“Tell Chief Flanagan to get the other Chiefs up in the Forward Room. Round up the Division Officers. Tell Flanagan that uniform of the day is dress blues and white hats. Buses will be here at half hour before noon. Noon meal in the hotel. Payday after that.”
Brannon noticed a difference when he got out of the car Admiral Christie had sent for them. The Marine sentry at the gate wore a broad smile. An aide of the Admiral’s was waiting in the lobby to lead them down the long hall to the conference room. Walking behind Captain Mealey, Brannon whispered to Olsen.
“Makes a difference when you’ve had a real good patrol. Those people didn’t know we existed the last time we were here. Now they’re all smiles.” Olsen nodded and grinned.
Admiral Christie and his staff were waiting in the conference room. Christie shook hands again with Mealey and Mike Brannon and with John Olsen. The staff lined up to offer their congratulations.
“Get yourselves some coffee and sit down, gentlemen,” Christie said. He shuffled a stack of papers in front of him. “We’ve all read your patrol report, Captain Mealey, Captain Brannon. So this debriefing shouldn’t take too long.” He looked at Mealey.
“Arvin, I’ve got to say that what you and Mike Brannon did on that night must have been one of the wildest sixty minutes in the history of submarine warfare. I’ve read God only knows how many patrol reports and ship action reports, and I’ve read widely in the history of submarine warfare, the reports from British ship captains in the Atlantic Theater. Nothing comes close to your report.”
“We should have done better,” Mealey said in a dry voice. “I missed with too many torpedoes. Captain Brannon missed with some of his shots, but that was mainly my fault. I had the conn and I was maneuvering radically, and he didn’t know which way I was going to go.” His right forefinger crept up and touched the right side of his white mustache.
“I will say those torpedoes we missed with did serve a purpose. They kept two or three Japanese destroyers from ramming us. They turned away when they saw the torpedo wakes.”
“They could see your torpedo wakes at night?” Sam Rivers said.
“Yes, Sam, you can see torpedo wakes at night. There’s a lot of phosphorescence in that water. The wake stands out like a chalk mark in the black water,” Mealey said.
“Didn’t know that,” Rivers muttered.
“The hits you did get, and there were plenty of them,” Christie said, “all good solid explosions? No low-order detonation?”
“Excellent warheads and exploders,” Mealey said. “Rather astounding results on a couple of them. We apparently hit the aviation fuel tanks in that small carrier, because she burned like a big torch. The one freighter I hit started to explode like a Fourth of July display at a county fair. It must have been loaded with ammunition. I’ve been told that their tankers are often hard to sink because of their excellent compartmentation and watertight integrity, but the one we hit simply went up with a big roar.” He looked at Admiral Christie.
“Any word from the rest of the wolf pack, sir?”
“Yes,” Christie said. “Jim Shelton in Sea Chub went after the rest of the ships of the task force that had turned back to Manila Bay. He confirmed that they did return, as did an Ultra message two days later. The Ultra people also confirmed every one of your ships, gentlemen. Higher tonnages than you had estimated on the tanker and the freighter. I have a copy of the Ultra report here for you. Hatchet Fish and Sea Chub are on their way back here. They’ll be in day after tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t they go on to the patrol area?” Mealey snapped. “Those were my orders.”
“Admiral Nimitz ordered four submarines that were in the area just north of your patrol area to form up as a wolf pack and take over that spot,” Christie said. “All four of those skippers had the benefit of some long discussions, or so I gather, with Bob Rudd and Nimitz about wolf-pack operations. So they won’t be going in cold, so to speak. They know what they want to do.” He looked at Mealey.
“Where did you station Hatchet Fish and Sea Chub, Captain?”
“As I mentioned in our action report and our patrol report, sir, we stationed Hatchet Fish three miles to the east of the proposed attack area and slightly to the south. Sea Chub was stationed three miles east and slightly north. I thought it reasonable from a seaman’s point of view, and Captain Brannon concurred, that the task-force captains would not attempt to reverse course and go back through that narrow gut between Luzon and Mindoro. “I reasoned that when they came under my attack they would bolt the task-force formation and go east, breaking off to the north and south. Sea Chub got the troop transport when the captain of that ship did precisely that. He slanted off to the northeast in an effort to get away from the attack. Sea Chub stopped to pick up two prisoners and a life ring. I think that was good thinking on his part.” Mealey’s long forefinger rose and touched the side of his mustache.
