Herman Wouk - War and Remembrance

by War

The signalling ceased. The Moray bore on into the Sea of Japan, doused its lights before dawn, and submerged.

  Toward noon as they were crawling southward they spotted a small freighter, perhaps eight hundred tons. Aster and Byron debated whether to shoot. It was worth torpedoing, but the attack might trigger SOS signals and a full air-and-sea submarine search in the Sea of Japan.

  If the Japs were not alerted now, the pickings further south tomorrow would be easier and fatter. Aster was calculating on three days of depredations, and one day to escape. "The Mark Eighteen can use a firing test," he said at last, lighting up a Havana.

  "Let's have an approach course, Mister Navigator. We'll shoot one fish." He returned a frigid defiant grin to Byron's quizzical look.

  "The Mark Eighteen leaves no wake. If it misses, our Nip friend up there will know from nothing, right? If it hits, he may get too busy to send messages."

  Aster ran off the attack in a curt businesslike way, and Byron was heartened by the crew's spirited responses. The electric torpedo was longer-legged than the Mark Fourteen, but slower. Byron was not used to the additional lag before impact; watching in the glass, he was about to report a miss, when a column of smoke and white water burst over the freighter; and a second or so later a destructive rumble sounded through the Moray's hull. He had never seen a vessel go down so fast. Less than five minutes after the hit, while he was still taking periscope photographs it sank out of sight in a cloud of smoke, flame, and steam.

  Aster seized the loudspeaker microphone. "Now hear this.

  Scratch one Jap freighter. And score one victory for the Mark Eighteen electric torpedo, the first of many for the Moray Maru!"

  The yells sent prickling thrills through Byron. It had been a long time since he had heard this triumphant male baying, the war cry of a submarine.

  That night Aster ran south to get athwart the ship lane to Korea, where the targets had been so numerous and the results so dismal on the last patrol. Toward dawn the O.O.D reported running lights ahead; as yet, despite the attack on the freighter, there was no submarine alert in the Sea of Japan. Aster ordered a dive. In the periscope, brightening day showed what he called a mouth-watering sight, ships moving peaceably and unescorted wherever the glass turned.

  Byron found himself with a problem in relative movement worthy of an Annapolis navigation course: how to attack one target after another, with maximum scoring and minimum, warning to the victims.

  From the captain. downward the Moray came alive. The killing machine was back in swing. Aster chose first to attack a large tanker; he bore in to nine hundred yards, fired a single torpedo, and struck.

  Leaving the cripple ablaze, settling, and pouring volcanic black smoke from the flammable cargo, he swung around in a long approach to what looked like a big troop Carrier, by far the fattest target in sight.

  Maneuvering to close this prize took hours. Aster paced the conning tower, went below to his cabin, came up and paced again, gobbled a large steak from the galley at the chart desk, and ripped the pages of a girlie magazine with his impatient flipping. In attack position at last, with Byron at the periscope, he fired a spread of three torpedoes as soon as he could, at extreme range. After a prolonged wait Byron cried, "Hit! By God, he's disaPPeared!" When the obscuring curtain of smoke and spray cleared, the vessel was still there, sharply down by the bow and listing, clearly a dead loss.

  Aster's announcement brought more lusty cheers.

  He had selected this target with a view to two others, a pair of large freighters steaming on the same course not far off.

  These vessels now turned away from the stricken troopship and put on speed.

  "I can't catch them submerged. We'll pursue on the surface after nightfall," Aster said. "They're running back east for home and air cover. Things will be tougher -tomorrow.

  However"-he slapped Byron on the back-"not a bad day's haul!"

  This buoyant spirit was everywhere in the submarine: in the conning tower, the control room, the wardroom, even down in the engine rooms, when Byron laid below for a routine check. The perspiring half-naked grease-streaked sailors gmted him with the happy grins of football players after a big win. While he was below the submarine surfaced, and the diesels churned into deafening action. He hurried topside. On the bridge, a parka and mitt in ens, Carter'Aster was eating a thick sandwich. The night was starry, with one dim red streak of sunset, and dead ahead on the horizon were the two tiny black blobs of the freighters.

  "We'll nail both those monkeys at dawn," said the captain.

  "How are we on fuel?"

  "Fifty-five thousand gallons."

  "Not bad. This roast beef is great. Get Haynes to make you a sandwich."

  "I think I'll grab some soup."

  "Staying in character, eh?"

  Aster had not laughed much in recent weeks, nor poked fun at Byron. Actually, Byron had been getting by on very little rest, but the sleepyhead joke was permanent, and he was glad that Aster was in a joshing mood again.

  "Well, Lady, it's a stern chase. Not much doing till about 0300."

  Looking up at the sky, Byron leaned on the bulwark.

  He felt relaxed and in no hurry to go below. "Nice night."

  "Beautiful. One more day's hunting like today, Briny, and they can rotate me to the States any time."

  "Feeling better, eh?"

  "Christ, yes. How about you?"

  "Well, on a day like today, I'm just fine. Otherwise, not so hot.

  Long silence, except for the splash of the sea and the sighing of the wind.

