Postcards Ch. 03

We piled back into the car, traveled to HQ, where we transferred to a van. While we waited, an aide informed us that we had been moved to a suite and that Sheila's computer would be waiting at the desk. It is always nice to be loved, but being needed is often more practical. Colonel Harlan kept us waiting only a few minutes, which meant we were high priority. He introduced his wife Glenda and a Navy rating named Sanchez, then excused himself.

While wives technically have no rank, in practice they borrow their husband's. It is rare to find a career officer of advanced rank with a wife who is not a seasoned politician. One of the many ways that female officers are handicapped is that they have no "in" to the Officer's Wife's Club. Olivia Harlan was exactly what I expected from a senior officer's wife. Her initial interaction with Sheila would be informative.

Sheila was no politician, but power games were a professional interest. She played First-Speaker-Loses again. After a couple of seconds, Mrs. Harlan's eyes widened in appreciation. Hers were not the only ones. Sgt. Johnson and Seaman Sanchez both stared. Sanchez started to speak, but Johnson quelled him with a gesture. I counted ten seconds then nodded to Sgt. Johnson. He looked a dagger at me, but picked up the cue.

He said to Mrs. Harlan, "Excuse me Ma'am. What is the itinerary?" Smooth. Mrs. Harlan showed a little teeth, with her eyes still on Sheila. Then turned to Sgt. Johnson and asked if we had eaten. In answer, he opened his document case and pulled out a note with Army letterhead. Mrs. Harlan glanced at it, then turned to Sheila.

"You look like a salad eater. The dining facility has soup and a salad bar. Around here, soup is an art form. Does that sound acceptable?"

Sheila dropped her eyes and said, "You are too gracious." Risky, but well aimed.

Mrs. Harlan was too experienced to gape, but the surprise was clear. She stared at Sheila for a moment, then turned to me, "Young man, I hope you understand what you have here. She's a jewel." Preaching to the choir.

I replied, "You are not the first to say so. One of the Powers-That-Be in New York calls her a goddess." To Sheila I said, "Play nice. Mrs. Harlan is taking us to lunch and, I am guessing, a boat ride." To Mrs. Harlan, "Sheila is an accomplished fitness trainer. Pushing is second nature and I have never met anyone with better timing." Sheila glanced at me and I winked, then the ladies embraced. That covered all the forms.

Once the ice was broken, Mrs. Harlan started chatting like a taller, plumper Francine. She would show us off at the Dining Facility, then we were taking one of the Army's small craft out to the wreck of Prinz Eugen, then to the north island, Roi-Namur. In my six weeks at Kwajalein, I had never seen where the Marines fought. We would get the grand tour.

Lunch was exactly what I remembered. The Dining Facility was off regular hours, but part was open 24/7. The salad bar was disappointing, but the soup was even better than advertised. I put pastrami, baby swiss and onions on a dark tortilla-like flat bread and toasted it all. I added mustard and lettuce, then rolled it. To the plate I added slaw, pickles, two bags of chips and the soup. Sheila had a bowl of spinach and green onion, dressed with vinegar and a bowl of soup. I trimmed the excess bread off my roll up, then cut a two inch piece for Sheila.

Mrs. Harlan looked at Sheila's tray, then at me. I shrugged. She rolled her eyes, but said nothing. SN Sanchez and Sgt. Johnson topped off their caloric intake in best military form. Mrs. Harlan, who now wanted to be called Glenda, talked of everything but Sheila's birdlike eating habits. She finally asked if Sheila was offended by her eating a larger lunch. That produced amusement from both of us. Sheila said, "My friend Francine can eat five large meals a day and not gain weight." Glenda looked hurt. Sheila continued, "She goes through life constantly hungry." That earned a more thoughtful look.

On the way out, everyone, including Sheila, stocked up on bottles of water or Gatorade. Trust a fitness professional to understand dehydration. I also grabbed a couple of Cliff bars and an ice cream sandwich to eat on the way. I managed to get Sheila to eat a bite of that. It was not til we reached the dock that I realized we could get seasick.

Sheila:

Meeting Glenda Harlan was interesting. My studio brought me in contact with the occasional spouse. I had cover as a fitness trainer, which was low status. Rather than tolerate constant putdowns, I learned to defend my ground. I was not a fitness trainer; I wasthefitness trainer. The best at anything commands respect. Glenda fired the first volley by using her husband to make introductions. I countered by not paying due homage.

