The Marathon Watch

by Laswell, Lawrence K

  Meyers couldn’t accept any conclusions that led to placing the blame on Ross, and the report concurred, absolving Ross of any responsibility. The report concluded that an unlikely fluke event, the blown fuse, was the ultimate cause.

  Meyers, still uneasy about the report, read it again. He’d missed it the first time. The report was formatted as a Farnley outgoing message, but the codes at the top indicated the message had been received by the Farnley as a rebroadcast. Suspicious, he read the message a third time, alert for anything else out of place.

  Meyers disagreed with the report in terms of detail and emphasis, but not on the conclusion. Tenaciously, he read the report again, and as he read the conclusion section, it hit him. The report was smoothly worded and crafted with skills he knew Javert didn’t possess. This wasn’t Javert’s report.

  Had Javert submitted the preliminary report to Eickhoff for final review and approval? he wondered. Meyers dismissed that line of reasoning because Javert didn’t have access to Ross’ written statement. That meant Eickhoff or Pew had drafted the report, but why?

  Pew’s comments on the fantail came back to him. “Javert will be a new man starting tomorrow.” Without saying anything directly, Pew had made himself clear. Eickhoff was working to rehabilitate Javert as a captain. That didn’t alter the facts. Javert was unfit for command, and Eickhoff had to know that. Meyers reasoned that an attempt at rehabilitation was expected as a matter of fair play. Eickhoff had to give Javert a chance.

  The tragedy was that it took the collision to bring some positive action. More important, things would begin to get better, and in the meantime, Javert shouldn’t be the problem he’d been in the past. Javert’s pleasantness on the bridge indicated he’d gotten the message.

  Meyers looked at the sea bag swaying gently from its pipe. There was a glimmer of hope. The navy was beginning to work the way it should. Maybe his fight wasn’t as hopeless as he had thought.

  Playfully, Meyers punched at the bag and started expanding his plans to square the ship away. Javert wouldn’t interfere now, and if he did, it would only accelerate the inevitable. The exercise lifted his spirits until a thought of caution occurred to him. This all might be a lie. Eickhoff had lied to him before. Meyers screamed and drove his fist hard into the bag, trying to destroy such negative thinking.

  BURIAL AT SEA

  August 1971, Mediterranean Sea south of Crete

  Operation Marathon: Day 420

  In Lee’s stateroom, Nat Hayes and two other junior officers, Ensigns Harold Devore and Don Beck, were trying to tell Lee something. “Don’t get so upset. This crap happens all the time on the Farnley. If you let it get to you, it’ll drive you nuts,” Hayes said.

  Lee was seated in his gray steel desk chair, looking up at Hayes’ dour face. Hayes liked the upper bunk despite the cramped space caused by the air-conditioning unit. The unit hung from the overhead, leaving a bare eighteen-inch clearance between the bunk and the unit’s drip pan. Hayes initially thought the lower bunk was better until his bunk mate in the upper berth got sea sick one night. Even though Lee outranked Hayes, Lee let him keep the upper bunk once Hayes promised never to get sea sick.

  Lee turned to Beck and Devore, who were lounging on the green Naugahyde couch. “Is that the way you guys see it?” Lee asked.

  Devore nodded while Beck replied for both of them. “You got it. This ship sucks, and there isn’t a darn thing you can do about it. We’re the oldest ship in the navy, and the navy doesn’t care. So why should we?”

  “I don’t buy into that,” Lee replied.

  Nat Hayes lifted his head so he could see Lee and bumped his head on the air conditioner drip pan. “Ouch! Look, Lee, face it. The Farnley is the leper of the fleet. We’re supposed to be assigned to DESRON 12, right? We haven’t seen any DESRON 12 ships in over a year.”

  “There has to be an explanation. Maybe we don’t know everything,” Lee said.