  "Natalie's on your mind."

  "Oh, she always is. And the kid. And for that matter, Janice."

  "Janice?" Aster hesitated, then asked, "Why Janice?"

  They could barely see each other's faces in the starlight.

  The O.O.D stood close by, his binoculars trained on the horizon.

  Byron's reply was scarcely audible. "I've treated her abominably."

  Aster called down for another sandwich and coffee, then said, "In what way, for Pete's sake? I think you've been a downright Sir Galahad around Janice." Byron did not answer. "Well, you don't have to talk about it."

  But in the release of long tension, Byron did want to talk about it, though the words came hard. "We're in love, Lady.

  Haven't you seen that? It's all my doing, and it's a stupid dream. That letter from Natalie woke me up. I've got to cut off, and it'll be rotten for both of us. I don't know what hell's possessed me, all these months."

  "Look, Byron, you're lonesome," Aster'commented after a pause, in a low gentle tone not like him. "She's a beautiful woman, and you're quite a guy. You've been sleeping under the same roof, for crying out loud! You ask me, you rate a Bronze Star for staying faithful to Natalie."

  Byron gave his capta a punch on the shoulder.

  "Well, that's how you'd figure it, Lady. Superlative fitness report.

  But from my viewpoint, she's fallen for me because I've encouraged her. I've been damned obvious about that.

  Yet while Natalie's alive, it's hopeless, isn't it? And do I want Natalie dead? I've been a shit."

  "Jesus Christ and General Jackson," exclaimed Aster, "that tears it. Briny, in some ways I admire you, but on the whole You're to be pitied.

  You live off on some other planet, or you've never grown up, I don't know which, but-I, "What's all this, now?" Byron and Aster were side by side, leaning elbows on the bulwark and looking out to sea.

  Aster glanced over his shoulder at the shadowy O.O.D.

  "Listen, you fool, i've been laying Janice for a year. How could you be so goddamned blind, not to realize that?" Byron straightened up. "Wha-a-at!" The word was an animal growl.

  "It's true. maybe I shouldn't tell you, but when you-I, At this moment the wardroom steward came up the ladder with a sandwich on a plate and the steaming mug. Aster picked off the sandwich, and took a gulp of coffee. "Thanks, Haynes."

  Byron stood staring at Aster, rigid as an electrocuted man.
<
br />   Aster resumed as the steward left, "Christ, man, with all your troubles, the idea of you eating out your heart because you've misled Janice! It would be hilarious, if it weren't so pathetic."

  "For a year?" Byron repeated, dazedly shaking his head.

  "A year? You?"

  Biting into the sandwich, Aster spoke with a half-full mouth.

  "Jesus, I'm hungry. Yes, I guess about a year. Since she got over the dengue fever. Between that, and your brother's death, and you off in the Med, she was a mighty sad cookie at that time. Now, don't get me wrong, she likes you, Byron. She missed you a lot when you were in the Med.

  Maybe she does love you, but Christ, she's human. I mean what harm have we done? She's a great kid. We've had a lot of laughs.

  She's been afraid of you and your father. Thought you'd disapprove."

  He drank coffee, and took another bite, peering at the silent and unmoving Byron. "Well, maybe you do, at that. Do you? I still don't know how your mind works.

  Just don't waste any more energy feeling guilty about Janice.

  Okay?"

  Byron abruptly left the bridge.

  At three o'clock in the morning he came into the control room and found Aster at the plotting board with the plot party, smoking a stogie and looking white and tense. "Hi, Briny. The SJ radar has picked one hell of a time to fail.

  We're socked in again. Visibility down to a thousand yards.

  We're trying to track them by sonar, but listening conditions stink. Our last position on them is two hours old, and if they change course we can lose them." Aster peered through smoke at Byron. "I don't know why they would change course. Do you?"

  "Not if they're returning to port."

  "Okay. We agree. I'm holding course and speed."

  He followed Byron into the wardroom. Over coffee, after a lengthy silence, he asked, "Sleep?"

  "Sure.

  "Sore at me?"

  Byron gave him a straight hard look that reminded Aster of Captain Victor Henry. "Why? You took a load off my mind."

  "That was the idea."

  At dawn they were topside, straining their eyes through binoculars. The radar still was not functioning. The visibility had improved, though heavy clouds still hung low over the sea. The freighters were not in sight. It was Horseshoes Mullen, their best lookout, who sang out from the cigarette deck, "Target! Broad on the starboard bow, range ten thousand!"

  "Ten thousand?" said Aster, swinging his binoculars to starboard.

  "Son of a bitch. They did change course. And one of them's gone."

  Byron discerned in his glass the faint small gray shadow.

  "Yes, that's one of those freighters. Same samson posts."

  Aster yelled down the hatch, "All ahead flank! Right full rudder!"

  "Five miles," Byron said. "Unless he zigzags, he's made it."

  "Why? We can overtake him."

  Byron turned to peer at him. "You mean on the surface?" Aster jerked his thumb up at the low thick cloud cover, "What kind of air searches can they be running in this?"

