Final Harbor

Chapter 22

The Mako plowed westward across the Pacific, her bull nose throwing up twin sheets of spray that glistened in the bright moonlight. Joe Sirocco had the bridge watch and Captain Hinman was at his usual night station, aft of the bridge on the cigaret deck.

Sirocco leaned his elbows on the bridge rail and studied the ocean. The immensity of the Pacific never failed to fascinate him when he had the bridge watch. The Pacific, which covers one third of the Earth’s total surface, had impressed seamen for centuries. Those intrepid South Pacific islanders who had set out to sea in their outrigger canoes, armed only with their knowledge of the course of the stars and the habits of migratory birds, their familiarity with wind and current, had been so awed by the great ocean that they gave it status as a god, a natural force beyond understanding.

Sirocco turned to look southward. Somewhere out there, far below the horizon, sprawled the island groups of Melanesia, Micronesia and Polynesia; scores of islands, many of them populated by people whose cultural levels ranged from the aboriginal to the surprisingly sophisticated. A sprawling anthropological paradise that was now threatened by a war between races of people the Islanders did not know. A war that would bring to the Islanders all the benefits of higher civilization; food in cans to take the place of the food that grew so readily on the fertile mountainous upthrusts of drowned continents and the fish in the sea. War, conducted with weapons that could kill from afar, a war that would make no sense for the Islanders who waged war only for important reasons, the taking of women to revitalize the blood of the tribe or war for land on which to grow more food.

The war would bring to these people the ultimate in higher civilization — change. The invaders would bring medicines to heal the sick. The tribal wise men, who for centuries had healed with no more than a few herbs and the power of their minds, a power largely lost by more civilized peoples, would be cast into disrepute.

The white invader and the yellow, each in his own way, would rule and, in ruling, downgrade those native rulers who were descended from centuries of rulers.

The religious men among the invaders would heap their scorn on the tribal wise men who, when faced with problems they could not solve or with crises beyond their powers to confront, would sit and meditate and their souls would depart their bodies and travel great distances to consult with those long dead and bring back their wisdom.

Sirocco stared out across the trackless waters over which his navigational skills and instruments would bring Mako to her patrol area at the southern end of the Philippine island of Luzon. He would use the same stars the ancient navigators had used in their fearless voyages across the great waters but Sirocco needed a sextant and books of mathematical formulae to determine Mako’s position north or south of the Equator and an accurate chronometer set at Greenwich Meridian Time to tell him his distance west of Greenwich.

Captain Hinman was lost in his own thoughts as he stood on the cigaret deck. He felt at peace with himself. Mako, repaired and refitted, was solid beneath his feet. His ship. The ship he had midwived and had baptized in action against the enemy.

The crew, for the most part, was his crew. Men he had trained. He sensed a difference that hadn’t been there before. Although he had been Mako’s Captain when she was blooded in action against the enemy there had been no retaliation from that enemy. During his absence another Captain had taken Mako into action against the enemy and had sunk and damaged ships. Under that other Captain Mako and its crew had been scourged in the flame and thunder of depth charge attacks. Mako’s crew had had an experience that Captain Hinman had not known and he could detect the slight, subtle difference in the crew. They had matured in small ways and each of them carried a vast respect for the enemy and the knowledge that they had been afraid and had endured the fright, which is perhaps the most maturing agent of all in a man’s coming of age.

He didn’t think about Joan during the long night hours on the cigaret deck as Mako worked its way westward over the long sea miles. He saved the thoughts about Joan for the time when he went to his bunk and as he waited for sleep to come he savored each detail of their last few days together.

He was thinking, this night, of the dinner he had gone to with Bob Rudd at Captain Mealey’s quarters on the Submarine Base.

He had known Arvin Mealey casually for years. He had never liked the man very much. Mealey was known as a loner, a man who did not seek out the company of his peers and who discouraged any social contacts by those junior to him. Mealey was known as a strict disciplinarian, a man with little tolerance for the weaknesses of sailors ashore was a man bound for trouble. When Mealey’s crewmen got into trouble ashore he investigated and if the man was at fault, he ordered court-martial. When Hinman’s crew got into trouble on the beach he immediately defended his men against all criticism and if possible, let the man off with a warning.

