Final Harbor

Chapter 14

Mako eased slowly away from the pier, her screws making a bubbling swirl in the oily water of the Loch. Chief John Barber stuck his head up out of the After Engine Room hatch and waved at his wife and daughter on the pier and then his head disappeared and the heavy black hatch cover came down, its hand wheel whirling as Barber secured the hatch for sea.

Spook Hernandez stood apart from the families of Mako’s crew who had been invited to watch the ship leave on its third war patrol. The blindness brought on by the wood alcohol had passed after four days of hospital treatment. On his right sleeve he wore the insignia of a Second Class Torpedoman. The court-martial Captain Mealey had called for had reduced him one grade in rank, fined him three months’ pay and, acting on Captain Mealey’s harsh demand, had disqualified him for all further submarine service. The reduction in rating didn’t bother Hernandez greatly, he had been broken in rank before and won it back. The disqualification for submarine duty was what made his bile rise in his throat. It meant that he now could serve only on destroyers, a ship he hated, or work in a torpedo shop at Naval Base.

“Fucking near twenty years in the Boats down the drain, you white-mustached son of a bitch!” he muttered to himself as he watched Captain Mealey ease the big submarine away from the pier and turn the ship for its passage down the Southeast Loch and through the harbor. “I hope the fucking Jap sinks you!” He turned away and walked by June Rhodes and her two sons, who were watching Mako leave.

Chief Rhodes walked to the after deck of the Mako as the ship completed its turn and raised his hand to his family. Then he went about his duties, checking each deck hatch to make sure it was secured, leaning his weight on the handles of the ammunition lockers that were built into the Conning Tower, checking the two squat 5.25 deck guns to make sure their barrels were tightly secured in the stands. Both guns were built of stainless steel so no clumsy breech and muzzle covers were needed. Satisfied, he asked for permission to leave the deck and go below. He climbed up on the cigaret deck and went below to begin his rounds of checking everything below decks. When he had finished he drew a cup of coffee from the urn in the Crew’s Mess and sat down at a mess table beside John Barber.

“How’s Simms?” Rhodes asked in a low voice.

“He’s like he always is,” Barber said. “I don’t see any changes. I didn’t like the bastard before, I don’t like him now. Like to drove me crazy last three days with do this and do that and do it yesterday. Dottie tells me he wasn’t at home last eleven, twelve days of the rest period. Where was he, aboard?”

“At the BOQ,” Rhodes said. “Nate Cohen told me that when we went to the ship to meet Captain Mealey, after the other officers had left Simms asked for permission to live aboard, to supervise the overhaul. The Old Man asked him if his family was here on the Base or in town and when he said yes the Old Man cut him off at the knees, told him no. I guess he checked in at the BOQ that day.”

“One of these days Hendershot is going to brain that simple bastard,” Barber said morosely. “If I don’t do it first! He treats us as if we don’t know anything. Hell, Hendershot has forgot more about a submarine than Simms will ever know! That ol’ Kentucky boy is gettin’ hot as hell under the collar. He’s gonna read off Simms one of these days and we both know the Old Man won’t stand for that.”

Rhodes nodded. “I’ll speak to Hindu. You hear where we’re going on this patrol? I asked Grilley but he said only the Old Man and the Exec know but that he thinks the Old Man will give the officers the word after we get clear of the net at the harbor entrance. Hinman used to tell us before we got away from the pier.”

“Nope,” Barber said. “I don’t know. I don’t worry about stuff like that. Wherever we go I ain’t gonna see it from those engine rooms. All I worry about when we start a run is will the damned torpedoes work right.”

“The fish will run good,” Rhodes said. “Ginty and the new guy in the After Room, DeLucia, and I went up to the Torpedo Shop and did the finals on each fish ourselves. And the Old Man has given me the word to modify the exploders again.”

“No shit!” Barber said. “He told you that?”

Rhodes nodded and sipped his coffee.

“He told me he wants to be there to help Ginty and me when we modify the exploders,” he said. “From what he said he knows a little something about torpedoes and exploder mechanisms.”

“He knows engines,” Barber said. “He came back to the engine room when I was fine-tuning the fuel injectors and he sure as hell knew what questions to ask and I sure as hell knew I’d better give him straight answers. I like to go to sea with a man like that.”

