This story is fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental. This story also contains explicit sexual activity between males. If such is objectionable to you or if you are below the age where reading such material is legal, please read no further. Your response to the story is appreciated. Comments, pro or con, are most helpful. Please let me hear from you. macoutmann@yahoo.com
BEFORE "DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL"
by Macout Mann
Chapter 8
The last four months of Morgan's deployment turned into five. Somehow BuPers, the Bureau of Naval Personnel, didn't get around to sending his orders on time. But they did order a full lieutenant to relieve him. And he received a letter of commendation from ComSeaCoor himself for his excellent performance as Communications Officer.
In the meantime, things settled down to a predictable routine. Each morning the senior petty officer on the watch supervised by Mr. Trent would appear to complain, and Morgan would explain that he didn't have the authority to relieve Mr. Trent of his duties and that everyone would have to suffer until he finished his tour, committed a cryptographic compromise, or got drunk, fell off the pier, and drowned. But in the meantime, he would talk to Mr. Trent and advise him of his deficiencies. He did talk to the Chief of Staff about Trent's ineptitude in the hope that it would be reflected in his fitness report.
Almost every time the proper watch was on duty in crypto, he would drop in for sexual relief.
There were also a few breaks in the routine.
A ship of the Norwegian Navy came into port, and Morgan had the pleasure of calling on his opposite number (in addition to being CommOfficer of ComSeaCoor, he was titular Communications Officer of the USS Pierce). They broke out the Norwegian national liqueur for a round of toasts in their wardroom. Alcoholic beverages had not been allowed on American Men-of-war since Franklin Roosevelt had been Acting Secretary of the Navy, and the Norwegians enjoyed rubbing in the fact that they could drink on board their ship but Morgan couldn't on his. In fact, they told him that they had participated in a joint exercise with the American and British fleets in the Atlantic. Each afternoon a signal flag would break on the flagship, saying "Splice the mainbrace, except U.S." Splice the mainbrace signaled that each sailor on every ship would be given a ration of liquor, traditionally rum.
The commander of the Amphibious Force, Pacific had drawn up a new Operations Plan, which had to be distributed to all of the ships under his command. A raft of officer messenger mail arrived at the CommCenter to be distributed to ships of the force as they called at Pusan. No big thing, Morgan thought. Most were routinely delivered. Several had to be sent elsewhere, because the addressees had already left the area. Two small landing ships presented a problem, however. They were in the area but were not scheduled to come to Pusan. Morgan discovered that they had been conducting exercises near Koje-do, an island to the west of Pusan was a prisoner of war camp imprisoning North Koreans.
Morgan thought it would be great fun to go to Koje-do, and he obtained permission to take the OpPlans to the ships, if the army at Koje-do would provide a Q Boat that could rendezvous with them. The army operated a packet boat, which made scheduled runs to take mail and supplies from Pusan to the island, so getting there would not be a problem.
Morgan telephoned Koje-do and told the switchboard that he was Lieutenant (jg) Bowen, Commander Sea Coordination Center, and that he needed to talk to someone about some navy ships that were in their area.
"Oh, sir," the voice at the other end of the line said, "you will want to talk to Colonel Michaelson."
"Col. Michaelson," a second voice said.
"Yes, sir. Lt(jg) Bowen, ComSeaCoor in Pusan. I have some highly classified documents that I need to deliver to two of our amphibious ships, and I understand that they're operating off Koje-do."
"Yes, they've been around for several days."
"If I come down on the packet, could you provide a Q Boat to take me out to deliver this material?"
"Certainly. That would be no problem."
Morgan arranged to have orders cut for him to go to Koje-do. Another "jg," Bob Masters, a good friend of Morgan's, who was attached to Fleet Activities, found out he was going and asked if he could ride shotgun. Morgan was able to have orders cut for Masters too.
