The Marathon Watch

by Laswell, Lawrence K

  Javert took the paper from Pew with his trembling hands and studied it for a moment. Looking up at Pew, he asked, “I’m not going to lose my ship?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll get my promotion?”

  “Of course. That is, if you cooperate. You do want your promotion, don’t you?”

  Javert’s response was more of a plea than a statement. “Yes.”

  “Good, because if you don’t cooperate, not only will you lose your ship… ” Pew paused for a second to take a deep, soulful breath, then continued, “But we don’t have to go into those unpleasantries.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Javert asked.

  “First, I need that letter back,” Pew said. When the letter was safely back in the manila envelope, Pew continued, “Just so you know what the score is, Captain, Admiral Eickhoff handpicked you for this assignment. He felt you would do a good job despite your lack of deck training. Now, I can’t go into detail because this matter is highly classified, but you and the Farnley are part of an important operation that’s being personally supervised by the CNO.”

  “Admiral Durham?” Javert’s face flooded with awe.

  “That’s right. Before I go on, you must understand that this entire conversation is Top Secret. That’s the CNO’s classification, not mine. Admiral Eickhoff and I are taking a risk telling this much. You must never repeat a word of this. It’s national security.”

  “I understand,” Javert said.

  “Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. You won’t release a report on this incident. We’ll release one for you under your name. The report will essentially sweep this matter under the rug, just as we did at Messina. Whatever it says, you will agree to. Next, you’ll never again interfere with the navigation of this ship. It’s imperative for the success of the CNO’s operation that you leave the ship handling to your officers.”

  “Is one of them part of the operation?” Javert asked.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, but I can’t answer that. Everything on Durham’s operation is strictly need to know. I can’t confirm nor deny anything related to the operation.” Pew loved that touch. He couldn’t have set it up better if he had planned it.

  “We need you to continue as captain, handle administrative matters, hang out on the bridge, do whatever you like, but don’t interfere with your officers. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, I understand. I have my orders,” Javert began. “Don’t issue a report. Agree with the report Admiral Eickhoff sends. Don’t interfere with the officers, and this meeting never happened.”

  Pew looked quizzically at Javert for a second. Javert looked like a man emotionally drained and defeated, but there was steel in his voice that seemed out of place with the rest of the image. He wondered where that came from. Pew knew many navy captains, and Javert was no captain. Considering Javert’s behavior so far, he’d concluded Javert was a nutcase.

  Pushing ahead, Pew replied, “Exactly, Captain, those are your orders. Follow them and everything will work out just fine.”

  With a flourish, Pew stood. “That concludes our meeting. Would you do me a favor by calling the bridge and have them retrieve my helicopter, and have your XO meet me on the fantail?” Pew shook hands with Javert, who was smiling.

  “Thank you, Captain, I’ll find my own way aft.”

  Pew met Meyers on the fantail and briefed Meyers on his findings. Several contributing factors had led to the accident; Ross’ miscalculation, Javert’s interference, and Biron’s yelling had contributed to the accident, but a blown fuse was the root cause. No one would be reprimanded; it was a simple act of God.

  Pew directed the conversation to small talk until the Sea Stallion approached. He had one loose end to tie up for Eickhoff, and he didn’t want to deliver his message and leave time for questions. Meyers was too professional not to ask questions given the chance.

  “Just a few more things before I go,” Pew said, hoping he wasn’t having to shout too loud to be heard over the helicopter’s beating rotors.

  “This is difficult for me. After all, I’m only a lieutenant, but Admiral Eickhoff had me deliver a personal letter to your captain. He told me to assure you that he’s aware of the problems you’ve had with the captain. I don’t know what was in the letter, but Admiral Eickhoff assures you Javert will be a new man starting tomorrow. Also, and I can’t speak for the admiral on this one, but I suspect he’ll give you some downtime, maybe even release the Farnley early from Steel Henge. He knows how much time you’ve spent at sea.”

  Pew timed it just right, and as he finished, he had to hurry to get into his life jacket and helmet for the pickup. Meyers didn’t have time to say a word.

