Ghosts of Bungo Suido (2013)

by Deutermann, P. T

  He also needed to refill his seabag. He needed a complete set of uniforms and some civvies. He’d left the Dragon in a come-as-you-are exposure suit and work khakis. Unless they’d off-loaded his personal effects between getting back from the Kure operation and her last patrol, everything he owned went to the bottom with her, including his academy ring. Basically he had to reconstitute everything and, oh by the way, face a court of inquiry because of something he’d said to an army air force major in the back of a Jap boxcar. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. Having survived all of the things that had happened to him over the past nine months, he now had to face an investigation by his own superiors while everybody else was headed stateside for Christmas.

  Sharon showed up in the lobby at six thirty. She tried unsuccessfully to hide the shock she felt when she saw Gar. She looked none the worse for wear and still wore that waterfall of blond hair pulled across her forehead. Gar found himself wanting to touch it.

  “Goddamn, Gar Hammond,” she exclaimed. “You look like you got shot at and missed, shit at and hit.”

  “You look pretty good, too,” he offered. They did a two-handed handshake and then just stood there for a moment. “My long lost, one true love,” he said.

  “Hell, yes,” she replied, with that big grin. “Let’s get a drink, before they dismantle the bar.”

  They spent the next two hours in a corner booth. The hotel wasn’t exactly deserted, but it had the air of a place that was going to close pretty soon, and the staff obviously knew it. He told her his story, soup to nuts, and she listened intently. When he was finished, she asked why he had said this was business tonight. That’s when he told her about the court.

  “That’s bullshit,” she said. “A court of inquiry for a ‘he said, she said’ story? Bullshit. Total bullshit. I’ll tell you what a court of inquiry is for: Would you believe I’m working on setting up yet another high-level investigation and inquiry into the December seventh attack on Pearl Harbor? And they want to take you to a court of inquiry?”

  Total bullshit, indeed, he thought. Besides, who didn’t know the answer to the question of who was responsible for the disaster that was Pearl Harbor? The fucking Japanese, that’s who. “That’s what they’re telling me.”

  “For collaborating with the enemy?”

  “I told this major that I talked to them. And I did talk to them, mostly to stop them from killing any more prisoners. They knew I’d been a CO, and they knew that I probably knew important stuff. That guy sat there and had a prisoner shot right in front of me when I did the name-rank-serial-number deal. Then they brought out another one—shot him, too, after I said I’d talk to them. They’re not human—they’re a bunch of medieval monsters from the tenth century.”

  “What did you tell this major that you gave up to the Japanese?”

  “I told him I’d talked to them. That I delivered a whole lot of bullshit, exaggeration, lies, and some truths.”

  “Did you tell him exactly what you told them?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell him that you talked to them to save other prisoners’ lives?”

  “No. Well, maybe. I can’t remember.”

  “Then here’s the answer: You request an admiral’s mast. You have that right when a court-martial is in the offing. Look, if a court of inquiry determines that whatever you did constituted collaborating with the enemy, you will be court-martialed and jailed until the end of time.”

  “How does an admiral’s mast prevent that?”

  “You were a CO—you did captain’s mast, right?”

  “Rarely, but yes.”

  “And if it actually came to bringing one of your crew before captain’s mast, is it true to say that you could have, under navy regs, sent him to court-martial?”

  “Yes, although we almost never did that.”

  “Listen to me, Gar Hammond—lady lawyer speaking now. You request an admiral’s mast within your chain of command—that’s ComSubPac. You have that right. You tell the truth about what you said to the Japs, and why, and everything that happened afterward. My view of collaborating with the enemy is a POW who trades information for better treatment, to the detriment of his fellow POWs. You didn’t do that, and any flag officer in SubPac will recognize that. An army or army air force colonel might not understand that.”

  “You’re saying this court of inquiry might not be navy?”

  “Absolutely. You could be looking at three army colonels, who haven’t the faintest idea of what it was like to be a submarine CO, or, for that matter, a POW. They’re more than likely to be professional staff officers, and they’ll have quaint notions like you only tell the enemy name, rank, and serial number, to the death, of course.”

  “To the death,” he muttered. “Just like the Japs.” He leaned back in the booth and closed his eyes. This was too hard. He thought he’d done well. He thought he’d so dismayed that Jap intel officer that he’d even shot himself.

  “Look,” she said. “You have to tell your story, the whole story. You said you’ve been put in for two very high decorations. What I’m saying is that the same people who put you in for those decorations should be the ones who hear the whole story—what you told the Japs, why you talked, how they didn’t believe any of it, what they did in the POW camp, what you did in the POW camp.”

  “Do I need a lawyer with me at mast?”

  “No, although White will probably appoint one for the court if that goes through. Request admiral’s mast within your own chain of command and just tell the truth. Go before Lockwood and tell him what happened. He’s a straight shooter, and he knows what you guys went through. It’s basic law: You’re supposed to get a jury of your peers. Doesn’t happen that way in civilian life, but you damned well can still get that in the navy. That’s my professional advice.”

  “Whew,” Gar said. “I feel like stripping down to swim shorts and clacks and going native at the back of the island.”