Now, the negotiations with the North Koreans at Panmunjom were nearing a conclusion, and the South Korean government was not totally pleased with the way they were going. So Syngmann Rhee, South Korea's president, engineered the release of several thousand North Korean prisoners of war in hopes of stalling the negotiations. This happened two days before Morgan was scheduled to go to Koje-do, but since no prisoners had escaped from the island no thought was given to changing his plans.
The two naval officers arrived at about ten in the morning. A freshly-scrubbed corporal was waiting at the dock with a jeep. "Good morning, sirs," he said, as he smartly saluted. "The commandant likes to know who is on the island. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to headquarters."
The jeep ride was not long. What they saw along the way were some barracks and stockades and many prisoners, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Arriving at headquarters, they were met by a major, much gruffer and less well-scrubbed than the corporal. "What are you doing on this island?" he shouted. "Do you have orders to be on this island?"
"Yes, sir," Morgan replied, handing their orders over for inspection.
"Rumph!" the major growled. "And just why are you here?"
"There are two amphibious landing vessels operating off the coast. I have highly classified documents for them, and was told that you would supply us a Q Boat, so that we could deliver them."
"Well, they've gone!" the major shouted. "And who the hell told you they were here and that we'd do anything like that?"
"I talked to a colonel," Morgan answered. "I believe his name was Michaelson."
"If you'd talked to Col. Michaelson, you'd sure as hell remember his name!
"Anyway, they're not here. I'll have a plane sent to get you. In the meantime, you can enjoy the Officers' Club!"
The corporal escorted them to the club and said that he would return when the plane arrived.
The club was very well appointed, had a nice view and an open bar, even at eleven in the morning. It was about an hour later that the corporal returned and drove them to a very primitive landing strip, where a single-engine army plane was waiting. The pilot was not to be seen, so the corporal parked his jeep some distance away. They waited for what seemed like about ten minutes.
Suddenly, another jeep came tearing down the road, screeching to a stop directly in front of the plane. Shortly after that two army officers emerged from a galvanized shack near the landing strip. One was the pilot, the other another major. Out of the jeep jumped a "bird" colonel who angrily confronted the newcomers. The occupants of Morgan's jeep couldn't hear what was being said, but there was some talk of "orders," and the colonel's final words were very clear. "I shall make this a matter of record!"
The colonel then turned and walked over to the other jeep. After salutes were exchanged the colonel said, "Gentlemen, I am Colonel Michaelson, Commandant of Koje-do. I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but these men—he practically spat the word—will be taking this plane back to the mainland. I shall have another one sent for you. In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy the Officers' Club."
The colonel's jeep sped away, and an ashen-faced corporal said, "Gosh. I didn't realize he was that concerned about who was on the island."
Second time around, the plane took off without incident. It was the first time either of the naval officers had flown on a single engine plane, and it was quite an experience. So was the visit to Koje-do.
Morgan's friend, Bob Masters' collateral duty was "Civil Affairs Officer." That is, he was in charge of relations with the Korean civilian population. When the duties were first divvied up, no more-senior officer was interested. There were no civil affairs to be managed. But as the signing of a truce came closer to reality, the scuttlebutt was that appropriations to run the war would be redirected to civil support. The various civil affairs officers in all branches of the service were being courted by Korean officialdom. Thus, Lt(jg). Masters was invited to dinner by the Mayor of Pusan. Masters invited Morgan to accompany him.
Along with the two of them, the event was attended not only by the mayor, but a couple of other officials and all their wives. It was held in the home of the mayor atop one of the city's several hills.
The same Kim that had brought Morgan from K3 to the pier, when he first arrived, drove them to the mayor's house and promised to return promptly at ten o'clock.
The evening was remarkable in several ways. Proper Koreans simply did not socialize with the Americans, but here they were. Morgan had longed to glimpse the real life of the Korean people, and now he was. Americans in uniform were forbidden to eat Korean food for fear of disease, but now they were being treated to a wonderful banquet. Morgan was especially fond of one dish and asked what it was. He was told that its name translated as "fairy fire bowl." Morgan was afraid it was chopped dog meat with vegetables in a spicy sauce, but found it delicious anyway. All of the Koreans spoke fluent English, so the conversation was the most civilized that he had had in months.
