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    Flag of Her Choosing
    Flag of Her Choosing
    Flag of Her Choosing
    Ebook389 pages5 hours

    Flag of Her Choosing

    By Derek Hart

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    About this ebook

    The "Great White Fleet" was sent around the world by President Theodore Roosevelt from 16 December 1907 to 22 February 1909 and consisted of sixteen new battleships of the Atlantic Fleet. The battleships were painted white except for gilded scrollwork on their bows, hence the nickname.

    When word was received of an earthquake in Sicily, thus affording an opportunity for the United States to show friendship to Italy by offering aid to the sufferers, President Roosevelt sent the American fleet in response.

    These simple historical facts led author Derek Hart to conduct extensive research into the lives and duties of the USS Illinois, the officers, crew, and especially the contingent of US Marines on board.

    Between 5:20 and 5:30 AM on December 28, 1908, the Monday after Christmas weekend, a major earthquake and tsunami (tidal wave) totally destroyed Messina (pop. 150,000), Reggio Calabria (pop. 50,000), and dozens of nearby towns. With about 100,000 fatalities in total, this was the deadliest earthquake in European history. Even larger numbers were left injured or homeless, losing everything. In the most severely affected towns, roughly half the population perished, with most victims either entombed in the rubble of their homes or struck down in the streets by collapsing three to five-story buildings.

    This disaster was the building block for Derek Hart's grand romantic adventure, as US Marine Corps Captain Richard Danforth is thrust into the middle of a relief expedition to assist earthquake survivors. Little does he know that this mission will lead to murder, intrigue, the heist of an enormous fortune of gold, and of course, falling in love with local teacher Maria Vitale. The lengths to which these young lovers go to realize their dreams together are what adventures are made of and Flag of Her Choosing is no exception.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateNov 11, 2003
    ISBN9781469708157
    Flag of Her Choosing
    Author

    Derek Hart

    Derek Hart is the prolific author of 28 action and adventure novels, known for their historical accuracy, while still maintaining a high level of entertainment. Romance is also a vital part of Derek Hart's trademark style and his novels generally appeal to men and women alike. Mr. Hart authored Secret of the Dragon's Eye, his first novel aimed at all age groups, which met with instant success and outstanding reviews. The author has since followed with Secret of the Dragon's Breath, Secret of the Dragon's Claw, Secret of the Dragon's Scales and Secret of the Dragon's Teeth. The final volume of the 6-episode series, Secret of the Dragon's Wings, will be available in November of 2018. He has since started a new series, post-apocalyptic in nature, with Minerva's Shield and Nike's Chariot. The third installment, Apollo's Plague came out in November 2017. Abandoned was published in March 2018 and Game Over premiered in June 2018. List of published books: Secret of the Dragon’s Eye Secret of the Dragon’s Breath Secret of the Dragon’s Claw Secret of the Dragon’s Scales Secret of the Dragon’s Teeth Secret of the Dragon’s Wings Claws of the Raven Danger Cruise Favor for FDR Crooked Cross Factor Tracks of the Predator For Love or Honor Bound Tales of the Yellow Silk Element of Surprise Seas Aflame Ice Flotilla High Altitude Low Opening Tangles of Truth Shadows in Replay Flag of Her Choosing Tidal Trap Dangerous (Poetry) Executive Firepower The CARLA Conspiracy The Wreckchasers Minerva's Shield Nike's Chariot Apollo's Plague Abandoned Game Over Mercury's Wings Before the Dead Walked Books coming soon: The Samuel Clemens Affair Pearl and Topaz By the Moon Darkly Broadmoor Manor Neptune's Trident Operation Sovereign Primary Weapon Saturn's Fire Tails of Thaddeus Enchanted Mesa Eagle Blue Last Guidon Excess Baggage Container Carta Codex Shipwreckers Romeo Tango The 5x5 Gang Desert Salvage

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      Book preview

      Flag of Her Choosing - Derek Hart

      All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Derek Hart

      No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

      iUniverse, Inc.

