“Lieut. Joan Richards, the WAVE, will meet us after the press conference. I sent her copies of the speeches I wrote for you and she’ll probably have nasty things to say about the way I write.”
“You wrote speeches for me? When?”
“When you were on your way back to Pearl,” Butler said. “I wrote ten speeches. Bob Rudd went over each one and corrected the technical mistakes I made about submarines. I made quite a few of those,” he grinned.
“All of the speeches say the same thing, basically. Some are tailored for wealthy business groups, some for Veterans’ organizations, that sort of thing.
“We’ll be in Washington tomorrow and after that’s over I leave you. Joan will go with you to New York and you’ll get the key to the city or some other damn fool thing and make two speeches there and hold press conferences. Then you go to Chicago and the Mayor is going to roll out the red carpet. Motorcade from the airport, parade up State Street and two speeches there with press conferences afterward. You’ll be staying in the Palmer House. I think it’s got the best food in the city. I don’t know the rest of the itinerary; Joan will have that. All I know is that you wind up talking to workers in aircraft factories.”
“What the hell does a submariner say to people who make aircraft?” Hinman grumbled.
“You inspire them,” Butler said, smiling. “You tell them that if they turn out good planes for the war in the air you’ll do your part by winning the war underseas.”
“Oh, bullshit!” Hinman said.
“Agreed,” Butler said. “But that’s what the people want to hear, what they need to hear. It may turn your stomach but I know that it will make a lot of people happy and it will raise money. Wars run on money just as much as they do on oil, maybe more so.”
The Dakota’s crew met Hinman and Butler as they walked to the steep little stairs that had been let down from the side of the plane. A young Army Air Force Captain with a smudge of new mustache on his upper lip stepped forward.
“I’m Captain Fredericks, sir. This is First Lieutenant Daniels, my co-pilot, and Master Sergeant Broker, our engineer. We’re honored to have you aboard, sir.” He grinned, showing a little-boy gap between his two upper front teeth.
“You’ll forgive me, sir, but you look awfully young to be the C.O. of a big submarine.”
“You look too young to fly this aircraft,” Hinman replied.
“Tricks to all trades, I guess,” Captain Fredericks said cheerfully. “As soon as your luggage is aboard we’ll leave. We’ll be making two fueling stops on the way to Washington. Our ETA is zero eight hundred tomorrow, sir.”
Walking up the sidewalk toward the White House steps Butler tugged gently at Hinman’s sleeve.
“Don’t look, don’t stare at his legs,” he whispered. “Just keep looking at his face.”
“What are you talking about?” Hinman said.
“The President is crippled. I guess a lot of people don’t know that. He had polio when he was thirty-nine, about twenty years ago. The reporters never mention it, the photographers never take pictures of his legs or his wheel chair.”
A Navy Lieutenant with a gold aiguillette draped from his shoulder met them at the door of the White House and escorted them down a long hall past the grand staircase and to the President’s office. As they walked down the hall of the old building, Hinman could feel the aura of power that seemed to be everywhere. He marched into the President’s office and stood at attention in front of a massive desk that had a small American flag on one corner and the Commander-in-Chief’s flag on the other.
The face of the man sitting in back of the desk was familiar, he had seen it scores of times in newsreels, magazines and newspapers. The massive head looked larger in real life than it did in the pictures and the heavy shoulders beneath the fabric of the blue suit bulged the cloth. The President’s eyes were clear behind his rimless glasses and his cigaret holder was cocked at a rakish angle in his wide mouth. He stretched a hand across the desk and Hinman, responding to Butler’s nudge, stretched his own hand across the desk and was surprised at the iron grip of the older man’s fingers.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” the President said in his sonorous, rolling tones. Ben Butler smiled. The Old Man was giving them the full treatment, using the measured cadences he used in press conferences and in his fireside chats on radio.
