by James Young
Mom did have a way of persuading us through sheer fatigue, he thought. Again he felt grief trying to force its way back to the forefront.
“I miss your mother desperately,” Seth sighed, his own voice choked with near tears. “As stubborn as she was, it should be no surprise to you that she also made me swear to use whatever connections I could to get you an officer’s billet.”
Adam could not have been more shocked if his father had started speaking flawless Chinese.
“W-wait, what?” Adam asked.
“Even when your mother was dying, she thought of others,” Seth said. “You know that your uncles all served during World War I. What you do not know is that a week after the Lusitania sank, your grandfather called all the children into the parlor and informed them he was certain war was coming.”
Seth paused and looked towards the east.
“He then proceeded to inform all four of your uncles that he expected them to do the proper and correct thing when the time came, and told your aunts that he expected any current or future children who desired their hand to do the same,” Seth continued, his voice shaking. “It was to your mother’s eternal shame that I did not volunteer when the time came.”
So now I understand, Adam thought. That’s why Grandfather Jefferson bequeathed my mother’s share of his property and land to me directly.
“You were thirty, Father,” Adam replied, his voice incredulous. “What did Grandfather Jefferson expect you to do?”
“Go and defend those who could not defend themselves,” Seth replied sadly. “Fight for the Republic at the very least. He never said anything directly, but I could sense his disgust every time we took you to visit.”
Also explains why he bought me the books he did as I grew older, Adam thought. Most kids do not get Thucydides for their fifteenth birthday.
“I think some part of your mother never forgave me for putting her in that position,” Seth continued. “I think that was part of the reason she was so proud of you for choosing to take your pilot’s license and go to Spain.”
Adam stiffened, thinking of the things Seth had said when he’d left.
Mom wanted us to bury the hatchet… he reminded himself.
“I have taken the liberty of contacting some of my friends in the Navy Department. It appears they were already aware of you,” Seth said, his tone sardonic. “Your recent exploits have only increased their interest.”
“When we were in Canada, I was already talking with some of the pilots from the Eagle Squadrons,” Adam replied. “Chap named Don Blakeslee offered me a flight command.”
“Let’s talk about this inside,” Seth said, as a strong gust of wind presaged the storm’s beginnings.
Adam took one last long look at his mother’s grave, then turned to follow his father down the path towards the house.
I hope I make you proud, Mother, he thought.
Four days later, Adam was looking up at the brick façade of the Marine Corps headquarters at the corner of 8th and I Streets. Dressed in a plain black suit with blue shirt, Adam was surprised to find his mouth slightly dry. A slight chill that had nothing to do with the damp dawn air passed through Adam, and he adjusted his red and white striped tie.
“Sir, can I help you?” an NCO called from the building’s front steps.
“Yes Sergeant,” Adam said, somewhat surprised to see a slight smirk cross the man’s face. “I’m here to see a Major Pendergraft.”
“Who may I tell him is calling, sir?” the NCO asked, his voice level.
Well here is where the rubber meets the road, Adam thought.
“Squadron Leader Adam Haynes, formerly of the Royal Air Force,” Adam replied. To the NCO’s credit, he had no reaction before picking up the nearby phone.
Just what am I getting myself into? Adam pondered. I figured there’d be at least a skeptical look or some questioning. Not sure I’m professional enough for this group.
After a brief conversation, the NCO put down the phone.
“Sir, Major Pendergraft will be right down,” the NCO replied.
“Thank you, sergeant,” Adam said, fighting hard not to show his nervousness.
True to the sergeant’s word, Major Pendergraft walked through the barracks’ front doors a couple of minutes later. Tanned and athletic, with brown hair graying at the temples, Pendergraft stood well over six feet in height in his service uniform. His green eyes looked Adam up and down as he placed his cover on his head, gaze expressionless. The Marine officer returned the guard NCO’s salute, then joined Adam on the sidewalk.
