Final Harbor (The Silent War Book 1)

by Harry Homewood

Barber eyed Rhodes. “And?”

  “I told him I’d go to sea with the Skipper as quick as I’d go to sea with him. He said that was all he wanted to know. I kind of think he wanted to hear that.” Rhodes looked up the pier and saw a bow-legged Chief Warrant Officer rolling down the pier.

  “Well, here it comes,” he said to Barber. “That’s Gimpy Haines, the Chief Warrant in charge of the exploder shop on the Base. I had him as a Chief of the Boat once, a long time ago. Hard son of a bitch but usually pretty straight. He’s probably heard we did something to those exploders and he wants to get the story from me before his people start unloading fish.”

  “See you later,” Barber said.

  Haines boarded the Mako and walked up the deck to Rhodes, who stuck out his hand and greeted him.

  “Heard you had a pretty good patrol,” Haines said.

  “Pretty good,” Rhodes answered. “The shop gave us good fish. No trouble with them at all. The six we fired all ran perfectly. Fired two at a tanker and got two hits. The ship exploded. Fired two at another tanker and got one hit. That ship blew up. Fired two down the throat at a DE and got one hit. Blew the bow off the DE. Sorry that your people have got to take eighteen fish back. If we’d stayed out there the Old Man would have fired the whole load.”

  “And we never would have known what you did to those damned exploders, would we?” Haines smiled crookedly.

  “I wouldn’t say that. The Old Man wrote it all up in his patrol report. He asked me to make a special report on what I did and that’s in my report on the torpedoes.”

  “You got what, close to twenty years in now?” Haines looked away from Rhodes.

  “Nineteen last month,” Rhodes said.

  “Hell of a chance to take, disobeying a BuOrd directive,” Haines said. “Whole nineteen years could go down the slop chute.”

  “I acted on orders from the Captain.”

  “Makes two of you don’t give a shit about your careers,” Haines rasped. “Or was there more than two of you in this?”

  “Ginty, the First Class in charge of the Forward Room, helped me work on the exploders,” Rhodes said. “He’s a damned good man. The Old Man asked us what we thought was wrong with the exploders and we both said we didn’t know. So he ordered us to try and find out. We found out what was wrong and we fixed it.”

  “This man Ginty around?”

  Rhodes looked down the deck and saw Ginty standing near the Conning Tower, eating an apple. He beckoned and Ginty came padding up to the two men.

  “Mr. Haines, Ginch Ginty, S-Boat sailor, Asiatic Fleet before he came to Mako. Ginty, this is Chief Warrant Haines, the man in charge of the exploder shop on the Base.”

  Ginty nodded. Haines returned the nod.

  “Mind telling me what you did to the exploders?” Haines asked. “I’d like to know what kind of mess I’ve got when we pull those eighteen fish.”

  “No mess,” Rhodes said. “We deactivated the magnetic circuits of the exploders. Didn’t cut any wires, just disconnected the circuits to and from the capacitor and taped the leads. Then we did a modification to the exploder ring.” He took a deep breath.

  “Let me get something straight, Mr. Haines. Are we talking here unofficially? I mean, are we talking man to man like we used to when you were my Chief of the Boat and I ran your torpedo room for you?”

  “Unofficial all the way,” Haines. grunted. “What goes in my ear don’t come out my mouth. I just want the straight dope before all those hot-shots start fucking around. You know they flew some people all the way out from Newport Torpedo Station when they heard what you people had done? Once those experts begin talking and farting around I won’t be able to find out nothing so I want to know now.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Rhodes said. “All we did was to deactivate the magnetic circuits, like I told you. When we had the first exploder out on deck, we’d taken the fulminate of mercury cartridge out of it, we thought we’d see if the exploder ring would unseat if we rapped the edge of the exploder housing with a rawhide maul.”

  “Fucking exploder ring wouldn’t unseat when you took a full swing at the exploder with that maul!” Ginty rumbled. “Whoever designed that Goddamn thing ought to have their head examined! Too much spring tension in the ring to unseat so we relieved some of the tension. Fucked around with it, little by little, until we had it so it would unseat if you gave it a good rap.

