WHEN DUTY WHISPERS LOW (The Todd Ingram Series Book 3)

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  Sands said, “Tell us what you did.”

  “We moored in a nest outboard of you and rigged rat guards on our lines.”

  Ingram caught a gleam in Myszynski’s eye. Rigging large, circular rat guards is done when mooring to shore. Rigging rat guards on mooring lines to a ship nested alongside is a serious insult, even more so when the ship has an admiral embarked.

  Sands arched an eyebrow.

  Landa responded with, “We tried to send a man over to the beach for guard mail. But your quarterdeck watch wouldn’t let him pass because he wasn’t suited out in dress whites.”

  “That’s our policy.”

  “Even here? In a war zone?” Landa shot back.

  “That’s our policy.”

  Landa rubbed his chin. “Then, your chief machinist mate wouldn’t pass over the fresh water hose until he had your captain’s permission. Well, your captain made us wait while he took his evening mealBA

  “---wait a minute.” Sands held up his hands.

  “---and had a cribbage game. We had to wait for two and a half hours for fresh water. Now our evaps weren’t working at the time. We barely had enough water to run our boilers let alone cook our own chow, take showers and wash a suit of fresh whites.”

  “You can’tBA

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Rocko Myszynski interjected. “We’re not here to discuss rat guards.”

  “Very well.” Sands glanced at Ashton, then smiled thinly and sat back, his face masked in near-darkness.

  “Jerry, I’m sorry about your ship...” Myszynski offered.

  “Thank you. So am I, Commodore.”

  The three senior officers’ eyes flicked to Landa as the tiny pieces of paper accumulated at his feet. Myszynski puffed smoke and said, “All right. Please tell us what happened.”

  Landa’s voice shook as he relayed detail of the events leading to the Howell’s grounding on Mondo Mondo Island. At times, he lapsed into silence for ten or fifteen second intervals. Finally, he finished and sat back.

  Myszynski held up a hand. “How much sleep have you had, Jerry?”

  “Enough.”

  “Maybe we can do this later,” Myszynski said gently. “Go. Hit the rack.”

  Landa puffed his cheeks then shook his head. “Now...Sir.”

  Dexter Sands picked it right up with, “And your ship?”

  “What about it?” said Landa.

  To Ingram, Landa’s tone was insubordinate. And it must have seemed so to Admiral Sands, for he snapped right back, “I’m asking, Commander, what’s the status of your ship?”

  “Latest Dumbo report has her grounded on Mondo Mondo Island.”

  “I’m interested, Commander. Why didn’t you set demolition charges?”

  “I thought I just told you.”

  Myszynski, his face red, started to speak but Sands pressed, “Commander, I’m given to understand the weather this time of year is very pleasant at the Barstow Ammunition Depot in the California desert. Perhaps a little golf?” His eyebrows went up.

  “I’ll make you a deal Admiral. I’ll tell you about the demolition charges, if you tell me why we didn’t have air cover.”

  “Six Wildcats. That’s all we had against fourteen Zeros.” In the pale light, Admiral Sands face grew darker.

  “And you couldn’t carve out one or two Wildcats to send our way?”

  “I resent that!” Sands fist slammed on the desk.

  Myszynski shot to his feet. “Apologize, Commander Landa or by God, you will be counting empty shell casings in the California dessert.”

  “I...I...apologize, Admiral. It’s that I’ve never had a ship shot out from under me. All those men in the aft end. They never had a chance.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, his hands tearing more vigorously at the roster. Nearly half of the page lay in pieces between his feet. “I dream about them. I hear screams, I can’t...can’t...”

  “Very well.” Sands started to rise. “We can finish this later.”

  “Admiral, I’d like to get it done,” said Landa. He added, “...Sir, please.”

  Sands looked to Myszynski who nodded. After sitting, he said, “Very well. And the demolition charges?”

  Landa’s fists bunched.

  Ingram butt in, “Actually there’s is something you should know, gentlemen,”

  Landa turned, but Ingram pinched the top of his leg and said, “We set charges in the forward magazine and had them ready to go when the PTs showed up.”