“So do I,” Rhodes answered. “Most of the crew isn’t too happy. Cutting off liberty the last three days for all but the married guys didn’t sit too well. They figure he’s a hard-ass.”

“Don’t make a shit to me what they think,” Barber said. “All I want is for him to get me home safe. Getting so it’s harder and harder to go off and leave Dottie and the kid. Must be a sign that I’m gettin’ old or something.”

The destroyer that had led Mako through the harbor net and out to sea whooped its whistle three times and turned away and Mako’s crew settled down to the boring routine of running down the long sea miles to the patrol area. Captain Mealey sent Joe Sirocco to the bridge to take over the deck and summoned the officers to the Wardroom.

“Joe has read our patrol orders,” he said. “I want you to know where we’re going this trip.” He touched the right side of his white mustache with his finger.

“We’ve got a good patrol area, one that should give us a lot of targets. It’s south of Luzon, on the shipping lanes out of the harbor at Manila. We’ll run on the surface as long as we can on the way out. I am going to hold drills, a lot of emergency drills on the way out. This crew and all of you have to be letter-perfect in everything. We’ll hold deck gun firing drills beginning the day after tomorrow. Chief Rhodes fixed up some small kegs with flags on them for targets.”

“Are you going to attack on the surface with the deck guns, Captain?” Lieutenant Simms was grinning. “Hell, I’d like to pick a boarding party from the crew, sir. We could board and destroy the way the old Navy did it!”

Captain Mealey stared at his Engineering Officer. “If I contemplate boarding an enemy ship, Mr. Simms, I will pick the men to board.” He stood up. “You have my permission to tell our patrol area to your people.”

Lieutenant Grilley found Chief Rhodes and sent him to the Forward Torpedo Room to tell the people up there where Mako was going and went aft to talk to the people in the After Room himself. He met Rhodes in the Crew’s Mess.

“Sounds like a good area, Chief. People up forward happy?”

“Reasonably, sir. They’re still hot about no liberty the last three days but they’ll get over that. Ginty is worried about if the Japs have closed the bars in Manila.”

Lieutenant Simms yelled his information about the patrol area to the men on watch in each Engine Room and then went back to the Maneuvering Room to give the word to Chief Hendershot and his people. When he had finished he stood, leaning negligently against the door of the head. Chief Hendershot was sitting on the padded bench in front of the control console.

“The Old Man is thinking about forming a boarding party to take smaller ships, stuff too small to waste a torpedo on,” he said with a grin. “He wants me to lead the boarding party, take the prize at cutlass point!”

“Didn’t know we had any of those aboard,” Hendershot said. “I think we got six old bayonets around. Could use them I guess. They won’t fit the rifles but we could carry ‘em.”

“Officers have swords,” Simms said. “I’ve got mine with me. It was my graduation gift from the Academy; my father paid over two hundred dollars for it. Beautiful piece of steel — you can shave with it.”

“Kinda hard to do that in that small stateroom you people live in, isn’t it?” Hendershot’s mouth was smiling but his eyes were wary.

“Your sense of humor went out of style in the Depression, Chief,” Simms said. “What we should do with this submarine is to take out the tubes in the After Room and the rest of the gear back there and cut the hull so it could be opened up like a clamshell. Then we could keep a PT boat back there, flood down, launch the PT boat and really raise hell with the enemy! Excuse me, I’ve got to use the head.” He opened the door to the tiny toilet and backed in and closed the door. He came out in a few minutes and went forward. Hendershot went over and opened the door to the head and turned back, his face dark with anger.

“You!” he said to one of his gang. “Get a bucket and a brush and clean that fucking toilet bowl. That bastard’s got a revolving nozzle for an asshole! Sprays the whole damned bowl! Fucker has got a head of his own in the Forward Room and a guy to clean it. Why in the hell does he have to use our head?”

He asked the same question of Dusty Rhodes as the two men sat in the Chief’s Quarters, next to the Captain’s stateroom, his voice low but vibrating with anger.

“I don’t know of any regulations says he has to use the head in the Forward Room,” Rhodes said slowly. “The man on watch at the torpedo tubes in the Forward Room can use the Officers’ head up there if he has to piss and there’s no one to relieve him. About all I can do is to tell you to grin and bear it. Maybe he won’t do it again.”