  “Tell ya what I know,” Beck began. “Hayes is right. Not only are we the leper, we’re an old leper who doesn’t count. You talk about the supply problems. I’ve talked to some guys from other ships, and they can get anything they need. Face it, Lee, no one else cares, so why should you?”

  “I can’t accept this. We have to do something.”

  “Why?” Hayes asked.

  “This ship is dangerous and it’s way below par. Someone could have gotten killed today.”

  Hayes raised his head again, this time more carefully. “You’re right. That’s why survival is the name of the game here. Look, I was there, and I don’t know what the official report will say, but believe me, it was all the captain’s doing.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Lee began. “We should’ve been able to answer a flank bell. End of discussion.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” taunted Beck. “On a normal ship, the shit would hit the fan, but on the Farnley, it’s like nothing ever happened. This is the normal routine around here. Lee, you’ve got to get this through your head. This is normal, and it’s called survival. Don’t let it get to you,” Beck said.

  “Cut him some slack. He hasn’t been on board long enough to be Farnley-ized yet. He’ll learn,” Hayes told them.

  “Learn what?” Lee asked.

  “Are you dense? On the Farnley, you don’t do a tour. You’re like a convict serving time in prison. The way I got it figured, the Farnley’s some kind of mobile Devil’s Island. There isn’t anything you can do, and there’s no escape.”

  “No,” Lee said softly. “Look at you guys. You look like hell, just like the ship. You don’t feel good about yourselves. You’re a sorrowful lot. I haven’t seen one honest smile since I got here. I haven’t seen one person try to make one thing better.”

  “Ah! You finally got it. Three hundred and fifty guys on board this ship, and no one cares except you. Does that tell you anything? Lee, believe me,” Hayes said, then laid his head back down on the pillow. “Don’t try to be happy on this ship; it’ll only make you sad.”

  “I think you guys are full of it,” Lee said as he stood and looked at each one in turn. “I can’t agree with a word you’ve said. It’s worth the effort, and the first thing you should do is lighten up a bit and find something to smile about before you drown in your own self-pity. If I were you guys, I’d watch my backside.” Lee turned and headed for the door.

  “You’ll be sorry. You’ll get hurt or the captain will dump on you,” Beck called after him.

  Lee stopped and spun to face Beck. “I’d rather get punished for doing something than have to punish myself for the rest of my life for doing nothing.” The edge on Lee’s voice and his piercing stare maintained the silence until Lee was out of the room.

  “Touchy, isn’t he?” Beck said.

  “Give him time, Beck. You were the same way once; we all were,” Hayes said. After a second’s pause he asked, “What did he mean by watch our backsides?”

  “Beats me. I think the guy’s nuts the way he’s always grinning. Wonder what he looks like when he’s mad,” Beck said with a chuckle.

  Hayes rolled over and looked down at Beck. “You weren’t paying attention. You just saw him mad.”

  §

  Lee left the stateroom, headed aft on the weather deck to where the railing was still intact, and rested his hands on the oiled steel cable running between stanchions. Sunset was a half hour away, and the low sun made Lee squint as he stood motionless. After a moment, he took several deep breaths and headed for the engine room.

  Descending the ladder into the engine room, Lee slid down the brass rails and broke his free fall at the last second. His feet barely made a sound as they hit the deck.

  Lee headed toward the gauge board where Ross and Stucky were talking. Elmo scurried across the deck, but when he saw Lee, he stopped, twitched his antenna, and retreated toward Ross’ bench. Lee saw Elmo and blocked his retreat with his shoe. Elmo swerved to go around the obstacle, but Lee carefully placed the toe of his shoe against Elmo and, with a gentle kick, flung Elm
o almost to where Ross was standing.

  Stunned and on his back, Elmo’s legs clawed at the air as he tried to regain an upright position. Lee walked around the struggling Elmo and addressed Ross. “Chief, could you get all the men not on watch to huddle up for a minute? I want to talk to them.”