      For information address:

      iUniverse, Inc.

      2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100

      Lincoln, NE 68512

      www.iuniverse.com

      Cover art by David M. Burke

      ISBN: 0-595-30309-9

      ISBN: 978-1-4697-0815-7 (eBook)

      Contents

      Foreword

      Acknowledgements

      Introduction

      Prologue

      CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      CHAPTER 9

      CHAPTER 10

      CHAPTER 11

      CHAPTER 12

      CHAPTER 13

      CHAPTER 14

      CHAPTER 15

      CHAPTER 16

      CHAPTER 17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      Epilogue

      About the Author

      Notes

      Critical Acclaim for Derek Hart

      Grandma O

      Forever she will be my guiding light.

      I miss her wisdom, her sense of humor,

      and most of all her faith in me.

      To her this book is lovingly dedicated.

      Foreword

      118113_text.pdf

      The girl was meant to touch and test her fate,

      that night she should divine,

      the moment she would know his love,

      if her true heart were his to hold.

      For if she held him dear,

      the teacher destined to follow his lead,

      If not, she would cast away each banner,

      as the earth shook her very soul free.

      Her heart soared when she met him

      Was she perhaps overbold?

      His uniform spoke of many conquests,

      Battles won and miles untold.

      Yet with loving words she trusted him,

      Across the waves he still came for her,

      A flag for her choosing,

      Red, white and blue blessed her faith.

      Acknowledgements

      118113_text.pdf

      To The Marine Corps University Research Center in Quantico, VA

      To The Marine Corps History and Museums, Washington, DC

      To Patrick McSherry: reenactor and historian aboard the USFS Olympia, who provided wonderful information regarding Marines during this time period.

      To Carla Malerba: Who provided research material on Italy during the early 1900’s, especially the Messina/Calabria earthquake and for her inspiration, faith & love. She is the fiery passion of Italian blood. Not only beautiful and passionate, Carla mixes in just the right measure of creativity and compassion. Her influence on this book, as well as many others, has been nothing short of monumental.

      To Michele F. Desjardins: There has always been an unquestioned loyalty born from shared adversity. This friendship has been tested and it holds up under pressure, unlike others so touted. Michele has always been there, through thick and thin, never wavering from her loyalty, dedication, and support. She too is vibrantly Italian, which through her eyes gave this book the perfect measure of emotional and cultural realism.

      Introduction

      118113_text.pdf

      Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.

      —Theodore Roosevelt

      Prologue

      Monday, December 28, 1908

      Terremoto e Maremoto

      118113_text.pdf

      There were pronounced iridescent rings surrounding the moon. It was just before five o’clock in the morning and Maria Vitale had awakened suddenly from a deep sleep. Even with a blanket about her shoulders, she shivered, yet it wasn’t from the winter chill. No, something wasn’t right. Maria gazed out the window in fascination upon the glowing moon, as her waking memory recalled vivid nightmares. She had never seen it like this, as if the orb was pulsating, casting an eerie unholy light upon the shore.

      The clock struck the hour. Discordant notes chimed in five familiar chords, but Maria had to fight off a wave of goose bumps again. Her mind was abruptly filled with horrific images and to fight the gloom settling in her soul, she decided to start her daily chores early. After slipping on a simple green cotton dress and well-worn sandals, Maria briefly brushed her long luxurious brown hair.

      Padding quietly down the hallway then, Maria looked in on her sleeping twin brothers, younger by eleven years. Nothing had disturbed their dreams, so she pondered the silliness of her apprehensions. Then, with a spring to her young step, this woman of nineteen years skipped quickly down the stairs, grabbed her shawl from behind the door, and let herself out onto the street.

      I shall make a splendid breakfast for Papa, she spoke to herself. Maria sighed with contentment and swung her arms merrily on her way to the baker.