  “There’s another thing you people ought to be worrying about. All these fish got those oversized warheads on ‘em. That’s gotta make the fish run deeper than they’re set to run. We told the Old Man about this and he figured we’re right so he set the fish we fired to run at four feet and we had targets that drew pretty good, maybe fifteen feet or more.”

  Haines nodded, his seamed face thoughtful. “We’ve been talking about depth settings at the shop. I just can’t believe that every skipper out there is a bad shot. The Chief in charge of the After Body Shop says he’s willing to bet a case of beer that the fish are running a lot deeper than they’re set to run.”

  “Why in the hell don’t you take a net and go out on the far side of the harbor and fire a fish with an exercise head on it and find out?” Rhodes said.

  “We’d like to do that,” Haines said. “But to do that I’ve got to have a submarine to fire from. Captain Severn says there’s nothing wrong with the torpedoes, that they’re running at the depth set. He used to be at Newport, you know, he’s one of the old Gun Club boys. He thinks the torpedoes are perfect and the fault is all with the skippers. I’m not so sure. What I’m waiting for is for one of the boats to come in with a malfunctioning torpedo tube. Then I’ll fire a torpedo out of the tube when it’s fixed and we’ll find out.” He stared at Rhodes and Ginty.

  “We aren’t fighting you people, you know. The Chief in the After Body Shop has got the net all ready, had it made at the Sail Locker and he’s got it stowed away. Soon as we can get the chance we’re gonna find out about how deep those fish run.”

  “While you’re waitin’ for that why don’t you put an exploder in an old exercise head and have a crane drop the son of a bitch nose down on the dock?” Ginty rasped. “I won’t bet you any case of cheap beer, I’ll bet a case of Schenley’s that the fucking exploder ring won’t upset when you drop that fucker twenty feet!”

  Haines nodded his head slowly. “You might have something there, sailor. I might do just that. Otherwise, it doesn’t look too bad to me.”

  “What do you mean?” Rhodes said, his voice flat.

  “You should know how the Navy operates by now, Chief,” Haines had a wry grin on his face. “There’s two ways to do everything. The right way and the Navy way. I’ve got orders to put those exploders you changed back the way they were. If you’ve only done what you said then it won’t be too much of a job.”

  “God Almighty!” Rhodes snorted. “If you do that they won’t work!”

  “I know that. You know that. But those are the orders I got from Captain Severn. See you around. I hope.” He turned and left.

  “Jeeesus!” Ginty breathed. “This fucking Navy Yard Navy! You goin’ to the hotel with us, Chief? We’re gonna throw a beer party this afternoon like you never saw!”

  “You don’t want me at your party,” Rhodes said. “I’ll drop by the hotel in a couple of days and buy you a brew. But thanks for asking me.”

  The awards ceremony on Mako’s salt-stained, slotted black wooden deck was brief. Admiral Nimitz pinned the Navy Cross on Captain Hinman’s high-necked white dress tunic and shook his hand. He moved to the line of officers and pinned a Silver Star on Mike Brannon’s chest and shook hands with each officer. One of the Admiral’s aides read a letter of commendation for Mako’s patrol run, a copy of which would be put in each crew member’s service record with a letter authorizing Mako’s crewmen to wear the silver Submarine Combat Pin, the insignia of successful war patrol. Then Admiral Nimitz moved slowly down the double line of sailors, shaking hands with each man, talking briefly t
o those he knew. As he left the ship two Navy Yard buses parked at the land end of the pier clanked into gear and began to move slowly down the dock. Mako’s crew, shouting and laughing, crowded aboard the buses and rolled off to two weeks of “R & R,” rest and recreation in the Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Waikiki Beach. Rhodes and Barber picked up their small duffel bags of shaving gear and began walking to the end of the pier where their wives had been waiting for the past hour.

  The table in the Officers’ Club where Captain Hinman and Mike Brannon sat while they waited for Commander Rudd and Ben Butler was conspicuous for its isolation. Word had flashed around the Submarine Base that Hinman and Brannon were being relieved for disobedience of orders. The officers entering the O-Club for lunch veered away from Captain Hinman’s table, taking tables as far away from Hinman and Brannon as they could find. There was a small stir in the room when Commander Rudd and Lieut. Comdr. Ben Butler entered the O-Club and went directly to Hinman’s table and sat down. After the introductions had been completed and coffee poured Captain Hinman went directly to the heart of the matter.