“Shit!” Hendershot rasped. “He did it every fucking day on both the other patrol runs! He’d come back there and shoot the shit with the guy on watch at the board and then he’d go in our head and spray that damned bowl with his crap! I don’t like cleanin’ heads, neither do you. We’ve both cleaned enough of them in our time. I’m gonna think of something.”

“Think twice when you do,” Rhodes said crisply. “You know this Old Man, you served with him. Don’t put your head in the meat grinder. He’s nobody to fuck with, this Old Man.”

“Oh, shit, I know him,” Hendershot said. “He’s always been a hard rock. But he’s tougher now than he used to be. Used to be he’d hit you with the Book if you fucked up but he didn’t use to disqualify anyone like he did Spook. That was a hell of a belt for getting drunk. It was enough the silly bastard got the shit scared out of him, blind for four days.”

“It was where he got drunk,” Rhodes said. “He got drunk aboard and Barney killed himself on that drunk. The Old Man could have given him a General instead of a Summary Court.”

“It was still a hell of a belt,” Hendershot insisted. “I didn’t hear about anyone trying to help Spook out at the trial.”

“Grilley tried, he tried real hard,” Rhodes said. “Nate Cohen volunteered to give testimony about Spook’s character and they heard him and said thank you.”

Hendershot looked at Rhodes. “You know that; you must have been there.”

“I was,” Rhodes said. “Captain asked me to give my opinion of Spook’s ability. I gave him a good send-off, said I’d go back to sea with him any time.”

“Old Man asked you to do that? Well, that was fair. But that’s the way he is, hard son of a bitch, but pretty square. He was that way when I was with him in Panama. Another thing you better know about this dude. He knows the gear aboard. Knows my stuff fuckin’ near as good as I do. I’ve been with hard-asses before who didn’t know nothin’! Acted hard to cover up. This dude acts hard because that’s the way he is, hard.”

It took Hendershot two days to perfect his plan and when he was ready to carry it out he turned to the man who was on watch with him at the control console.

“Go up forward and draw me a cup of coffee, black. Take ten minutes before you come back. I got some things to do I don’t want you to know about. What you don’t know about you don’t have to lie about.” The man nodded and left and Hendershot busied himself in the small head.

The head in the Maneuvering Room was built into the after port corner of the compartment. The head floor was covered with a thick layer of linoleum and the bow of the toilet itself was made of bronze so it wouldn’t shatter under a depth charge attack. A small metal foot rest was fastened to the deck in front of the bronze bowl. The entire head was so small that to use it a man had to back in, sit down and then close and latch the Monel metal door.

Lieutenant Simms appeared the next day on schedule. He talked in grandiose terms about his plan to turn the After Torpedo Room into a PT boat berth. Hendershot, lounging on the padded bench in front of the control console, nodded.

“Been thinkin’ on that idea, Mr. Simms. Sounded crazy to me at first but now it doesn’t sound so crazy. Like you say, all we’d have to do is flood down a little aft, open the clam shell with hydraulic power and the PT boat could get under way.”

“I can see myself at the helm, roaring into a Jap harbor!” Simms said, his eyes glittering. “Four torpedoes in the deck tubes, all set to go! Machine guns manned! We could be among the ships in the harbor like a wolf in a herd of sheep!”

“Sure as hell would scare the Japs shitless,” Hendershot said. “Scare me shitless, too, waitin’ here for you to get back!”

“I’d get back!” Simms said, arching his broad chest. “When I played fullback at the Academy, I was all-conference, did you know that? When I played football and we had to have two yards the little quarterback we had would look at me in the huddle and say ‘Pete, I don’t know how you’re going to do it but we need those two yards. You call the play.’ And I’d get the two yards! Every time! When I set my mind to do something I always do it! Excuse me, I’ll use the head.” He backed into the head and closed the door. Hendershot cocked his head toward the closed door. He heard the steady drum of urine into the bowl and he reached down and closed a small knife switch that lay back of the padded locker on which he sat.

A wild scream burst from the head and the door burst outward. Lieutenant Simms, screaming, fell out of the head, both his hands clutching at his genitals.

Hendershot poked his head through the watertight door to the After Torpedo Room.

“Two men! In here! Now!” he yelled and stepped back as two burly torpedomen came through the door.

“Pick Mr. Simms up and get him forward to the Crew’s Mess,” Hendershot ordered. “You!” He turned to the man on watch with him. “Call the auxiliaryman in the Control Room and tell him to get Doc in the Crew’s Mess in a hurry.”