      Sweeping back her flowing hair, Maria tried to whistle a gentle tune. Still, the moon’s strange aura robbed her of the music for a moment. She suddenly stopped still and listened. In fact, she quickly discovered that there was not any sound. The typical noise of nature awakening was missing and the very air was devoid of even the tiniest squeak of life.

      The city was sleeping peacefully in the cold air, but the vibrant blue water of the Mediterranean was slapping irregularly on the shore. The picturesque town of Messina was situated dramatically before the hills and mountains of the region and was home to 150,000 people. Surrounding the village proper, were hills encased with vineyards, orchards and rich farmland.

      Everything seemed as it should be.

      Everything except the moon.

      It was so quiet.

      Suddenly a horse whinnied in the distance and it was the cry of abject terror.

      On the heels of that horrific sound began an incredible rumbling beneath Maria’s feet. She felt the earth swaying with small bumping motions, followed by a pronounced pause. Then, without warning, the motion returned as an intense rolling action with an even more violent jerking upheaval. With the rending of the very earth, tremendous vibrations knocked Maria to the street, scuffing and scraping her palms as she landed on her knees. Crying out as the motions moved her bodily up and over, a giant fissure vented open before her, cobblestones disappearing into eternal darkness. For twenty-three seconds, the rumbling and grinding shook the very air from her lungs.

      A few miles from Messina sat Mount Etna and with the earthquake, Maria could hear the dormant volcano become active. Convulsions violently destroyed the buildings all around her. Thunderous detonations reverberated over her, adding to her terror and pulling the screams from countless helpless citizens.

      The earth cracked and groaned and the quake was so terrible, that entire blocks of houses crumbled and collapsed, burying tens of thousands under the ruins. Palls of smoke and dust rose up as one gigantic cloud.

      As abruptly as it had begun, the earthquake was over.

      Maria gingerly rose to her feet, stunned by the sheer brutality of the tremors. Looking back from where she had come, there was nothing but rubble, no sign that she had ever once lived in a wonderful little house.

      Wanting to cry out, her voice was taken from her yet again, as another magnificently terrible sound assaulted Maria’s ears. She looked out to sea and gasped, as a solid wall of water, towering fifty feet above the town, came relentlessly towards Messina.

      The basket was still clutched desperately in her right hand, but she cast it away and started to run. The roar grew louder, as if a hundred train locomotives were all descending on her town at once. With the desire to survive willing her to sprint for her life and the stamina of youth to maintain the pace, Maria lengthened her strides.

      The tsunami hit the already wrecked waterfront buildings with the power of a mighty god-like fist, enveloping and sinking almost every ship in the harbor and drowning thousands of citizens who had just made it through the earthquake. The tidal wave swept inland, torrents of wickedly propelling water knocking down houses, animals and people alike, snuffing out life in an instant.

      Yet Maria kept on running.

      She could sense the monstrous swirling water behind her, could hear the destruction, and could feel the spray on her heels. But she didn’t look back. As she fought to breathe and pumped her arms, her prayers were for wings of flight.

      Just ahead of her was a wooden fence, freshly painted white to capture the morning sun. If she stopped to open the gate, the water pursuing her might crush her. So, when near enough to make the move, Maria vaulted the slats, somersaulting in three rolling tumbles, then came to her feet again. Her knees were covered in grass stains and scraped raw anyway by her fall to the earthquake-ravaged street, so she paid them no heed. Up the hill she went, aware the water on her heels had splintered the fence to kindling.

      Yet, as she half-crawled, half-struggled up the hillside, she knew she was finally safe. The tidal wave had spent its fury and could not climb after her. Maria sobbed her thanks and in the next breath mumbled God-forbidden curses. Sitting with her knees tucked up under her arms, Maria could see the scene of utter carnage and ruin before her. Rocking back and forth, she could not close her eyes, but would forever be witness to the awful power of the earth unsettled.