  “Yes?” said Myszynski, sitting back, his arms folded.

  “We finished loading the first three PTs, then sent them on their way. When the forth PT made our portside, we sent our gunner’s mate forward to set fuses. That’s when the Jap destroyer showed up and started shooting.”

  “What about your gunner?” asked Sands.

  “Dead. A Jap sniper on Mondo Mondo got him.” Ingram searched the faces of the three stone-faced men, unable to gauge their reactions.

  The sound of aircraft rose in the distance. Instinctively, they looked to the overhead as general quarters was gonged throughout the ship.

  “Shit,” said Myszynski. Then he flipped off his lamp and muttered, “Sounds like a bunch of them tonight. Okay if we stay here? Admiral?”

  In the darkness, they sensed, more then saw a curt nod from Sands. And in the dark, Ingram felt their eyes flick back to him as bombs rattled around Tulagi, Finish it, you dope.

  “Okay Todd, I’llBA said Landa.

  Ingram kicked Landa’s leg. “Captain, please.” Ingram plunged on, “Delmonico, our gunnery officer, ran forward, finding Hardy dead. As he ran back to tell us, he was seriously wounded, possibly by the same sniper.”

  “Yes?” asked Sands.

  “Captain Landa asked Delmonico if Hardy had set the charges. Delmonico said he wasn’t sure and then he passed out. So Captain Landa refused to leave the ship untilBA

  “Damnit, Todd. That’s enough!” yelled Landa.

  “No, it’s not” Ingram shouted back.. “Lieutenant White told us, rightfully, to board; that his command, PT-72, was in jeopardy. Captain Landa refused to leave the ship until he determined the status of the demolition charges. Lieutenant White had actually started backing away. That’s when Lieutenant Offenbach and I reached out and grabbed Captain Landa’s arms. We yanked him aboard the PT boat at the last possible moment. A good thing too. Because the Howell took a direct hit in the forward boiler room just as we backed away. In my opinion, he would have been killed.”

  “Is that what happened, Jerry?” Myszynski asked.

  Landa shrugged. He turned the roster and absently began tearing at the other end as bombs crunched in the outer harbor.

  Quietly, Myszynski said, “Doesn’t surprise me. From what I’ve heard, you all acted above and beyond the call of duty. Those flag saving sailors of yours; what a marvelous thing. You must be proud of them.”

  “I am. I’d like to put them in for a medal,” said Landa.

  “Okay, write them up. And Jerry.”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  Myszynski nodded to the growing pile of paper at his feet. “Maybe you’d like your exec to have the crew roster for a while.”

  Sighs ranged through the office as Landa, his eyes unfocused, handed the page over to Ingram.

  “Commodore, could I ask a question?” It was Ashton.

  “Certainly.”

  “Commander Landa. Can you perhaps tell me about the performance of your proximity fuses?”

  Landa looked up sharply, dampness glistening on his brow. “We didn’t shoot proximity fuses.”

  Ashton’s mouth dropped. “Why not?”

  “I have my reasons.” Landa returned Ashton’s stare.

  A curious Ingram turned to look at Landa with the rest of them.

  “Would you care to share, your...reasons, with us, Commander?” asked Dexter Sands, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

  “All I can tell you is that they’re unreliable. Can’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

&n
bsp; A bomb slammed into the ocean a scant one hundred yards away raising a hissing geyser. In spite of their professional sangfroid, they dropped to the deck and curled up. After a moment, they looked at one another, realizing they were okay. Then they took their chairs, dusting themselves off, trying to act as if nothing had happened. Ashton asked, “Don’t you think that’s rather foolish?”

  Ashton’s right hand shook, Ingram noticed. But then, both of his hands were shaking.

  “Not at all,” said Landa. Another bomb burst further away. Their eyes ran around the compartment again, wondering if they should fall to the deck again.

  “The Griffith bagged a Val after you drifted into the squall, Jerry,” Myszynski said. “Admiral Sands’ cruisers and destroyers got seven of the twelve Vals that came after them. The wildcats got another three.”

  “Impossible,” Landa said.

  Ingram sat up straight. Come on Jerry The Admiral can’t be lying about that.