There were three men watching. Two of them understood in depth what was going on. They hushed the Navy kid. Sean was counting under his breath. At ten, he forced Sgt. Johnson to break the silence. Sean was good at this too. Sgt. Johnson asked for an itinerary. Before long we were headed for brunch at something Sean called a D-Fac, short for Dining Facility. The Army thrives on abbreviations. If I ever sent a message, I would close with an R.S.V.P. and U.N.A. (use no abbreviations).

The D-Fac had posted hours, which this was not, but also had a section open all the time. Glenda promised me a salad bar and good soup. She had not promised soup and a good salad bar, so she earned points for accuracy. I made do with spinach and onion tops from the bar. The soups were vegetable beef, curried chicken with rice and corn chowder. I chose the chicken.

Sean put pastrami, cheese and onions on a large, dark tortilla. The entire mess was loaded into a moving belt toaster. I would bet money what he did was strongly prohibited, but the result looked tasty. Sean trimmed the extra bread and gave me a piece. How sweet. Glenda watched the whole show with tented eyebrows, but did not venture a comment until we were almost finished. When she did, both Sean and I laughed aloud, because we both knew how Francine ate. When I explained that Francine was always hungry, Glenda looked thoughtful. We all grabbed extra drinks for an afternoon in the sun.

Our next stop was a tiny Navy outpost. For reasons that are not clear to me, Army people do not handle boats while on duty. This particular boat was smaller thanThe Other Shoe,Sean's vintage lake yacht. It was considered a boat because it only operated in the lagoon, even though the lagoon was salt water and larger than Delaware.

We cast off from the dock and Glenda turned tour guide. She pointed out the WW II landing locations, which were all on the lagoon side of the island. The Japanese had not understood that our landing craft could cross the reefs. Most of the defenses were on the ocean side of the island. She showed us two small neighboring islands, which were taken first. They were used for artillery placements.

Between Army and Navy lobbing shells and planes dropping bombs, one third of the islands occupants died before the landings started. According to one source, the island looked like it had been dropped from a plane. The wonder was not that the Americans killed ten times as many as they lost, but how they managed to lose so many. Even in this sort of rout, the Japanese proved tenacious.

Presently, we passed out of sight of the big island. Glenda expounded on the fish life in the lagoon and how it was different from the ocean side. After a while, we came upon the resting place of a famous German warship, the Prinz Eugen. Sean explained that it had steamed out with the Bismark on the battleship's only voyage. Even I had heard of the Bismark.

The ship rested top down on a slope. The hull looked like giant rusted knife, stuck edge up in the lagoon floor. The nose disappeared in the depths, but the rear stuck out of the water, with the propeller entirely dry. From a distance it looked unimpressive. As we pulled closer, a gull spread its wings, giving me a scale. Each of the three blades was wider than I was tall.

Germany lost the war and the Prinz Eugen. After the war, the US Navy used the cruiser to evaluate the effects of atomic bomb blasts. The bombs did not sink the Prinz, but it became too irradiated to salvage. A small leak went unrepaired until the ship capsized and sank. That was 1946. It still sits in shallow seawater doing what radioactive things do. One popular T-shirt says "Prinz Eugen Diver." There were too many levels of irony to sort.

After seeing the Prinz' resting place, Glenda had Seaman Sanchez open the throttle. It was my first experience with motion sickness and I was glad we had a light lunch. Sean looked like he was doing well not to hurl his meal into the ocean. Glenda looked entirely too pleased for this to be an accident, but she asked the Seaman Sanchez to slow us down a bit. It was a ways. I was glad for my hat, the lathering of sunscreen and especially the bottled water from the Dining Facility.

Glenda was an efficient tour guide. As we approached Roi-Namur, she pointed out the landing sites and

the Japanese defenses. While Kwajalein had been an Army landing, Roi-Namur was a Marine fight. It was not as heavily used as the big island, which meant that more was left from WW II. Sean had never visited this island, so he listened with interest as Glenda pointed out details of the anti-aircraft placements and pill boxes. Most faced the wrong direction. More irony.

One thing about the military. Where they go, shopping goes as well. The Exchange Service operated a small store and some fast food stands. We bought Dramamine and some frozen yogurt. Seaman Sanchez suggested we get back, because a small storm front—he called it a squall line—was coming toward us. I was glad for the Dramamine all the way back.