“I am particularly pleased to meet you, Captain Hinman. As for Ben, well, one cherishes old and honored adversaries.” He waved a big hand spotted with the brown marks of advancing age at two chairs that stood against a wall. He propelled his wheel chair from behind his desk and rolled to a stop in front of the chairs. A sudden upward jerk of the cigaret holder clamped in his mouth brought his Naval aide to his side.
“Coffee for all of us, if you will, sir.” He swiveled the chair slightly to face Hinman. “Now, Captain, tell me about this running sea battle you waged against the Japanese destroyers and the oil tankers they were guarding. From what Ben wrote me it appears that you used your submarine in a most unorthodox manner.” The massive head lifted and Hinman saw that the President’s eyes were not focused on him but on something very far away.
“I was an Assistant Secretary of the Navy, you know.” The President’s voice was soft. “In ‘Thirteen, Nineteen-Thirteen under President Wilson. Before this.” His big right hand gently touched one of his withered thighs. He straightened in his chair and his eyes focused on Captain Hinman.
“Tell me, Captain, about your action in your own words. I understand ship-handling terminology.” He listened intently as Hinman spoke and when he had finished he leaned back in his wheel chair, his clear eyes studying Hinman.
“It is an axiom, Captain,” the President said, “it is an axiom that generals always fight the war they find themselves in with the tactics of the last war they fought. The French Maginot Line is a perfect example of World War One thinking. The French generals assumed the Germans would attack frontally. They did not, they outflanked the Maginot Line and left it, a monument to outdated strategy!” He paused and eyed Hinman.
“Would you say, sir, that our Admirals have built a Maginot Line of sorts in their orders to submarine commanders on how to fight this war?”
Hinman felt rather than saw Butler’s sudden tension. “I cannot say that, sir,” he said. “I can say that none of us, high command or submarine commander, has ever fought a submarine war. My reasoning, sir, is that you have to feel your way, to find tactics that will work. Then you analyze those tactics and use what is good. When I was an Executive Officer in peacetime I had a Captain who thought that way. After we had gone through a battle exercise we’d sit down and try to figure out how we could have done it better.
“One of the things we always talked about was the feasibility of a night surface attack. We were never allowed to use that tactic then, we are forbidden to use it now.”
“So you took it upon yourself to disobey orders?”
“I did, sir.” Hinman realized that he was making an effort to face the magnetic eyes of President Roosevelt, to resist the feeling of immense power that radiated from the man in the wheel chair.
“By Heaven, I’m glad you did!” The President’s meaty hand slapped the arm of his chair. “Not only did you sink ships, you have also upset some of the old fogies who run our Navy!” He reached for his coffee cup and eyed Hinman from over its rim.
“Do you know about the Graf Spee, Captain?”
“The German pocket battleship, sir? I know her Captain was ordered to scuttle his ship rather than take her out to sea to fight a superior British force.”
“Would you have obeyed those orders if you had been her commanding officer?” The President’s voice was very soft.
“No, sir! I would have gone to sea to fight!”
The President smiled. “Winston told me he would have shot any British Captain who scuttled his ship rather than face the enemy!” The big head canted to one side, the cigaret holder jutting out like the bowsprit of an old sail
ing man-of-war. “I cannot officially condone your disobedience of orders, Captain, but I can say this to you sir: My mind goes back in history to Commodore Perry at the Battle of Lake Erie, one hundred years before I became an Assistant Secretary of the Navy. Perry sent a message, ‘We have met the enemy and they are ours!’ That message cheered a beleaguered young nation. In a smaller way the story of your ship action did the same thing. After Pearl Harbor, the loss of the Philippines, we needed something to prove that we are a nation of seafarers, that the enemy can be beaten with determination and courage.
“That’s why I agreed to Ben’s plan to have you make a tour to not only sell War Bonds but also to let the people who build our weapons see you, to see a man who took his ship among the enemy and destroyed that enemy! Now there is one more item before we finish; Ben wrote a long letter outlining some things he said were of great concern to you, and to other submarine captains.”
“Well, sir,” Hinman said hesitantly, “one thing is personal; I’d like to go back to sea in command of a submarine.