  Another bomb flashed on Tulagi.

  “They do work, Commander, I assure you.” said Ashton. “And had you used proximity fuses, your ship might be here tonight, instead of beached and broken up in some New Georgia backwater.”

  An image of Edgerton, drinking soup at the other end of the Howell’s wardroom table flashed through Ingram’s mind. Then, the image changed to an open-eyed, hopelessly dead Redding, laying on the same table surrounded by blood-spattered medics who couldn’t save him.

  “Impossible!” Said Landa, his voice up several octaves.

  Ashton shouted. “After we patiently instructed you on how to use them.”

  “Come on, you two,” Myszynski growled.

  The aircraft engines faded to the Northwest. Myszynski flipped on his desk lamp as the 1MC blared, “Secure from general quarters.”

  “Anything else?” Myszynski asked.

  Ingram found his own fists bunched as he studied Landa in the pale light.

  “I’m done,” said Sands.

  “That’s it for me, Commodore,” “Ashton said. “I have to get over to Cactus and catch a plane.”

  “You leaving us?” asked Myszynski.

  “Back to the States,” said Ashton.

  Myszynski said, “Give my best to Dinah Shore.”

  Ashton stood. “I surely will. Good evening, Gentlemen.” He walked out.

  “Me too, gentlemen. Good night.” Admiral Sands gave Landa a look, then followed Ashton through the door.

  Myszynski waited just five seconds for Sands footsteps to fade. He pointed his cigar at Landa and said with a deep menace in his voice, “Damnit. You’ve lived ten out of nine lives. Why the hell do you have to be so insubordinate?”

  “Ashton’s a fop. Dexter Sands is--”

  Myszynski smashed his fist on the desk, ashes tumbling off his cigar. “You’re not going to last in this man’s Navy pissing off captains and admirals. And you’ve pissed me off. Your conduct is something I won’t tolerate from any one in my outfit. Not even from one of my skippers!” His eyes glittered as he lowered his bald head, ready to charge, as if he were a 300 pound defensive guard, “Remember, Commander, there’s only one prima donna around here. And that’s me. No one else. Got it?” He jabbed his cigar at Landa.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ve stuck my neck out, covering up for you. Now those days are over. Do I make myself clear?” He puffed blue smoke.

  “Yes, Sir. “ Landa said.

  In the dark, it was impossible for Ingram to tell if Landa was contrite. Even if it were bright daylight, he knew that Landa’s face would be, by this time, a hollow-eyed mask.

  Myszynski continued, “All right, then. I want you to write up your action report and have it to me ASAP. I’m going to hold you here on my staff for a while just to muzzle and keep you out of sight. Then I’ll figure out what the hell to do with you.”

  “At which time you’ll flush me down the toilet?”

  “No, no, damnit,” Myszynski said. “But I do have to clarify this proximity fuse business for Captain Ashton.”

  “Ashton can go pound sand.”

  Ingram expected Myszynski to rise from his chair and rip Landa apart. Instead the Commodore said, “Come on, Jerry. You’ll feel better after the doc gives you something.”

  “Already seen him.”

  Myszynski sat back, puffing.

  “What now?” asked Landa.

  “For starters, do an action report. And quit pissing off the brass, damnit. Rat guards, good God.” Myszynski turned to Ingram. “Commander, perhaps you’d like to give your captain the ship’s crew roster.”

  Ingram looked at the paper in his hands. It was almost all gone, a pile of tiny pieces lay on the deck between his feet. And his hands shook as he felt an anger building in his system. Ashton’s admonition to Landa ranged through his mind; ‘...and had you used proximity fuses, your ship might be here tonight, instead of beached up in some New Georgia backwater.’ Edgerton. Redding.

  He hardly heard Myszynski say, “As for you, Commander, you’re going Stateside.”

  “What?” Ingram’s heart jumped.

  “Stateside, I said. PCO training. After that, you’ll be having your own ship.”

  “Ship? Where?”