“Let’s go for a walk, Major Haynes,” Pendergraft said, causing the NCO and Adam to both do a double take.
“I think there’s been some mistake,” Adam said.
“You’ve killed, at least if what your dossier says is true, about seventy to a hundred Germans, Italians, and Japs,” Pendergraft said as he began stepping down the sidewalk. “The only mistake would be if I forgot to have you sign your orders and take the oath after we get some breakfast.
“How soon can you report to Quantico, Major?” Pendergraft said. “I understand that your mother recently passed and that you haven’t been home for almost two years.”
“I can report tomorrow if that is when you need me,” Adam said simply.
“How about one week?” Pendergraft replied. “After you inprocess, go through some training, and qualify on the Wildcat, the plan is to send you to either Cherry Point or Pensacola depending on availability.”
“Major it seems as if the Corps is one hell of a rush,” Adam replied.
“You of all people should know there’s a war on,” Pendergraft said with a slight smile as the duo reached the officer’s mess.
“Not yet,” Adam challenged back.
“Only a formality, Major Haynes,” Pendergraft said. “The Krauts and Japs are coming for us, and anyone who thinks differently is either in Congress or hasn’t been paying attention.”
CHAPTER 5: TRANSITIONS
We must remember that one man is much the same as another, and that he is best who is trained in the severest school.--Thucydides
U.S.S. Nautilus
200 Miles Northeast of Oahu
0430 Local (0930 Eastern)
23 March 1943
“Sir, just who did we piss off?” Nick Cobb shouted, struggling to be heard over the intensifying wind and crash of waves over the bow and bridge of the U.S.S. Nautilus. The submarine’s master, Lieutenant Commander Jason Freeman, shook his head at the younger officer’s comment as a stream of water sloughed off the platform the two men shared with three lookouts. Only slightly taller but much thicker than Nick, Freeman looked like a drowning, sandy blonde terrier in his rain gear.
“Don’t ask me questions like that, Lieutenant Cobb,” Jason shouted back. “I keep wondering if you were caught with some admiral’s daughter!”
Before Nick could reply, another wave hit the entire bridge crew full on. For a moment Nick felt his footing slip, and had a horrible moment where he wondered if he was going to slip off the conning tower and inot the sea. Even as his feet scrambled for purchase, he felt the bridge’s wire railings securely under his armpits.
“Sir, if it would make this rain stop, I’d be happy to wire a proposal back to Pearl Harbor,” Nick replied. Freeman flashed a grin at that. The senior officer waited until the next wave passed before replying.
“I don’t think that would work, Lieutenant Cobb,” Freeman laughed.
Nick smiled back, shaking his head as he looked out over the desolate seascape. Nautilus was Freeman’s second command, and he ran a very unconventional ship compared to some of his peers. One of the lieutenant commander’s principles was that officers got paid enough to suffer, while sailors did not. Even in the egalitarian world of submariners, such a view was almost sacrilege.
While I could do without being soaked to the bone, he has a point, Nick thought. Although this storm is starting to get bad enough, I’m wondering if we’ll be able to stay up h
ere. According to the rest of her wardroom, the Nautilus handled better than most other submarines in rough weather due to her larger displacement and length. Given the vessel’s current motion, meant Nick considered that statement akin to someone remarking a plough horse was far prettier than some surrounding mules.
Nick felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, the sandwich and coffee he had consumed just before coming onto watch doing flip-flops. He peered out into the darkness to try and distract himself, but looking at the sea’s churning surface only made things worse.
Dear lord, please don’t let me get sick, he thought to himself as the Nautilus’s bow dropped into another trough. Despite over three years in submarines, Nick’s sea legs were suspect. This storm was the roughest things had ever been for him, and it didn’t look like his stomach was going to live up to the challenge.
Why doesn’t Commander Freeman dive the damn boat already?! Nick thought helplessly.
