Day of the Bomb (9 page)

I scrub the decks clean

Because I’m a U.S. Navy machine.

I’m Popeye the sailor
man
!

His impromptu entertainment brought forth cheers and
jeers from the lower ranks and a smile to an ensign who was now
counting the days until he returned home to Madisin and Sally.

Jason first spotted the top layer of the mushroom
cloud while he checked the pits for any fish left stranded in them
after the last high tide. “Look over there at that, Kong! That’s no
thunderhead blowing our way. It’s rising way too fast. Let’s see
just where that is on the map.” He ran to the lean-to and retrieved
the chart he had salvaged from the PT boat the previous summer. On
it a seaman had penciled in the PT boat’s location when it was
attacked and disabled. Jason compared that mark with the largest
group of islands that lay in the direction of the strange expanding
cloud. “Looks like it’s coming from near where the Bikini Atoll is
at, Kong.” Jason dropped the chart onto the beach.

Kong picked it up and carried it back to the lean-to.
Lately, his human was careless, as if he expected to be leaving
Kong Island any day now. It all had something to do with those
strange marks that he daily carved into the tree. After safely
storing the chart, Kong returned to his human’s side. Jason still
studied the cloud that had reached its apex.

“I don’t like this one bit, Kong. That cloud looks
funny.” He sat down next to the monkey. “I don’t ever remember any
smoke that high up after we pounded all those islands with bombers
and shells from the cruisers and battleships. You don’t think…I
sure hope not.”

Scenarios that the Professor had offered began to
play out in his weary mind: “The one wild card in ending the war is
Russia,” he had said. “They still haven’t even declared war on
Japan. I guess they decided to let us and the Brits take care of
it. Besides, they’re too busy taking over all those European
countries. It’s a long shot but what if Stalin decides to switch
sides on us? What if he joins forces with the Japs? If he does
we’ll be back down here fighting in the islands again instead of
invading Japan.”

Jason shook his head and threw a piece of coral into
the waves lapping at his and Kong’s feet. “How many days do we have
left to go before we get out of here?” They walked back to the tree
that served as a calendar and he counted off his carvings. Then he
returned to the beach and studied the cloud as it lost its mushroom
cap and drifted toward Monkey Island. They sat back down on the
sand.

“What should I do, Kong? You know I don’t make any
decisions without you agreeing. There’s still about a month left
before when I planned on setting the bonfire. But that was the plan
for waiting out the invasion of Japan til it was all over but the
crying. Judging by the size of that cloud over there either the
Japs or the Russians and the Japs are busy duking it out with our
boys. I sure hope the Professor was all wet about the Russians
switching sides. What do you think, Kong?”

Kong shrugged his shoulders, one of the five gestures
his human had taught him. The worry in Jason’s voice troubled him.
They sat for an hour while Jason tried to use his father’s favorite
piece of advice, the Four Ts, think this thing through. But the
more Jason thought the more confused he became. Finally, he walked
over to the huge mound of dead palm fronds that he had started to
build a week ago. Satisfied that its five-foot height was adequate,
he placed the wadded up chart under a corner of the fronds. Two
pieces of metal salvaged from the PT boat during his first week on
Monkey Island served as a makeshift flint. The first three-dozen
sparks failed to ignite the paper but lucky number thirty-seven
made a faint red glow on it. Jason blew softly until smoke rose
through the carefully stacked material. Then he blew with all his
might. The flames consumed the paper and sought out more fuel,
which exploded into new patches of fire.

The fire panicked the troop of
monkeys.
They screeched to Kong that the
human was going to cook him.

Kong shrugged at his estranged
relatives and friends, as if to say,
“
Stop your jabbering. You’re the ones
who have gone human, not me. You worry even more than my human
does. Go away and leave us alone.
”

Jason watched the clouds of smoke rise from what he
prayed would the funeral pyre for his long isolation on Monkey
Island. “It’s not as big as that other cloud of smoke over Bikini
Atoll way, Kong. But at least maybe it’s big enough that someone;
our guys, the Japs, Russians, or some native will see it. I sure
hope it’s our boys who show up. Lately I’ve been dreaming a lot
about K-rations every single night. You’ll love them, Kong. But I
bet you’ll love Mom’s home cooking even better. I can’t wait till
we get back home.”

