“A good enough idea that it could have come from an officer, maybe?” Suplee asked jovially.
“Harry,” Johnson said seriously, “as far as I’m concerned, you’re a better officer than most, and you are my XO on this ship. That makes you an officer by default.”
“I already have my own cabin, so I guess that makes it official, then, eh Skipper?”
Johnson laughed. “That it does. I’ll sign the chit to give to you the pay raise this afternoon!”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with all that money, sir,” Suplee quipped.
“Blow it on booze and hookers!” Johnson said between guffaws.
“San Diego is a wild town…” Suplee said, and then his face darkened. A frown creased his face as he remembered his probably long dead, pregnant wife he’d left in that town so many years ago.
Johnson saw his reaction and immediately felt bad. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”
“It’s alright, Skipper. It’s long in the past now. That’s a distant memory for me,” Suplee said, not too convincingly.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine, Bill. I might want to go find my apartment, though, just to see, okay?”
“I think it’s more than okay, Harry. In fact, I insist you do it. As soon as we’re there and rested, we’ll go ashore and you do what you need to do.”
“Aye aye, Skipper,” Suplee said. “I’ll do that.”
“It’ll ease your mind, Harry. Do it,” Johnson said.
Much to Suplee’s relief, Mary came in from the wing bridge, interrupting their conversation.
“Would you men like some lunch?” she asked. “I baked bread this morning with some flour and yeast Holly gave us. I could make tuna sandwiches.”
“That would be great, honey. With everything going on this morning, food was the last thing on my mind,” Johnson said, and Mary came over and kissed him, then went below to the galley. Johnson felt a little embarrassed and the display of affection, and it showed.
“Don’t worry about it, Skipper. Really, I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I was a little jealous at first, when we got back to Pearl.”
“Everything has been so screwed up, Harry. I do understand I’ve been extremely lucky. I mean, the chances of both of us, Mary and I, actually surviving were a long shot at best.”
“But you did, and I’m happy for you. I do miss my wife sometimes, though I do understand. Maybe someday I’ll meet some exotic beauty in some port we sail into. For now, I’m extremely grateful to be off that goddamn hell ship, and to be sailing happily with you,” Suplee said. He walked back over to the helm and checked the compass.
“Are we still on course?”
“Aye, still on course, Bill. This thing works well, if I don’t say so myself.”
“We’re going to be on our toes for the entire voyage. With no radar, we won’t know what’s out there after dark.”
“That’s going to be the hardest part. Even after all these years, there still might be some hulk floating around out there.”
“True. And we won’t have the firepower like we did on the Hughes to deal with any we see.”
“Too bad these deck guns are just for show,” Suplee lamented, pointing to the 4-inch deck gun mounted on the forecastle. The O’Brian had two, one forward and one aft. It was an armed merchantman, and the deck guns were there to fire back at any attacking U-Boats. This was a museum now, and those guns, along with several 40mm and 20 mm antiaircraft guns mounted in armored recesses on the superstructure, where most probably ‘demilitarized’ and were only for show now. Suplee made a mental note to check them all out later once they got to San Diego. Maybe he might be able to get them firing, though he strongly doubted it.
“I know what you mean,” Johnson said. He sat down in the captain’s chair and looked over at his friend, who was still standing by the helm looking out to sea. “Why don’t you go below and get a nap in?” he suggested. “It’s thirteen hundred now; I’ll come down and get you at eighteen hundred, okay?”
“Sure thing, Skipper. I’ve been up since well before sunup. I’ll pop down to the galley first and grab a sandwich from Mary, and then I’ll turn in,” Suplee said, and departed the wheelhouse, leaving Johnson alone with his thoughts. He stood, took the binoculars, and walked out the port wing bridge. Standing at the railing, he brought them to his eyes and scanned the horizon in front of the ship, and seeing nothing but miles of gently rolling waves, sighed and let them drop.
