“How do you like her?” Jack was all grin, shirtless in the heat, grease on his hands, and spoiling for a fight.
“A lethal vessel,” Kaz said admiringly.
“Exactly, Baron,” Jack said. “Now we’ve got the firepower to take on the Jap barges and shore installations. They won’t know what hit them.” He was positively gleeful, but I was more interested in how he looked as opposed to his boat. I could count his ribs, and though his skin was tanned nearly bronze, it had an odd tone to it, a shade of dark yellow that didn’t look healthy. His knuckles were a dark brown, even deeper than the rest of him. He caught me looking, and grabbed for a faded khaki shirt, pulling it on but not bothering to button it.
“I’m taking her out, Billy, as soon as I fill out the crew.” It was a challenge, a dare to even question his fitness.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Jack,” I said. It wasn’t my fight. If the navy saw fit to give him this gunboat, then that was the navy’s business. I hoped he didn’t get his men killed as he sought his revenge for PT-109.
“All set, Skipper,” a sailor said from behind us, flipping up his arc welder’s helmet. “That’s the last mount in place.”
“Well done, Chappy,” Jack said, stepping by us to inspect the welding job. The steel shields gave the gunners decent protection, at least from small-arms fire. Jack settled in behind one of the fifty-calibers, testing the rotation and angle of fire. “How’d you get the swivel to move like that? It was tight as a tick this morning.”
“Oil, elbow grease, and the right tools, Skipper,” came the answer as he removed the helmet.
“Hey, aren’t you the gunner’s mate from Al Cluster’s boat?” I asked, remembering the trip from Guadalcanal and the downed Jap flyer.
“Yes sir,” he said. “Commander Cluster thought Lieutenant Kennedy might need an experienced hand getting these new guns installed.”
“And I’m not giving Chappy back,” Jack said. “I still need to fill out my crew, and a gunner’s mate is a good start. Consider yourself shanghaied, sailor.”
“Fine with me, Skipper. I was hoping you’d say that. This boat is a gunner’s dream come true.” Chappy left, clutching his tool kit along with an oilcan.
“I’ll probably see you two on Rendova,” Jack said. “We’re headed up there as soon as everything’s ready and I have enough men.”
“It looks like you’ve got reinforcements,” Kaz said. A group of five sailors approached from the dock, seabags carried on their shoulders.
“Oh my God,” Jack said, a look of surprise on his face as he watched the men come on board. “What are you all doing here?”
“What kind of guy are you?” the lead sailor answered. “You got a boat and didn’t come get us?” It seemed like an odd exchange between a swabbie and an officer, but smiles had broken out among the group as Jack waded in amongst them, shaking hands.
“Kowal, Mauer, Drewitch,” he said, pausing a moment before each man. “Maguire, Drawdy. You guys sure you want to come along? I can’t guarantee this is going to be easy.”
“Hell, Skip, we wouldn’t ship out with anyone else,” one of them said, a radioman second class by his two stripes and lightning-bolt insignia. Jack stood among them for a minute, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his head downcast like a shy schoolboy. Then he turned away, heading to the bow of the gunboat, his arm draped around the barrel of the forty-millimeter cannon.
“Who are you guys?” I asked the radioman.
“We’re all from the 109,” he said. “Maguire, sir. Me and Mauer were on the 109 when she went down. The other guys had been wounded a few weeks ago and just got out of the hospital. We heard the skipper got a new assignment, so here we are. Don’t tell me they got the army on this boat, too?”
“No, we’re just visiting,” I said. “You feel okay about shipping out with Jack after what happened?”
“He got me back alive,” Maguire said. “He never gave up. I’d trust him with my life.”
That wasn’t a sentence I ever heard or expected to hear about Jack Kennedy. I mumbled something appropriate and moved away, the men from the 109 mingling with the rest of the crew as they stowed their gear. I worked my way forward, past the bridge, up to where Jack stood. His thin arm was still holding onto the gun barrel, the other shading his eyes as he gazed out over the water. I stepped closer and saw that he wasn’t shading his eyes from the light.
He was hiding them. From my vantage point I could see tears coursing down his cheeks, salty drops hitting the steel deck at his feet, vaporizing in the heat.
Jack Kennedy weeping. Another thing I never expected to see in this life.
I stepped back, unwilling to intrude, marveling that this rich, spoiled playboy had inspired so much loyalty. And that a guy who never seemed to care much about anything stood alone, crying at the thought of the trust these men had placed in his hands.
Kaz was chatting with the new crewmen at the stern. The gunner’s mate was working on another machine gun setup, this one on the starboard side. I strolled over, watching him work as I waited for Jack to get a hold of himself. I noticed his name, Ellis, stenciled on his denim shirt.
“Why do they call you Chappy?” I asked, leaning against the bulkhead and enjoying a spot of shade.
“That’s ’cause of these tools I use,” he said, grabbing a small leather case filled with rachet bits. “My uncle owns a company called Chapman Manufacturing. They make all sorts of hex keys, slotted screwdriver bits, ratchets, that sort of thing. When he heard I was a gunner’s mate, he sent me this kit. Whatever the navy throws at me, I can take it apart and put it back together again with these babies. So the guys started calling me Chappy, and it sorta stuck.”
“Doesn’t the navy have enough tools to go around?”
“Not out here, Lieutenant. We have to scrounge for most everything. But with this tool kit, I’m a walking machine shop. I can even get some Jap hardware working if it’s not too banged up.”
“Lieutenant Kennedy is lucky to have you aboard, Chappy,” I said. “There’s plenty of gunnery here to keep you busy.”
“It’s a whole lotta firepower to throw at the Japs,” he said. “I get the feeling the skipper is itching to get back at them for what they did to his old boat.”
“Can’t blame him,” I said. I wished Chappy luck and climbed up to the bridge, where I found Jack, shirtless again, wearing aviator sunglasses and a fatigue cap pushed back up on his bushy hair. The sun was harsh, but I figured he’d donned the glasses mainly to cover his reddened eyes.
“Take care, Jack,” I said, offering my hand.
“See you in Rendova,” he said, giving me a firm shake. “I hope you find your man.”
“I will,” I said. “I don’t have all the answers yet, but we’ll find them. There’s always a clue. There’s always something.”
I clambered down off the boat onto the dock and turned to see Kaz stop to speak with Jack on the bridge. I waited, wishing I had a pair of sunglasses like Jack’s as the afternoon sun beat down.
“What was that about?” I asked as we walked back to PT-169.
“I asked Jack about the incident with the automobile,” Kaz said.
“Why the hell did you do that?” I asked, stopping to face Kaz, surprised at my own anger. I didn’t need Kaz fighting my battles for me, and I sure as hell didn’t want Jack thinking I did.
“Because I was curious about the kind of man he is,” Kaz said. “I am still suspicious of him.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“He has no recollection of the incident. He thought it amusing when I recounted it, but it apparently meant little enough to him at the time.”
“So what does that prove?” I asked, irritated at hearing the answer to a question I knew I shouldn’t have asked.
“That he is exceedingly self-centered,” Kaz said. “I believe such a man could kill more easily than not.”
“Yeah, murder is a pretty selfish enterprise,” I said, continuing on down the dock. “Nothing earth-shattering about that.” Why was I defending Jack? Hadn’t I thought the same myself not very long ago?