December 22, 1941
Aboard USS Gridley
Location: 240 miles east of Canton Island
Course: Southwest
Attached to: TF 406
Mission: Air combat
Ship's Status: No damage
Fuel: 389 (74%)
Reedy lay in his bunk, reading. He ought to be getting some sleep, he knew, but he wanted to finish the current chapter of the Chandler novel he was reading. Gus Becken came into the bunkroom and after a moment climbed into his own bunk, using Reedy's bunk as a stepping stone.
Reedy didn't even notice. He continued to read:
We went swiftly into the bedroom. Mrs. Jesse Pierce Florian lay diagonally across the bed, in a rumpled cotton housedress, with her head close to one end of the footboard. The corner post of the bed was smeared darkly with something the flies liked.
She had been dead long enough.
Randall didn't touch her. He stared down at her for a long time and then looked at me with a wolfish bearing of his teeth.
"Brains on her face," he said. "That seems to be the theme song of this case. Only this was done with just a pair of hands. But Jesus what a pair of hands. Look at the neck bruises, the spacing of the finger marks."
"You look at them," I said. I turned away.
"Hey Jake," said Becken, his voice floating down from above. Reedy closed his book. That was the end of the chapter anyway.
"Yeah?" he said.
"Just where is Tarawa, anyway?" While not much war news had reached them out here the admirals had been kept informed about Japanese moves in the Pacific. That news had inevitably trickled its way down the chain of command. It seemed that Japanese were attacking Wake Island with strong forces, including a lot of carrier planes, and that a couple of days ago they had occupied Tarawa.
Reedy was a little hazy about Tarawa himself. It was not exactly a household name.
"It's somewhere in the Central Pacific," he said. "An atoll in the Gilberts, is what I heard."
"Think we'll hit the Japs there?" Becken asked.
"How would I know?" Reedy said. "Maybe." The crew was full of speculation about when and where they would strike back at the Japanese. The favorite theory was that they were going to refuel in Australia and then move up to clear the way for the long convoys of men, planes, and supplies that were no doubt being mustered to relieve American forces in the Philippines. There was silence above him as Becken digested this.
"We oughta go up and help those boys at Wake," Becken said after a moment.
"Yeah," said Reedy. It stuck in the craw to think of the likely fate of the small Marine garrison there. "But we're too far away and it sounds like the Japs are throwing a lot at it. Battleships, carriers, the works. There's what, a few hundred guys there? It would all be over before we got there."
"Poor bastards," said Becken. His tone was bitter.
Poor bastards indeed, thought Reedy. But thinking about it got him nowhere. So he thought about Cathy, his girl back home in Scranton, instead. She was probably at her father's bakery already, helping get ready to open the place in the morning. He pictured her, shapely hips wrapped in her baker's apron, lifting a tray of rolls into one of the ovens. It was a pleasant thought.
After a few minutes Becken started to snore. Lulled by that sound, and by the slow rocking of the ship, Reedy closed his eyes and fell asleep.
***
The original 1940 paperback cover of "Farewell My Lovely" by Raymond Chandler:
