Final Harbor (The Silent War Book 1)

by Harry Homewood

  “All stop! Take the mooring lines and double up fore and aft!”

  The line handlers on the dock whipped their heaving lines across the Mako’s deck as the long, lean submarine shuddered to a dead stop alongside the pier. Rhodes, standing on the forward deck, saw Admiral Nimitz nod his head in approval of Captain Hinman’s perfect docking. Rhodes turned to face the Bridge.

  “All mooring lines are doubled up, sir. Request permission to take the brow from the dock?”

  “Permission granted,” Captain Hinman said and as the portable gangway rumbled down from the dock to Mako’s deck Hinman walked aft to the Mako’s cigaret deck and swung himself nimbly down to the main deck. He stood at the foot of the gangway as Rhodes supervised the securing of the brow lines. Admiral Nimitz put one foot on the gangway and paused.

  “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

  “Welcome aboard, Admiral,” Hinman said. Admiral Nimitz went down the gangway, pausing to salute the flag and the quarterdeck. He held out his hand and took Hinman’s square fist and pumped it.

  “Well done, Captain! Fine patrol!” He looked up at the side of Mako’s Conning Tower where three small flags had been painted, two of them Japanese merchant shipping flags, white with a red ball in the center, the other the Rising Sun warship flag of the Japanese Navy.

  “Fine patrol!” the Admiral repeated. “Damned fine shooting!” He turned and nodded toward the pier and a stream of officers began to move down the gangway to Mako’s deck.

  “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Captain,” the Admiral said. “If you’ll excuse me I see an old friend and the Chief of Staff wants to talk to you.”

  Captain Severn came down the gangway with his staff at his heels. He nodded curtly at Hinman and stood to one side as his staff, led by Commander Bob Rudd, lined up to shake hands with Hinman. Chief Rhodes moved into the group and saluted Hinman. “Request permission to release the crew from quarters and to take mail and fresh fruit aboard, sir,” he said.

  “Permission granted,” Hinman said. He turned to Captain Severn.

  “My crew will be ready for transportation to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel at your convenience, sir. My officers and Chief Petty Officers are at the disposal of the Relief Crew Officers for consultation on repairs requested, sir.”

  “Transport to the hotel will be provided at twelve hundred hours,” Captain Severn said. “Uniform of the day is clean undress whites, white hats and shined shoes. Arrangements have been made to feed the crew its noon meal at the hotel. I want the reports of materiel performance and damage in the Wardroom in ten minutes for the Relief Crew Officers and Chiefs.” Hinman turned to Mike Brannon:

  “Mr. Brannon, I want a clean sweep down fore and aft. Tell the Chief of the Boat to have the crew topside at eleven hundred hours and forty-five minutes in clean undress whites and white hats. With shined shoes. Division Officers and Chiefs will have their damage and repair reports in the Wardroom in five minutes.” He followed Captain Severn as the older officer walked to the gangway. Severn turned, his mouth set in a grimace, his eyes flinty. Hinman followed Severn’s eyes and saw Admiral Nimitz in deep conversation with Chief Dusty Rhodes.

  “The Chief of the Boat served with the Admiral, sir,” he volunteered. “They’re old friends.”

  “Admirals and Chiefs of Staff have no friends, Captain,” Severn snapped. “When the Admiral leaves the ship you and your Executive Officer will report at once to my office. It’s only a short walk from here.” He turned and left the ship, followed by his Staff officers. Hinman waited patiently until Admiral Nimitz and his aide walked up to the gangway. The Admiral looked at Hinman.

  “Results count in war, Captain. Never forget that. I don’t.” He shook hands again and went up the gangway. Hinman went in search of Mike Brannon.

  A Chief Yeoman was waiting at the door of Captain Severn’s office.

  “Sir,” he said to Captain Hinman, “Captain Severn would like to see you alone, first. Mr. Brannon is to wait out here with me.” Hinman nodded and went into the office, removing his hat and tucking it under his left arm. He walked with measured stride to the desk where Captain Severn was sitting and came to a halt.

  “You should not be misled by Admiral Nimitz’s cordiality,” Severn began. “The Admiral is very aware of what he calls public relations.” He stopped and drew a deep breath and Hinman saw there were beads of perspiration on the pale forehead of the man sitting back of the desk.

