Date: Wed, 15 Feb 2012 20:56:55 -0800 (PST) From: Macout Mann Subject: Before "Don't ask, don't tell" 5 This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Parts of this story also contain explicit sexual activity between males. If such offends you, or if you are below the age where reading such material is legal, please read no further. Your feedback is appreciated and is helpful. All comments will receive a response. macoutmann@yahoo.com. BEFORE "DON'T ASK DON'T TELL" by Macout Mann Chapter 5 Once aboard the Shelby, Morgan for the first time really felt like he was in the Navy. For the first time he was attired in his Service Dress Khakis rather than Dress Blues. There was a breeze blowing east from the Golden Gate, and all around there were preparations for getting underway. Stewardsmates had already stowed his gear in his stateroom before he came aboard. It was to be double occupancy. He didn't know who he was bunking with, but it would be a hell of a lot better than the barracks he'd shared with sixty or so OCs at Newport, or the lot of the hundreds of Army grunts stuffed down below in the Shelby. He'd been told that the officer passengers and female dependents would be quartered on the upper decks and would share a common room, where their meals would be served and where they could lounge, read, or play cards. It was like a second wardroom, but much larger. (The wardroom served a similar function for the officers of the ship's company.) Aft of the common room was a deck where the "casual officers" and dependents could watch the nightly movies and enjoy the sun and sea air, weather permitting. It was from this deck that Morgan was surveying the bay and the sailors' preparations, when a lieutenant from ship's company approached him. Morgan saluted and as the salute was returned, the lieutenant asked, "Are you Ensign Bowen?" "Yes, sir." "You have been selected to help with lifeboat drills." "Oh?" was all Morgan could say in response. All he could think of was that this was his first big opportunity to fuck up. The lieutenant explained that after they were underway, but before they left the bay all the passengers would be called to their lifeboat stations for instruction about what to do if the ship were in danger of sinking. Morgan was to be in charge of the station aft on the port side. He'd be instructing a hundred or so soldiers about wearing life vests and procedures for abandoning ship. The lieutenant pointed to the area on the main deck where they would assemble, gave him a sheet containing the instructions Morgan was to pass on, and wished him good luck. Morgan carefully studied the instructions. He was a quick study, and had soon practically committed them to memory. By now the deck was becoming more crowded with spectators, as the lines securing the ship to land were loosened, the band on the pier struck up "Anchors Aweigh," the shrill wail of a boatswain's pipe was heard, and the command "Shift the Colors!" boomed from the loudspeakers. Morgan watched the fantail, as a young seaman furled the jack that had flown there, and then looked up to see the National Ensign break at the top of the ship's mainmast. They were underway. Morgan studied the ruins of Alcatraz as the ship slipped by and on the other side of the bay saw the Presidio, as it can only be viewed from shipboard. Then the pipe sounded again and the loudspeaker called for the lifeboat drill to begin. Morgan arrived at his station. An assortment of soldiers had been formed up by a master sergeant. All seemed as uneasy as Morgan was, and some were showing early signs of seasickness as the ship, now approaching the Golden Gate, had begun to roll. Morgan climbed up where he'd been told to stand and became aware that another junior naval officer was standing behind him waiting to address a similar group on the starboard side of the ship. "All right, men," Morgan began, "I see that you all have life jackets. In an emergency, the first thing you are to do is to find a jacket and put it on..." He continued the spiel, drawing on his experience having small parts in two plays at the Yale Theatre. "We don't anticipate any problems, but it's always important to be prepared," he concluded. Now what to do? His eyes fell on the master sergeant that seemed to have formed up the group in the first place. "Sergeant, take charge and dismiss the men," he commanded. Then jumped down and practically ran for the upper deck. From the corner of his eye he saw that the ensign giving instruction to the group on the starboard side was none other than the Battalion Commander of his class at OCS. "Oh, shit," he thought. Back in Officers' Country he joined a large number of gawkers as the ship passed under the Golden Gate Bridge and set course for Japan. He watched the entrance of the bay retreat, the last land they would see before arriving at Tokyo Bay and Yokohama. He went down to his stateroom to wait for dinner to be served, and who did he find there but Ensign William Cunningham, his former Battalion Commander. "Hi, Morgan," he said, extending his hand. "I remember you from OCS. You were a Section Leader, right?" "Right." Morgan answered, taking the proffered hand in his. "Of course, everybody remembers you, Mr. Cunningham." "Call me Bill," the other man laughingly responded. "Yeah, you all used to call me `Batman' behind my back, but we're all equal now. And, damn, I heard you giving lifeboat drill instructions. You put me to shame. Sounded like you'd been doing it forever." It was Morgan's turn to laugh. "I had a couple of parts in plays at college," he said. "Just acting." Cunningham and Bowen formed a lasting friendship, although they saw little of each other after the voyage of the Shelby. Cunningham, who had had six years experience as an enlisted man, before attending OCS, was posted to ComNavFe in Japan and would later become Flag Lieutenant to the Admiral serving on the team that would negotiate the cease fire with North Korea at Panmunjom. Being a Flag Lieutenant is very prestigious, but it really amounts to being a nursemaid to the admiral to whom you are assigned. On one of the rare occasions the two men met in Japan, Bill told