      The sky was filled with ash from Mt. Etna and everywhere fires sprung from flattened piles of rubble. Bodies floated in the receding wash of the tsunami and for as far as Maria could see, the scene was of complete and utter devastation. Then up from the city rose a sound that tested her sanity, for it grew in volume and despair. It was the collective cry of thousands of wounded, dying or lost souls and she slapped her hands over her ears to blot it out.

      Yet it was to no avail.

      Bleeding from injuries and almost insane from their terrifying experiences, the survivors fled wildly in every direction, sometimes directly into the path of collapsing buildings or raging fires. Tumbling structures buried or mutilated thousands, while hundreds of unfortunate souls were imprisoned in the wreckage and abandoned to their fate by the fleeing population.

      Maria remained huddled against the onslaught of suffering voices, until she was aware of someone looking at her. Startled, she sat up straight, faced with the vacant staring faces of several children. They were still in their nightclothes, covered in dust and grime, cheeks stained with the tracks of tears. Compassion flooded into her desperate heart and she opened up her arms to them. In a rush to be hugged, the throng of suddenly orphaned children bowled her over. Still, Maria was delighted to think about something other than the catastrophe. She soothed their fearful hearts with songs, for Maria had been blessed with the voice of an angel. The little ones gathered all around her and drew strength from her. All the while, Maria kept an eye on the activity in the ravaged ruins of Messina, as people staggered out from heaps of rubble, or came down from the hillside looking for survivors.

      The pressing business of giving aid and comfort pulled hard on Maria’s conscious, but what of the children? So she remained, taking tiny hands in hers and telling stories of the saints and reciting verses as they came to her. As word spread that Maria the teacher was alive, the surviving children all headed to that spot on the hill.

      The sun finally broke through the clouds of soot and ash, to cast fingers of heavenly light upon all the suffering, as they gazed upwards and wondered how they were still in one piece. From every direction they gathered, stunned and dismayed by the power of the earth. Fires increased in number and intensity, for there was plenty of fuel and nothing with which to fight the flames.

      There were infants crushed in the wreckage and orphans screaming vainly for their trapped parents. Desperate pleas for help that fell silent before the wounded could be rescued, while dazed, starving, and freezing survivors wandered in shredded nightclothes and moaned prayers to their many saints in the dawn. Countless families were hopelessly separated in the overwhelming confusion that followed. As the scene became more desperate, Maria remained with her throng of children, praying that help would come soon.

      Yet the hours passed without a sign of anyone coming to assist Messina in her plight. Individual brave souls ventured into the ruins to find the location of suffering cries, while others tried to organize fire-fighting parties, armed with only a few buckets or cooking pots. The morning dragged into afternoon and now the skies were filled with soaring scavengers seeking the carrion of death’s swift hand.

      Maria had managed to gather about her almost a hundred waifs, all looking to her for guidance, safety, and love. For the harsh reality all around them spoke only of the dead and dying. As the sun began to dip closer to the west, she despaired of ever surviving the night. Determined not to let this calamity snuff out her young existence, Maria and some helpers gathered enough wood to build a fire, the flames provided by nearby overturned stoves still glowing in the ruins.

      As darkness encroached, shapes moved about in the ruins below, like ghouls on the prowl. Along with little hands tossing bits of wood, Maria stoked a large fire to keep everyone warm. More importantly, it kept at bay the scavengers of the night, who she could hear feasting on the corpses scattered about. To keep all the children distracted, she made up games, taught lessons from memory, and kept a brave face.

      The night seemed to last forever, for even as the boys and girls fell asleep from sheer emotional exhaustion, repeated little cries from livid nightmares disturbed them all. So Maria paced a vigil, walking in a giant circle around her resting brood. She was well aware that beady eyes stared up at her from the shadows and often heard the snapping and snarling of vicious blood-crazed beasts. With a burning branch in hand, however, Maria felt somewhat prepared to fend off any animal brazen enough to attack. In a trancelike daze she continued her journey, forever circling the bonfire, only taking time to throw more wood on the leaping flames, or soothe the nightmare cries of the children.