“Speaking for myself alone, Admiral, I deeply appreciate the attack made by Sea Chub on the destroyers that had pinned us down for some nine hours, but I submit . . .” His face hardened, and the pale blue eyes bored at Admiral Christie. “I submit, sir, that they took one hell of a long damned time to make up their mind to attack!”
“That’s a grave charge, Captain Mealey,” the Admiral said. “We haven’t been told his side of the story. He may have had some problem in materiel. We don’t know.”
“Granted,” Mealey said, his voice dry.
“And Hatchet Fish?” Admiral Christie’s voice was almost silken in tone.
“I intend to prefer charges of cowardice against that man!” Mealey snapped. “He lay out there, six thousand yards from the action, safe and sound. He could see the fires of our targets — Sea Chub saw them. He could hear the Japanese destroyers giving us hell — Sea Chub heard them. He made no effort to come to our assistance. I demand, sir, that he be relieved of command, and if there is any way I can do it I am going to have that man hung!”
There was a dead silence around the conference table. Mike Brannon moved restlessly in his chair. John Olsen sat very still, his eyes on Captain Mealey. The silence was broken at last by Captain Sam Rivers, the Operations Officer.
“Captain Marble has informed us that you gave him very strict orders to maintain his patrol position. He says you sent him no orders to join in the action, as you say in your action report you did. If, sir, I may say this without prejudice on my part, I am merely reading what Captain Marble has said — he charges you with hogging the action. Those are his words, hogging the action so that you could attack the targets and get, ahem, another medal.” He sat hack in his chair, his powerful chest and shoulders rigid.
Captain Mealey turned to Admiral Christie. “A moment ago, sir, you said I had made a grave charge against the Captain of the Sea Chub when I said he took too damned long to come to our aid. Captain Marble has made a heinous charge against me, and I demand satisfaction.” He paused, and Mike Brannon could see him fighting for composure and control.
“I demand, sir, with all due respect to you, that the commanding officers of the Sea Chub and the Hatchet Fish face me in this room, before you and your staff, sir, and we’ll find out who the damned liars are!”
Admiral Christie stared at the table in front of him for a long moment and then raised his face.
“Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Captain Mealey, I cannot grant your legitimate request.
“Admiral Nimitz has ordered you home to Pearl by the fastest possible means. A plane is available tomorrow morning. I must insist that you be on it.” His normally jovial face was grim, almost sad.
“If I were you, sir, I would thank Captain Rudd when you get back. He received a copy of your action report. He has been informed of Captain Marble’s charge. I think he anticipated your reaction, and he has added his own urgent request for your immediate return. His exact words in a cable to me are ...” He shuffled in the papers in front of him. “He said, and I quote, tell the S.O.B. that we’ve won a little war
and there is no reason to risk another battle, unquote. You undoubtedly know what Captain Rudd is referring to, sir. Now ...” His face brightened.
“I cannot recommend you for another Congressional Medal of Honor, as much as I, all of us here, want to. So we have settled for a Navy Cross. Captain Brannon is to get a Navy Cross also, and Mr. Olsen, for his sterling work as the Executive Officer of the Eelfish in what will go down in our history sir, as the Battle of the Sibuyan Sea.
“We have also decided to award every member of the Wardroom a Silver Star. We’ve never done that before, but we think they deserve it.” The Admiral stood up, and the people around the table rose in response. He looked at Captain Mealey and Mike Brannon.
“Gentlemen,” he said softly, “if we had an Arvin Mealey and a Mike Brannon on every submarine and if every submarine we had was an Eelfish this war would be over now. Please accept my heartfelt thanks and congratulations.”
Later, standing in the lobby waiting for the car to take them back to the Eelfish, Captain Mealey turned as Captain Sam Rivers walked up. He looked up at the taller man and put his hand on Mealey’s arm.