It was shortly after ten when the mayor led the two junior lieutenants out of his residence and down to the street. Kim was there, loudly sounding the horn of the admiral's staff car. Parked behind it was an army jeep with two MPs. Morgan couldn't help but think of Scott Percy and his story about General Ridgeway. He ignored the scene before him, however, and continued to make pleasantries and say farewell to the mayor. Then, as the mayor retreated, as the senior of the two he turned to the MPs. He and Masters were in their Service Dress Khakis of course (with stars on their shoulders), and that always helped in situations like this.
"Is there a problem, sergeant?"
"Well, sir. Your driver doesn't have a proper trip ticket, sir," the MP responded.
"Why is that, Kim?" Morgan asked.
"I take Admurl to Hireah. No time to get new tickee and be here to pick you up when you say."
"His trip ticket is from Pier One to the Hialeah Compound and return, was it sergeant?"
"Yes, sir."
"I appreciate your concern, men, but I think he can be forgiven. He was to be here at ten and didn't have time to get a new trip ticket. I'll instruct our operations people to be more careful in their descriptions."
"Yes, sir. Thank you sir."
"If you don't have anything more pressing, Sergeant, we're now running a little late. Could you give us an escort to Pier 1?"
And then, the British Navy in the Far East had an overall change of command. "Flag Officer in Charge, Second in Command, Far East Station," in his flagship, a heavy cruiser, toured all the ports in the whole Far East to celebrate the event. Their call at Pusan occasioned all sorts of additional traffic for the CommCenter before they came and all sorts of ceremonies once they had arrived.
The Royal Marines "beat the retreat" in Pusan Square, an event not unlike the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Morgan was the only American Naval Officer who chose to attend, but he had always loved pageantry and wished that we had more of it. In his service dress khakis, he found himself standing between an army private first class and an army colonel. The corporal had the bearing of an ivy leaguer, Morgan snobbishly thought. But at any rate, as the ceremony came to a close, The "Star Spangled Banner" was played. Morgan, the corporal, and the colonel all smartly saluted. At its end the colonel just as smartly dropped his salute with a loud snap as his hand hit his thigh. Both Morgan and the private, along with most of the other military observing the event, held their salutes, as four snare drums rolled to introduce "God Save the Queen." It was worth all the unpleasantness Morgan had endured during his tour to see the colonel try to raise his hand back to his visor without anyone noticing. The private was stifling a giggle.
The night before he sailed FO2FES gave a party aboard his flagship. Morgan, as CommOfficer, was the most junior officer on the official invitation list; but several British junior officers visiting the American Officers' Club invited, as was their right, several other junior American officers to join them for the festivities. ComSeaCoor was not happy. But Morgan once again had to admire the British ability to "pull things off." It was as if the walk had been rehearsed. When he left, as Morgan stepped from the wardroom door to the deck, the cruiser's Officer of the Deck was waiting. Walking beside him across the quarterdeck, he whispered, "Lieutenant, an American officer just left the ship and I'm not sure he's going to be able to make it. You might look for him on your way." At that exact moment they reached the top of the gangplank. "Pipe!" the OOD called to the boatswain. As the pipe wailed, Morgan saluted the British Union Jack flying from the cruiser's fantail and descended to the pier. He did look for the American officer. He knew it was one of his watch officers, who had come aboard with the British junior officers. He was relieved that Ensign Hathaway had not passed out enroute. The quarterdeck watch on the Pierce confirmed that he had staggered aboard just before Morgan arrived.
Shortly thereafter, Morgan's orders arrived. He was to proceed to the United States, have leave, and then report to the U.S. Naval School, CIC, in Glenview, Illinois, and upon graduation, was to proceed and report to the USS Stough (DD852) for duty as CIC Officer. The school would last four months. Morgan was delighted.