He looked up at the smokestack, and saw the black smoke that had billowed out earlier was gone, replaced by a barely discernible stream of white smoke. He figured the burners had finally cleared themselves of the accumulated crud, and were most probably burning at their optimum performance. He imagined how that dark smoke would have made the skipper of this ship anxious indeed, back during World War Two. It would have been like a giant neon arrow to any U-Boat commander with a watchful eye in a periscope.
He then noticed, for the first time, that Suplee must have found a brand new American flag and hoisted it up on the mast sometime this morning, and that made him very happy indeed. There would be no Jolly Roger flying on this ship, he decided. And if it did, it would be over his dead body. Johnson saluted the banner, then entered the wheelhouse again, walking up to the helmsman’s station and checked the compass. It was still holding course, give or take a few degrees, and that was good enough for him. He sat back down in the chair, suddenly feeling very alone. He felt bad for Harry, and hoped someday he’d meet a nice woman. They’d become so much more than shipmates over the last few years, and he felt he was more like family to him than anything else.
His thoughts were broken by young Billy, who came bounding into the wheelhouse with excitement that only a child could exude. He was followed by Mary, who was carrying a plate with a tuna sandwich in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. Johnson took the offered meal, setting the plate down on the arm of his chair.
“Thanks, honey. I sent Harry down to get some sleep.”
“I know, he stopped into the kitchen and told me before he took a few sandwiches with him.”
“It’s a galley, babe,” Johnson corrected.
“I know, silly. I almost fell coming up the stairs, too. I’m not used to this,” she replied, poking him in the arm.
He winked at her. “Don’t have your sea legs, eh?”
“I don’t know how you get used to this,” she said as Billy launched himself onto his father’s lap. Johnson let out an ‘oomph’ and ruffled the boy’s hair.
“Is my little sailor man enjoying the voyage so far?”
“I am! This is neat!” Billy exclaimed, and then pointed at the wheel, “Who’s driving the boat, Daddy?”
“I’ve got it on autopilot!”
He hopped off Johnson’s lap and ran out of the door to the wing bridge, and alarm flashed over Mary’s face as the fearless boy fearless started to climb on the railing.
“Get down off there this instant, young man!” she scolded, and the boy, looking dejected, instantly complied. She turned to Johnson. “I swear he’s going to give me a heart attack!”
Johnson laughed. “He’s just being a kid and exploring.”
“William Johnson! Do you realize how far down that is?”
“Okay, okay!” he said, then looked at his son, “Billy, please don’t climb on the railings. Your mom is right, it’s dangerous.”
“Alright, Daddy,” the boy said, looking down dejectedly at the deck and reentering the wheelhouse. He immediately walked over the front windscreen and stepped up onto the cast-iron radiators, hoisting himself up so he could see out.
Mary stood next to Johnson at the captain’s chair and put her arm around him. He reached up and took her hand, looking into her eyes warmly.
“Thanks for the food, it’s great,” he said, after swallowing few bites of his sandwich.
&nbs
p; “Can I do anything? I’d like to help more, if I can,” Mary offered.
“It’s going to be a long forty-eight hours. If you could keep the sandwiches coming, and keep the coffee urn filled, that would be fantastic.”
“So I’m the delegated kitchen wench now, am I?” she asked with a wry look.
“No, not at all,” he laughed. “If you want, I can start teaching you things here on the bridge, if you’d like.”
“I’d like to help any way I can.”
“Let’s start off with your first lesson,” he said. He told her about the helm, which she had a few terrifying moments on early that day, then the compass, the heading they were on, then the telegraph that sent signals to Mr. Nakamura in the engine room. It was a lot for her to take in, and she let him know.
“That’s alright. As long as you can steer the ship and keep her on course it’s a good start,” he assured her. “I don’t expect anyone to learn all this at once.”
He looked at the compass, and saw that they were now a few more degrees off course, so he unhooked the bungee cords and made the corrections, explaining everything while he did so. It took a few moments for the ship to come back to the right heading, and he had to agree with Harry, this thing was a pig to con, coming from the USS Hughes. Once back on course, he re-lashed the cords, and then checked the IVIS and the charts, then made a notation with a grease pencil, marking the time and position on it.
