, I’ll stay and guard the platoon’s equipment, said Sergeant Wentze.

Thanks, Sarge, I really appreciate the offer. Being a bachelor has one distinct advantage, it reduces the good-byes. Besides, I have spent a lot of time with my folks the past few days and they know I am shipping out tomorrow.

Sir, not to sound stupid, but if we found out only an hour ago that we’re shipping out tomorrow, how did your folks know a few days ago? asked the sergeant.

Simple. I told them, the lieutenant said. Realizing that Sergeant Wentze thought he was joking with him, Lieutenant Burgess then added, Sarge, there is a lot of intelligence information around us all the time and we don’t even know it.

The sergeant then said, Don’t tell me, with your high falutin’ college education, you sat down and spent hours figuring out when we would leave, right?

I’m flattered by what you said, but, no, not really, said Lieutenant Burgess. I have an old high school friend who works for the railroad, and he mentioned there was some kind of ‘load out’ of vehicles later in the week. He said this over a beer and claimed he didn’t know any other details. From there, it was easy to figure out what the ‘vehicles’ were. Now, as for you, Sarge, I am ordering you to go spend time with your family today. Is that clear?

Yes, sir, very clear, said Sergeant Wentze with a smile and salute.

As Sergeant Wentze was leaving the assembly area, the platoon sergeant from the 1st Platoon stopped him momentarily. The platoon sergeant asked Sergeant Wentze to thank Lieutenant Burgess on behalf of the 1st Platoon.

Sergeant Wentze asked, Why, what for?

The platoon sergeant said that he heard from the Company Executive Officer that it was Lieutenant Burgess who convinced the top brass not to keep the unit confined to the armory until the next morning, that Lieutenant Burgess had explained how it would be a morale booster to let the men spend a few hours with their families and to trust that they would return on time for the load out the next morning.

Sergeant Wentze smiled and acted as if that was old news and said, Hey, what did you expect? I’m training him, aren’t I?

Lieutenant Burgess slowly walked around the assembly room watching the other platoons and noticing their slight state of confusion as the platoon leaders and sergeants scrambled to hastily to make a duty roster. The other platoons were going to assign soldiers shifts for the coverage needed to guard the platoons’ equipment. Sipping on his coffee, Lieutenant Burgess wore a slight smile as he thought how he had avoided the confusion by pulling the duty himself. He thought how his men were probably just arriving home by now, while the men of the other platoons were still at the armory awaiting the posting of the duty schedule to see if they were on it or not. It was late morning before the last platoon was dismissed for the day.

By 12 noon, the armory had only a skeleton crew in it, a soldier for each platoon’s equipment, a noncommissioned officer as the Charge of Quarters, better known as the CQ, and him. Lieutenant Burgess went to the kitchen facility, and, as he entered, he wondered why the Army called the kitchen and dining facility a Mess Hall. He had wondered this before and never could figure it out. Even others he asked were at a loss as to why it was called a Mess. He began opening cabinets and drawers as if looking for something. Out came the plates, silverware, cups, hot pads, and a few dish towels.

Within a moment or two, he heard his name being paged over the public address system by the CQ. He was being requested to come to the armory entrance. In anticipation, he hustled to the entrance, and there to meet him were his parents. As planned, his mother had spent the morning cooking and preparing a chicken dinner with trimmings for those soldiers pulling duty at the armory, not just on this shift, but enough food to cover the remaining shifts also. Lieutenant Burgess had anticipated that those soldiers who would be pulling duty were either volunteers like he, which was not very likely, or the lowest ranking soldiers in their platoons. In either case, he thought it would be fitting to make the most of an unpleasant situation. He had purchased the necessary items of food a couple of days earlier, but only after his mother had agreed to prepare it. He had offered to prepare the food himself, but his mother reminded him of how terrible a cook he was. She often joked that he was the only person she knew who could burn boiling water. As a result, she pitied the soldiers who would try to eat his culinary experiment and offered to do the cooking herself. Though he thought his strategy had worked in getting his mother to do the cooking, he couldn’t help but think she had resigned herself to cook anyway, and that perhaps her strategy had worked since he bought all the food.

A recording of taps was played over the public address system at 10 p.m. that night. Lieutenant Burgess always thought how sad an eerie taps sounded. Though it was only 24 notes long, he had heard that it was a tune that military people seem to never forget, even years and years after they leave military service. He recalled reading that the tune was born during the War Between the States and was initially used to show last respects for a fallen soldier rather than the firing of a 21-gun salute. The concern at the time was that the firing of a 21-gun salute might be misinterpreted as a ground assault that would be answered by more than 21 guns firing back. The tune was so well received that it was adopted by both the North and the South during that war.

As the armory lights dimmed, he laid on a cot next to his platoon’s equipment. Over the years, he had conditioned himself into going for long periods of time with little or no sleep. For the next four hours or so, he would relax on the cot with his back propped up and his legs stretched out, maintaining a vigilant eye on the equipment.