The dinner with the Mealeys had surprised Hinman. Agnes Mealey, a tall, handsome, regal woman had embraced Hinman warmly and kissed him on the cheek, congratulating him on his marriage. Captain Mealey, in the role of host, was relaxed and on one or two occasions had let a small smile show beneath his mustache, belying the nickname of “Old Stoneface” that he had carried for years. After dinner they had moved to the screened lanai for coffee and Mealey had recounted in detail the action against the battleship and the subsequent depth charging. When he finished he turned to Hinman.

“I owe you my thanks and appreciation, Captain. You gave me a fine crew to go to sea with, very well trained. For the most part, very good men.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hinman replied. “But I think it’s a shame they’re giving you a severely damaged on the battleship and not a sinking. If she’s on the reef, out of service for two or more years, she’s as good as sunk.”

Mealey nodded gravely. “Naval intelligence said their reports of intercepted messages show that it will be at least two years before they get her ready for sea again. I am content with the success of the attack. But speaking of damage, sir, there is a man in your Wardroom who in my opinion is damaged and should be transferred at once. I would have done so had I stayed aboard. I am talking about Lieutenant Peter Simms.”

Hinman’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“The man is flawed,” Captain Mealey said. “There is a dry rot within him. It will spread inside him and it will spread to others. I assume you heard what the electricians did to him?”

Hinman nodded. Bob Rudd had told him the story on the way to Captain Mealey’s quarters, howling with laughter as he told it.

“From what I have heard the electricians had provocation, sir,” Hinman said, choosing his words carefully.

“Provocation, imagined or real, should be dealt with through the proper channels,” Mealey said. “What happened in this case was that a man or men, enlisted man or men, made what amounted to a physical attack on the person of a U.S. Naval officer. That, sir, as you know full well is a major offense! If there had been sufficient evidence to present at a General Courts-Martial I would have requested such a courts-martial!”

“I trust Mr. Simms has learned his lesson, sir?”

“That’s not the point,” Captain Mealey said. His mouth under the white mustache was grim. “After the incident Simms just avoided going aft of the engine rooms. Of itself that was stupid. He was afraid to go farther aft! I recommend you transfer him!”

“I appreciate your advice, sir,” Hinman said. His mouth was set as grimly as Mealey’s. “I’d like to think about it, talk with Simms, talk with Dusty Rhodes and Chief Hendershot.”

“There’s the problem with Mrs. Simms,” Agnes Mealey said.

“Problem?” Hinman said.

“Before you returned from your last patrol, before Arvin took over the Mako, it was common knowledge among the 0-wives that Mary Simms had, shall I say, a boarder? A civilian engineer who had been sent out here to figure out how to right the Oklahoma and the other sunken battleships. I am told she was very careful. She sent her small daughter to stay with Gloria Brannon while she entertained, I hope that’s the right word, words and their meanings change so much these days, while she entertained her boarder.”

“Simms found out about it,” Mealey said. “He asked me for permission to stay aboard Mako during the refit, that was on the day you left for the states. I refused and he went to the BOQ.”

“And now?” Hinman asked.

“Mary Simms and her daughter left for the States before Mako returned from this patrol,” Agnes Mealey said. “There had been a lot of talk that the civilian was married with four children. That was wrong, he’s a widower with two children, teenagers. I have heard that Mary Simms is filing for divorce and will marry the civilian as soon as the divorce is final.”

“I didn’t know that!” Bob Rudd said, his eyes opening wide in his beefy red face.

“You have to go to the weekly tea parties at the O-Club, the cat-fights as Arvin calls them, to find out what’s going on,” Agnes Mealey said, smiling,

“Maybe that will solve his problem,” Rudd said.

“I don’t think so,” Captain Mealey said. He frowned. “It could destroy what little self-confidence the man has in himself. It isn’t the most comforting thing to know some civilian has crept into your bed while you’re at sea and your wife prefers the civilian!”

