pulled up, and the disheveled revelers were loaded aboard.
We found a noodle stand and ate, giving ourselves away asGIs to the wizened old proprietor by knowing what to order. Ernie sipped on the hot broth and then took a swig of a cold bottle of Oriental beer.
“Quiet night.”
“No revelations yet.”
“Maybe tomorrow, when the entire flotilla arrives.”
“Flotilla. Sounds like the damn Spanish Armada.”
“Yeah. Except a lot more powerful.”
Just before the midnight curfew the Shore Patrol got busy again chasing the sailors back to the ship or off the streets.
We had taken a cab all the way back to Hialeah Compound before we heard about the mugging.
“One sailor,” the desk sergeant said. “Beat up pretty bad. The navy medical personnel are taking care of him now.”
“Any witnesses?”
“None. Happened right before curfew. Apparently he was trying to make it back to the ship.”
In the morning, before our eggs and coffee, we found out that the sailor was dead.
The buildings that housed the port officer’s headquarters were metal Quonset huts differentiated from the Army Corps of Engineers’ Quonset huts only by the fact that they were painted battleship gray while the army’s buildings were painted olive drab. Slightly less colorful than Texas Street.
The brass buttons on the old chief’s coat bulged under the expanding pressure of his belly. We showed our identification.
“Who was the sailor who got killed in the mugging last night?”
The chief shuffled through some paperwork. “Petty Officer Third Class Lockworth, Gerald R.”
“What ship was he on?”
“The USS
Swann
. One of the tenders for the
Kitty Hawk
. They say he was carrying a couple months’ pay.”
“Nothing left on him?”
“No.”
“Maybe the girls got to it first.”
“Maybe. But I doubt it. He was three-year veteran of the Pacific Fleet.”
“What was the cause of death?”
“Massive hemorrhage of the brain.”
“Have you got your eyes on any particular group of sailors that might be preying on their shipmates?”
“Not really. The brass tends to think that it’s some Korean gangs working the streets. Maybe they’ve developed a taste for the Seventh Fleet payroll. That would explain why there haven’t been any arrests made.”
“The police here want to protect the sailors. There’s a lot of pressure from the ROK Government to make the US Navy feel welcome.”
“Maybe. But at a lower level, policies have a habit of being changed.”
“Do you buy all that, Chief?”
“Could be. I keep an open mind. But in general I tend to go with the scuttlebutt.”
“What’s that?”
“That it’s some of your local GIs that got a taste for the Seventh Fleet payroll.”
“If the average sailor starts to believe either one of those viewpoints, it could cause a lot of trouble down here on Texas Street.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to be a dogface on liberty in this town tonight.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“You’re welcome.”
The
Kitty Hawk
finally pulled in at noon, and standing by the dock were the mayor and the provincial governor and the US Navy’s 7th Fleet band. The sailors lined the deck of the huge gloating edifice, their bell-bottoms and kerchiefs flapping in the breeze. The ship’s captain and his staff, in their dazzlingwhite uniforms, bounced down the gangplank to the tune of “Anchors Aweigh,” and were greeted by a row of beautiful young Korean maidens in traditional dresses who placed leis over their necks and bowed to them in greeting.
The governor made a speech of welcome and the captain answered with a long rambling dissertation on the awesome firepower of the
Kitty Hawk
. Greater, he said, than the entire defense establishments of some countries.
“I thought he wasn’t supposed to confirm or deny that they have nuclear capability,” I said.
Ernie smirked. “He’s also not supposed to confirm or deny that he’s a jerk.”
After the tedious ceremony
We found a noodle stand and ate, giving ourselves away asGIs to the wizened old proprietor by knowing what to order. Ernie sipped on the hot broth and then took a swig of a cold bottle of Oriental beer.
“Quiet night.”
“No revelations yet.”
“Maybe tomorrow, when the entire flotilla arrives.”
“Flotilla. Sounds like the damn Spanish Armada.”
“Yeah. Except a lot more powerful.”
Just before the midnight curfew the Shore Patrol got busy again chasing the sailors back to the ship or off the streets.
We had taken a cab all the way back to Hialeah Compound before we heard about the mugging.
“One sailor,” the desk sergeant said. “Beat up pretty bad. The navy medical personnel are taking care of him now.”
“Any witnesses?”
“None. Happened right before curfew. Apparently he was trying to make it back to the ship.”
In the morning, before our eggs and coffee, we found out that the sailor was dead.
The buildings that housed the port officer’s headquarters were metal Quonset huts differentiated from the Army Corps of Engineers’ Quonset huts only by the fact that they were painted battleship gray while the army’s buildings were painted olive drab. Slightly less colorful than Texas Street.
The brass buttons on the old chief’s coat bulged under the expanding pressure of his belly. We showed our identification.
“Who was the sailor who got killed in the mugging last night?”
The chief shuffled through some paperwork. “Petty Officer Third Class Lockworth, Gerald R.”
“What ship was he on?”
“The USS
Swann
. One of the tenders for the
Kitty Hawk
. They say he was carrying a couple months’ pay.”
“Nothing left on him?”
“No.”
“Maybe the girls got to it first.”
“Maybe. But I doubt it. He was three-year veteran of the Pacific Fleet.”
“What was the cause of death?”
“Massive hemorrhage of the brain.”
“Have you got your eyes on any particular group of sailors that might be preying on their shipmates?”
“Not really. The brass tends to think that it’s some Korean gangs working the streets. Maybe they’ve developed a taste for the Seventh Fleet payroll. That would explain why there haven’t been any arrests made.”
“The police here want to protect the sailors. There’s a lot of pressure from the ROK Government to make the US Navy feel welcome.”
“Maybe. But at a lower level, policies have a habit of being changed.”
“Do you buy all that, Chief?”
“Could be. I keep an open mind. But in general I tend to go with the scuttlebutt.”
“What’s that?”
“That it’s some of your local GIs that got a taste for the Seventh Fleet payroll.”
“If the average sailor starts to believe either one of those viewpoints, it could cause a lot of trouble down here on Texas Street.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to be a dogface on liberty in this town tonight.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“You’re welcome.”
The
Kitty Hawk
finally pulled in at noon, and standing by the dock were the mayor and the provincial governor and the US Navy’s 7th Fleet band. The sailors lined the deck of the huge gloating edifice, their bell-bottoms and kerchiefs flapping in the breeze. The ship’s captain and his staff, in their dazzlingwhite uniforms, bounced down the gangplank to the tune of “Anchors Aweigh,” and were greeted by a row of beautiful young Korean maidens in traditional dresses who placed leis over their necks and bowed to them in greeting.
The governor made a speech of welcome and the captain answered with a long rambling dissertation on the awesome firepower of the
Kitty Hawk
. Greater, he said, than the entire defense establishments of some countries.
“I thought he wasn’t supposed to confirm or deny that they have nuclear capability,” I said.
Ernie smirked. “He’s also not supposed to confirm or deny that he’s a jerk.”
After the tedious ceremony
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