Sean:

Being entertained by a senior officer's wife was surreal. It quickly became clear that we were not her first guests. She was a social science teacher at the high school and a history buff on the side. I learned more about the GI landings in fifteen minutes than I had in a month and a half of poking around off duty.

No tour of Kwaj is complete without seeing the wreck of the Prinz Eugen. It always reminded me of a broken sword stuck in the coral. I asked Mrs. Harlan if she could provide Sheila with some good quality images of the ship. Her eyes lit up. I guessed she was a camera bug as well.

Roi-Namur is off the Army track a bit. Nothing on the atoll is far from anything, but this was considered Marine territory on an Army base. I had never visited, nor had I missed much. There were more preserved Japanese emplacements, but nothing truly different. We purchased some Dramamine ad headed back. SN Sanchez had the throttle open the whole way.

By the time we reached the small boat dock, the sky was dark and wind was up. I was hit by a few drops before I followed Sheila into Sgt. Johnson's staff car. We sat for about five minutes watching rain pounded on the windows. When it slacked, Sgt. Johnson asked me where we were going next. When we hesitated, he suggested the pool. Worked for me.

Growing up on a lake, I understood the attraction of clean water for swimming. We would get plenty of surf when we arrived back in Hawaii. This would give me a chance to to see Sheila in her bathing suit before then. When I told Sheila where we were headed, her only question was whether they had awnings for shade. With her fair skin and indoor habits, it was a valid question.

On the whole, the pool had mixed results. School was out for the summer, so there were a lot of kids and teens. On the other hand, Sheila stopped conversations as she walked by, playing with her wedding band. I quickly decided that was the best thousand I had ever spent. Much to my surprise, Sheila did not know how to swim. Since this was not the time or the place to learn and since Sheila actively avoided getting any sun, our time at the pool was brief.

Once an afternoon in the water was out, our choices were limited. The only shopping on the island were the various Exchanges, a grocery store and some weekend only shops. We did go to the main PX and purchased a few souvenirs. There was a nice "Prinz Eugen Diver" T-shirt, which was popular on the island, but I had qualms about claiming what I had not done. We made do with matching T-shirts showing the outline of the atoll. For GeraldI picked up the left side draw hoster, which I had seen the night before and a coffee mug showing the atoll. After that we went to our new VIP suite to catch a nap.

At six o'clock we dressed for our dinner with the Colonel and his wife.

Sheila:

Once we returned to the big island, we had three hours to kill. We tried the swimming pool. Sean liked my swimsuit, but there was nothing to do. I did not know how to swim and I was not about to expose my skin to tropical sun any more than necessary. We left after only half an hour. On the way back, we went to the main PX, which had a little of everything. Sean looked through a lot of the souvenir T-shirts, but only chose two, plus a nice coffee mug and a holster for Gerald.

I could tell his return to Kwajalein was not what Sean expected. There are old sayings about how things change while you are away. That said, I thought I could see why we had come. The island's history had made an impression on him. Given that he had quit an Ivy League school after two years, to serve as an enlisted soldier, said something. Not long after his time in these islands he had gone home to take over the family business.

The metaphoric answer was in the trees at the Japanese cemetery. In New Jersey, you could by the same variety for a live, table top Christmas tree. Here, those trees were many stories tall. In 1946, the Japanese had lost 10 times as many as they killed, but the signs were there of the bitter struggles that would follow. Sean decided he needed to show the same sort of fighting spirit. I had been appalled by the risks Sean took to investigate and hire me. I understood, a little, why he was so driven.

That was undoubtedly why he had dragged me halfway around the world. Sean is many things, but eloquent is not among them. He can deliver a speech, but not write one. That would be my role. Leave it to Teddybear to drag me halfway around the world to make me feel at home, but it worked. My worry was that he would keep pushing. Sean was nothing if not pushy. I fretted about his potential for excess.

We did not return to our room. Instead, our things had been moved to a suite. From mid-level VIPs, we had been promoted to genuine VIPs. I suspected that was me. Sean was a reservist. If the Army wanted him, all they had to do was activate him. I could speculate about what the Colonel wanted, but I was certain he would tell us at dinner. In the mean time we had a suite to nap in. The irony was that it only served to remind me of the high tech shower in our bedroom in New Jersey. I could tear down that whole addition if they left the shower.