Morgan that the admiral liked his shirts done by his wife; so he often carried loads of laundry back and forth from Korea to Japan to be properly washed. During his years as an enlisted man, Cunningham had also developed a deep and abiding homophobia, if it hadn't existed before. He often told Morgan about other enlisted men he suspected were gay, and how they had been "dealt with." Morgan was very careful not to betray any "tendencies." Most of the tables in the common room seated six. Morgan and Bill found themselves seated with a Lieutenant (junior grade),two army wives and a navy wife. The "jay-gee" was out of OCS and had finished a tour aboard a cargo ship in the Atlantic. He was being transferred to the MSTS (Military Sea Transportation Service) command in Yokohama. The ladies were all wives of senior officers. The group proved to be very compatible, and usually dined together throughout the voyage. The food was surprisingly good, served by a group of very efficient black stewardsmates, supervised by two no-nonsense Philippino Chief Petty Officers. (At that time all stewardsmates in the Navy were either black or Philippino. It was comparatively rare for a black to "strike" for any other rating. Citizens of the Philippines could only become stewards.) Each evening after sundown a movie was shown on the fantail, the enlisted passengers crowded onto the main deck, the officers and dependents in deck chairs on the deck above. The films were all at least six months to a year old, and Morgan had seen most of them, but watching them again as a way to pass the time. The other popular way to pass the time was by playing Bridge. Morgan had become something of a Bridge shark while at Yale, and many of the officers' wives were surprisingly good. So the Bridge games were more satisfying than the movies. Morgan also found another Ensign, who was almost as good as he was, so they partnered more often than not, and usually won. On a previous crossing, one of the enlisted wives had taken pity on the troops and was discovered entertaining several in her stateroom, so the Master at Arms had stationed sentinels in all the passageways to insure that such a thing did not happen again. Therefore, even hetero sex was impossible aboard the Shelby. Morgan had to satisfy himself by beating off every time he showered. He assumed that his fellows did the same. Thus, the days before the ship docked in Yokohama passed peacefully. Morgan was pleased that he never became seasick. And he thoroughly enjoyed watching the ever-changing play of the waves, feeling the ocean breezes, observing the sea birds, and experiencing the rhythm of life at sea. The Shelby's transit up Tokyo Bay was much slower and more complicated than its departure from San Francisco. When the ship docked at the MSTS pier at Yokohama, a grey U.S. Navy bus was waiting for the contingent of Naval Officers and dependents. It still took over an hour for all the personnel and all the luggage to be loaded. In the meantime Morgan and Bill watched with interest, as the soldiers were marched off the ship, most headed for Korean foxholes. It took another hour for their bus, driving on the "wrong" side of the road, to reach the Naval Base at Yokosuka. Morgan was somewhat shocked to see many Japanese men openly pissing along the side of the road, as the bus rolled past. "Different customs in different cultures," Bill commented. The base was the headquarters of ComNavFe and a dozen or so lesser commands, as well as the major port for the Seventh Fleet. The officers on the bus all reported in and were given transportation to their ships or assigned rooms at the Bachelors' Officers Quarters. As a transient, Morgan would be there only overnight or until transportation could be arranged to Pusan. Bill Cunningham would become a permanent resident. Morgan made inquiries about Pas, hoping for a little fun before he shipped out, but learned that Pas had not yet reported for duty. On base the only accepted currency was Military Payment Certificates, a scrip that was denominated like dollars and cents, but which looked like Monopoly money. That was to prevent illegal sales of real greenbacks. Off the base, the Japanese Yen was the accepted currency. Lacking either, Morgan resigned himself to eating at the Closed Mess at the BOQ. He and Bill had a pretty good steak for dinner, then Morgan retired to his room to jack off. Next morning, he discovered that he was to fly from the Military Air Transportation Service (MATS) terminal at Hanneda International in Tokyo to an Air Force Landing strip called K3, outside Pusan. He was also given another official duty. He was made an Officer Messenger. A pouch containing top secret or equally sensitive documents was chained to his arm, and he was issued a side arm, and another Navy bus took him to Tokyo. He had fired a 45 caliber piece once at OCS, but hadn't even hit the target, much less the bullseye. There were perks to being an Officer Messenger, though. He was accorded special boarding and special seating aboard the military version of the DC6 that carried him from Japan to Korea. And when the plane landed at K3, he was pleased that a Navy Jeep with a Korean driver was waiting for him. "Missa Bwing?" the driver asked. "Me Kim. I take you." The trip took about a half hour. Morgan noticed that Korea was a particularly vivid place, greener greens, browner browns. It also had a distinctive smell, which Morgan later found was a combination of the human excrement used for fertilizer and the odor of kimchee, the lethal combination of cabbage and garlic that the Americans said was the Korean National Dish. As they passed a variety of Army installations, Morgan was kept busy returning salutes from sentries, some as far away as a hundred yards. He was later to discover that, dressed as he was in Dress Khakies, with the star on his shoulder boards designating him as a "line" officer, the sentries all thought he was a Brigadier General or an officer of equal rank. The jeep turned into the gate leading to Pusan Harbor Pier One, home to ComSeaCoor. The army sentry there did not bother to salute. Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.