  “Will you be going with me on this bond-selling tour?” he asked Ben Butler.

  “Only as far as Washington,” Butler said. “I’ll be with you through the meeting with the President and the first press conference and then I have to come back here. I wanted to go the whole route but Admiral Nimitz decided I should get back here as soon as possible to help out Captain Severn.” He smiled. “Captain Severn doesn’t think I should come back at all or that he needs my help.” A waiter appeared and they ordered lunch.

  “You people who spend your lives at sea may not have paid much attention to the news,” Butler continued. “You’ve got women in the Navy now. They call them WAVES, Women Accepted for Voluntary Emergency Service. The first classes of officers and enlisted women graduated a few weeks ago.

  “A woman I know in Chicago, she works in public relations for a big advertising agency, got all full of patriotism and enlisted. They made her a Lieutenant, Junior Grade. She wrote me about her enlistment and her rank and when this thing began to shape up I figured she’d be just the person you needed on this tour so I asked a couple of guys in Washington to arrange it and they did. She’ll meet us in Washington.”

  “Why this one particular woman?” Hinman asked.

  “Let me put it this way, Captain,” Butler said. “There are some things I assume you don’t know about this war that I do know, as a newspaper editor.” He stopped and drew a little circle with his forefinger on the table cloth.

  “You’re a Naval officer, sir, the Captain of a submarine. How much do you know about the press? Not much, I’d guess and there’s no reason why you should. What you have to know is that a pretty fair section of the press, quite a few newspaper publishers, hate this war! They’re against President Roosevelt and they’re against what they call ‘Roosevelt’s War.’ ”

  “My God!” Hinman snapped. “This isn’t ‘Roosevelt’s War’ or whatever you called it! We were attacked! Look at that harbor out there! We were attacked, we didn’t declare war on anyone!”

  “I know that,” Butler said patiently. “You know that. But the people who are against this war blame the Japanese attack on President Roosevelt’s decision to give help to England in the war against Hitler. Those same people didn’t want us to give any destroyers or food or munitions or anything else to England.

  “What I’m saying is that not all the reporters who will be interviewing you will be friendly. Some of them will be out to trap you, to make you look foolish or what’s worse, dangerous!” He sat back in his chair, his eyes on Hinman.

  “Captain, you put me aboard your ship and I confess I would not know what to do. I admit that. Yet I’m a Lieutenant Commander. I would guess that I outrank most of your officers. But I’m not a Naval Officer, not at all. What I am is a damned good newspaper editor, a civilian, a Reservist doing what I can in this war.

  “If I were working for a publisher who was against this war, if I were against this war and I assure you that I am not, but if I were I could sit down to interview you and when I got through I’d have enough — taken out of context I admit — I’d have enough to make you look like a bastard in print!”

  He smiled softly. “Unless you knew what my real feelings were, where I stood. Then I wouldn’t stand much of a chance, would I? You’d be careful.

  “That’s why I want Joan Richards to be with you on this tour since I can’t go. Joan’s been around newspapers and reporters for years. She is a very smart broad. I mean smart! She knows the political leanings of every major publisher in this country and by the time we get rolling she’ll have a book on most of the others. All you’ll have to do is listen to her and I’d advise that you listen damned closely because she’s just as much an expert in her field as you are in yours. And she’s a hell of a good-looking woman, if that’s of any interest to you.”

  “That’s of no interest to me,” Hinman said. “I’ll accept your statements that there are people in our nation who are against the war. I’ve heard a few things about that. It makes me sick at the stomach but if that’s the way it is then that’s the way it is.

  “I’d like to say one thing, though, and I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Butler, because I appreciate what you have done for me so far. I still think that it might have been better if this business of the exploders had gone to a court-martial. Then it would have been out in the open and I, for one, wouldn’t be messed up in politics and newspaper reporters and things like that.”