“Oh, Arvin!” Mrs. Mealey said. “From what I’ve heard about Peter Simms I don’t think he’s without blame.” Then, with the finely honed sense of a senior Naval officer’s wife, she deftly steered the conversation into safer channels. The evening ended pleasantly and as Mealey walked Rudd and Hinman to their car he put his hand on Hinman’s arm.

“I read your patrol report very carefully. I followed your lead on the exploders; I helped Chief Rhodes and Ginty modify them. What an incredible animal that man Ginty is! I also allowed for a deeper run on the torpedoes than the depth settings would show. You’ll find all that information in a sealed envelope in your quarters, sir.” He touched his white mustache.

“We’re going to find out how much deeper the fish run,” Rudd said. “I wanted to use Mako for those tests but Mealey has smashed the old bucket up so badly that we can’t do that as soon as I want it done. Plunger is due in, in a few days. We’ll use her for the test firings.”

Driving back to the BOQ where Hinman was quartered, Bob Rudd turned to Hinman.

“I’m afraid that this time you’re in Pearl it’s going to be hello and goodbye, Art. Mako will report in the SouWestPac command at the end of your next run. General MacArthur wants to get his island-hopping campaign in high gear and he’s made a strong case for more submarines to operate out of Australia.”

“I hate to leave your command, Bob,” Hinman said.

“I don’t like to lose you. But we’re going to have to do a lot of talking about certain things. I’ll give you the broad picture right now; don’t modify any exploders unless you put them back the way they were before you bring any fish in to Australia. The command down there is run by old Gun Club boys and they think that exploder is holy! They’ll have your ass in ribbons if they find out you’ve touched the exploders! If it were me, and it isn’t, I know, I’d modify the damned exploders and if I had to bring any fish back I’d change them back and not say one word!”

“That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” Hinman said. “If I modify the exploders and get results and bring back fish with the exploders back as they were and say nothing, then those people down there will have a stronger case than ever for not even touching those exploders. Does that make sense to you?”

“No,” Rudd said, “but it protects your ass, friend. We’re doing our best here to put pressure on them. If Nimitz wasn’t so busy, he’s on our side I think, if he wasn’t so busy we could end this damned argument in a month. Just be patient.

“Another thing; when you tie up at Brisbane or Freemantle, whichever, you’ll be tying up in a political hornet’s nest. Don’t, for Christ’s sake, get caught up in that meat grinder or you’ll wind up as two pounds of hamburger! Keep your patrol reports as lean as you can write them, say nothing or less than that to the Command ashore and try to keep your people from talking. Now one other thing that I want to tell you.

“If you have anything to say to me, for my ears only, you put it in a sealed envelope and hand it over to a dude on the Staff down there, Lieut. Comdr. Gene Puser. He’s my man, my eyes and ears down there. He’s absolutely trustworthy. What I learn from him I tell to Nimitz, so bear that in mind.” He stopped the car at the BOQ building.

“Keep all of this to yourself, Art. You’ll be around for a while yet, gonna take some time to get Mako ready for the sea. We’ll talk about this a lot more. When Plunger comes in I’d like to have you aboard as an observer when we fire some test fish through a net. I think we can end this crap about the fish not running deeper than they’re set for right away if we have some proof.”

Hinman yawned and looked up at the stars. They looked close enough to touch. He walked forward to the bridge where Joe Sirocco was being relieved of his watch.

“Will you send me a cup of hot coffee when you go below, Joe?” Hinman asked. “But no doughnuts or sweet rolls.”

“If it’s all right with you I’ll bring a cup back topside and drink it with you,” Sirocco said. “I’ve got to take morning stars in an hour or so.”

“Fine,” Hinman said. He grinned at Nate Cohen, who had taken over the bridge watch.

“How you doing, Ears?” he asked, using the nickname the crew had given to the Communications Officer.

“Fine Captain, just fine. It’s like old times with you back. I realized that when I found the rubber spider in my bunk!”

