Miss Taylor Young
Chapter Two
The Northern Mariana Islands
The Dock of Tinian
July 26, 1945
1,565 Miles of the coast of Southeast Asia (Southern Pacific)
14:50 hours (2:50pm)
“Man, they should use better care for this bathroom,” Tom said to his Navy buddy, Steve, as they flushed the toilets they were using, and left the bathroom, not even caring to wash their hands.
“Yeah, fair point. This place looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since the first World War!”
Just then, Tom stepped onto a wet puddle of water (hopefully), and slipped. He barely managed to let out a scream before he slammed into the ground on his butt with a reverberating Wham!
And he sat there, eyes wide open, on the wet, rusty metal bathroom floor.
Steve swore under his breath, and loaned Tom his hand. Tom groaned in pain, and gripped Steve’s sweaty hand, while clutching the part of his left butt cheek that was now bruised.
“What the heck was that?” said Tom, pulling himself up onto his feet, and not his back.
“It was uhh… I dunno… A puddle?! I mean, whatever else could that have been?!” Steve attempted.
“I don’t wanna know.”
Steve chuckled. He was a good friend to Tom, and very loyal, with a good sense of humor. And it was surprising that after everything he had been through, Steve remained a good person, with a good heart. He had lost his left hand on Omaha Beach on D-Day when a German grenade went off near him, his wife died of cancer, his daughter had a kid and he couldn’t go see her, and his son had lost his eye in the battle of Sainte Regine. And his Admiral assigned him to ride the Portland-class ship known as the USS Indianapolis. But that didn’t matter now. It just mattered that Steve was happy, and nothing made him unhappy.
As Steve and Tom left the bathroom, they saw a large, muscular man beating up a smaller man. No. A teenager. As the big man punched him, and whacked him, and kicked him, Steve started to walk over to the scene, trying to break it up, when Tom pulled him back by the arm.
“It’s not worth it,” he said, trying to prevent him from getting hurt.
“Relax, I got this.” He responded reassuringly. Then he started to walk toward the man again, this time, Tom pulling even harder, with almost all of his might.
“Tom, let me go. I’m serious this time!”
“I’m not going to be responsible for you getting hurt!” Tom said, pulling harder now.
Just then, the big man lifted the teen over his head, and dropped him on the ground. Steve could see the weakness in his eyes, and the blood gushing out of his lip. He knew how much pain he was in, because of D-Day. Then, Steve pulled Tom over to himself, and punched him in the face.
Krack!
Tom yelped, and groaned.
“I’m sorry, Tom! I had to!” he shouted, trying to seem as sorry as he could.
Tom was clutching his arm.
Then, Steve turned around, and muttered, “Hope that’s not broken…” He walked to the man, as he banged the teen’s head against a dumpster.
Boooooong!
“Hey. Let him go,” Steve said.
The man dropped the teen onto the asphalt. He looked in Steve’s direction. He towered over Steve. He looked like Goliath, from the Bible story David and Goliath. He had a curly beard longer than a ruler, he had a pink scar on his right eyebrow, and a black tank top.
“What are you gonna do about it?!” he said in a very deep, Australian accent.
“Or I’ll stop you myself,” Steve said, feeling a little uneasy.
The large man laughed. Then he said, “You really think that I’m afraid of the police? Yeah, go get ‘em. I’m super terrified.” Then he turned around, and kicked the teenager in the face.
“Stop!” Steve yelled.
The man then turned around, and grabbed Steve by the collar, and carried him over to the dumpster. “Goodbye!” he tossed Steve into the stinky dumpster.
Then, Tom came to the rescue, and climbed up his back, and sat on his shoulders. Then, he pulled hard on his neck, and choked him.“Stay away from both of them!” Tom yelled.
Just then, a Ford automobile police car pulled up in front of them four. The driver opened the door. Steve and Tom could hear the radio chatter coming from the car. The driver had a pistol in his hand, aiming for the overcast sky.
“A’ight, break it up, y’all, or I’ll throw y’all in the slammah,” he said, with a Texan accent. The cop seemed maybe forty years old, but abnormally large. Larger than the bully. And he scared them all.
Tom slid down from the bully’s shoulders, and Steve crawled out of the dumpster. Then, the large man walked away, and disappeared into the crowd of people walking by without a care in the world on what was happening.
Then, Tom knelt down to the teenager, who was leaning against the wall of a building, and asked, “Are you good?”
He groaned. “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse. I’m fine.” He stood up, wiped the blood away from his nose, and started walking.
Steve put an arm in his way of walking out. “Why did he start beating you up?” questioned Steve.
“I dunno. Why did he?” he tried walking, but Steve still blocked his way. He sighed.
“I’m not playing games with you. Now tell me, why did he start attacking you?”
“Why does it matter, you jerk?! Just let me be!”
“Stop playing those dumb moves-”
“Steve,” Tom said. “Let him go.”
“Yeah Steve, let me go,” the kid said.
For a second, Steve thought about ignoring Tom, but didn’t. He didn’t see any point in forcing it out of the kid. Then he put his arm down, signaling that he wasn’t going to hold him against his will, and that the teen was now free to carry on with his business.
The kid cursed him, and walked past him. He then disappeared into the crowd of people.
“I don’t know about you, but that kid seemed a little odd to me. Do you agree?”
“That’s just how kids are these days,” Tom responded.
“That’s not how I was.”
“That makes sense, as that was thirty years ago!”
“True.”
Then, they turned around, and headed back to the Indy, where the bomb’s parts were being unloaded.