  “Gar, do you feel guilty about what you did out there in the Japanese prison camps?”

  “Hell, no. Proud, if anything. I survived. I endured. That’s what POWs try to do.”

  “Then do as I say.”

  “If it goes to court, can you represent me?”

  She paused. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “Captain White makes those appointments, and he and I are not exactly on terrific terms.”

  “So he indicated,” Gar replied.

  “What?”

  “He said that you had a problem and that he would not want you for his lawyer and neither would I.”

  “That bastard.”

  “He also said you were going to be sent back to the civilian world, along with all the other WAVES, now that the war was over.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “I’ll be leaving here sometime next month.” She frowned. “He actually said that? He wouldn’t want me as his lawyer, and neither would you?”

  “His words, not mine.”

  She sat back in her chair. “If it does go to a court, you, as an interested party, can request a specific individual to act as your counsel. In a court-martial, they must agree to that request if at all possible. In a court of inquiry, that’s not always true. A court-martial can impose punishment. A court of inquiry is all about determining if there are grounds for a court-martial.”

  “In English, then, will you represent me if I ask?”

  “Let’s see what happens after you talk to Admiral Lockwood,” she said. “Hopefully he will interject some adult supervision here and make this whole thing go away.”

  “New subject,” he said. “Fancy having dinner with me?”

  She took his hand. “Sorry, Gar. Previous engagement. Whole different social scene now that the war’s over. Besides—”

  “Yeah, I remember. Can’t blame me for trying.”

  “I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t. Let me know what happens.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  It took ten days. His request f
or an admiral’s mast had upset the apple cart at CincPacFleet. It turned out that the whole court of inquiry idea had come from none other than Captain White. He wasn’t pleased with Gar’s request, but Forrester managed to convince him to let Gar take a shot at mast. Now, almost a month after getting back to paradise, Gar was waiting in Admiral Lockwood’s outer office, wearing brand-new dress khakis, with a tie, even. Now that the boss was back from the advance headquarters out in Guam, the flow of staffers coming and going never abated. Gar got some strange looks from time to time; apparently they’d never seen a wartime sub CO sitting in the outer office awaiting mast. The faces were all new, and they seemed to be much younger than Gar remembered. Looking through the office windows, he was struck by how empty the finger piers looked. During the war there would have been a dozen or more boats out there, all beehives of activity. Now all he could see was palm trees. He’d moved to the sub base BOQ from the Pink Palace, and even the BOQ felt empty.

  During the war. That was an expression that certainly would be coming into its own from now on. Back in my day, sonny … Gar smiled. The yeomen looked at him as if he were just a little bit nuts.

  “The admiral will see you now, Commander,” a voice announced.

  Gar got up, put his brand-new brass hat on, took a deep breath, and went into the inner sanctum. He expected to see Admiral Lockwood standing tall behind a podium, with a sergeant at arms on one side and the chief of staff on the other. Instead, Uncle Charlie was in his shirtsleeves and speaking loudly on his phone, probably on an overseas trunk call. Admiral Forrester was fixing himself a cup of coffee at the sideboard, and indicating to Gar to get some. They both sat down while waiting for Admiral Lockwood to finish. When he did hang up it was with a mild curse.

  “We’re going to rue the day we let the goddamned Joint Chiefs of Staff have a vote on submarine policy, you mark my words,” he said to Forrester. Then he turned to Gar with a smile. “Gar Hammond, welcome back to the land of the living. What’s all this BS about an admiral’s mast and a court of inquiry? Who’d you piss off this time?”

  Gar shook his head, aware that his uniform shirt didn’t fit very well at the collar. They apparently didn’t make neck sizes for ex-POWs. “Wish I knew, Admiral. Not my idea of a homecoming.”

  “As I told you earlier, Admiral,” Forrester said, “this hairball originated up at Makalapa. The CincPacFleet JAG received an allegation from the 5th Air Force headquarters over on Hickam that Commander Hammond collaborated while a POW. Connie White decided a court of inquiry was in order.”

  “Oh, hell,” the admiral said. “Connie White’s an old woman. Older than I am. A court is the only thing he knows. Gar, I’ve read your initial debriefing, the one taken out in Guam. That focused on operational stuff, your last patrol as skipper of Dragonfish, up to the point where you ordered the boat down while you were still on the bridge. Now I’d like to hear the whole story, from that moment on, and I’ve got as long as it takes. Just tell me what happened, and then we’ll address legal issues, if any, and for what it’s worth, I don’t think right now that there are any. And if it’s any comfort, I was very glad to see your name on the repat list. I only wish the Dragon were still alive so I could send you back to her. Now, relax, take your damned hat off, and tell your story. Please.”

  Gar took a sip of flag mess coffee, put down his cup, sat back in the big upholstered chair, and closed his eyes. “Call me Ishmael,” he began, and heard Uncle Charlie chuckle.

  “We thought we were just about home free,” he said. “Ready for Bungo Suido. Didn’t figure on wooden-hulled minesweepers.”