The two torpedomen grabbed Lieutenant Simms, who was curled into a fetal position on the deck, alternately screaming and moaning. They carried him forward through the two engine rooms and into the Crew’s Mess and laid him on a mess table where he curled up tighter and screamed. The Pharmacist’s Mate, roused from sleep, rubbed his eyes and looked at him.

“What in hell is wrong with him, anybody know?”

“Don’t know,” one of the torpedomen said, trying hard to hide a grin. “All I know is I heard a God-awful scream and then Hendershot yelled for two men to carry him up here. The man is heavy, you know? He didn’t say nothin’, just yelled a lot.”

Johnny Johnson, Ship’s Cook First Class, came out of his galley and looked at the officer lying on the mess table.

“If that guy has got the clap or some other good disease get him off’n that table, Doc. People got to eat there in an hour.”

“I don’t think he’s got the clap,” Doc Whitten said.

“Then why’s he holdin’ his cock and balls for?” Johnson asked. “He’s probly got a stricture or somethin’, can’t piss. I had that once on the Asiatic Station. Like to killed me.”

“Couple you guys straighten him out and hold his hands so I can see what the fuck is going on,” Doc Whitten said. “How come his shorts and skivvies is down around his ankles?”

“He was in the head back aft,” one of the torpedomen volunteered. “Takin’ a crap, I guess.”

“Look at that!” one of the spectators said. “His little old cock is swellin’ up and it’s turnin’ blue! Look at his nuts! Fuckers’re gonna be big enough to play basketball with they keep goin’ like this!”

Dusty Rhodes’ deep growl scattered the people standing around the mess table. Doc Whitten turned to Chief Rhodes.

“Don’t ask me what happened, Chief. The guy on watch dragged me out of my bunk and when I got in here they’d laid Lieutenant Simms on the table. He was all curled up in a ball, yelling like hell.”

“You wait and see, the man’s got the clap, got hisself a stricture, can’t piss,” the cook said. “Happened once to me on an S-Boat.”

“Shut up, Cookie,” Rhodes snapped. “Let me sort this thing out. Who brought Mr. Simms up here and why?”

“Me and him,” one of the After Room torpedomen said. “We was cleanin’ the Bos’n’s locker when Chief Hendershot yelled for two men. We went in the Maneuverin’ Room and Mr. Simms, here, was laying on the deck all curled up in a little ball and yellin’ like hell. Hendershot, the Chief I mean, he told us to bring him up here. Door on the head’s busted off, I think!”

“You know what’s wrong with him, Doc?” Rhodes asked.

“If I was back in Wyoming where I’d like to be, I’d say he got crotch-kicked by a horse but they ain’t any horses aboard. Son of a gun is sure turning blue, isn’t he? Look at his nuts! Pretty near as big as tennis balls already!”

“Well, what the hell are you going to do?” Rhodes said. “At least do something for the man to ease his pain!”

“He’s probly got the clap,” Johnson said dolefully. “Got hisself a stricture, can’t piss.”

“Oh, shut up, Cookie! Get back in your damned galley!” Rhodes voice was harsh.

“Well Jesus Christ, Chief!” Johnson muttered as he went toward his tiny galley. “Don’t have to bite a man’s head off for tryin’ to help!”

“Give him a shot of something,” Rhodes said to Whitten. “Something to stop his pain. The Old Man’s gonna be in here in another five minutes he keeps yelling.”

Ginty walked into the compartment and looked at Simms. “Hot damn!” he said in his deep growl. “Hope it ain’t anything minor, Doc.”

“Shut up, Ginch,” Rhodes snapped. “Make yourself useful. Take his legs and help carry him up to his bunk. You ready, Doc?” Whitten nodded and withdrew the needle from Simms’ shoulder.

“He’ll stop kickin’ in a second or two. Gave him enough to keep him under a couple, three hours. When we get him in his bunk I’ll pack some ice bags on him, see if that helps.”

Captain Mealey and Joe Sirocco listened to what Chief Rhodes told them without comment and then went aft to the Maneuvering Room. Sirocco looked with interest at the door of the head, which was badly dented outward at about the center of the door and hanging by one hinge. Captain Mealey turned to Hendershot.