  “You deliberately disobeyed my orders!” Severn’s words came out like a whiplash. “You not only disobeyed my orders, you had the audacity to broadcast your disobedience to the entire Fleet! Who do you think you are, sir!”

  Hinman stood silent, his cold eyes staring at the ashen face of the man in front of him.

  “You will answer when addressed, sir!” Severn’s voice was vibrant with the emotion he was concealing.

  “With all due respect, sir, I was sent to sea with a weapon which my past experience convinced me was defective.”

  “Who gave you the authority to sit in judgment on any weapon? Who gave you the authority to follow your own inclinations? Who gave you the authority to broadcast your actions, your damned disobedience, sir, to the entire Fleet, to the enemy?” Captain Severn’s bony forefinger began to tap the top of his desk. The faint noise made by the tip of his fingernail hitting the wood of the desk sounded to Captain Hinman like the slow beat of a distant drum, a drum that was heralding his march to the scaffold of disgrace.

  “I offer no excuses, sir,” Hinman said. “I thought I was being constructive, that if I achieved positive results my actions would clear the way for what every submarine commanding officer knows is a necessary modification of the Mark Six exploder mechanism, sir. If my disobedience failed to get results I was, and am, prepared to take the consequences.”

  Severn stood up, the muscles on the sides of his lean jaws working convulsively. He walked past Hinman to his office door.

  “Chief, bring Mr. Brannon in. Stand by to record my comments when you are given the word.” He walked back to his desk and sat down. The Chief Yeoman seated himself at a small desk over on the side of the office and uncapped his pen and opened a notebook.

  “Captain,” Severn began, “Admiral Nimitz and his staff will pay another visit to your ship at twelve hundred hours to award submarine combat pins to your officers and crew. You will be in dress white uniform without sword, as will your officers.” He turned to the Chief Yeoman.

  “You will record my orders as of now:

  “Acting as Chief of Staff, Submarine Command, Pearl Harbor, I hereby notify you, Lieut. Comdr. Arthur M. Hinman, United States Navy, that as of thirteen hundred hours on this date you are relieved of command of the U.S.S. Mako for reason of direct disobedience of orders!” He turned his bleak face toward Mike Brannon.

  “As Chief of Staff, Submarine Command, Pearl Harbor, I hereby notify you, Lieut. Comdr. Michael P. Brannon, United States Navy, that you are officially relieved of all duties aboard the U.S.S. Mako as of thirteen hundred hours this date for reason of failure to officially protest your Commanding Officer’s direct disobedience of published orders.

  “You will both report to Commander Rudd’s office at once for further assignment. That is all.”

  Hinman’s lips thinned against his teeth and his body tensed and then he felt Brannon’s heavy arm pressing against him. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them, staring past Captain Severn’s head at the air conditioner in the room’s window.

  “Permission to leave, sir,” he said in a thick voice.

  “Granted!” The harsh planes of Severn’s face began to work. “Leave! Get out of my sight, damn you!”

  Commander Rudd’s office was empty of its normal complement of a dozen hard-working officers and yeomen when Hinman and Brannon entered. Rudd jumped to his feet and closed the door to the corridor. He got clean cups from a cupboard and poured coffee.

  “Sit down, relax, damn it!” Rudd lounged back in
his chair, rubbing his chin. “Old Iron Ass must have chewed you up pretty good! Both of you looked like you’d been hit with a five-inch shell when you walked in my door!” He raised his coffee cup in a mock salute.

  “I figured he’d do something like that. He’s been eating himself up inside ever since you sent your patrol action report and he realized that every skipper in the Fleet was laughing at him! You had a good chewing out coming, Art. Damn it all, I taught you better than that!”

  Hinman sat rigid in his chair, holding his coffee cup in both hands, his face set.

  “Oh, come on!” Rudd said. “I’m not mad at you, for Christ’s sake! Relax, man! It isn’t as bad as you think it is!”

  “What isn’t as bad as I think it is?” Hinman said. He could feel the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes and he blinked rapidly. “Losing my ship isn’t bad? What could be worse? Getting shot at dawn?”