***

The next day a C-47 flying from Johnston Island
spotted smoke rising above Monkey Island. The embers left from
yesterday’s fire had allowed Jason to easily rebuild it with new
palm fronds dragged from every corner of the island. A passenger
who always hogged a window seat on every flight saw the smoke
first. He ran to the cockpit and yelled his discovery to the
crew.

“Hey, there’s smoke off to the right, you guys. You
think maybe one of our planes went down?”

The pilot banked the transport’s wings until he and
the copilot could see what their passenger was so excited about
thousands of feet below them.

“I thought they cleared out all of the islands over
that way for the atom bomb test yesterday,” the copilot said.
“Should I radio base?”

“From what I heard they only cleared off the islands
over in Bikini Atoll,” the passenger said. “If you flyboys don’t
radio it in right now, I’m going to report it once we land.”

“Keep your pants on,” the pilot said. “Please go back
to your seat.”

The mumbling passenger obeyed. As he shuffled down
the aisle he pointed out the smoke to every other passenger. The
cockpit’s crew groaned at his antics.

“Don’t you just love the ground pounders who earn
their wings by flying shotgun?” The pilot pointed at the one who
had upset what had been a routine flight.

“Captain, it can’t hurt if I radio it in. You never
know what it might be down there.”

“All right, all right. Go ahead.
It’s been a long haul. I’m too tired for all this monkey business.”
Originating at Hawaii before stopping off at the short landing
strip at Johnston Island, this flight was becoming a pain for him.
All that the pilot wanted was at least eight straight hours of
shuteye, his for the taking once they landed. Only the drone of the
twin 1,200 horsepower Pratt and Whitney engines soothed his frayed
nerves.
Some passengers should come
equipped with parachutes.

“Base, this is Charlie one four niner out of
Johnston.” The copilot radioed the tower that was their link to a
safe landing.

“Roger.”

“We’ve spotted smoke from an island where there’s
never been any before all the other times we’ve flown this milk
run.”

“What’s your heading and ETA?”

The pilot had delegated all
navigational duties to his subordinate.
At
least he’s getting to strut his stuff.
He
smiled as his lieutenant made his calculations. A moment later the
copilot transmitted the requested data and the only one staffing
the tower answered.

“Acknowledged. We’ll map the location based on your
present heading and ETA. See you when you land in about 95
minutes.”

***

The seaplane’s landing 200 yards from shore created
the most pandemonium Monkey Island had known since PFC Jason
Dalrumple had washed up on it almost a year earlier. The sight of
the two men who paddled the four-man raft toward shore pushed the
troop of monkeys into frenzy as they showered their wrath on
Kong.

This time Kong was speechless. He sought refuge at
the top of the breadfruit tree that supported the lean-to. Its
leaves and fruit concealed him but allowed a clear view to watch as
the raft bobbed up and down over the waves. Why was Jason not
hiding from the men? Didn’t he like Monkey Island anymore? When the
big bird had buzzed the island, Jason had jumped, waved, and yelled
until it dipped its wings and turned to land. Why did the huge bird
make him so crazy? As Jason pulled the raft to shore Kong spotted
the .45 caliber weapon holstered to one of the new human’s belt.
When he recognized the thunder maker, the kind that had killed so
many from his troop, he shrank further into his refuge.

“Welcome to Monkey Island!” Jason clenched the hands
of his rescuers.

“Who are you?”

“PFC Jason Dalrumple.”

“I’m Sgt. Muldooney. This is Corporal Exodus. He’s a
medic. Check him over, doc.”

“Over here, Dalrumple.” He led his patient to the
shade of the nearest tree.

“So you guys have been fighting the Japs or the
Russians and the Japs? I saw the clouds of smoke over that way.”
Jason pointed. “You guys must have opened up with guns from at
least thirty ships from what I saw.”

“Huh? Just how long have you been here, son?” Sgt.
Muldooney plopped down next to the castaway. “The war’s been over
almost a year now.”