“Everything is going smoothly,” he said finally, tossing the grease pencil onto the chart table.
“Dad, Mom! Look!” Billy screamed.
Johnson turned to see what the boy was pointing to, and to his glee, saw a humpback whale break surface with a blast of white mist from its blowhole. It was only a hundred or so yards off the port beam, between the ship and the coast, several miles to the east.
“That is amazing, isn’t it?” he commented, and the boy just looked at his father and smiled in childlike wonder. All three watched the whale for a while, and then Mary took the boy by the hand, kissed Johnson, and departed below, leaving the man alone once again. He thought about the whale, and wondered how well they were actually coming back with no people to hunt them. He hoped that one day the ocean would again be filled with these magnificent creatures.
He finished off his sandwich and picked up the growler phone to call Nakamura in the engine room. The man answered right away, told Johnson that everything was running perfectly, and praised the former crew for taking such good care of the ship. Johnson let him know what the watch plans would be, and for him to get as much rest as he could, while keeping an ear out for the telegraph and growler phone at all times.
He hung the phone back into its cradle, settling into the high-backed captain’s chair. When he was in OCS he’d dreamed of his own command at sea, but this wasn’t even close to the ship he’d envisioned, and that made him laugh. Well, he thought, any command is better than no command. Still this isn’t any aircraft carrier or frigate, and never will be.
The next few hours went by uneventfully, and he only had to make minor adjustments from time to time to keep the lumbering ship on course. The weather held, and as the sun was low off the starboard side, he was relieved by Suplee. He gave a quick brief, noting everything he’d marked on the chart, their progress, where they were, and went below back to the rear of the bridge to his cabin where he kicked off his shoes, fell into the bunk and was immediately asleep.
The next twenty-four hours went by just the same, with the weather tuning nasty twelve hours out of San Diego. It wasn’t a particularly bad storm, but the fact that they had no working radar and were nearing the coast made everyone very nervous indeed. Both Suplee and Johnson stayed on the bridge, sailing the ship by the seat of their pants, and by the time they headed east, and then turned north into the channel with Cabrillo National Monument and Fort Rosecrans on the port side, North Island Naval Air Station on the starboard, they were all extremely tense. They had to round the air station, sail through a narrow channel that ran southeast between the North Island and the City of San Diego for two more miles before reaching the US Naval Base on the east shoreline.
They were only making enough speed to make headway as they slid close to the base, a hundred yards off the port side of the ship now, and Johnson gave the signal to Suplee, who was standing by at the anchor winch on the bow, ready to drop anchor. He gave the signal to Mary, who was standing at the telegraph to call Nakamura to stop the engines. This she did smartly, and as the vibrations from the engine through the deck stopped altogether the anchor splashed into the blue-green water of the harbor.
Suplee waved up to Johnson on the port wing bridge, and started to make his way aft along the deck, and Johnson let out an audible sigh of relief. He walked over to the telegraph, and rang Nakamura for reverse slow, and again the engine hummed to life, reversing ever so slowly, so the anchor would set on the mud of the harbor bottom. When he felt it grab, he again signaled ‘all stop’ and then called Nakamura on the growler phone to secure from operations. He gave the orders for the boilers to be shut down, but to keep the auxiliary units running for power in the ship.
That done, he cocked his soiled and faded cap back on his head, looked at Mary and smiled.
“Honey, we’re home!” he said. She came up, wrapped her arms around him, and held him tightly.
“I knew you could do it!” she said, kissing him hard on the lips.
“I’m glad you were sure,” he sighed, and hugged her close. “I just hope we did the right thing by coming here.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Skipper,” Mary said playfully.