“You were on watch, Chief?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Well, sir, Mr. Simms was back here, he comes back here almost every day to talk about his plans for a PT boat in the After Room, sir, and he was talking like he always does.”

“PT boat in the After Room?” Captain Mealey’s voice went up a notch.

“Yes, sir, his plans. Mr. Simms said we should split the hull in the After Room like a clamshell and take out the tubes and the bunks and the other gear and put a PT boat back there. Then we could get outside a harbor and he could take the PT boat in the harbor with his cutlass and sink ships. He said submarines aren’t aggressive enough, sir. I thought it was something you-all were talking about in the Wardroom, sir. That’s why I didn’t say anything to anyone else, I thought maybe he shouldn’t have been talking about it, sir.”

“Go on, Chief. What happened to Mr. Simms.”

“He was talking about that like he always does back here and then he had to use the head, he said. He went in and closed the door. In about a minute, maybe, we heard him scream and he came bustin’ right out through the door. Broke the latch and put a dent in the door and tore off the bottom hinge but we can fix all that, no sweat.

“He was yelling when he came out through the door and he landed in a heap there on the deck where Mr. Sirocco is, his shorts and his skivvies down around his ankles and he was all curled up in a ball, holdin’ himself, sir. He landed on the deck on his head and face, I think, but it sure didn’t stop him from yellin’! I got two men out of the After Room to carry him up forward and I had the other man on watch call the Control Room and get the Doc for him.”

“You don’t have any idea what’s wrong with Mr. Simms, Chief?”

Hendershot’s large, dark blue eyes were as innocent as those of an Apprentice Seaman on his first day in Boot Camp.

“No, sir. He closed the door to the head. I don’t know what he was doing to himself in there, sir, he might have hurt himself. I don’t know. All I know is he screamed and busted right out through the door!”

“Very well, Chief. Have you inspected the head?”

“Yes, sir. Everything in there is normal. It’s just the head, the one we all use every day.”

Captain Mealey turned to Joe Sirocco who had been kneeling in the door to the head, examining the interior.

“How does it look to you, Joe?”

“As the Chief said, sir. Normal. Nothing out of order.” Captain Mealey nodded and the two men went forward to the Wardroom and looked in Lieutenant Simms’ small stateroom that he shared with Bob Edge. The black-haired officer was lying in the lower bunk, his eyes closed, breathing slowly and heavily. Two ice bags wrapped in towels were jammed up between his legs. Joe Sirocco gently lifted the ice bags away and Mealey’s breath went in with a gasp.

“My God!” Mealey said. “It does look like Doc said, as if he’d been kicked by a horse. The whole area is black and blue! Put the ice bags back, Joe. I’ll take his watch until he’s recovered. You’d better sit down quietly with the Chief of the Boat and find out what you can. I don’t think you’ll find out anything but you might get a clue or two as to what went wrong back there if you handle him right.”

Mako had reached that part of the Pacific where she had to submerge all day to escape detection before Lieutenant Simms was able to resume his regular duties. The crew noticed that while he walked normally, although he went through the water-tight doors with their 18-inch high combings with more care than he had in the past, he never went aft of the Forward Engine Rooms. Early one morning, two days after Lieutenant Simms had been put back on the watch list, Joe Sirocco climbed to the cigaret deck with his sextant and watch and his notebooks to go through the morning ritual of star sights so he could plot Mako’s position on the trackless reaches of the ocean.

“I’ll hold your gear, Joe,” Don Grilley said. “Skipper wants to see you on the cigaret deck.”

A strong breeze was whipping across Mako’s deck and Captain Mealey put his lips close to Sirocco’s ear.

“Have you figured out what happened and why it happened?”

“I know why it happened, sir, and I think I know how. I think we’d better talk about it in the Wardroom or your stateroom, after we dive.” Mealey nodded and Sirocco retrieved his sextant from Grilley and took his morning star sights.

“What happened?” Mealey said as he cradled a cup of coffee between his hands in the deserted Wardroom.

“First, sir, if you will, why,” Sirocco said. “Simms was in the habit of going back to the Maneuvering Room every afternoon to shoot the breeze with the electricians. Every time he went back there he used their head. I don’t think anyone back there would object to his using the head in an emergency but he did it every day, been doing it every day all through the first two patrol runs. The men who live back there, the ones who clean the head, Chief Rhodes makes all hands clean heads in turn and he takes his turn, you know, the men got angry at Mr. Simms.”