I am told that nothing in the tropics is ever formal. Certainly the clothes for the evening were not. Rather than wear my remaining nice dress, Sean suggested a sundress and sandals. Once again, I regretted sending my flower print to Hawaii. I made do with a simple cotton dress and wedgies. Sean wore slacks and a flower shirt we purchased the night before. I was worried about being under dressed, but Sgt. Johnson nodded approval when he opened the car door.

Dinner was in a private room attached to the Officer's Club. Once again, our VIP status was apparent. At a guess, I was sitting where Congressmen and Senator's wives had been seated. When Glenda entered, dressed in a floral print, I was able to relax. Colonel Harlan wore his duty uniform, rather than his dress greens. I may have been important, but not enough for him be foolish.

Dinner was preordered. We were served sushi as an appetizer. The meal was steamed vegetables, rice and grilled fish. It was enough like our meal in Guam to be surreal, but only a little. The difference was in the table conversation. Glenda mentioned that she had some pictures of the Prinz Eugen she could give me. That led to a conversation about photography in general. She was surprised that I was not a camera bug. I told her that finding everything worth seeing in a pictures was challenging enough.

That—finally—brought Colonel Harlan into the conversation. He asked about my training in image processing. I was self taught, but I doubt he believed it. Sean jumped in with some things Peter said. Since Peter is a professional photo geek, his opinion carried more weight than mine. The irony was that the Army would not need Peter, but did need me. Sean and Colonel Harlan were soon buried in negotiations. I glanced at Glenda, who rolled her eyes. I was the subject and Glenda was the host, but we were still dismissed when it came time to talk business, or so it seemed.

Without apparent warning, Sean and Colonel Harlan turned their attention to me. I had missed something important. For me, that was an unusual feeling and I did not like it. Fortunately Sean was giving cues. He rubbed his chin with his thumb, which was one of Gerald's "I'm thinking" gestures. I raised eyebrows and asked, "Gerald?" Sean shrugged and turned to Colonel Harlan. He managed to say, "Do you think Major...?" before Colonel Harlan was nodding vigorously. I nodded once and that was that. Sean and Colonel Harlan went back to discussing details.

I turned back to find Glenda staring at me. She asked, "What just happened? Sandy does not act like that. He just doesn't. Who's Gerald?" That posed another set of potential issues. It was best to use trigger words. If we were being recorded, I wanted them paying close attention. "Gerald is our head of security. He was in CID during his Army years. They need a liaison. More than that you will have to get from the Colonel." If that would not shut her up, things were hopeless.

It was a moment of deja vu. I had seen Francine speechless and the expression was almost identical. Glenda started to speak at least three times, but she was an experienced military wife. Some subjects are forbidden. As she subsided, with an injured expression, I noticed Sean and Colonel Harlan were watching. From Colonel Harlan's expression, this was not normal activity for Glenda. Sean, with his usual perfect timing said, "Gerald says Sheila can deliver a thirty minute brief in fifteen seconds."

Sean's not bad at that himself. Colonel Harlan stared at him for a moment, then barked a laugh. One laugh led to two, then more until he slumped in his chair and held his side. Glenda looked insulted, then confused, finally concerned as the laughter continued. Colonel Harlan reassured her, "Don't worry dear. This iswayabove my rank. I can kick it upstairs, get a gold star in my book and that will be the end of our involvement."

I wished he left it there. He continued, "Go talk about their wedding, or something. It's in the papers."

Sean:

Things were very awkward. Kwaj is set up to handle civilian VIPs, but they tended to come from Congress or defense contractors. We were neither. The whole situation reeked "security clearance" and we had none. When I was in the Army, I had worked on some of code worded investigations, but that was then. Now I was uncleared and too important to bully, but at least I knew the steps to the dance. Sheila had no security ties to anyone and no experience with OpSec (operational security). Colonel Harlan could not know how naturally things like this came to Sheila.

Dinner opened with some very nice tuna, served as sushi. The main course was more of the fish, charcoal grilled, with rice and steamed frozen vegetables. Typical Army to serve no local produce. As usual, Sheila ate like a bird. As usual at a business meal, I did not taste the food. Instead, I listened to Colonel Harlan try to tap dance in his minefield. It became clear that the Department—meaning either Army or Defense—was not willing to grant Sheila the necessary security clearance without a trusted handler. As both husband and CEO, I was considered too involved to be suitable.