“What concerns me, all of us, most, is the failure of the Mark Six exploder. Theoretically, this is an ideal weapon. It needs a lot more work, there’s a flaw in the design. If the people who designed the exploder would admit that, we’d have a superior weapon.” He paused.
“The last thing is, well, delicate. I think that too many of our submarine commanders are too senior in rank.”
“Too old?” the President said softly.
“Maybe, sir. I think they’re too cautious. I think that we should be using our submarines as offensive weapons, not defensive ships. Until the surface battle fleet is rebuilt the submarines are all we have.” He sat back, his face stiff. He’d said it, brought up the deficiencies of age to a man far older than any submarine commander.
“Point number one,” the President said calmly. “You can be sure of a submarine command when the bond tour is finished.” He looked at his aide. “Make a note of that, sir.
“Point number two. I will let it be known that I am distressed at the nonperformance of the exploder mechanisms. That will make a lot of people uneasy and I am sure the problem will be solved.
“Point three. You are out of order to suggest to your Commander-in-Chief that the wrong men command submarines!” The big face softened and there was a glint in the President’s eyes.
“There are many benefits that come with age, sir, as you will someday learn. But I acknowledge that in some areas we need the élan, the arrogance of youth. Your younger men will come to command soon enough; we have a vast program of new submarines to be built.” He turned to Butler.
“You have, I trust, instructed the Captain on how a press conference is conducted in the White House?”
“Yes, sir,” Butler said. “We will stand behind you and laugh at all your jokes.” Butler’s face was bland. The President cocked his head to one side, his eyes merry.
“You talk as if you were still a Washington columnist and you were getting ready to criticize me for running for another term.”
“Well you are going to do that, aren’t you?” Butler said.
“Of course I am!” President Roosevelt’s laugh boomed out in the office. “Of course I am! Now let’s show our friend to the people who call themselves the Gentlemen of the Fourth Estate.”
Captain Hinman barely remembered the details of the chaotic press conference. He was conscious of the big crowd of reporters, of the cluster of large microphones, the intensity of the lights that had been put in place for the newsreel cameramen. He recalled the President’s sonorous voice describing the details of Mako’s attack on the Japanese oil tankers and destroyers and how proud that he, the President of the United States, was to be able to introduce Captain Hinman to the people of the United States and the world. He remembered best the foolish questions that had been yelled at him.
“What did you think about, Captain, as you steered your small submarine into the enemy battle fleet?”
“Did you see a lot of dead Japs floating in the water?”
“Did you shake your fist and curse the enemy, Captain?”
“Did your crew cheer when they fired the torpedoes at the enemy ships, Captain?”
“What did it feel like, Captain Hinman, to have killed thousands of the enemy?”
He had answered the questions as briefly as he could, gently correcting the idea that he had sailed into the middle of a “battle fleet.” He had pointed out that merchant ships and oil tankers carried very small crews and that Mako’s action was a tiny piece in a giant jigsaw puzzle and that a submarine captain in battle is far too busy to think about cursing the enemy or shaking his fist, those things were done only in movies.
He recalled the dead silence that had fallen over the crowd when he had said the Japanese Navy was tough, efficient and a deadly fighting force. Then he heard a sardonic voice from the crowd of reporters.
“Is what you are saying, Captain, is that we shouldn’t be in this war, that the enemy is too powerful for us? Is what you are saying is that we were sucked into this war by our leaders who are more interested in saving Britain’s neck than in taking care of our own people?”
“No,” he said carefully, “I am not saying that or anything like that. What I am saying is that I do not underestimate the enemy. The Japanese Navy is formidable. It can be beaten. It will be beaten. But I give my opponent the same respect as I think Joe Louis gives his opponents when he steps in the prize-fighting ring. I do not take the enemy lightly. I respect him. I do not fear him.” There had been a spatter of applause at that and then a voice saying, “Thank you, Mr. President,” and it was over.