  “You’re nuts!” Rudd said, leaning over the table top. “You go in front of a court-martial and who are you talking to? To a bunch of old fogies who think the same as Severn does! The Navy is never wrong, you know that! This is the best way. We save your ass and I think we should because in my mind you did the right thing and we get the word to old FDR that the war is being fucked up!”

  “All right,” Hinman said, his mouth setting in a thin line. “Now indulge me a little more. Mr. Butler, how in the hell is it that you have so much influence? Setting things up so that I meet with the President of the United States! Presidents talk to Admirals, not two and a half stripers!

  “How can you, sitting here in Pearl, arrange things so that you get a WAVE officer or whatever you call her assigned to go with me on this tour? The last time I tried to get a man I wanted for my own crew it took months of work! Yet you do this in a week or so!”

  “Captain,” Butler said slowly, “never forget one thing. All politicians are the same. That is, their first worry is to get re-elected. After they have done that then they think, sometimes they think, about doing what they promised the voters they’d do.

  “The President is a politician, one of the best. To get re-elected or even to get his programs through the Congress he has to have the support of the people. The easiest way to get that support is to first get the approval and support of the major newspapers, the support of their editors and editorial writers. That’s basic.

  “I’m the editor of a major newspaper, one of the largest in the country. Before I got that job I was the head of my newspaper’s Washington bureau. I met FDR then and I liked him. He’s a hellraiser. So am I. He liked me.”

  “Why?” Hinman asked.

  “I used to ask myself that same question,” Butler said. “And I came to the conclusion that he liked me because I used to attack him every once in a while. I wrote a column in those days that was widely syndicated. If I thought FDR was wrong I’d say so. I’d tear his ass off every once in a while and he loved it. He’s a cynic, you know, about politics. He knew I was a cynic and he sort of liked it because I didn’t kiss his ass.

  “You work in Washington long enough for a big enough paper, you write a column that pokes a finger in people’s eyes and you get well-known. Senators and Representatives come around and talk to you. The bureaucrats — and they’re the people who really run this country if you don’t know that — the bureaucrats feed you little bits of informa
tion. What happens is that in time you find yourself holding a lot of IOUs from a lot of people. All I did in this case was to call in two or three small IOUs, Captain. No big deal.”

  He paused and tapped the tablecloth gently with his finger.

  “What it boils down to, Captain, is that when I called in a couple of little IOUs I did it as Ben Butler, who is going to be the editor of that newspaper when this war is over.” He leaned back in his chair. “I did it without ever meeting you because Bob, here, said you were worth any effort I could make. Now that I’ve met you I’m glad I did it.”

  “You’re putting me in a tough spot,” Hinman said. “I want you to know I appreciate what you’ve done.”

  “You can show it by listening to Joan Richards,” Butler said. He smiled. “She sure as hell doesn’t look like a man but she thinks like one.”

  Hinman stood up. “I’ll be at your office tomorrow for the flight to the mainland.” He turned to Commander Rudd. “Bob, my deepest appreciation for all you’ve done for me. If it’s all right with you I’d like to borrow your car and driver now. Mike, can I drop you off at home on my way?”

  “If you don’t Gloria will beat on you,” Brannon said. “A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Butler. If you get back here before I leave here I want you to come out to the house for dinner, meet my wife and daughter.”

  Butler watched the two men walk out of the O-Club. He turned to Rudd.

  “Those are two very nice gents,” he said.

  “Hinman is tough,” Rudd said. “You can see that. But don’t be fooled by Mike Brannon. That Irishman may look easy and soft but he’s a fighter. When he takes over the Eelfish he’s going to be another Art Hinman and in this war that ain’t bad.”

  Chapter 9

  The two women waiting at the end of the pier for Dusty Rhodes and John Barber were a study in contrasts. June Rhodes was tiny, barely five feet tall with a slim, girlish figure. She was one of the Island people of mixed racial strains that so often produced women of exquisite beauty. In her veins ran the blood of the old Polynesians, of Japanese, Chinese, Hawaiians and white missionaries. The slight slant of her large, dark eyes gave a piquancy to the pale copper tones of her skin. Her hair was jet black, thick and luxuriant and hung to her waist, caught at the back of her neck in a simple clasp.