“Try to think about something else, Mr. Cobb,” Freeman said lowly, where only Nick could hear. “It’ll pass, trust me. If this weather doesn’t clear up in about an hour, I think I’ll take her down.”
An hour? A fucking hour? Nick thought, desperation starting to fill his mind as he scrambled for something to talk about.
“Sir, what do you think our chances are of going to war in the next week?” Nick asked.
Nautilus’s captain looked at him briefly, and then looked back out into the storm. Looking behind them, Nick could see one of the lookouts suddenly paying rapt attention to the conversation of the two officers on the board. He realized why the other officer was considering his words carefully.
Whatever the Old Man says will be all over the boat less than thirty minutes after this watch is over, Nick thought, watching as the seas drained from over the forward deck gun.
“Mr. Cobb, as you know, we left Pearl Harbor two days ago with a full load of fuel, and for the first time since I’ve been in command of this boat, a full load of torpedoes,” Freeman started. Nick noted he spoke normally, well aware of the lookouts listening. “Shortly before we left, I received sealed orders directly from Vice Admiral Bowles.”
Wait a second, Bowles shouldn’t have handed him those orders! Nick thought. That son of a bitch is pissing all over Rear Admiral Graham’s shoes again. Bowles, as a former submariner, regularly overstepped his bounds with regards to the chain of command. Rear Admiral Daniel Graham, as the commander of the Pacific Fleet’s subs, should have been the one to give Lieutenant Commander Freeman any orders or directives.
Admiral Jensen is letting his personal hound run all over the place, Nick thought. That man has had way too much time on his hands since ol’ Junior got sent back to the mainland. Sam and David are right, that guy’s an asshole.
“I intended to publish those orders at the end of this watch, but I will give you a preview of what they said,” Freeman continued. “Long and short of it, if we find a Japanese warship within three hundred miles of Pearl Harbor, we are to, I quote, ‘act under the discretion of the commanding officer’ and immediately engage said vessel.”
Nick found himself holding his breath.
Sweet Jesus, Admiral Jensen just declared war on the Empire of Japan, Nick thought, his seasickness completely forgotten. I knew things were bad, but when they sent that battleship division back to the West Coast over the holidays I thought things were calming down.
“Why didn’t these orders come from Admiral Jensen?” Nick asked, raising an eyebrow. “It would seem like the commander-in-chief himself would want to sign something that important.”
“Mr. Cobb, it is not the place of a junior officer to question why and who his orders come from,” Freeman replied firmly. “However, if you think about it, the answer will come to you, as unimportant to this discussion as it is.”
Nick nodded, knowing that he had overstepped his bounds. To him, it should not matter if the orders came from Santa Claus—he was to obey them.
“Concurrent with these orders, in a separate order that will take effect in about an hour and a half, the Pacific Fleet will be put on two hours’ sailing notice. All shore leaves will be cancelled, and all crews will have to remain on their ships until further notice. Those orders are by the hand of Admiral Jensen himself.”
Suddenly, it hit Nick like a thunderbolt, with a visible pause in his actions.
The reason Admiral Jensen didn’t sign our orders is should we fire the opening shots of war, he can say he knew nothing about it, Nick thought. He looked over to see Lt. Commander Freeman giving him a slight smirk.
While it won’t be much of a defense to say “I was following orders,” Nick thought, it will still make it so the worst thing that would possibly happen to Admiral Jensen in that case is a relief and cashiering from the service. More likely, Bowles would make a sufficient sacrificial lamb to mollify Congress.
“Sir, what are your intended actions should we encounter enemy warships?” Nick asked, his mouth suddenly dry. Because odds are they’ll try to burn the rest of us with you, orders or not.
Lt. Commander Freeman looked at the young lieutenant, searching Nick’s face in the much lighter dawn.
Old Man’s seeing if I’m asking because I’m concerned for my career (I’m not) or my well being (of course!), Nick thought as he looked back at his commander, his face expressionless.