“Yeah, but you spoiled it,” Hinman said. “You Reserves have no respect for Naval tradition. You’re supposed to laugh when the Captain tells a joke and when you find a rubber spider in your bunk you’re supposed to holler and carry on!”

“The Talmud teaches logic and reason, among many other things, Captain,” Cohen said. “Both argued against the presence of a tarantula on a submarine, especially a spider with only six legs instead of the eight it should have.”

Dusty Rhodes walked into the Forward Torpedo Room where Ginty had just taken over the morning four-to-eight watch at the torpedo tubes. Ginty was sitting in a canvas chair in front of the tubes, sipping at a cup of coffee.

“What the hell you doin’ up, Chief? They’s another chair over there outboard of that warhead. Get it out and sit a bit. Grabby Grabnas brought me up a fresh pitcher of coffee. Another cup around here someplace. Damned coffee is strong enough to kill you! I think that fuckin’ cook back there makes it double strong on the morning watch so the son of a bitch can stay awake long enough to cook chow! Put this stuff in a fish the son of a bitch would run at ninety knots!”

Rhodes unfolded the chair and sat down and took the cup of coffee Ginty poured for him.

“Buncha shit, this modifying the exploders is okay if you operate out of Pearl but put ‘em back the way they were if you go into Australia!” Ginty growled. “Lotta fuckin’ work, Chief! Why in the hell can’t those people get their heads together and say the exploders is ding boo how and fix ‘em so they’ll work?

“Hell, Grilley told me that even after Cap’n Rudd fired those exercise fish out of Plunger and found the fish runnin’ eight to fourteen feet deeper than the depth setting, Grilley told me that those Admirals didn’t believe it! Hell, any damned fool of a third class torpedoman could tell you that if you put a bigger warhead out in front of that fish that it’s gotta run deeper than it would with the regular warhead on it! Those fuckin’ Admirals are going to ruin this man’s Navy!”

“Admirals live in a different world, Ginch,” Rhodes said, his voice patient. “Any Admiral who’s a member of the Gun Club, any of those people who spent any time in ordnance work, design and testing torpedoes, is going to think that whatever Newport says is the Holy Gospel. Haines, that Warrant who runs the exploder shop at Pearl, told me that Rudd is putting together so much evidence about the exploders and the deep running that pretty soon even the Gun Club will have to sit up and take notice.” He paused. “I saw the Old Man up here again yesterday afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Ginty said. “He comes up every afternoon after he wakes up. Bullshits with all hands. Messes up my daily work routines. Tells his lousy jokes and expects everyone to laugh. He likes to keep everyone loose as a goose.”

“He’s got the whole ship loose,” Rhodes said. “Worries me. I laid into DeLucia back aft the other day for letting stuff get adrift in his room and Hindu tells me that after I went forward the people back there started calling me ‘Mealey Junior!’ ”

“Shit!” Ginty growled. “Keep crackin’ down! Some of these war-time sailors, an officer smiles at ‘em and says hello and they think they can throw the soojie rag in the bucket and knock off scrubbin’ paintwork! Some of these Fleet-boat sailors ought to do some time in an S-boat where you got four times as much work to do and only half as many men. The Old Man gonna stay on the surface again today? We got to be gettin’ close enough to the Islands to be divin’ mornings and runnin’ submerged all day. They must have so many Japs in those Islands by now that there’s two in every coconut tree along the beaches!”

“I hear he’s going to stay on the surface as long as he can,” Rhodes said. “That’s a change that Captain Rudd made. Rudd says that some skippers start all-day dives one day out of Pearl and waste too much time getting on station.” He stood up and stretched his arms until his big shoulder muscles cracked.

“Thanks for the coffee. You’d better check the room and tie down everything that might come loose. The Radio people say there’s a big storm to the west. Someone over there, forget which boat, reported it. We might be in it in a day or two. Can’t be a typhoon this time of year.”