Johnson took his binoculars and scanned the shoreline and the naval base for signs of life. He was tempted to let out a blast from the ship’s whistle, but decided not to. Not seeing anything outwardly amiss, he let the glasses fall from his eyes and stretched. He didn’t feel so bad now about the bird shit covering his new command, for every ship visible here in the port was in the same shape. Every muscle in his body screamed, and all he wanted now was twelve or more hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Suplee made his way back up to the wheelhouse at this time, and he smiled broadly at Johnson when he saw him.
“We did it, Skipper,” he said, coming over and shaking his hand.
“For a few minutes, I didn’t think we would. Coming out of that last starboard turn, she took forever to respond, and I thought for sure we were going to slam right into the municipal piers,” he said.
“I had all the faith in the world in you, Skipper.”
Johnson smiled again, and looked around at his tiny crew. Nakamura, looking tired, dirty, and disheveled, came into the wheelhouse then, showing off his perfect pearl-white teeth.
“Mistah Johnson! You did it!” he said, bowing slightly. Johnson took his hand and shook it.
“I know it’s been a trying voyage, but if you could, Harry, help Mr. Nakamura secure the ship. I’m going to take a long shower and get some sleep. When you’re done, break open the booze and throw yourselves a party or sleep, or drink until you pass out. I’m going to go and slip into a coma.”
“Aye, Skipper!” Suplee said, taking Nakamura by the arm and heading out into the ship.
Johnson looked at Mary and smiled tiredly.
“You look horrible,” she said. “Go and get some sleep. I’ll make some food for everyone, and look in on you later.”
“As long as I look as bad as I feel, I must be still alive,” he said, trying, and failing to make a joke. He looked out at the setting sun, now sinking below the horizon, silhouetting the Naval Amphibious Warfare base. He plodded to his cabin, kicked off his shoes, and fell face first onto the tiny bunk, where he fell fast asleep.
True to his word, exactly twelve hours later, Johnson woke with a start. He was slightly disoriented, then remembered where he was. He took a towel and walked off to the head, where he relieved himself, then stripped and took a luxurious, long, hot shower. After finally turning the water off, he stepped out of th
e tiny shower stall, dried off, and donned a pair of running shorts, then headed below to scare up some coffee.
He could feel the hum of the generator humming below decks, the slight vibration reassuring him that everything was in order. He stepped into the galley and over to the coffee urn that Mary had dutifully kept full during their short but intense voyage. Pouring himself a mug, he took a sip, wondering where everyone was.
It was like a ghost ship, and it was beginning to give him the creeps. He walked aft through the deserted crew’s mess, and out onto the aft cargo deck into the bright morning sunlight. He saw that it was going to be another beautiful southern California day, like the ones he’d remembered so many years ago when he first was stationed here.
Again, seeing no one, he went back into the ship, and walked forward, back through the mess and onto the forward outside main deck. That was where he found everyone. They had their backs to him, and Mary, Billy, Suplee and Nakamura were all lined along the railing, looking out over the water at something he couldn’t see. In front of them lay the sprawling Navy base and several ships could be seen in front of them.
He cleared his throat. “Hey guys, are we sinking or something?”
At the sound of Johnson’s voice, Suplee almost jumped out of his skin, quickly turned, and looked at him with ashen skin, mouth agape. When he regained his composure, he let out a long breath that he must have been holding.
“Skipper, you scared the shit out of me!” Suplee said, his voice a few octaves higher.
“What’s going on?” Johnson asked in concern.
“You’d better come and see for yourself.” Suplee stepped aside to give Johnson some room on the rail. They were all looking down at the waterline, and Johnson let his gaze drop when he reached the rail. It was then his turn for his jaw to drop.
Some twenty feet below, right at the waterline, was a canoe, with three equally amazed faces staring right back at them. Johnson quickly regained his composure and called out to them.
“Ahoy! Who goes there?”
A man sitting at the stern of the canoe, paddle in hand, screamed, “Jesus Christ on a crutch! They are real, Steve!” and looked up at the ship’s crew above them. “Ahoy!” he shouted. “Are we ever glad to see you guys!”
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