Later, sitting in a hotel suite in downtown Washington, Hinman pulled the knot of his tie downward and undid the top button of his shirt. He reached for a sandwich and a cup of coffee.
“My God, Ben,” he said, “I can’t take this every day!”
“I don’t know why not,” Butler said. “You did pretty well.”
“Those questions are stupid, Ben! Do I shake my fist at the enemy and curse him! Did I see dead Japs in the water! What the hell do they think a submarine captain does in battle?”
“That’s the point, Captain. They don’t know what a submarine captain does at any time! I know some questions are stupid. Some reporters are stupid. But sometimes the stupid questions aren’t stupid at all, they’re designed to make you angry, to get you to say something you don’t want to say!
“I think you handled it very well. A little rough around the edges here and there but Joan will smooth those out for you. She ought to be here in a few minutes. We’ll go out to dinner after we’re through here; she was in the back of the room at the press conference, you know, so she could watch you at work. Before I forget it, you remember that guy who asked you if you thought we were in the war wrongly?”
Hinman nodded.
“You fielded that very well. I liked the reference to Joe Louis. Good copy for the reporters. The guy who asked you that question, incidentally, works for a publisher who thinks that Adolf Hitler’s anti-Semitic stand is the best thing that could happen to the world! He’d a lot rather see us on Hitler’s side than fighting the Germans. You’re going to get more of this as you go around; not everyone likes this war, as I’ve told you.”
“I don’t like the war,” Hinman said. “I don’t know how anyone could like a war if they’ve been in it. But the whole Congress of the United States voted to go into this war after the attack on Pearl Harbor!”
“You’re wrong,” Butler said. “The vote for a declaration of war against Japan was not unanimous in the Congress. One very honest, decent lady from Minnesota, Representative Jeanette Rankin, voted no on the declaration of war.
“And don’t forget this: The America First Committee did its best to defeat FDR in the election two years ago, in Nineteen-Forty. They believed that FDR was dragging the United States into the war in Europe by helping England. They almost did beat him, Wilkie got a bigger popular vote than FDR di
d, which of course meant nothing but it scared FDR. Hell, Charles Lindbergh was one of the most effective speakers against the war for the America Firsters!
“There’s quite a lot of sentiment against the war and you’ll run into it on this tour. Give reasonable answers to unreasonable questions. Never lose your temper. And remember this little slogan my favorite uncle used to use all the time. ‘Never get into a pissin’ contest with a skunk.’ ”
Hinman shook his head. “You ought to give seminars at Pearl, Ben. Tell some of our officers what people think about the war. I didn’t know some of those things you’ve told me. Maybe it would help some Academy officers understand our draftees and Reservists. God knows we don’t understand them now.”
“You can’t cram too much education down a naval officer’s throat,” Butler said cheerfully. “I told Captain Severn once, at a staff meeting, that in thirteenth-century India, according to Marco Polo’s diaries, a sailor was not allowed to testify in any legal matter or even to be a guarantor of anything because at that time it was believed that a man who went to sea was a man in despair!”
“I’ll bet Captain Severn loved that!” Hinman said.
“He asked me what Fleet this Marco whoever-he-was had commanded and what did that have to do with winning the war against Japan? I had to admit, not much. Hasn’t got anything to do with our situation either except I thought it would amuse you. Just don’t forget you’re going to run into some bastards but Joan Richards will be able to brief you on most of them. I think that’s her timid knock on the door,” he got out of his chair as the room door rattled under a second firm knock.
Hinman got to his feet, buttoning his shirt collar and cinching up his tie as Lieut. (jg) Joan Richards, WAVES, entered the room. He looked away politely as Joan kissed Ben Butler solidly and affectionately.
“Ben, you old bastard! You outrank me!” She turned to Captain Hinman. “Editors of newspapers always pull rank on people who work in public relations and he’s done that to me for years and now he’s got two-and-a-half stripes to my one-and-a-half and he’s done it again! You’re Capt. Arthur Hinman and I’m glad to meet you.”
Final Harbor (The Silent War Book 1) Page 13