  §

  Ross wiped the sweat from his face with his orange shop rag. Things were almost back to normal except they were still limping along on one boiler.

  He had put the incident out of his mind. Technically, he’d screwed up by keeping the power on too long. It didn’t matter. He would do the same thing again, and he wasn’t the real problem; it was the navy and the Farnley. Maybe his written report would get him transferred, or maybe he’d get discharged early. Ross didn’t care either way, but one thing bothered him.

  His own words haunted him. “Jam ‘em open, son!” Why did I say that?

  He walked to his bench, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. He blocked out the engine room noise, summoned the earlier feeling of déjà vu, and searched for an elusive thought in the black corners of his memory. “Jam ‘em open!”

  Ross caught a thread, then another. Slowly, he began to reweave the tattered tapestry of thirty-year-old memories, and when he was done, he was back aboard the Able again.

  “Jam ‘em open, son! Jam the valves wide open! Lift safeties if you have to, but keep the valves jammed open!”

  Chief Barnes’ words crackled through Ross’ sound-powered headset. His hand, clenched around the boiler fuel control valve, was turning numb. He kept trying to push the valve past the stop.

  The Able, at full power, charged ahead. The rumble of the blowers and the thunder of the fires blocked out all other sound and reverberated through his body, numbing his consciousness. The fifteen men in the boiler room with Ross were silent. Communication was impossible in the pandemonium. Ross didn’t look at them, but he knew they were there with their faces blanched, eyes drawn wide and tight. He could feel them as sure as he could feel the oppressive heat from the boilers.

  It was impossible to hear the bark of Able’s six five-inch guns, but the ship shuddered from their constant sharp reports. He imagined he heard the pummeling sound of the sixteen 40 mm and 20 mm guns, but he knew he couldn’t. The horrific sounds of battle had swallowed even the thunder of guns.

  Ross flexed his knees to keep from being bounced off the catwalk by the bucking deck.

  The ship swayed ferociously, heeling with each frenzied evasive turn. All Ross could do was hang on. He couldn’t move, hear, or think. Every nerve in his body tingled, screamed, and trembled in terror. Every inch of the Able, every fiber of her being screamed angry rage at an enemy Ross couldn’t see.

  The Able lurched, slid sideways, and heeled sharply to port, throwing Ross against the bulkhead. He tumbled over the railing and fell into the bilge. Over the sound of a distant explosion and the din of the boiler room he heard inch-thick metal plates pop like the top of a tin can. The Able righted herself and screamed onward through the seas.

  Driven by instinct, driven by a will to live, Ross pulled himself to the catwalk, grabbed the valve handle, and pushed. His knuckles glowed white through streaks of smeared blood.

  He wished he knew what was going on. He wished there were windows so he could see. The boiler room was closing in around him. He longed for the open air topside. He wished he could stand in the hell raging above him. The boiler room encased him, trapped him, and closed in on him like a giant crypt. He wished he could escape. He wouldn’t and couldn’t let his shipmates down. Their lives, their survival, depended on
the Able. She in turn depended on each of them, collectively and individually.

  Barnes’ words echoed in his ears, “Jam ‘em open, son! Jam ‘em open, son!” He pushed harder, hoping it would be enough.

  The Able snapped upward, knocking Ross off his feet and driving his knees mercilessly into the grillwork of the catwalk surface. He felt pain in his ears and was aware of a thunderous explosion. He tried to regain his feet, but his knees were weak, and he couldn’t straighten his legs. The forward bulkhead was buckled, and water gushed through its torn seams. Fountains of water and oil spewed from shattered pipes. The boiler still roared with life. Survive. “Jam ‘em open, son!”

  Ross didn’t know what to do, but knew he couldn’t let his shipmates down. Using his arms, Ross pulled himself to his feet, grabbed the valve handle, and pushed.

  The Able convulsed.

  A wall of blinding light and searing heat snatched Ross from the catwalk, throwing him backward and upward against the side of the ship. A sharp pain shot through the back of his skull. He was falling. The steam’s hot, moist grip of death engulfed him as he fell through its lethal cloud. Gratefully, he fell facedown into the cool water of the Pacific surging into the bilge. He lifted his head and heard the agonizing screams of souls; his friends.

