I looked down at a table near the window and saw a copy of The New York Times. It was dated October 29, 1929 and had just one huge banner headline: ‘Stock Prices Slump $14,000,000,000 in Nationwide Stampede to Unload.’ Something told me to get the hell out of there. I couldn’t think any other way to do that than to go back to where this started. So I went to the brick steps, this time stepping up not down. I felt dizzy and then noticed that I was on the Old Golf Course and the pond was right nearby. I bent over, threw up, and went home. I never set foot in the Old Golf Course again.”
“Why did you go back to that spot with the brick steps?” Ashley asked.
“I can’t explain it. It just seemed like a way to undo something that was very strange. I figured if that’s the place where the weirdness started, maybe that’s where it would end. All of the other time travelers I interviewed said the same thing.”
“What about your second experience?”
“I was 22 years old on December 7, 2001, just about 12 years ago. I went on a family vacation to Hawaii with my parents and my younger brother Harry. My Dad, a former Navy man you’ll be happy to know, always wanted to visit Pearl Harbor, and he planned the trip so we could be there on the 60th anniversary of the Japanese attack. I worked for The New York Times and I was writing an article on Pearl Harbor, which dovetailed nicely with my parents’ vacation invitation. Because it was only three months after the 9/11 attacks, the comparison to Pearl Harbor was a natural for any journalist, including me. Sunday morning my parents and Harry all decided to sleep late. I’m an early riser, so I woke up at around six and decided to walk along the harbor. I always loved history, and I imagined what this harborfront looked like 60 years before. It was 7:40 in the morning and I wanted to get a good viewing spot by 7:48, the exact time of the attack. As I walked along the concrete pier I noticed that there was a wooden board sunk right into the middle of it. For no reason that I remember, I stepped on the board. It sank down about an inch from my weight, and I tripped, falling forward. I managed to break my fall and avoid breaking my nose. I looked up at a propeller driven airplane heading straight for me firing machine guns. I ran off the pier and dropped down behind a bulldozer. Another plane flew by, and I noticed a big red rising sun insignia painted on its side. Some sixth sense told me that I shouldn’t hide behind anything that may look like a target. I found a concrete drainage pipe and crawled inside. The sounds of bombs, bullets, and anti aircraft fire is difficult to explain. If hell exists, I think I was there. I looked at the USS Arizona, tied up to her birth in the harbor and not far from my position. The day before I stood on the memorial bridge over the sunken ship that enables you to look down into the water and see her sunken hulk. Now she was very much afloat. Not for long. When the bombs ripped into the ship, the explosion shook the pipe I was in like a tin can. Fear can blunt your thoughts. You react to what’s going on around you, and you can’t draw conclusions easily. During a temporary lull in the bombing, my heart stopped racing enough to enable my brain to slip into reporter mode. I then realized that I was present at the attack on Pearl Harbor. I knew all about the second wave of bombers, so I decided I would use the lull to try to get away and return to 2001. Remembering my Old Golf Course experience of a few years before, I ran for the board in the middle of the pier. That’s when I thought I’d never return. The concrete pier with the wooden board in the middle was now nothing but wooden boards. I stood in the approximate location where I went through the time portal, but couldn’t get my bearings. The harbor looked very different in 1941. I then remembered the bulldozer that I first hid behind. I ran to the dozer and then onto the pier, going purely from memory, trying to retrace my steps. I lay down and looked at the dozer to give me the perspective I had when I first saw it. After a few position changes, I thought I found the spot where I tripped and I walked across the boards. Suddenly, everything became quiet except for a Navy band in the distance playing memorial music. The pier was concrete. I was back in 2001.”
“Did you think you were losing your mind?” Ashley asked.
“Captain, I was sure I was losing my mind. As I told you before, you’re the only person I ever told about these stories. The article I wrote for The New York Times about Pearl Harbor was a non-memorable travel piece, with some statistical comparisons to 9/11 thrown in. With all of the books and articles I’ve written, my life, if you’ll pardon the pun, is an open book. But I’ve never talked about my own experiences with time travel, even in my book, Living History.”
“Jack, I want you to keep thinking about those experiences. Yes, I know that you can’t explain what happened, but you’re the only person on this ship who has been through the portal, as you call it. You’re the only guide we’ve got.”
The meeting with Seaman Jack was over, and Ashley tried to sort through the astonishing things she had just heard.
She also realized that she loved the smell of Jack’s after shave lotion.
Chapter 10
It was April 11, 1861, one day before the start of the Civil War. As Ashley prepared her list for the next day, a thought struck her. That morning she had met with an over educated, highly accomplished man who held the second lowest rank in the Navy. He was the only one on the ship who could be described as a time travel expert. Because of his experience and his vast knowledge of the subject, Seaman Jack Thurber was one of the most important people on the California. But he was a seaman.
Ashley concluded that military necessity required that Seaman Jack Thurber become an officer. It’s that simple. He’s key to deciphering this strange mess, and that requires a managerial position. He’s the only one on this ship who knows what time travel is all about. He needs to confer with senior staff, to attend meetings in the wardroom, and take on more responsibility than that of pay grade E-3. Because the ship would be at war the following morning at 0430, Ashley would have the legal ability to make what is often called a “battlefield promotion.”
He also needs to spend more time in my office, a lot more, Ashley thought. Promoting Thurber to commissioned officer status had nothing to do with the Navy’s prohibition against fraternizing with enlisted people. That’s completely beside the point, Ashley told herself. She needed to make a command decision.
She rang her Marine aide Corporal Nesbitt. “Arnold, tell Seaman Thurber to report to my office immediately.”
Thurber walked in and came to attention. “Good afternoon, Captain.”
“Good afternoon Seaman Thurber, at ease.” Ashley said with a crisp command voice.
“Seaman, that book that you’re writing, the one about the Navy from a sailor’s perspective — tell me if I’m wrong, but don’t you think that recent events have made it irrelevant, at least for the time being?”
“I have to concur, Captain. I think I have a more interesting book in mind.”
“I thought you’d agree.”
“Then there’s no reason why you should be an enlisted man rather than an officer.”
Jack pointed out what he thought was an obvious problem with the idea that she floated. “Captain, there’s no OCS for me to attend, no officer’s training of any kind in our present circumstances.”
“Seaman Thurber, tomorrow morning at 0430 Fort Sumter will be fired on. We will be at war. In time of war, Navy regulations authorize a commanding officer to make a battlefield promotion for the good of the service. At 0900 tomorrow we will have a special ceremony in the wardroom during which you will be appointed to the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade. You will skip over the rank of Ensign. I’m going to do this because I need your knowledge and insights on a managerial level.” And I’ll get to see a lot more of you. Stop it girl!