The moon suddenly appeared from a break in the low cloud cover, lighting the area in a soft blue hue. The blowing grass and palms were enchanting in the moonlight. This place was nothing like Massachusetts.
He thought he heard something for a moment, and then listened more carefully. Just above the sound of the breeze passing through the palm fronds and the voices inside, Wright heard the soothing rhythm of a Hawaiian ukulele playing a dreamy melody. He closed his eyes and listened. With the smell of the sea and the warm evening breeze hitting his face, the lazy music sounded simply divine.
How could war exist in a place like this? he thought.
The moonlight made the writing on the sign visible. The building was the bachelor officers’ quarters.
Perfect, Wright thought. He did not have to report until tomorrow. He could get a room for tonight and get a good night’s rest. He needed it after the long flight from the mainland.
He walked up the steps and entered the open foyer. It was deserted save for a solitary petty officer in a white cracker jack uniform standing behind the front desk.
“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?” the sailor asked.
“I’d like a room for the night, please.”
The sailor smiled and shook his head, “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. There aren’t any rooms available tonight. We’re all booked up.”
Wright slumped in visible dejection. The brief thought of sleeping in a real bed tonight had been enticing.
“Come a long way, huh, sir?” the sailor asked, sympathetically.
Wright nodded wearily, “From San Diego, today. Before that, New London.”
“Well, sir, a piece of advice, if you don’t mind my saying, but this BOQ will probably always be booked solid for ensigns.”
“So what you’re telling me, there are rooms available, but they’re reserved for more senior officers, that it?”
“In a nutshell, sir.”
“Lovely.”
Wright glanced down the hallway. He noticed that the laughter and voices were coming from a set of double doors at the opposite end of the hall. The ukulele music came from there, too.
“What’s going on down there?” he asked.
The sailor smiled. “That’s the officers’ club, sir. The officers from the Wahoo are kind of lively tonight. Wahoo got back from patrol today and I guess they got some kills.”
The thought of a cold beer suddenly entered Wright’s thoughts. “Do you have somewhere I can leave my bag?” he asked.
“Sure thing, sir. If you put it in that closet over there, no one’ll bother it.”
“Thanks.”
Wright placed his bag and hat in the closet then walked down the hallway to the open double doors. He found that the doors led him back outside, and that the actual officers’ club was located in the L-shaped building’s courtyard. Round foldout tables and chairs were everywhere. A huge awning covered the area to keep the club within blackout regulations, and Tiki lamps ringed the area to provide dim lighting. A large Hawaiian in a flower shirt propped on a stool in the corner played the ukulele. Once in a while he would sing a few high notes but he mostly played his instrument. The place was half full of mostly officers. Some sat, others stood. All wore the customary officer working uniform: long-sleeve cotton khaki shirt, trousers, and black tie. Here and there an officer sat alone enjoying a beer, but most of the officers were drinking, conversing, and cackling in groups. Some groups were louder than others.
Wright strolled over to the bar on the opposite side of the club. He perched atop a barstool and ordered a beer. The Hawaiian bartender placed the drink on the bar in front of him with a kind smile. Wright tipped him and nodded his thanks.
Wright took several swallows of the ice-cold beer. It tasted good as it slid down his throat. He had not realized how thirsty he was and he finished the bottle in four or five large gulps. The alcohol instantly sent a warm soothing sensation to his sore muscles and back. He then propped his head in his hands and began to massage his temples, thinking about the long day he had had. The bumpy plane ride from San Diego had worn him out. It was two o’clock in the morning California time, but his body was still on Connecticut time.
The bartender appeared in front of him with another bottle and whisked the empty one away. Wright had just finished paying the man when a couple of noisy officers, both lieutenants junior grade, bellied up to the bar and demanded six beers from the bartender. The bartender seemed accustomed to their boisterous behavior and gave them six bottles, accepting their tip with the same smile he had given Wright.
The larger of the two, a burly red-haired fellow with virtually no neck, noticed that Wright was watching them.
“What’s your fucking problem … Ensign?” he asked, placing his red sweaty face in front of Wright’s nose so close that Wright could feel his acrid breath. The largeshouldered man was obviously drunk and looking for trouble wherever he could find it. His intoxicated state aside, he was a clean-cut looking young man and he reminded Wright of several college football players he had known when he was at Yale.
“No, sir.” Wright replied simply. He turned back to his bottle hoping that the drunken man would lose interest and go away. Unfortunately for him, the big man was not satisfied and brusquely gripped Wright by the arm to swing him back around.
“Maybe you’re like all the others, huh?” The man spat his words in Wright’s face. “Maybe you think you’re better than us.”
Wright did not know what to do. He had been on base for less than half an hour. He had no place to sleep and already he was about to get into a fight with a drunken lieutenant he didn’t know from Adam.
“Easy, Tee. This ensign doesn’t know any better.” The less boisterous of the two officers seemed to understand Wright’s plight and was suddenly much more sober than he had appeared a few moments ago. He placed a steadying hand on Tee’s shoulder to pull him back a few inches. Wright did not know if the intervention was to protect him or to keep his friend out of trouble but, whatever the reason, he was thankful.
“You just get in, pal?” the officer asked.
Wright nodded his appreciation for the man’s interference. “Yes, sir. Just arrived this evening.”
The man smiled, extending a hand, “You can cut the ‘sir’ crap. We’re all JOs here. My name’s O’Connell, Rudy O’Connell. This here’s Tucker Turner. We call him T-squared, or Big T, or just Tee for short. Don’t mind him, he’s just drunk. Our boat just got back from patrol and we’ve got nothing to show for it. We’ve been catching a lot of crap from the other wardrooms here tonight.”
O’Connell’s interference seemed to calm Tee down a bit and he eventually extended his hand as well.
“Sorry, pal,” Tee said as he took a long swig from his beer. He seemed to lose interest in Wright and began scanning the room as he choked down the beer. The apology was insincere, almost condescending — but Wright was happy enough to avoid a fight.
“No problem. My name’s Ryan Wright.”
“Well, well,” O’Connell said with a big grin. “You the same Ryan Wright going to the Mackerel?”
“Right, I—”
“That’s our boat, shipmate. We’ve been waiting for you to show up so we can get some relief on the watch bill. It’s about time you got here.”
Tee’s red face was suddenly grinning devilishly. “So you’re our new ensign, huh?”
“C’mon over and join us, Wright,” O’Connell said. “The other officers are here too. We’ll introduce you.” Wright nodded. He was glad to join them and relieved at having found some people that at least knew who he was, even though they were still complete strangers.