      Dawn finally did peek its face over the hills and once the sun cast light and warmth onto Messina, crowds of survivors were organizing into some semblance of order. Pitiful remnants of food and clothing were gathered to dole out and small groups of citizens wandered over the wreckage to search for anything useable. In one of the few plazas that escaped ruin, makeshift kitchens were erected and pots boiled with hastily prepared watery soup. As the young woman sat with her knees tucked up under her chin again, she dreamed of being rescued by a brave and gentle man, not to control her, but to lead her to a new life. She wondered where he might come from. Maria had read of many distant lands, but it was America that fascinated her the most.

      She gathered up all the children and led them back down the hill towards the cooking fires. Wide-eyed, they all held hands and followed her obediently, most of them still in shock. Maria avoided taking them past most of the heaps of rubble, selecting a route that veered directly to the small park. It was apparent that this site would soon be the center of Messina’s efforts to recover. Almost immediately the men-folk went out to collect the bodies, stacking them like cordwood in front of the collapsed opera house, or near the ravaged waterfront.

      As the Italian Army arrived at the scene of devastation, corpse scavengers, wild packs of dogs, and looters were summarily shot on sight. Decaying animals poisoned many sources of water and the sky was filled with the smoke from hundreds of bodies at a time burning in mass graves. Clouds of birds circled in endless loops, when they would suddenly settle to the earth to peck away at mounds of unguarded flesh.

      News of the destruction traveled fast. From that morning a plea went out to all the civilized nations of the world for humanitarian aid. Italian King Vittorio Emanuele and his lovely Queen Helena of Montenegro rallied the people, as the royal couple set off to Messina to help administer medical supplies hastily gathered from hospitals in Rome. The country was galvanized into action, but none were prepared for the scale of death and ruin. First reports verged on hysteria, with descriptions recalling Biblical verses of the end of the world. Still, faced with conditions that would strain the sanity of even the most callous adventurer, the Italian people gathered together and headed to the coast.

      Maria knew she was alone. Even without the report from one of her neighbors, her heart had made it clear that the fire had gone out in the Vitale family. The lecherous Benedetto Goffi had made it a point to describe the mangled remains of her father and two brothers. He never took his eyes off her chest and licked his lips while savoring the shape of her figure, which was barely concealed by the thin and tattered material of her ruined dress. The town’s renowned and wealthy butcher offered his services to care and feed Maria.

      She was no fool, however. Benedetto was only interested in bedding her, not only to add to his collection of conquests, but to bolster a collection of bastard sons. Maria ignored his tales of previous earthquake victims who had lost everything, as she continued to shepherd the orphans in her care. Joyfully, there were some tearful reunions between parents and offspring, but far and few between.

      This situation went on for several days, as more orphans joined Maria’s brood and supplies of food and water began to run out. Many of the people still alive started heading into the countryside, in hopes of finding water and begging for food. To their dismay, however, everywhere they went had also been hit hard by the effects of the earthquake. When Maria heard of how terrible things were up and down the coast of Sicily, as well as on the Italian mainland, she decided to stay put. All who witnessed her constant good spirits marveled that she could maintain such a positive outlook after so much death. Some even whispered that Maria had lost her mind and eventually she would go off into the hills shrieking, insane and lost.

      Bands of famished and starving individuals groped among the debris in hopes of discovering food. If successful, they ran the risk of being attacked by knife-wielding compatriots, often defending the meager scraps with their lives. The Piazza della Porta-Bassa became a tent city, where former rich nobles sat huddled with their poor servants. Misery made them equals, while the Hospital Marie Jesu overflowed with people seeking even the most basic medical care.

      By mid-afternoon of the fifth day after the earthquake, the city reeked of a stench too vile to imagine and swarms of flies covered the crumbling walls everywhere. The Italian Army moved their base camp back up the hills, erecting tents and collecting survivor’s names, while attempting to reconcile the tremendous loss of life. While Maria was standing in line to register herself, children all around, a young Italian officer approached.