  An hour later, he opened his eyes and came back to Lockwood’s office, a part of his mind prepared to find that they’d gone home for the day a few hours ago. They hadn’t. Gar had been back in Japan, of course, remembering things he wanted to forget, while knowing that that would never be possible. He hadn’t told them everything, choosing to skim over some of the details about his interaction with the Jap intel board and Charlie Chan. It took him a moment to focus on the room and the two flag officers sitting there, looking at him. Forrester deferred to his boss.

  “That’s a pretty amazing odyssey, Gar,” Lockwood said. “And as to collaboration, it sounds to me more like a case of your screwing with their minds than giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Did you believe that the Priest, as you called him, would keep shooting prisoners until you answered his questions?”

  “I certainly did. I think the fact that he had a second one shot after I agreed to talk to him proves that.”

  “And when you appeared before that board of three intel types, when you told the colonel to call the Kure arsenal and ask if they’d had a good night—do you think they believed the things you were telling them?”

  “The colonel did not, clearly, although he did go to make a phone call—or at least that’s what it looked like. One of the others indicated that what they knew about their situation and what they could say out loud were two very different things. I don’t think, on balance, that I was telling them anything they didn’t already know. They just couldn’t admit it.”

  “Do you think that’s why the major killed himself there on the dry dock after the bombing raid on Kure?”

  “After first trying to kill me?” Gar reminded him. “Yes. He’d just been through what was probably his first real bombing. I have to tell you, being depth-charged was always frightening—you never knew when one was going to bang down onto the forward hatch and then blow you all to kingdom come. The difference between that and a bombing raid is that you do know, especially if you’re out in the open. I was nearly flattened by the first bomb, and that one landed a half mile away. Then they came closer. I think he shot himself because he knew in his heart that this was the future, and that everything the top brass in Japan had been putting out was a lie. They were done. Finished. So was he. To tell the truth, while those bombs were falling, I just wanted to die. It would have been preferable to what I was going through.”

  The admiral sighed, looked at his watch, and got up from his desk. “Lemme think about all this, Gar,” he said. “See if we can find a way to stomp out this little brushfire without causing even bigger problems.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Gar said, also rising. “After everything that’s happened, I’m not sure what to do at this stage.”

  Gar walked back to his BOQ room wondering if going to see the admiral had been a good idea or a big mistake. Lockwood had been friendly and concerned, but strangely, at the very end, noncommittal. There’d been no protestations of this all being total BS, no “just let me think about it.” Forrester hadn’t said a word, and that worried him. The chief of staff had been friendly enough, but Gar could never be sure where he stood with Forrester. He wanted to call Sharon and get a reading from her, but even she’d been a little standoffish about further contact, unless it came to a court, and even then, there was doubt. He thought about going to get some chow but decided he wasn’t hungry, perhaps for the first time in weeks. He went up to his BOQ room, lay down on the single bed, and tried not to think about what was coming.

  * * *

  Two days later, Gar found himself once again waiting in Admiral Lockwood’s outer office. His appointment was with Admiral Forrester, who made him wait fifteen minutes while he dealt with a small parade of staff officers coming in and out of his office.

  “Commander?” a yeoman said, indicating he could go in.

  When he went into the office, he found Forrester seated behind his desk and another officer, a lieutenant junior grade, standing to one side. The jay-gee was tall and thin and looked to Gar like he was maybe sixteen years old. There were no dolphins on his shirt, either.

  “Come in, Commander,” Forrester said. “Take a seat. This is Lieutenant Falcone, from the CincPacFleet JAG office. Mister Falcone, this is Commander Hammond.”

  They shook hands, and then both sat down. The fact that Forrester was calling him Commander and not Gar did not bode well.

 
“Commander Hammond, the court of inquiry is going to proceed. I know that’s not what you wanted, and, frankly, not what we wanted, either.”

  “This is Admiral Lockwood’s decision?” Gar asked.

  Forrester frowned, clearly not liking Gar’s insinuation that only Lockwood could make that decision.

  “The admiral has considered the matter,” he said. “And he spoke to Vice Admiral Rennsalear, who’s moved up to chief of staff at PacFleet. The thinking is that you would be better served going before the court than if ComSubPac were to be seen interfering and perhaps papering over these allegations. Admiral Lockwood feels that you have more than a good case to refute the allegations, and that being cleared by the court is a much better outcome.”

  “Not going before a court of inquiry would be an even better outcome,” Gar said. “Besides, I did ask for an admiral’s mast. He can certainly make a decision at mast, can’t he?”

  “Yes, he could, but as I said, the thinking is—”

  “The thinking is that if the submarine force’s reputation as the all-powerful Silent Service is to be impugned, better it come from some court of inquiry than from Uncle Charlie.”

  Forrester stared at him. “Commander, watch yourself,” he said. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but there are limits to the amount of insolence I’ll tolerate, sir.”

  “Especially now that the war’s over, right, Admiral?” Gar asked, standing up and picking up his hat. “Peacetime is back with a vengeance, isn’t it. Okay, why not? I’m glad to finally know who my real friends are.”

  With that he strode out of the office before Forrester could say anything. When he reached the headquarters parking lot, he heard someone calling his name. He turned around to see the young lieutenant hurrying after him. That’s when it penetrated that Falcone was a JAG officer.