“Don’t shit yourself!” Ginty said. “I put sixteen years out here on the Asiatic Station and I seen typhoons in every damned month of the year! Typhoons ain’t anything to fuck with, Chief. On the S-37 we run into one had seas a hundred feet high and I shit you not! Fuckin’ wind blew the wind gauge right off’n the periscope shears, musta been blowin’ a hundred and twenty knots! Couldn’t submerge because when we tried it we’d be at a hundred feet one minute and then we’d be down to two hundred and fifty feet. So we had to ride it out rigged for dive on the surface. You want misery you ride an S-boat in that kind of weather!”

Rhodes nodded and went aft to the Crew’s Mess to see what Johnny Johnson, the Ship’s Cook, had made for the morning meal. Usually the dour cook whipped up a batch of doughnuts or sweet rolls. This morning it was doughnuts. Rhodes picked up two of the doughnuts, drew a cup of coffee from the urn and went in to sit at a table in the mess room. Chief John Barber was sitting there with a cup of coffee. One of his off-duty firemen sat at another table. Barber stared at the man until he got the message and picked up his coffee cup and left the compartment.

“Get your fuel injector problem licked?” Rhodes asked.

“Yeah,” Barber grunted. “You got to tell these people the same things over and over every day. And even then they’ll forget to clean the fuel strainers. Gonna start kicking me some ass pretty damned soon. Damned people are getting sloppy!” He got up and drew another cup of coffee for himself.

“Wanted to talk to you before this but I couldn’t find the time when we were alone,” Barber said as he sat down. He dropped his voice so the ship’s cook, busy in his tiny galley, couldn’t hear.

“I had a pretty bad time after the last run. I hit that kid Richards a little too hard. Didn’t mean to do that, no way! But when he started beating on the deck plates with that hammer and hollering for the Japs to come and get us, after all that depth charging we’d taken, it did something to me inside. I never felt that way before about anything or anyone! I hit him too hard with that wrench.

“I was pretty shook up afterward. Had bad dreams. Finally I had to tell Dottie about it and she told your wife and June came right over to the house. She asked me and Dottie to go into the bedroom with her and we sat on the bed and she sat on the floor and she never left the room or moved but she sort of went away. You know what I mean?”

“She meditates,” Rhodes said. “That’s what she calls it. She talks to the old gods.”

“Yeah,” Barber grunted. “Spooky as hell! She gets that blank look and she doesn’t hear anything you say to her. Finally she got up and went out in the kitchen and Dottie made coffee and then June sat there and told me that Richards was all right. She said that what I did had been planned that way, that Richards was supposed to go back to wherever he came from and that I was the one who was supposed to send him back. Dusty, that’s spooky!

“Then she got up and she put her hands on my head and she said I wouldn’t have any more dreams and by God, I didn’t have any of those dreams anymore! How does she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Rhodes said. “All I know is that what she does is called ‘Kahuna,’ and it’s very, very old. Her people have been doing it for hundreds and hundreds of years. She’s been able to do it since she was about ten years old.

“Now let me tell you something. The day we got in from the last patrol she met me at the dock, you were there. When we got home and I’d seen the kids she took me out in the kitchen.

“Just remember, I hadn’t told her one damned thing about the patrol and you know they kept everyone away from the dock when we came in because we were so badly busted up. So she didn’t see the ship. And she took me out in the kitchen and pointed at the calendar on the bulkhead and there was a red crayon circle around the day we hit the battleship!

“She said that she knew that on that day we had been in great danger but that she didn’t worry because the old gods told her we’d get back home safely!”

“I know,” Barber said, nodding his head, “Dottie told me that story after I got home. Made me feel kind of funny inside.”

Rhodes took his wallet out of his hip pocket and opened it and took out a folded slip of paper. He handed it to Barber.

“June gave me this the day before we left port,” Rhodes said. “Told me to keep it with me all the time.” Barber unfolded the slip of paper and read it aloud.

“Accept what is offered even though it is not wanted.”

“I don’t get it,” he said. He handed the paper back to Rhodes, who folded it carefully and put it back in his wallet.

“Neither do I,” Rhodes said. “She told me that the gods told her that a time would come when this would mean something to me and when that time came I should obey what was given to her, what she wrote down.”