  “Right back here. So enjoy your time in the States. But remember, you still work for me.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  8 March, 1943

  Fort MacArthur Dispensary

  San Pedro, California

  Sergeant Thorpe stuck his head through the doorway to Room 312, a four-bed ward. Two beds were occupied: one, a pneumonia case, the other, a broken leg. Clacking gum loudly, Thorpe said, “Phone for you, Captain. I think it’s a civilian, so I put it to your office.”

  Helen chuckled to herself. Thorpe referred to two desks crammed in a closet-sized vestibule down the hall as her office. “Okay, thanks.”

  The man with the broken leg, Corporal Jennings, had Helen worried. He’d fallen off a gun platform three days ago and broken his leg in two places. He looked pale, and she wondered if he was getting infected. She felt his forehead: clammy and hot. He was asleep and moaned.

  She leaned close. “Jennings, do you hear me?”

  Jennings opened his eyes, then focused on Helen. A corner of his mouth lifted and he muttered something.

  “What?” she asked;

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  “Nonsense. How do you feel?”

  Jennings eyes ranged up and down her face. “Better.”

  “Open.” She smiled and wielded the thermometer.

  Jennings clenched his teeth. “You have ice water?”

  “After we take your temperature.”

  “Please?”

  “Open.”

  Jennings accepted the thermometer and sighed.

  “Be right back.” Helen checked the time.

  Jennings moaned again, as she whisked out of 312 to her office. She walked in and picked up the phone. “Captain Ingram.”

  There was static on the line. Then, ice cubes clinked.

  “Hello?”

  “...Helen.”

  “Laura?” Helen flashed back to their dinner last Saturday night. She hoped she’d been decent company.

  Laura gulped. “Helen. I have a letter from Todd.”

  Helen felt as if someone had shoved her in the basement morgue. Words hung in her throat; she couldn’t get them out. “Wha---?”

  “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “I...I haven’t had a letter form Todd in four days.” Which was the truth. But she did know. Ever since Shanghai Red’s.

  “Balls.”

  “Laura,” she blurted. “I heard those two sailors in the men’s room at Shanghai Red’s. You had gone outside. Wha...what did Todd say?” She had almost said, is it true? Then she leaned forward, her body racked with tension. Her bare elbow brushed against a thick brown envelope, but she hardly noticed.

  “You know damn well. Luther’s dead.” The glass clinked near the mouthpiece and Laura
gulped again.

  “My God,. Laura. I’m so sorry.”

  “A lot you can do about it.”

  Helen kept silent. Thirty seconds passed.

  “You still there?”

  “I’m here if you need me.”

  Another thirty seconds.

  “I’m sorry,” Laura’s voice was little. “I’m not handling this well. It’s not every day that one loses a husband, and I’m not quite used to it. I’m all cried out. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

  “Why don’t you come down here? I’ve a guest room. Stay with me for a few days.”

  “I could but...”

  “But what?”

  “NBC called. I start work tomorrow. We’re doing the track for a film. A Navy documentary.” She gave a hoarse chuckle. “Whoopie.”

  “Nonsense. You need someone to be with. Come on down here.”

  “Rain check, honey. Work’s important to me now. Better than sitting around thinking about Lu...about it.”

  “I’ll call tonight when I get home.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank you for calling. I really am sorry.”

  “I know. Forgive me for being such a brat.” The glass rattled again.

  “Tonight, then.”

  “His ship blew up. Todd said there was no pain. He went quickly-- heroically, Todd said.”

  Helen wiped her cheek.

  “Todd, your husband,” Laura said in a shaky voice. The bottle neck clanked on the glass. Liquid gurgled and she gulped. “Your husband is a hell of a writer.”

  “I know.”

  “He couldn’t have put it any better. You take good care of that guy of yours, honey.”

  “I will. Do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Take it easy on whatever you have there.”

  “Okay...and Helen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Tonight.” Laura hung up.

  Helen lay her head in her hands and took a deep breath.

  “Okay, Captain?” It was Thorpe, looking in the doorway, smacking his gum.

  “Fine. Never better.” She straightened up and blinked.

  Thorpe waved at the large brown envelope on her desk. “Just came. Stamped ‘Official Business.’ Looks like you got a promotion or something.”