  Gotta get back to my station. Gotta jam ‘em open.

  He tried to move, but his arms and legs wouldn’t respond. His world dimmed. He was floating into a vortex that spun him downward into a welcome world of silence, silence without screams of agony from dying shipmates, a peaceful blackness, a blackness without fire.

  “Chief, Chief.”

  Ross looked up to see Stucky’s freckled face. Ross shook his memories off with a shiver. “What is it, son?” Ross asked.

  “Number two boiler is online. Should I tell the bridge we can make twenty knots now?”

  Ross wiped the clammy sweat from his face with the orange shop rag and said, “No, not yet. I’ll take care of it.”

  §

  “Well?” Eickhoff asked, standing behind his paper-cluttered desk. His question was direct and without perfunctory hellos.

  Pew could see Eickhoff was perspiring slightly and acting as if he’d consumed several pots of coffee.

  “It’s all taken care of, Admiral,” Pew said nonchalantly before adding, “It went just like you said it would, but there are a few details you should know.”

  “Like what?” Eickhoff asked, sitting down.

  Pew enjoyed this and wanted to string it out as long as possible. “Rather than jumping around, let me start from the top.”

  Eickhoff nodded reluctantly before Pew continued. “It was as we expected. Javert caused the entire incident by overriding the conning officer’s orders.”

  “We can’t put that in a report. They’ll make me replace him, and when they start looking at Javert, they’ll finish with me.”

  Pew let Eickhoff finish. “Don’t worry, your letter took care of Javert. The rest we can take care of.”

  Pew paused for a second, then said, “Admiral, I don’t know if this is important, but I think something is wrong with Javert, like he has a screw loose or something. The man just didn’t seem right.”

  “Stress, probably,” Eickhoff replied, dismissing the comment.

  “Next,” Pew resumed, “the Farnley took a pretty good smack, and underwater hull damage is a distinct possibility. The interior inspection showed nothing, but she needs to be dry-docked for a complete check.”

  Eickhoff was seething. “Putting her in dry dock is as bad as relieving Javert.”

  “We have two things that save us,” Pew said slowly. “First, there were extenuating circumstances. Specifically, a fuse blew, and the chief responsible of the engine room claims the loss of power was caused by an error in judgment on his part. Between the two, we put together a report that makes it look like an unfortunate accident.”

  “Are you proposing we hang the chief?” Eickhoff said incredulously.

  Pew expected that reaction. Hanging something like this on a chief petty officer would be tricky and dangerous unless the evidence was irrefutable.

  “Not at all,” Pew began. “His record is strong and impeccable. No one would ever question his judgment, but he said it and put it in writing. Our report will be factual and point to the chief’s statement. However, in the conclusion section, we’ll dismiss the idea that the chief could have made a mistake. After we list his experience, no one will question absolving the chief. That leads to only one final conclusion; the fuse caused the incident, and no one is to blame.”

  Eickhoff, staring out of a porthole, was calming down. “What about the hull inspection? Putting a ship into dry dock for a hull inspection makes it a major incident that will be investigated further by someone else.”

  Eickhoff went back to pacing the floor behind his desk. After a second, he said, “However, we’re in luck. The deck repairs on the Farnley are yard level and will take three or four days at most. Nothing major, so we have an excuse to get her into a shipyard. The Farnley is overdue for hull cleaning and painting, which requires dry-docking. And what’s part of every hull cleaning operation?”

  “A hull inspection, done by the ship’s crew, not nosy outsiders,” Pew responded, playing along with Eickhoff.

  “Precisely,” Eickhoff said, grinning widely.

  Until now, Pew hadn’t figured out how to close the trap on Eickhoff, but a fabulous lie popped into his head.

  “That leaves us with Operation Marathon. Putting the ship into the yard could endanger your strong position on the Farnley by making it look like you gave her some time off.”

  Eickhoff was back in his seat, smiling. “Do I detect a ‘but’ coming?”

