Page 21 of Semper Fi

“W here are we at tonight?”

“A hundred and seven.”

They all groaned as Speedy slipped the thermometer back into his pack at the foot of his rack.

They slept on canvas bunks strung up five high in the belly of the hulking metal ship powering its way across the Pacific.

Cal was opposite Speedy on the bottom, and they shared a longsuffering glance as Cal wiped sweat from his brow.

Reaching up, Cal poked at Jim’s back through the canvas. Only two feet separated each bunk, and in the sweltering, fetid heat, the claustrophobia made his skin crawl. At least he hoped it was the claustrophobia and not some unseen vermin. “Are you almost done with that book?”

“I will be if you stop pestering me. And if I could see to read properly.”

The hold of the ship was murky, lit only from weak bulbs high in the ceiling. Cal smiled to himself. The truth was, he’d read the Kipling tale years ago at prep school. “I can just tell you how it ends if you want. So, Mowgli—”

“Cal, I swear…”

From above came Sully’s voice. “You two are as bad as my folks.”

This garnered several guffaws and agreement from the rest of the squad. Jim was silent as usual, and Cal kept his tone light. “Ah, but we have a distinct advantage over your parents.”

“And what’s that, Hollywood?”

“We don’t have to suffer the indignity of such a little pipsqueak for a son.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll have you know I’m the pride of Mudforks, Mississippi.”

“Remind me never to visit,” Pistol Pete muttered.

Soon the conversation turned, as it usually did, to the war or women. In this case, it was both, as Speedy wondered aloud how long they’d go in the Pacific islands without encountering local girls.

“I bet you we’re going to be tripping over buxom little beauties in hula skirts just dying to show their gratitude to the conquering heroes,” Joe drawled.

“You really think there’ll be natives there?” Sully asked.

“Unless we’re fightin’ over a whole bunch of empty piles of sand, there must be some natives somewhere,” Speedy said.

Sully whined, “I can’t sleep in this goddamned heat. Why can’t they let us bring our bedrolls up top?”

“I guess the sailors don’t want to be tripping over Marines all night,” Cal answered.

“That’s fair enough but at least there’s a breeze up there. We’re cookin’ in this oven.”

“Would you all just shut the fuck up and go to sleep?” Pete barked.

From farther down the hold, another Marine called back. “I second that fucking motion!”

Closing his eyes, Cal willed it to be morning.

The ever-present stench of smoke, paint, and grease that permeated the ship made Cal’s stomach roil several hours later as he wavered in the chow line after a quick shave.

Holding onto the wall of the gangway, he closed his eyes.

He hadn’t been seasick since he was five years old and he wasn’t going to start now.

“You okay?” Jim stood behind him in line outside the galley.

Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, Cal nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just want to eat so I can get topside. Need some fresh air.”

“Don’t we all,” big Joe noted, dragging the words out in his customary way.

Jim frowned. “You’re drenched.”

“Situation normal down here.” They all dripped with sweat, adding to the constant stench.

“I know, but you look pale.” Jim put his hand to Cal’s forehead.

“Boys, we got our own Florence Nightingale here!” Pete snickered. “Johnny’s gonna jump ship and join the Red Cross if we’re not careful.”

Jim pressed his lips together, shoving his hands in his pockets.

They were next into the galley, which was even hotter than the rest of the ship, if possible.

Picking up metal trays with small compartments to theoretically keep different foods separated, they moved along the chow line as navy messmen haphazardly slopped a breakfast of dehydrated potatoes onto their trays.

Cal wanted more than anything to be able to eat topside, but it was strictly against the rules.

So he took his place at one of the long folding tables where they ate standing up to keep the assembly line of men moving.

Today it was fine by Cal, since he could only stomach a few ghastly bites before giving up.

“At least have some joe. That’ll do you good.” Jim nudged Cal’s cup of steaming black coffee toward him.

Of all the smells in the squalid belly of the ship, this was the one that pushed Cal over the edge. He turned away from the table and puked, much to the vocal disgust of every man in the galley. Every man but Jim, who held Cal’s shoulder with one hand and patted his back with the other.

“It’s okay. Let’s get you some air.”

Letting Jim lead the way, Cal stumbled along, breathing deeply when they climbed up to the deck.

He gulped in the clean air, which felt a million degrees cooler.

Sailors and Marines milled around enjoying the breeze, and Jim navigated Cal through the crowd until they reached the railing at the stern. Cal gripped it, shaking .

“You’ve never been seasick before.” Jim peered at him closely.

“And I’m not seasick now. This is something else. I don’t know what, but I feel like my skin’s on fire and my stomach’s inside out.”