      "Signorina?" the handsome man inquired, hat in hand.

      Si? Maria replied, a bit startled that he was speaking to her.

      Scusi, per favore, he went on, introducing himself. Mi chiamo Giovanni DePietro.

      Maria was shocked. She had not seen Giovanni since he had left Messina many years before, when she was still a little girl. He was completely different, no longer the loud-mouthed braggart of the past. He was a handsome gentleman, dark hair cropped close and his voice was confident, but also very compassionate. She could see it in his deep blue eyes. In the flash of but a moment, Maria was in his open arms, sobbing out her fear and sorrow.

      Capitano Giovanni DePietro, of the Reggimento Fanteria, smiled to himself as he held her, letting the beautiful girl cry her eyes out. It felt so good to be needed and especially by the most eligible and attractive female in all of Sicily. ‘Perhaps in all of Italy,’ he mused to himself.

      When all her sorrow had been spent, Captain DePietro assigned several soldiers to stay with the children, while he escorted Maria to sit under one of the remaining alder shade trees. There he assured her that he would take care of her registration.

      I will see to all that, Maria, he comforted her. Right now you just sit here and get some rest. I will make sure your needs are supplied, for it is my promise.

      Maria bowed her head and closed her eyes, as his presence made her feel safe. She couldn’t sleep, however, not with all she had seen still fresh in her mind. Yet a few minutes rest would be wonderful. Holding out her hand, Giovanni took it and sat nearby, trying to think about anything but the splendid girl with a woman’s body beside him. The ragged bit of cotton dress did nothing to hide her endowments and Capitano DePietro needed to remind himself that he was an officer and a gentleman, even if it killed him.

      However, he did grin at the thought that fate was indeed smiling upon him at last. Perhaps he could return from this terrible mission with a wife. Now that would be something. For even in the finest military circles, Maria Vitale of Messina would cause quite a stir. Not just because she had been greatly blessed by God and was strikingly beautiful by all standards, but because her now deceased father was none other than a former Generale and famous for his exploits in battle.

      As Giovanni leaned back against the same tree and furtively cast his eyes down Maria’s captivating cleavage, he thought to himself, ‘Yes, it would be wonderful to marry such as you, Maria. You would make any man very happy.’

      The peacefulness didn’t last very long, however, as shots were fired nearby. Maria was to her feet in a flash, the children covered their ears and cowered. Captain DePietro called out to several soldiers nearby and they headed off in the direction of the gunfire.

      Giovanni found three of his men aiming their rifles at the second story of a partially collapsed structure near the ruined bank. He had posted guards there, suspecting that some enterprising soul would eventually attempt to rob the vaults.

      Capitano, il sergente called out. Abbiamo circondato un ladro.

      Si, DePietro replied, having been informed that they had surrounded a thief. Shoot to kill. That is the order from your King himself.

      The captain deployed the men who had come with him and they closed in on their quarry. There was a shout, as a shadow ran desperately across their line of sight. Shots rang out, stone chips flying and ricochets whistling in every direction. Abruptly the fleeing form stopped, clutching at his chest, and then the body pitched out, to land with a thud on the piles of rubble below.

      A half-hearted cheer went up from the crowd of onlookers, but the soldiers were merely disgusted. No one went to check on the corpse, perhaps because they were so tired of seeing death. Whoever the unfortunate looter was, his remains would be added to all the other dead heaped in collecting piles, for burial or cremation.

      DePietro returned up the hill, but Maria was gone and the children too. He was troubled and concerned, for her image swirled about in his brain until it caused him to growl with frustration. He could not afford to let Maria from his sight.

      On the way to the waterfront, Giovanni discovered a beautiful knit shawl peeking up from under several crisscrossed timbers. He realized that no one had seen it from this specific angle, so with a careful tug, the cloth was freed. With a mighty flutter, the captain shook all the dust away, then carefully folded it under his arm. What a perfect gift for Maria. He did not understand how she could go about with just her tattered dress and barefoot at that.