  “Yes,” Pew said, wiping perspiration from his upper lip. “On the way up here, I stopped by my cabin to freshen up, and as luck would have it, I had received a letter from my source back in Washington. The letter contained some interesting information. The other Operation Marathon ships averaged only fifteen days at sea per month. The Farnley has averaged over twenty-one.”

  Eickhoff leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “And let me guess,” Eickhoff began, obviously buying the story about the letter. “I planned it that way to account for the hull cleaning. How could anyone fault me for advanced planning and my concern over ship maintenance?” Eickhoff’s smile was absolutely radiant.

  Pew smiled and made no attempt to respond. He wanted to see where Eickhoff would take the conversation next.

  “What about Javert? Did you give him the letter?” Eickhoff asked finally.

  “Yes, and it had the desired effect. We’ll have no more problems with him.”

  “You didn’t let him keep the letter, did you?”

  Pew understood Eickhoff’s concern since the letter contained statements that Eickhoff could never explain. It would end his career if it fell into the wrong hands. “I took it back, tore it up, and threw it overboard,” Pew lied.

  “Good!” Eickhoff said. “And what about the Farnley’s exec, Meyers? He’s not going to take this lying down.”

  “Yes he will. As instructed, I implied that you had Javert under rehabilitation. With the change we should see in Javert, he’ll believe it. Who knows? Operation Marathon may be over before the Farnley gets back to sea or Meyers suspects anything.”

  Pew and Eickhoff discussed the incident in detail and ironed out the final details. Nothing except the Farnley’s schedule would be altered, and Pew would coordinate arrangements to schedule dry-dock time for the Farnley at the Skaramanga shipyards near Elefsis.

  When they were done, with a sigh Eickhoff said, “I guess that’s it. Now all I need is your report as inspecting officer to file on the incident.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pew said, giving Eickhoff a playful salute, then headed for his cabin.

  He’d handled it skillfully, and now he couldn’t lose. Eickhoff was in so deep, he could never back down on Operation Marathon. If Eickhoff came out on top,
Pew had lots of hard evidence that would make blackmailing Eickhoff quite lucrative. If the roof caved in on Eickhoff, Pew would switch sides and become Eickhoff’s chief prosecutor.

  Pew already had the official report Eickhoff wanted mentally drafted. With its careful wording, Pew would look like the Farnley’s guardian angel, recommending downtime and yard time for the ship. By the time Eickhoff’s court-martial was over, Pew would look like a saintly lieutenant fighting for the poor Farnley against a brutal and powerful admiral.

  It was as Pew’s father had told him years ago, “When you can’t tell who’s going to win, support both sides.” How wise his father had been.

  §

  After Pew left, Meyers buried himself in the work of getting the Farnley shipshape again. The light metal framework of the lifeboat tubs was quickly cut up and jettisoned, and numerous pieces of jagged, sharp metal left clinging to the superstructure were removed. Makeshift stanchions were welded to the main deck and line strung between them.

  The most worrisome problem to Meyers was the heavy scuff marks that ran the length of the port side. From what he could see above the waterline, huge patches of paint had been removed, and without a coat of covering paint, the salt environment would turn the Farnley’s side into a dark-red rusty scab within hours.

  The corpsman, armed with disinfectant, bandages, and a hypo containing a tetanus booster, caught up with him just as the men had finished welding a temporary patch on the forward bulkhead to Javert’s cabin where the flying stanchion had hit. Meyers, who had completely forgotten about the inch-long cut, still couldn’t remember how he had gotten it.

  He realized, also, that he’d forgotten about the captain, whom he’d not seen except for a few seconds when Pew was aboard. Meyers found him on the bridge in a strangely pleasant mood. Javert gave him a copy of the official report to read, and Meyers headed to his stateroom to clean up for dinner.

  In his stateroom, Meyers read the four-page report carefully, but something kept gnawing at him as being out of place. The report downplayed Javert’s interference with Biron to the point that it was only mentioned in passing. Excerpts from Ross’ written statement were quoted heavily, especially those in which Ross took responsibility for the accident due to his error.