Jim pressed the back of his hand to Cal’s forehead again, and then his own. “You’ve got a fever.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know, Florence.” Cal tried to smile.

“Come on. You’ve got to lie down.”

“Oh Jesus, I can’t go back down there.”

“You’re going to have to.”

But as they soon discovered, the bug spread like wildfire, and before long their quarters were half full of fevered, nauseated men. Buckets were distributed throughout the hold. Cal heaved into his, thankful that at least his rack was closest to the floor.

Kneeling beside him, Jim held up a canteen and made him drink before going to clean out the bucket. When he came back, Cal muttered, “Don’t bother. I’m just gonna puke in it again in a few minutes.”

“It’ll lessen the smell at least.”

Cal had to smile. “Christ, this ship has never stunk so badly. One clean bucket isn’t going to make a difference.”

Jim shrugged, and sure enough, the next time Cal heaved, Jim disappeared and returned with the bucket clean. When it finally seemed like the worst had passed, Cal collapsed on his rack, shivering and exhausted. “Go get some air. I’ll be fine.” His eyes flickered shut.

When he woke again some time later, a wet cloth rested on his forehead, and Jim sat on the floor by the bucket. When Cal tried to speak, only a garbled croak emerged from his parched throat. On his knees, Jim lifted the canteen, his hand gentle on the back of Cal’s head.

Cal gulped gratefully. “Really, Jim. Get topside. I’m feeling much better.”

“Okay.”

As Cal drifted off again, he was faintly aware of a fresh cloth on his forehead and a warm, comforting hand on his arm.

194 8

“Why are you smiling so much?”

Cal looked up at Sophie across the small kitchen table as he sliced into his pork chop. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” She tugged one of her pigtails.

Glancing at Jim, who examined his plate as if it held the secrets of the universe, Cal shrugged. “I guess I’m just happy.” Ecstatic. Over the moon. Jubilant. Quixotic, even.

“It’s weird.”

“Sophie.” Jim frowned at her. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not! At least I didn’t mean to be. He wasn’t this happy at breakfast.”

Cal put down his fork. “You want to know exactly why it is I’m so cheerful tonight?” As Jim’s face blanched, Cal went on. “It’s this broccoli.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Jim exhale with a chuckle.

Sophie scrunched up her face. “Ew. I hate broccoli.”

“Well, I love it. Can’t get enough of it.” He pierced a spear with his fork and ate it with gusto. “Puts hair on your chest.”

“I don’t want hair on my chest!” She giggled.

“What little girl doesn’t want hair on her chest? Jim, can you believe this?”

Smiling, Jim shook his head. “I have to say, it’s disappointing, Sophie.”

Still giggling, Sophie lifted her plate and piled her broccoli onto Adam’s. “Goober can have all the hair.”

Adam, always willing to eat anything and everything under the sun, happily shoved a spear into his mouth before Jim could put the broccoli back on Sophie’s plate.

“Uh-uh. You’re eating your vegetables.”

Heaving a great sigh, Sophie swallowed a small bite. Cal couldn’t stop himself from laughing, and pretty soon they all did, Adam clapping his hands as chewed broccoli dribbled out of his mouth.

While Jim put Adam to bed after dinner, Cal helped Sophie with the washing up, drying the plates and cutlery as she placed them into the rack.

They worked in easy silence, and Cal felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

He’d been afraid Jim would freeze up and avoid him like the plague after what happened earlier that day, but he hadn’t.

Cal knew Jim was still mighty confused and unsettled, but at least he was meeting Cal’s gaze.

It was like a dream, Jim saying the words Cal had wanted to hear for so long.

Feeling the touch of his lips, and the weight of his body.

It wasn’t all one sided after all—Jim actually did feel something for him.

When Cal woke that morning, the world had been a vastly different place. Now it was alive with possibility.

“You’re doing it again.”

Cal opened the cupboard to put away the clean plates. “Am I?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I guess I’m just happy, then.”

After a long moment, Sophie asked, “Can you make Daddy happy?”

Cal choked out a nervous laugh. “What?”

Sophie pulled the plug from the drain and peered up at him seriously. “He’s hardly ever happy. Not really.”

“Well, it’s been tough, what with your mom’s accident. Tough on all of you.”

“I know. But…” She dried her hands, a crease between her brows.

“But what?”

“I don’t think he’s ever really been happy for as long as I can remember.”

Struggling for something to say, Cal brushed a stray curl from her forehead. Finally he settled on the truth. “I’m going to do everything I can to make your dad happy.”