There was the obligatory farewell party at the Officers' Club. Morgan was amazed that not only the officers he dealt with every day but the admiral and even the CNO of the Korean Navy dropped by. Was it because of the commendation? Probably it was because he was a good guy, always himself, and not hung up when faced with rank.
He arrived in Yokosuka and was put up in the BOQ, where he had stayed when he first arrived in the Far East. He learned he was to fly back to the states, but on a plane not scheduled to leave for two days. So he forsook Navy quarters to spend a last night at the Nikkatsu. Pas was still in Japan. The tour there was for eighteen rather than twelve months. And Morgan invited Pas to join him for a last night in Tokyo.
Pas insisted that they meet for drinks in the Nikkatsu cocktail lounge, rather than in Morgan's room. They had a couple of martinis and then went to the dining room for dinner. Morgan was now considered a "regular" and was treated to super service by the staff of the Nikkatsu. He discovered an ice cream fork in the sugar bowl and summoned the maitre d'. "No sugar spoon?" he asked. There was a rush from all sides of the dining room to remedy the disaster.
After dinner, Pas insisted that they check out some of the Ginza bars where foreigners were welcome. Morgan finally said he'd never been to the Imperial Hotel, Frank Lloyd Wright's architectural masterpiece, so they wound up near midnight at the bar of one of the world's most famous hotels.
They hadn't had too much to drink. They were still chatting about the usual things. Morgan was only dimly aware that there was only one other patron in the bar. But he'd had enough to drink that he didn't pick up on the change in Pas' tone, when he said, "Well, tell me, Mr. Bowen, what is your feeling upon leaving Korea?"
"As I told Admiral Pak, CNO of the Korean Navy," Morgan earnestly replied, "I regretted that I could not have gotten to know the Korean people better."
Halfway through Morgan's statement, he heard the crash of a cocktail glass on the marble floor of the bar, and the other patron rushed out of the room. Pas doubled over in laughter.
Pas, as Top Secret Control Officer of ComNavFe, was often shadowed by ONI agents; and Pas had been aware that he was being followed from the beginning of the evening. The agent, since Morgan was in civilian clothes, had no idea who Morgan was. And being a fairly junior member of the intelligence community, he was stunned that Pas' companion might be a senior member of the American Foreign Service or something.
Pas explained what was going on to Morgan, and said, "Now we can go back to your room and you can fuck my brains out."
Morgan was furiously pounding Pas'ass, when he pushed down and stopped. "This may be the last time we're together," he realized.
"All the more reason to make it last," Pas whispered in return.
"If only we'd known back in college," Morgan reminisced.
"Yeah, but we've had our fun," Pas responded.
"You ever get with any of my guys?" Morgan questioned.
"Only Jacobs. He realized we had something going on, and came on to me right after your last R&R. It's been tough finding times and places to get together, but we've managed."
"I'm goanna miss you," Morgan finished, as he once again began the routine that would fill Pas' ass with cream.
About thirty years later, Pas would be confirmed by the Senate of the United States as Secretary of the Navy. His unfulfilled wife would look on smiling as he was sworn in.
The next day, Morgan boarded a MATS transport for the long flight back to what his enlisted watch in Korea called "Usa Jima (USA Island)." His seatmate was an Army Captain, who was also an evangelical Christian. Morgan spent the flight to Guam playing with his companion's mind. Why, Morgan pled, shouldn't service men, who'd been exposed to other cultures, be able to choose what sexual activity they wanted to engage in, based on what they had seen and experienced?"
"Because it's not what God wants!"
From Guam to San Francisco Morgan had a more compatible companion, an Air Force Second Lieutenant, who spent most of the flight cradling his crotch with his right hand. Morgan couldn't figure out whether he was protecting his jewels or signaling that they were available.
Soon enough, however, he was on a commercial airliner headed for Cinci.
Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
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