“I take it you played killer poker during your Academy days, Lieutenant Cobb?” Jason asked, as spray drenched both of them.
“I held my own, sir,” Nick replied. “Especially when handed a pair of deuces with my month’s paycheck in the pot.”
“How many times did you lose in that situation?” Freeman asked, his voice indicating he was genuinely curious.
“Sir, I didn’t lose. I found that bluffing one’s way through risks usually works,” Nick replied evenly.
“Well, let’s hope that we don’t get called on our bluff,” Jason said, looking out into the ocean. “It looks like it’s actually clearing up a little bit,” he said, the sky starting to lighten. Nick noted the subject change and decided to let his question drop.
Not that I disagree with taking such a measure, he thought to himself. It’s not like we’ve invited the Japanese Fleet in for a Naval Review. Like a stranger being in your house at two in the morning, they likely won’t be stopping by for tea and biscuits.
Startled, Nick realized that either his stomach’s crisis had passed or Lt. Commander Freeman’s observation about the weather was correct. Picking up his binoculars, Nick tried to see if he could catch the horizon.
“So what’s this I hear about half of your family being in Hawaii now?” Freeman asked, startling him.
“Well depending on where the Hornet is headed, all of us kids will be here shortly, sir,” Nick replied. “My brother Eric was reassigned after taking two months’ leave.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the lookouts turn to his compatriot in disgust.
“Is the rumor out them giving him a Navy Cross off the books true?” Freeman asked.
“Sir, I have no idea on that one,” Nick replied. “I just know my mother is sore at him for coming back over the hill when he should be in law school.”
“Mothers tend to be that way,” Freeman observed.
“Mom more than most,” Nick observed. “Cobbs don’t seem to have a problem going to war. It’s the coming back that we are 50-50 on.”
Freeman winced.
“I can see why she might be a bit concerned,” the senior officer said.
“At least with my brother on this side of the world the Germans can’t get at him,” Nick stated with disgust. “I can’t believe they put a price on his head.”
“I think with a few million Russians sitting across their border they aren’t going to be too worried about one American naval officer,” Freeman observed.
“It seems like the world’s gone mad, sir,” Nick stated, shaking his head. “Something’s about to pop, and I don’t think it’s the cork on a champagne bottl
e.”
“The President had the right of it,” Freeman replied grimly. “I’d rather have a war in my lifetime than my daughters’.”
Your wife might not feel that way if she has to raise them all on her own, Nick thought.
“Speaking of children and marriage, Agnes does wonder when you are going to finally bow to the proper way of things and find yourself a wife,” Freeman observed.
Which is why I volunteered for duty the last couple of times it was my turn to come over for dinner, Nick thought.
“Just haven’t met the right woman yet, sir,” Nick said sheepishly. “Judging from my siblings’ example, even that does not necessarily get the job done.”
“Well, Agnes does have a younger sister,” Freeman said speculatively. “She’s seventeen and needs a pen pal.”
Holy shit, sir, that’s a little young for me don’t you think? Nick thought, keeping his face impassive. After a moment Freeman broke out in a smile.
“You really do have a good poker face, Cobb,” Freeman said, laughing. “Agnes’ sister is actually twenty-two and teaches English to Mexican kids in California.”
Nick shook his head and brought his binoculars back up to scan the horizon again.
“I’ll drop her a line if you’d like, sir,” Nick said. “I think it will be a while before we get a chance to meet one another though. Rumor has it there’s about to be a war on. Plus my sister seems determined to set me up with every single woman she meets at work.”
“I have this vision of your sister being as relentless as an escort whose convoy we just attacked,” Freeman said.
Unbidden, a mental image of his sister as the figurehead on the bow of a destroyer charging with a bone in its teeth came to Nick’s mind. He guffawed out loud, drawing a strange look from all of the lookouts.
“Sorry sir, but even I’m not crazy enough to be on record as comparing my sister to a man of war,” Nick replied.
“Smart man,” Freeman said.