  “I think old Iron Ass entertained that idea,” Rudd said with a broad smile. “If you’d been at that Staff meeting where we all read your contact and action report I think he’d of hung you to the nearest yardarm if he could have found one and if he couldn’t he would have ordered up a firing squad!

  “The only thing that stopped him was a new guy we had on the staff, came aboard a couple of months ago. A Reserve they sent to us to do public relations, whatever the hell that is. The dude’s name is Ben Butler and he used to be the editor of a big newspaper in Chicago.

  “This dude Butler spiked old Iron Ass’ guns like I never saw anyone’s guns get spiked before! He didn’t leave old Iron Ass sea room to turn around in! And he did it so damned smoothly!” He leaned back in his chair and described the Staff meeting at which Captain Severn had ordered Mako home. As he talked he noticed that Hinman was beginning to relax, to sip at his coffee. When he had finished he grinned at Hinman.

  “So that’s the deal and it isn’t so bad, actually.”

  “Well,” Hinman said slowly, “I certainly owe this man Butler my thanks and I want to thank him personally. But it’s still nothing to be happy about, Bob. I’ve lost my ship! And with that letter in my service jacket my career is ruined! I’ll never get command again! And what’s worse, I’ve ruined Mike’s career!”

  “Don’t blow your damned ballast tanks so soon!” Rudd growled. “Item one: I’ve got a Chief Yeoman in this office who is the best damned man you ever saw at losing things like the letters that Captain Severn writes! We’ve had to do it two or three times. My God, do you think I’m going to let that iron-assed old bastard ruin the career of a man who’s only fault was that he fought the enemy? Bullshit! How do you think I could handle Mike’s transfer if that damned letter was in his record?”

  “Mike’s transfer?” Hinman’s eyebrows went upward.

  “To new construction, Portsmouth,” Rudd said. He opened his desk drawer and took out a thick envelope.

  “Here you are, Captain Brannon. You take over the U.S.S. Eelfish. She goes in commission in eight weeks. You’ll be short of shakedown cruise time, so work your ass off when you get there because we need every damned submarine we can get our hands on. The damned Jap is getting very good at sinking our ships.”

  He stood up back of his desk and stuck out his big hand. “Shake hands, Mike. Accept my congratulations, you deserve them. Anyone goes to sea under someone I trained deserves to be patted on the back! I only wish I could cut some orders for myself and take out a boat but Nimitz says I’m too senior and that he needs me around.” Rudd turned to Hinman.

  “Damn it, Art. Could I cut orders for Mike to take over a new boat if that shitty letter was in his service jacket? The letter is going to be taken out of both your jackets, don’t worry about it. Come up into the fresh air and start breathing again!” He turned to Mike Brannon.

  “You remember Riley Morrison? He was a class or two ahead of you, I think. Riley had the Eelfish, new construction. He had a heart attack ten days ago, maybe it was two weeks, I forget. He’s going to be all right but he won’t be going to sea again for a long time. So you get the Eelfish.”

  Brannon’s face was working strangely as he tried to keep the tears from spurting out of his eyes.

  “I thank you, Bob, jeez! I mean, what can I say? It’s going to be great....” His voice trailed off and his eyes took on a stricken look.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Rudd boomed. “You aren’t leaving tomorrow! I don’t want Gloria banging me on the head with a shovel! You’ve got about eleven or twelve days before you have to leave.” He turned back to Hinman.

  “You, old friend, ain’t got that much time. We’re getting you out of here in forty-eight hours, as per Captain Severn’s orders!”

  “I don’t mind leaving in a day or two,” Hinman said. “I’ll be glad to get away from Captain Severn. But I don’t know if I like the idea of going on this tour, Bob. I could make a damned fool of myself.”

  “You listen to me, Art,” Rudd leaned both arms on his desk, his beefy face stern.

  “I was going to let Ben Butler tell you this himself but I guess I’ve got to do it now.

  “Butler’s been pulling strings. He’s got so much influence in Washington that it scares me! Your first stop on this bond tour is at the White House. FDR is going to shake your hand in front of the newsreel cameras and call you a damned hero — which you and I know you ain’t, you’re just a helluva good submariner — but nobody else knows that so you’ll be a hero on every newsreel in every theater in the country and overseas.”