      About an hour later, Captain DePietro finally found Maria. She was standing with head bowed, before a pile of rubble, like so many others. He tried to locate some landmark, even the slightest indication of where they were exactly, but without success.

      "This was once Numero 233 Corso Victor Emmanuel, she said quietly. Papa could walk a mile to the train, or a mile to the ocean. The school was just over there." She pointed off, not really towards any specific compass point. The tears pooled in her eyes, to drop one by one onto the dusty road stones.

      Giovanni walked over to her, while laying the newly acquired shawl about Maria’s shoulders. He wanted to take her into his arms again, but she was cold and withdrawn.

      What will you do, Maria? he asked quietly.

      She shrugged.

      I am a soldier, it’s true, Giovanni made his case. Still, I can provide a decent living for you.

      She didn’t seem to hear him. Maria’s body sagged and the girl walked away, her entire manner making it very clear she wanted to be alone. Something had always been missing in her life and the realization of being alone was devastating.

      DePietro watched her go, until she rounded the corner and disappeared. I must be with you, Maria Vitale. There can be no other.

      CHAPTER 1

      118113_text.pdf

      January 3, 1909

      With the US Grand Fleet

      Gentlemen, be seated, Rear Admiral Charles Sperry, of the United States Navy, commanded. He was a grand image of an officer in charge, his dark eyes alive with activity, while long slender fingers moved in such a way to accentuate his authority. A high forehead and bushy mustache gave him the air of a college professor, all knowing and always correct. Throughout the ranks of captains that commanded his battleships, Sperry was considered very professional if somewhat stern. A graduate of the Naval Academy at Annapolis, with honors, it was just common knowledge that Sperry would go places.

      After the din of moving and scuffing chairs quieted, the admiral went on.

      Thank you all for making your way here so quickly, he said.

      There was some stifled laughter and clearing of throats. They were all gathered on the flagship, because they had been ordered to do so, at the double quick.

      Sperry continued, "When we reached Suez, I received word of a horrendous earthquake in Sicily and Italy. President Roosevelt has responded that this fleet will administer support immediately. So, gentlemen, I am dispatching Illinois, Connecticut and Culgoa to Messina. After rendering aid to victims of this disaster and once the Celtic has arrived with emergency supplies, the ships will rejoin the fleet."

      Admiral Sperry then opened up a cable, saying, I received this dispatch this morning and America will respond accordingly.

      He took a breath and read, Between 05:20 and 05:30 on December 28, 1908, the Monday after Christmas weekend, a major earthquake and tidal wave totally destroyed Messina, Sicily and Reggio Calabria, Italy, also flattening dozens of nearby villages. There are estimates of nearly one hundred thousand fatalities in all. Even larger numbers were left injured or homeless, losing everything. In the most severely affected towns, roughly half the population perished, with most victims either entombed in the rubble of their homes or struck down in the streets by collapsing three to five-story buildings.

      There was an immediate reaction to the news, as the gathered officers imagined what such a disaster would be like if it had hit their homes and families back in their hometowns. Several of them recalled the disaster in San Francisco in 1906, the fires and destruction still vivid in their minds.

      This affords a perfect opportunity for the United States of America to show its friendship to Italy and will stand well with our allies, the Admiral continued. "I am sending the flagship Connecticut, so Captain Osterhaus will be in command of this mission, until I can rejoin you at a later date."

      Thank you, Admiral, Captain Osterhaus said. We will respond aggressively.

      Sperry acknowledged the statement with a nod. I have no doubt. We cannot spare very much time on this endeavor, for our supplies are running dangerously low and we haven’t paid the men for over six months.

      We shall be returning home soon, sir? inquired Captain William P. Potter, of the USS Vermont.

      Within the month, Captain, Sperry replied. The departing President wishes to review the returning fleet and we’ve been at this little jaunt far too long.

      Beggin’ your pardon, Admiral, said Captain Joseph B. Murdock, of the USS Rhode Island.

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