He looked at the small wind-up alarm clock for about the tenth time, and it was almost 2:30 in the morning. He swung his legs over to the floor and reached for his boots. The lights to the armory’s assembly room were low, but he could plainly see around the entire area. Next to each of the company’s individual platoon’s equipment area was a soldier. He put on his boots, and, while lacing each one, he thought again of how little equipment has changed in over 20 years, another example were the boots and leggings he was wearing. Standing, he looked around and noticed one of the other three guards slowly putting his boots on. To his knowledge, the unit had never had a problem with equipment being stolen, but Uncle Sam had been in business many years and required such safeguarding. Though the three other soldiers were in different platoons, all four knew each other well.

Lieutenant Burgess had no sooner entered his office when the first of the unit’s troops began to arrive at the armory. The lights within the armory were all turned on and the pace of activity picked up. By 3:15 a.m., his entire platoon was present and accounted for. The entire Cavalry troop was present and accounted for by 3:45 a.m., and by 4:00 a.m., the cavalry troop’s vehicle convoy was en route to the rail yard. The unit’s next stop would be the State of Washington.

–––-

November 1941

The morning light made its first appearance through the window as the 18-year-old was finishing his morning shave. He switched the faucets in the sink from hot water to cold water, splashed the cold water on his face, then reached for the towel hanging by the mirror. As he towel dried his face and brushed his fingers across his right cheek to see how close a shave he had, he thought to himself that he had done a pretty good job of shaving that morning. He remembered shaving for the first time three years earlier and how excited he had been at becoming an adult. Since that day, his facial hair had increased dramatically. He was no longer excited about shaving; in fact, it was now a curse. Now, no matter how close a shave he got in the morning, by early afternoon he would have a five o’clock shadow. He then started making faces in the mirror, gritting his teeth, and making sure he had brushed them well enough. At least, that was the story line he had ready should a family member catch him making faces. The truth was that he actually enjoyed making faces in the mirror for a few moments each morning.

Frank left the bathroom and walked down the hall to his bedroom to finish dressing for work. He was the oldest of five children and the only son. He was lucky, as he had a bedroom, albeit a small one, to himself. His four sisters shared a bedroom, and his parents had their bedroom. The entire family shared one bathroom, and there was potential for great chaos in the mornings. Surprisingly, though, everything went smoothly, at least he could attest to this up until he left for work. What happened after he left for work each morning, he didn’t know, but had often wondered about.

As Frank entered his bedroom, he could hear the typical sounds of activity coming from the kitchen as his mother prepared breakfast. As he closed the door, he caught a whiff of bacon cooking. How he liked the thick cut bacon his mother cooked and the smell of morning coffee. He thought to himself life is good. He hurriedly slipped on a brown plaid shirt, one that looked as if it would pass his mother’s morning inspection at the breakfast table. After buttoning the shirt, he tucked it in his pants, picked up some change from the top of the dresser, and put it in a front pants pocket. Next, he needed his comb, wallet, and his…Where are the car keys? he thought. Quickly, he retraced his steps in his thoughts of coming home the night before and taking the keys out of the ignition switch. He hadn’t place them on the kitchen table when he came in, so they must be on his dresser. He looked again at the dresser, but no keys were in sight. Okay, if I didn’t place them on the dresser, then where? Oh, yes, he quietly said. He remembered he had put them in his coat pocket while talking to his father when he came in the night before. He pulled his jacket off the back of a chair in the room and reached into the deep right pocket and felt for the keys. Voila!, found them.

Frank stepped into the hallway and quickly stepped aside as his younger sister, Ceil, came running by him. Swoosh was the sound of her flying by as he looked down to see her. She was headed towards the kitchen. It was kind of early for her to be up and having breakfast. He then heard her loudly saying, Mother, Cathy is hogging the bathroom. She’s been in there for hours!

As he entered the kitchen, his mother was calming his sister down and questioning the hours part of her complaint. After all, his mother said, your brother was in there until only five minutes ago, so your sister hasn’t been in there for ‘hours.’

Ceil sheepishly acknowledged that but repeated that her sister was still a hog.

His mother replied with her trademark statement, Now, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, don’t exaggerate! With that, his mother laughed, and his young sister was oblivious to the contradicting statement.

Frank realized his mother’s laugh was not at his sister being all worked up but at the fact that one day the statement would finally sink into his sister’s mind and she would realize how nonsensical it was.

As Ceil left the kitchen, Frank pulled out his chair to sit to have breakfast. He poured some coffee and sipped it a few times. This was the only time of the day the two of them, he and his mother, could talk without being interrupted. The morning chit-chat was about the day’s weather, his work, and her day’s agenda.

Fifteen minutes later, he was finished with breakfast, stood, and walked over to his mother. He told her the breakfast tasted great, as did the coffee, and he’d be off to work.

She said, Bud, be sure to dress warm enough, these fall days are getting colder.

Frank responded gratuitously, Yes, Mother, and you have a good day.

Be home in time for dinner, Bud! she said as he turned and started walking away.

Frank chuckled to himself, thinking that no matter how old a man is, he will always be his mother’s little boy.

As he walked by his parents’ closed bedroom door, he knocked on it and said, "Dad,