Cuttlefish
Posts: 2454
Joined: 1/24/2007
From: Oregon, USA
Status: offline
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February 28, 1942
Aboard USS Gridley
Location: Pearl Harbor
Course: None
Attached to: Disbanded in port
Mission: None
Ship's Status: Sys damage 8
Fuel: 525 (100%)
The place was called The Sugar Bowl, and it was packed with sailors. The band was good, the women were pretty, and the beer was cold. There were three tables filled with Gridley men, and none of them could ask for anything more.
Bill Bonderman, Jake Reedy, and Rudy Bronkhorst sat at one table. They were watching Gus Becken, who was out on the dance floor with a woman he had just met. The band was playing Artie Shaw’s “Summit Ridge Drive” and Becken and the young lady were putting on a pretty good show. Becken was good and his partner was laughing as he spun her through the moves. Reedy tapped his feet to the rhythm as they watched.
“Wish I could dance,” said Bronkhorst. Reedy nodded.
“Show a woman a good time on the dance floor,” he agreed, “and the next thing you know she’s making you breakfast.”
“Ask Becken,” suggested Bonderman. “Bet he’d teach you.”
“That’s a good idea, Texas,” said Reedy with enthusiasm. “In fact, we could talk to Steubens about dance classes aboard ship. Becken’s really good, and I know that one of the C and S guys is really good too.”
“Hell, I couldn’t do that,” Bronkhorst said. “Tanner and them guys would laugh at me.” Reedy drank some beer and set down the bottle.
“You’d get the last laugh when you showed up with some beauty on your arm,” he said. Further conversation was forestalled by a commotion behind them.
Reedy turned his head and saw a woman trying to rise from a chair next to a large, ruddy-faced sailor with a shock of blond hair. The sailor had a hand on her arm and was trying to keep her from leaving. The woman was trying without success to peel his hand from her arm.
“Let go of me!” she demanded. She was short and, Reedy thought, quite pretty. She had a snub nose and a scattering of freckles and a neat bob of auburn hair. She might have almost seemed to be a mere girl if it weren’t for her decidedly grown-up curves. She was wearing a blue blouse and skirt.
“Aw, June, we were just getting acquainted,” complained the sailor. His hand remained clamped on her arm.
“My name is Joan!” snapped the woman, and sank the red-polished nails of her left hand into the restraining wrist. The sailor yowled and drew back his free hand.
Reedy didn’t see Bonderman move. One moment the tall Texan was sitting down, the next he was standing there holding the big sailor’s upraised left arm in his right hand. The sailor glared and tried to free his arm, but he might as well have been trying to yank it out of a vise. The woman took advantage of his distraction to pull her hand away. She rubbed her reddened wrist where she had been held.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” snarled the blond sailor at Bonderman.
“My Daddy,” said Bonderman in his slow drawl, “always told me that it’s a cowardly thing to strike a woman. Now, I know none of you boys are cowards.” His grip remained implacable upon the sailor’s arm. “What ship are you boys all from?”
“Pyro,” said one of the men sitting across the table. He and his friends had pushed back their chairs.
“Pyro!” said Bonderman. He suddenly released the sailor’s arm and, hitching a foot around the leg of his own abandoned chair, drew it to him. He turned it around and sat, right between Joan and her would-be assailant.
“Why, it takes guts to crew one of those ammunition ships, sure enough,” he said. “Am I right?” The Pyro men looked and each other. There were a few nods and assents. “I never did figure you all got enough credit,” Bonderman continued. “Tough, dangerous work and few enough thanks. Well, I’m here to thank all of you and buy you a round, if you’re willin’.”
“Well…sure,” said one of the sailors. Reedy blinked at how quickly the attitude at the other table had changed. He had been poised to jump up but now leaned back and motioned to the others to do the same.
Bonderman signaled a waitress and ordered the drinks. He got the men talking about their work, listening mostly, asking a few questions and making a few comments. Becken and the lady they were dancing with came over and sat downnext to Reedy. Speaking in a low voice, Reedy filled Becken in.
“Well, said Bonderman finally. “I figure I’ve taken up enough of your time. You fellows keep up the good work, you hear?” Several of the men protested at his departure, but Bonderman raised a hand. “Duty calls,” he said, and stood up. He extended a hand to the woman beside him. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss,” he said as he helped her rise. “May I see you out?” The woman stared at him for a moment, then shook her head.
“No thanks,” she said. “I think I’ve had my fill of sailors for the day.” She picked up her handbag and walked out. Bonderman watched her go, then returned to his shipmates.
“Thought for a moment we were going to have a brawl,” Reedy said.
“A soft answer turneth away wrath,” Bonderman murmured, “but a grievous word stirreth up anger.”
“Aw, we could have taken them,” Bronkhorst said. Bonderman didn’t say anything, but Reedy saw his gaze stray back to the door through which the woman had disappeared.
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