“Isn’t that unreasonable?”

“Perhaps, but understandable, Captain.”

“What did they do to him?”

“I don’t know, sir. I have no proof they did anything to him. But I’ve figured out how it could happen. All I have is a theory and I couldn’t pin it on anyone at all.”

“Let me hear it, Joe. If Hendershot was back of it there wouldn’t be any proof. I had him on an R-Boat in Panama. The best electrician in the whole submarine force and a very clever man.”

“Well, sir, the bowl of the toilet back there is bronze. It sits on a thick rubber gasket. There’s that little foot rest made of metal that is anchored to the deck in front of the bowl. The seat on the bowl is made of wood.

“If you ran electricity, a wire, to the toilet bowl and then you ran another line to the foot rest and to the ground, if you had the hot line going to the toilet bowl and the ground line going to the foot rest and if that circuit were to be completed…”

“I can see the picture,” Mealey said. “If he sat down on the toilet and began to urinate the stream of urine would complete the circuit. My God! Two hundred and twenty volts going up that stream would be like the kick of a mule!”

“That’s one way it could be done, sir. There is no evidence at all that it was done that way and there’s no way of finding out, sir. If it was done that way the wires would have been ripped out while they were carrying Pete up to the Crew’s Mess.”

Captain Mealey caressed the right side of his mustache with a finger. “If there were no amperage in the jolt it wouldn’t damage him too much, would it? I mean, would just the jolt perhaps make him sterile or impotent?”

“I wouldn’t know that, sir,” Sirocco said. “There was no sign of a burn anywhere in the area around his crotch, just the swelling and the black-and-blue color. And the bump on his head, that was a beauty! The latch on that door was designed to hold the door closed during a depth charge attack. We’ll have to run him into the hospital when we got back to port, sir. He’s told Doc that he has no trouble urinating and that he had, ah, erections in the morning when he awakened, sir.” Mealey nodded and turned as he heard a gentle- tap on the bulkhead. Lieutenant Cohen pulled the curtain to one side and stepped in and laid a message flimsy in front of Mealey.

“This came in just before we dove, sir,” Cohen said. “I just finished decoding it, sir.”

“Thank you, Nate,” Mealey said. He read the message and his lips smiled under the mustache.

“Get your charts, Joe! I want to know, right away, how far we are from Truk Atoll!”

“I can give you a rough idea now,” Sirocco said as he struggled out from behind the Wardroom table. “Truk is almost abeam to port, about four hundred miles or less.”

“Tell Grilley to turn the dive over to the Chief of the Watch and get the officers in here, please,” Mealey said. He waited until all the officers were crowded around the small Wardroom table.

“We have been diverted from our assigned patrol area,” Captain Mealey said slowly.

“The intelligence people in Washington say a Japanese battleship of the Kongo class is enroute from Japan to Truk Atoll. We are directed to intercept her and attack! The report says the battleship will enter Truk Atoll via the Northeast Entrance of that area and suggests, and Pearl Harbor concurs, that this will be the most advantageous point of intercept. Joe, how far are we from the point of intercept?”

“Give me a minute,” Joe Sirocco said. He made a final thin pencil line on the chart and pushed the parallel rulers to one side and picked up a pair of dividers and began to prick off the distance.

“I make it three hundred and seventy miles from Truk,” he said. “If we can run say nine hours at night and make eighteen knots good and we should be able to do that, the bottom is still clean, and make good three knots during the time we’re submerged, we should be in position by the time we’re ready to surface, a little less than, oh, thirty-six hours from now, sir. That’s about twelve hours before the ETA of the battleship, according to the message. We’d spend the night on station, waiting for the target to appear, the message says the target will arrive at the Northeast Entrance at dawn, local time about zero five forty.

“Or we could slow down a little on the way and arrive there just ahead of the target if you didn’t want to spend the night off Truk.”

“The question of air patrol from Truk has to be considered,” Mealey said slowly. “But I’d rather risk the air patrol than take the chance that the battleship would arrive on time. They might be ahead of their ETA and what the hell sort of an excuse do you make if you get there after the horse has got safely into the barn?” He looked at the circle of officers.

“We’ll make all possible haste, get there as soon as we can. If he’s early we’ll be waiting for him. If he’s late we’ll be waiting for him.”

“Is he proceeding alone or does he have an escort?” Grilley asked.