  "Lady, those freighters took evasive action. There's probably a full submarine alert -on. You've got to assume that that freighter's been reporting his course, speed, and position all night, and that planes are in the area."

  "Steady on one seven five!" Aster called.

  Byron persisted, "They can swarm down like bees through any break in the clouds. What's more, we don't even know that they haven't got airborne radar."

  The submarine was heeling and speeding up. Green water came crashing over the low forecastle, dousing everyone on the bridge with spray. Aster grinned at Byron patted his arm, and snuffed the air.

  "Great morning, hey? sound the happy hunting horn."

  "Listen, we're still in the shipping lane, Lady. Plenty of other targets will be coming along."

  "That freighter's our pigeon, Briny.

  We've been tracking him all night, and we're going to get him."

  The surface chase lasted almost an hour. The lighter the day grew, the more nervous Byron felt, though the clouds stayed low and solid overhead. They came close to overtaking the freighter, close enough to con&m that it was certainly the same ship. Byron never saw the planes.

  He heard Mullen yell, "Aircraft dead astern, coming in low, " and another, "Aircraft on the port-" The rest was drowned out in the stutter, whine, and zing! of many bullets. He threw himself on the deck, and as he did so a monstrous explosion almost broke his eardrums.

  Water showered over him; the heavy splash from a close miss, a bomb or a depth charge.

  "Take her down! Dive, dive, dive!" Aster bawled.

  Bullets went pinging all over the wallowing ship. The sailors and officers, staggering and leaping for the hatch, one by one dropped through in a rapid automatic routine. Within seconds the conning tower was crowded with the dripping deck watch.

  BAMMMM!

  Another close miss. Very close.

  RAT-TAT-TAT! PING! PING! A hail of bullets topside.

  Solid water flooded down through the open hatch, sloshing all over the deck, wetting Byron to his knees.

  "The captain! Where's the captain?" he bellowed.

  As though in answer, an anguished voice shouted out on the deck, "BYRON, I'M HIT! I CAN'T MAKE IT! TAKE HER DOWN!"

  Stunned for an instant, then wildly glancing around, Byron shouted at the crew, "Anybody else missing?"

  "Horseshoes is dead, Mr. Henry," the quartermaster yelled at him.

  "He's out on the cigarette deck. He got it in the face. I tried to bring him down, but he's dead."

  Byron roared, "Captain, I'm coming up for you!" He darted into the water showering down the ladder and began to climb "Byron, I'm paralyzed. I can't move!" Aster's voice was a cracking scream. "You can't help me. There's five planes diving at this ship. TAKE HER DOWN!"

  BAMM!

  The Moray rolled far over to starboard.

  A torrent of salt- water cascaded through the hatch, flooding up against control instruments. Sparks flew in smoke and sudden stink.

  The crewmen were slipping and stumbling about in swirling water, white-rimmed eyes on Byron as he desperately calculated the time he would need to fight his way topside and drag the paralyzed captain to safety. In the attack, probably in seconds, the Moray would almost surely be lost with all hands.

  "Take her down, Byron! I'm done for. I'm dying." Aster's voice was fading.

  Byron thrust himself up the ladder against the foaming waterfall in a last effort to climb out. He could not do it. With terrific exertion he barely succeeded in slamming the hatch shut. Drenched, coughing salt water, his voice breaking:with grief, he gave his first order in command of a submarine.

  "Take her to three hundred feet!" The only knell for Captain Aster was the sound he perhaps loved best, though nobody could know whether he heard it.

  A-0006HA... A-OOOGHA... A-OOOGHA...

  AL

  THE white HOUSE October 1, 1943

  Dear Pug: Bill Standley has come home singing your praises. I am ever so grateful for all you've gotten done over there.

  Now I have asked Harry to write the attached letter to you. At least it will get you out of Moscow! You have a feeling for facts, so please take on this job and do what you can. A cable about Tehran very soon would be much appreciated.

  By the.way, we are launching several splendid new battleships nowadays. One will be for you, as soon as we can shake you loose.

  FDR This was scrawled on one sheet of the familiar pale green notepaper. Hopkins's typewritten letter was much longer.

  Dear Pug: You've certainly been doing some grand work with the Russians. Thanks to your survey of shuttle-bombing sites the Joint Chiefs' planners are already working on the Poltava idea. General Fitzgerald wrote me a fine letter about you, and I sent the Bureau of Personnel a copy.

  Also, getting our servicemen's hospital and rest center finished up at Murmansk was a triumph over the ways of their bureaucracy. I'm told it has improved convoy m
orale.

  Now about the forthcoming heads of state conference: Stalin won't travel farther than Tehran, just south of his Caucasus frontier. He claims he has to stay in close touch with his military situation.

  Whether that's true, or he's being coy, or worrying about his prestige we can't tell, but he absolutely will not budge on this. The President will travel almost anywhere to get this damnable war won, but Tehran poses a constitutional snag. If Congress passes a bill he wants to veto, he has to do this with his own hand in ten days, or it automatically becomes law. A cabled or telephoned veto won't work.