  “President Roosevelt?” Hinman’s voice was shaky.

  “The Man,” Rudd said. “The way Butler figures it is this: If FDR puts his arm around you, and pats you on the back can Captain Severn block you from another command? Figure it out, old Severn wants to be an Admiral so much that he wouldn’t dare!

  “That’s one angle. I’ve got another. Butler says that when you get to the White House, FDR will want to sit down and talk to you privately. Right then is when you can drop a bug in his ear about the defective exploders and torpedoes. You get the picture?”

  “It’s politics,” Hinman shook his shoulders. “In the end it all comes down to politics and I don’t like politics! But I see your point, Bob. It could do some good. If that man in Washington pushes a button then things should get done.”

  “It finally gets through your thick head,” Rudd said. He turned to Brannon. “Butler’s got a little thing cooked up for you, too. You’ll be interviewed after you get to Portsmouth. He’ll brief you on that but from what he’s told me your line is going to be that you’ll hope that by the time you take the Eelfish to sea on a war patrol all the little things that go wrong in a war will be cleared up. There’s been leaks about bad torpedoes and that sort of thing so we don’t want to let too much get out. Butler will talk to you about that.” He walked around his desk and put his arm around Hinman’s shoulders.

  “Damn it, Art, I’m proud of the way you carried out that attack on that convoy! It reminded me of the old days when we’d sit in the Wardroom and talk about tactics and how a submarine should be used. You used to agree with me in those days, follow my judgment. Do that now. Take it easy on this damned bond tour, it’s only for a few weeks. Ride with the sea. Don’t make any waves.” He walked the two men toward the door of his office and into the corridor and to the front door of the building.

  “After Nimitz gives out the medals this noon.” He stopped, his grin spreading all over his face.

  “Old Iron Ass didn’t say anything about medals, did he? I knew the son of a pup wouldn’t! Well, Nimitz is giving you a Navy Cross, Art, and he’s giving Mike a Silver Star! We can’t have a hero without a fucking medal, you know! FDR will repeat the medal-giving on camera, as Butler says.” He laughed out loud.

  “Art, you’ve got a lot to learn about how things are done on shore. You’ve been at sea too damned long. Where was I? Yeah. When Nimitz is all through I’ll have a car and a driver at your gangway. I want you and Mike to come to lunch with me. Butl
er will be there.”

  “I want to thank Butler,” Hinman said slowly, “but there’s something else I want to do as soon as I can.”

  “I know,” Rudd’s booming voice went soft. “Lunch won’t take long and the car and driver will be waiting. Now get your asses out of here, you’ve got about an hour before Nimitz comes aboard and if I know you, Art, it will take that long for you to find your white shoes!” He watched the two men go down the steps and enter the rear seat of the car waiting for them. He crooked a finger at the car’s driver and the man came up the steps to him.

  “Take Captain Hinman and Commander Brannon to the Mako,” he growled. “Stand by there until the Admiral leaves. Then bring both of them to the O-Club. Get your chow while they eat and then stand by. And don’t forget this: When Captain Hinman gets out of the car at the cemetery you get out and take a walk! You understand?” The driver saluted and trotted down the steps. Commander Rudd watched the car pull away and went back into his office and his paper work.

  Chapter 8

  Chief John Barber climbed out of the Engine Room hatch on the after deck and picked his way forward through crew members who were sitting and squatting on deck, reading their mail and chewing at apples and oranges that had been brought aboard. He saw Dusty Rhodes standing up near the bow and walked up to him.

  “Saw you talking with Nimitz,” Barber said. “He say anything about the patrol, what you did to the exploders?”

  “No,” Rhodes said. “He asked about June and the boys. Told me to be sure to tell her to call his office or his wife if they need anything, any help.” He took a sip from the coffee cup he was holding and offered it to Barber, who turned it so he could drink from the other side of the cup.

  “That all he said?” Barber asked.

  “He did ask me if I’d go back to sea with Captain Hinman,” Rhodes said slowly. “Told me I didn’t have to answer that question if I didn’t want to, said he was just trying to get some information from an old shipmate.”