“Chet Marble is being relieved of command with prejudice, sir,” he said in a low tone. “The Admiral has decided to give Jim Shelton another chance, now that you’ve shown him how to sink ships.”
“With prejudice?” Mealey said.
“He’s going to the Navy Yard in San Diego,” Rivers said. “That, sir, is prejudice, and it won’t look good in his service jacket. Be content.” He turned and walked away, his short, squat figure rigid.
Mike Brannon sat astride a chair in his stateroom, resting his arms on the chair back, and watched Captain Mealey pack.
Mealey turned to him, holding his razor in his hand. “You should understand a little more about politics by now, Mike. For a minute or two I forgot what I’d learned at Pearl Harbor. Captain Rudd never forgets. He knew I’d blow my stack about Chet Marble. So he’s getting me back there where he can keep a tight rein on my big mouth.” He smiled briefly. “Captain Marble has very powerful friends in Washington. Admiral Christie will have to run the risk of those people.”
Brannon shifted on his chair. “I want to say something, sir, but I don’t want it to come out the wrong way. If you ever command another wolf pack I’d be honored to serve under you, sir.”
“You would?” Mealey said. “You know what Bob Rudd called me, the S.O.B.?”
“Oh, sure,” Brannon said. “Everyone knows you’re the S.O.B. I heard a fireman in the engine room one day before we started this patrol run say to an engineman that the old S.O.B. was sailing with us. He was proud you were aboard. We all feel that way, sir. If a man can sail with you he could sail with the devil himself.” He flushed. “I didn’t mean it to come out that way, sir.”
Mealey stared at Brannon. “You’re a little bit too sentimental, Captain. That could be a weakness unless you keep it under control.” He picked up a suitcase and moved toward the door of the stateroom.
“You’re a damned good seaman, Mike, and one damned good fighting man. Don’t change.”
Brannon watched as Pete Mahaffey picked the bag Mealey had been carrying out of his hand and went into the Forward Torpedo Room. John Olsen stuck his head in the stateroom.
“We have to come back to the tender tomorrow to get paid, sir.”
“Oh, hell,” Brannon said. “I was going to invite you to a good dinner downtown, on me, to celebrate your Navy Cross. Not every day that the Executive Officer gets a Navy Cross. But I’m broke.”
“I’m a single dude,” Olsen said. “I’ve got some money.”
“Good,” Brannon said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You can pay me back tomorrow,” Olsen said.
CHAPTER 19
The two weeks of R & R passed swiftly for the Eelfish sailors. Paul Blake left the hotel on the second day, took his seabag to the house where Constance Maybury lived, and spent his leave time with her family. Bob Lee disappeared on the third day from the house where he was quartered with Jerry Gold and Perry Arbuckle. He was seen several times in the company of a tall, lissome brunette who towered over him by several inches. Jerry Gold, curious to know what was going on, sought out Chief Flanagan.
“The word I get,” Flanagan said, “is that Mr. Lee is going with a lady he met two rest periods ago. She’s a widow, husband was killed while serving with the Ninth Division, that’s the famous Aussie fighting division. I heard that her husband was a captain in the Aussie Army. From everything I hear Mr. Lee is pretty serious about her.”
“Know anything about what sort of a lady she is?” Gold asked.
“Solid, from what I’ve been told,” Flanagan said. “She works in some bank in town. No children. You got to be careful with those quiet ones like Mr. Lee is.” He grinned at Lieutenant Gold. “Chief Yeoman on the tender told me that Mr. Lee has put in for a permit to marry the lady. Chief on the tender says he’s made out all the papers and has been talking with the Squadron legal officer.”
“Mr. Lee is a lawyer,” Gold said.
“I know,” the Chief answered. “He’s not the only one. Paul Blake is going through the same routine. Mr. Lee helped him file his papers.”
“Does the skipper know about this?”
“I doubt it,” Flanagan said. “Might be a good idea if he did.”
“He wouldn’t try to stop either man, you know,” Gold said. “The Old Man’s got a real good marriage, and he thinks everyone should be married.”