“He’ll have medium to long distance air patrol out of Truk, I’d guess,” Mealey said. “The intelligence report says there are twelve destroyers with the battleship. Six of those destroyers are going to relieve six other destroyers now stationed at Truk.”

“Twelve destroyers for an escort, six more tin cans in Truk and we’re going to attack at the entrance?” Simms said. “My God, we’ll never have a chance to even get in a shot let alone get away!”

“Spoken like an experienced PT-boat commander,” Mealey said dryly. “I don’t want the content of this message told to the crew. I’ll decide when to do that.

“Mr. Grilley, I want every torpedo aboard to be fully routined, including those in the tubes. That must be done at once. Mr. Simms, any and all repairs, large or small, that must be done in your department are to be taken care of at once. Mr. Cohen, I want the baker to have plenty of doughnuts and sweet rolls baked the night we spend on station. If we go to the attack and if he’s got twelve destroyers with him we may be under a long, long time with no chance to cook meals. Doughnuts and sweet rolls will have to suffice. Deck officers will double up on watch while we run submerged. Periscope will be manned continually, one hour on and one hour off. Joe, you make up that watch list. I want both torpedo rooms to double the watch, two men on watch. The same for the sonar watch, man it continually while submerged. Get everything that has to be done in your respective departments done in the next twenty-four hours. After that it’s going to be a game of dice and if we’re lucky we’ll have the first roll. That’s all, gentlemen. Joe, I’ll help you work out the course.”

An hour later Sirocco pushed aside the chart and paused, listening to the clank of a chainfall in the Forward Torpedo Room and Ginty’s muttered cursing.

“Captain,” he said softly, “I think you’ll have to give the crew the word on our destination and target pretty soon, don’t you?”

“I’d rather not for a while,” Mealey said. “Sailors are always sailors, there’ll be more talk than work.” Ginty’s heavy voice came through the water-tight door that led to the Forward Torpedo Room.

“Don’t bellyache at me, shithead! Just get your fuckin’ back into haulin’ on that chainfall! The Old Man wants fish routined so we routine fish. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. All’s I know is that this is a bunch of shit!”

“I see your point,” Mealey said. He reached for the telephone handset on the bulkhead and turned the switch to the circuit that would be heard in all compartments.

“Now hear this,” he said slowly. “This is the Captain.

“We have been given a special assignment. That is why all of you have to do extra work today.

“We are on our way to Truk Atoll, in the Carolines. Truk is held by the Japanese. It is a major naval base and air base. We expect to be there in less than thirty-six hours.

“Naval intelligence has told us that a Japanese battleship will arrive at Truk within twelve hours or so after our arrival.

“We are going to attack the battleship!” He paused to let his words sink in.

“The battleship will have air cover from Truk and it will be escorted by twelve destroyers. In order for our attack to be successful, every torpedo must run perfectly, every piece of machinery must function perfectly, every man must do his job not only perfectly but superbly.

“No other American submarine has ever had a crack at a battleship! We are going to get that chance and when we get the chance we are going to sink the battleship!

“That is all. Carry on with the ship’s work.”

Ginty looked around his torpedo room and wiped a stream of sweat from his broad chest.

“A wagon and aircraft and twelve destroyers! Shit! We’re on a fuckin’ suicide mission!”

“How do you get through twelve destroyers and attack a battleship?” Johnny Paul asked.

“How? I guess you dive under the fuckin’ tin cans and come up and shoot everything you got out of both ends and then you ask for a transfer to shore duty! How the fuck do I know how to get through twelve destroyers, shithead? That’s the Old Man’s job. That’s why he’s the Old Man and not me!”

Hendershot stuck his head through the opening of the watertight door to the After Room and called to Mike DeLucia, the Torpedoman First Class who had replaced Spook Hernandez.

“You think you and the Exec had some action on those two patrols on the Gudgeon, wait until this cold-eyed son of a bitch we’ve got here takes us in on this tea party!”

“We might learn something,” DeLucia said. “Hard-asses like him sometimes ain’t so hard when the chips are down. If he’s got a soft middle we’ve still got Sirocco. Now there’s one gent who’s all guts!”

“I wouldn’t worry about the Old Man,” Hendershot said. “He’s got that look in his fucking eye. He’d kick the Devil in the balls and then sell him an ice pack!”