"Now tell me about the Sainted Widow," Ernie said.
"I'm not sure I should," Stecker said.
"Think of me as a kindly old aunt," Ernie said.
"That would be hard," Stecker said. "You don't look anything like a kindly old aunt."
"I think I should tell you that my boyfriend is a Raider," Ernie said. "Their idea of a good time is chewing glass. I have no way of knowing what he would do if he thought someone was paying me an unsolicited compliment."
"That would be 'Killer' McCoy," Stecker said. "Pick's told me all about him."
"Did he tell you that Killer McCoy and I were sharing living accommodations, without benefit of marriage, at what I have now learned to call Diego?" Ernie asked.
"Yeah," Stecker said. "As a matter of fact, he did."
"Well, now that he's told you my shameful secret, you tell me his. What's this Sainted Widow done to him?"
"I don't think she's done anything to him," Stecker said. "That's what you could call the root of the problem."
By the time Pick walked in the door (in a crisp tropical worsted uniform, without a drop of sweat on him, which sorely tempted Stecker to spill the beer he handed him into his lap), Stecker had covered the dead-in-the-water romance between Pick and Martha Sayre Culhane in some detail.
He had explained to Ernie that he believed, or at least hoped, that the romance was beginning to pass. Since the Navy had kept them busy flying, Pick simply didn't have time to moon over his unrequited love. And when they did have a Sunday off, Pick drank-but not too much, for he knew he would have to fly the next day.
Stecker went on to tell her that he thought it was a shame they hadn't gone to Opa-locka for fighter training. That would have gotten Pick out of Pensacola. And once he was out of Pensacola, he believed that Martha Sayre Culhane would, however slowly, begin to fade. In his opinion, absence did not make the heart grow fonder.
And then, after Pick arrived, his role and Ernie's were reversed. Ernie, with a couple of drinks in her, revealed how much she missed Ken McCoy and how worried she was about him. Pick and Stecker tried to comfort her, after their peculiar fashion: Pick told her, for instance, that it was her romance she should be worried about, not Ken McCoy's life. He told her that she was responsible for teaching McCoy bad habits. Which meant that at this very moment, he was probably on some sunny, wave-swept Hawaiian beach with some dame wearing a grass skirt.
In time, Pick and Ernie got more man a little smashed. And Stecker found himself making the decisions and driving. They went to Carpenter's Restaurant, where he made them eat deviled crabs and huge mounds of french-fried potatoes, to counter the alcohol.
That didn't seem to work with Pick, who slipped into a sort of maudlin stupor, but it seemed to sober up Ernie. Consequently, she was acutely aware of the look on Dick Stecker's face when Martha Sayre Culhane walked into Carpenter's with Captain Mustache and two other couples. And she followed his eyes and turned to him with a question on her face.
Dick Stecker nodded as he put his ringer quickly before his lips, and he then glanced at Pick, begging her not to let him know.
She nodded her understanding of the situation.
But there was nothing Dick Stecker could do when Ernie Sage saw Martha Sayre Culhane go into the ladies' room. Ernie suddenly jumped to her feet and went in after her.
When Martha Sayre Culhane came out of the stall, a young woman wearing a T-shirt with a large red Marine Corps emblem on was it sitting on the makeup counter. The young woman examined her shamelessly, and said "Hi!"
"Hello," Martha said, a little uncomfortably. She took her comb from her purse and ran it through her hair. Then she took out her lipstick and started to touch up her lips.
"Funny," Ernie said. "You really are nearly as beautiful as Pick thinks you are."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You don't look like a selfish bitch, either," Ernie went on. "More like what Dick Stecker says, 'the Sainted Widow.' I guess you work on that, huh?"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Just one more Marine Corps camp-follower," Ernie said.
"I don't know what this is all about, but I don't like it," Martha said.
"We have something in common, believe it or not," Ernie said.
"I can't imagine what that would be," Martha said.
"I got one of those telegrams," Ernie said. "From good ol Frank Knox. He regretted that my man was 'missing in action and presumed dead.'"
Martha looked at Ernie.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"As things turned out, he wasn't dead," Ernie said. "I told you that to explain what we had in common. I know what it's like."
Martha started to say something, but stopped.
"At the moment, I'm crossing my fingers again," Ernie said. "No, I'm not. I'm praying. Mine's back in the Pacific. He's an officer in the Second Raider Battalion."
"What is it you want from me?" Martha said.
"I want to talk to you about Pick," Ernie said. "He's in love with you."
"I don't really think that's true," Martha said.
"It's true," Ernie said. "Take it from me. I've known Pick since we used to play doctor. I know about him and women. He's in love with you."
"Well, I don't happen to be in love with him, not that it's any of your business," Martha snapped.
"So what?" Ernie said. "Lie about it. You're going to have to stop playing the sainted widow sooner or later. Give it up now. Give that poor, frightened, wonderful sonofabitch a couple of weeks, a couple of months, however long he's got before they ship him off to the Pacific. It won't cost you anything. You might even like it. I've never heard any complaints. And if you don't, Martha, and he gets killed, too, you'll regret it the rest of your life."
"You're crazy," Martha said. "My husband-"
"Is dead," Ernie said. "And he's not coming back. I told you, I know what that feels like. Pick is alive. He's in love with you. Stop being so goddamned selfish!"
Ernie pushed herself off the counter and walked out of the room.
When the Sainted Widow came out of the ladies' room two minutes later, she looked as if she had been crying. She gazed around the room, found Pick, and stared at him for almost a minute before turning and rushing out of the restaurant.
And a moment after that, Captain Mustache crossed the room, obviously in pursuit of the Sainted Widow. They did not return to the restaurant.
Stecker would have really liked to ask what had gone on in the ladies' room. He couldn't ask, of course, with Pick sitting right there.
(Two)
Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii
8 August 1942
In compliance with Operations Order (Classified SECRET) No. 71-42, from Commander in Chief, United States Pacific Fleet, Task Group 7.15 (Commander John M. Haines, USN) got underway at 0900 hours, Hawaiian time.
Task Group 7.15 consisted of the submarines USS Argonaut (Lt. Commander William H. Brockman, Jr., USN) and USS Nautilus (Lt. Commander J. H. Pierce, USN); and Companies A and B, 2nd Raider Battalion, USMC (Lt. Colonel Evans F. Carlson, USMCR).
The mission of Task Group 7.15 was to land a force of Marines on Makin Island, where they were to engage and destroy the enemy; to destroy any enemy matйriel stocks they found; to destroy any buildings, radio facilities, and anything else of military or naval value; and then to withdraw.
There was never any consideration given to holding Makin Island once it had been taken. It would have been impossible to supply, much less reinforce. And there was nothing the Americans wanted with the island anyway.
It was a raid, the purpose of which was to force the Japanese to reinforce all of their islands, in order to attempt to prevent subsequent Raider raids. To do so, it was reasoned, would force the Japanese to assign troops and materiel to protect all their islands, and that the troops and materiel so assigned would therefore not be available for use elsewhere.
There would also be some positive public relations aspects of a successful raid; the American ego was still smarting from Pearl Harbor and the fall of the Philippine Islands. In that sense, it would be the Navy's answer to the Air Corps's bombing of the Japanese homelands by a flight of B-25 aircraft commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Jimmy Doolittle.