“I could tell him different,” Flanagan growled. Jerry Gold shrugged.
“Look, Chief,” he said, “I know that the Australian people are about the nicest people in the world, but what’s the big attraction, why do Mr. Lee and Paul Blake want to get married?”
“Mr. Gold, it ain’t only Mr. Lee and Paul Blake. From what I hear half of the single dudes on the tender and in the relief crews, they’re lining up to get marriage forms. Lots of the people on other submarines want to get married.
“You see, if you’ve done duty in Pearl Harbor you’d know that you haven’t got a chance to meet a broad there. There’s about a thousand men for every woman in Pearl. And if you do score and make a date with some broad the odds are that in a half-hour your stomach will be turned because she’s so damned spoiled that you can’t stand it. Hell, some of the worst-lookin’ broads you ever saw act like beauty queens in Pearl, and they get away with it because a woman, any kind of woman, is in damned short supply there.
“In Australia it’s the other way around. How many men you seen on the streets lately who are young, say between twenty and forty, how many civilians you seen who have all their arms and legs?”
“Come to think about it, I can’t say many,” Gold said. “I’ve even seen some Australian soldiers in uniform with an eye patch.”
“That’s right,” Flanagan said. “The Chief Storekeeper who runs the CPO Club in Perth told me the British use the Aussies as shock troops, throw them in with rifles and bayonets against General Rommel and his tanks in Africa, do the same thing up in the Islands. Australia has lost most of its young men in this war.
“So the country is full of women, good-lookin’ women who got to figure they don’t have much chance of ever gettin’ married to an Aussie near their own age. And they look around and there’s all our guys. Young guys. Healthy guys with all their arms and legs. If you’ve been out with any Aussie girls you got to know that they treat you like some kind of a king. Nothing’s too good for you, that right?”
“I’ve noticed that,” Gold said, “but I thought it was just my irresistible charm. Go on, Chief.”
“Not much more to say. I was told Mr. Lee walked into a bank downtown to try and get the name of a reliable guy to appraise some opals he wanted to buy for his mother. Opals are mined here, and they’re cheap if you don’t get cheated.
“The manager of the bank is a tall, good lookin’ woman. That’s the lady he wants to marry. Her husband was killed about a year
ago. I heard he was an Aussie Army officer. Anyway, she’s a four-oh lady. She’s maybe four, five inches taller than Mr. Lee, but if she can manage a bank then she’s got to have a lot of smarts. And if she is around Mr. Lee for an hour or two she’s got to know that he’s got all the smarts there is. Besides, he’s a hell of a nice dude. He ain’t your big sturdy type, but he’s wiry and he’s got all his arms and legs and eyes. So I guess the lady liked what she saw and sure as hell Mr. Lee likes what he saw and that’s it.”
“You disapprove, Chief?”
“Hell, no, Mr. Gold. Mr. Lee’s a grown man. He’s got a good head on him. No disrespect, sir, but a guy who ain’t as tall as some has got to feel pretty chesty with someone as good lookin’ as his girl hanging on his arm. Make a lot of tall dudes a little jealous, I’d think.” He rubbed his chin with his hand.
“Way I figure it, Mr. Gold, it doesn’t make one whole lot of difference where you find a wife or what she looks like or even what color she is as long as you hit it off and she treats you right and you can read the signs that she’ll keep on treating you right.”
“How about young Paul Blake?” Gold said.
“Ah! That’s young love, sir,” Flanagan said with a grin. “He met her when she came to the hotel with some Red Cross people, and she took him home to meet her family. She’s a hell of a nice young girl and her folks are good people, very solid. If they think they love each other, the hell with it, it’s their business, not mine. All’s I hope for is that the damned red tape and all the paperwork they got to do takes a long time. If either of them gets married and wants off the ship to work in the relief crew they’d get an okay on their request because they’ve made enough war patrols to rate tender duty.
“Truth is, sir, I’m selfish. Mr. Lee is a hell of a good Torpedo Officer and Blake is the best damned sonarman I ever saw. I don’t want to lose either one of them.”
Silent Sea (The Silent War Book 2) Page 24