Jason’s head grew so light that he thought his brains
had been replaced by air. “No. Invading Japan was going to take at
least six months, probably longer than that. That’s what the
Professor said. He’s an officer so he would know. A navy officer
but they know the war just as good as the army ones do. Right?”

“Invasion? We never had to. Those A-bombs made the
Japs see the light.”

“A-bombs? What’s that? Never heard of it before.”

“His vital signs are okay.” The medic placed his
stethoscope into his pack. “You sure look like skin and bones,
though. Like Sarge said, how long have you been stuck out
here?”

Jason stood and led them to his shelter and pointed
at the date he had carved during his first day on Monkey Island.
His rescue team stared at each other and shook their heads.

“August 7, 1945? Well that explains it. You washed up
here right before the bomb hit Hiroshima.” The sergeant placed his
hand on Jason’s drooping shoulder. “Corporal, break out that
K-ration we brought along and let him eat a bit before we take him
on back to base.”

His patient’s vacant stare and silence convinced
Corporal Exodus to open the box’s main course, shredded stewed
chicken meat in a broth that had congealed into thick greasy gravy
speckled with yellow globules of fat. Jason swallowed the first
meat he had tasted since going overboard from his transport ship.
He jumped to his feet.

“Kong! I forgot that I promised that he could taste
some real food first.” He turned and cupped his hands. “Hey, Kong.
Come and get it! You’re going to love this chicken.”

“Who’s Kong?”

“My friend. He’s going back to the States with me.”
He called again for his friend.

“Is that him?” The sergeant pointed.

“No. That looks like Screecher. He’s Kong’s friend
and always yells at him. I’ve learned to understand their
language.”

The rescuers stared at each other and shrugged. Once
again the sergeant placed his hand on Jason’s shoulders. “We have
to get going before it gets dark. It’s dangerous trying to land or
take off when it’s dark in a seaplane. Real dangerous. Do you want
to finish off your K before we take off?” He pointed at the can
Jason held.

“Do you think he’s scared? Maybe if you walk away for
a little while, he’ll come on out.”

“I’m afraid we have to go now, boy. Maybe you can
leave the ration for your monkey friend? I bet he’d like it a
lot.”

“But…” Jason scanned the trees a last time and
cursed. “But I promised him.” He dropped to his knees and placed
the can of chicken on the rock he and Kong had shared as a table
for hundreds of meals. After opening the can of fruit cocktail and
unwrapping the chocolate bar, Jason placed them next to the
chicken. Holding onto the bouncing raft’s sides did not quell the
sickness in the pit of his stomach. Halfway to the seaplane, he saw
a tiny speck running up and down the beach. He pointed but the
sergeant shook his head. Still in shock after learning he had
wasted a year in hiding for nothing because of his fears, he turned
toward the plane and tried to picture Thelma.

The seaplane’s pilot radioed Jason’s request, as
Monkey Island seemed to be swallowed up by the dark blue waters
that surrounded it. Jason had searched it with borrowed binoculars
as it made a final pass over the island and pointed to the group of
monkeys gathered around the K-rations.

“One survivor recovered from island. PFC Jason
Dalrumple. He has a request that you contact his girlfriend Thelma
Pollack.”

“Acknowledged. What’s her address?”

“They need her address.” The pilot held the
microphone in front of Jason’s mouth and waited until he had given
it. “Did you copy?”

“Yeah. What should we tell her?”

The pilot repeated the question to his newest
passenger and held the microphone in front of him.

“Tell her if she still loves me she needs to meet me
in San Diego.”

Laughter came through the pilots’ headsets. “Wilco.
Tell him congratulations from all the boys in the tower. You should
hear them cheering.”

The pilot gave Jason a thumb up and gunned the
engines to their maximum RPMs.

***

An Army captain met the plane as soon as it pulled
up to its berth. “I’m Dr. Hendrickson. I’ll ride with you in the
ambulance to the hospital.”

More of a dispensary with a side room for patients
who needed extended care; the hospital housed six, including its
latest addition. One was there for sunstroke, another for a bad
case of diarrhea, and three for malaria. All of them winced at the
sight of Jason.