  Ross looked closely at Lee. The sparkle was gone from his coal-black eyes, but his voice seemed normal enough. Without comment, Ross went to the railing and yelled to the men below. While the men assembled, Lee teased the frantic Elmo with the toe of his shoe. Lee silently watched Elmo and, for a second, ignored the assembled group. Then, to no one in particular, he asked, “What happened today when we lost power?”

  Ross bristled. “That wasn’t their fault. I talked to Sweeney. He told me what happened on the bridge. The captain started it, the fuse cinched it, and I was the one who blew it. The men did their job, and Canterbury ought to get a medal ‘cause he took the boilers to the limit. In another three seconds, he would have melted the boilers down. They don’t run too well without water in them, you know.”

  Lee ignored Ross’ comment and looked at Stucky’s freckled face. “What do you think?”

  Stucky shrugged. “It happens all the time; no big deal. This is the Farnley, you know.”

  Lee turned to the assembled group. “Do you all agree with Stucky?” The group shuffled and turned their eyes downward. No one chose to answer.

  Ross didn’t like the direction Lee’s questions were leading. “Don’t jerk our chain. We did our job. We’re just trying to survive down here. It happened. I know you almost got killed, but I could say the same for the boiler crew, so you don’t have the right to get high and mighty over this. It happened before, and it’ll happen again. It’s over, done, and forgotten. We got by; that’s all that matters.”

  Lee’s voice turned soft. “I know you all did everything possible under the circumstances today. From what I heard, I’m proud of the way you all hung in there. You’re a good group of sailors.”

  Lee turned to Stucky and asked, “Someone told me you wanted to be a barber but joined the navy instead. Is that right?”

  Stucky blushed and shuffled his feet a little. “Well, yeah, once. I practiced a little, but I never got too good.”

  “Do you want more practice?”

  “What do you mean?” Stucky glanced toward his shipmates, his voice cautious.

  “It looks to me like no one here has had a haircut in months. I’m appointing you our official barber,” Lee said, turning toward Ross, who was wrinkling his forehead at Lee.

  “Chief, first thing tomorrow, make up a schedule and see to it that every man gets a haircut. Put me first on the list.”

  Ross removed his cap and ran his hand across his bald scalp. This kid is going too far, Ross thought. He looked directly at Lee and said, “Mister Lee, you can’t do that. Stucky doesn’t know how to be a barber. It’s not our fault we don’t have a ship’s barber.”

  “Chief, I’d like you to be the second one on the list,” Lee interrupted.

  Ross smiled weakly. “But I don’t have any hair.”

  “You’ll be second, Chief. You have a little left around the sides, and it’s getting shaggy.” Before Ross could answer, Lee started to turn away as he spoke. “That’s all I wanted.”

  Lee continued to pivot on his left toe as his right foot swung toward the ladder.

  One of the men yelled, “Mister Lee! Watch out! Elmo!”

  Lee was startled. His head swung back toward the voice, and his right foot swayed slightly to the left in response to the head movement. With his body twisted, Lee’s foot fell to the deck.

  Elmo died instantly.

  For what seemed an eternity, Lee stood motionless. The eyes of the group left Lee’s surprised face and followed his torso down to the right shoe. Slowly, Lee lifted his right foot and bent down. He gently picked Elmo’s body up with his fingertips and placed it in the palm of his hand. Lee turned back to the group, holding his hand so all could see Elmo’s crushed body. Lee looked at the group. “I’m sorry,” he said in a soft, airy, commiserative voice.

  No one spoke. The group slowly broke up as each man headed off in silence until only Ross and Stucky were left. Ross squinted a bit at Lee and tried to decipher what he saw behind the grin. There was something deep, black, and ominous in Lee’s eyes. Lee looked directly at Ross and said, “Chief, I want all your men who are not on watch mustered on the fantail in five minutes.”

  “Why?” Ross asked, still probing with his eyes.

  “I’ll tell you then.” Lee turned and headed for the ladder.

  §

  When Lee walked onto the fantail, Ross and his men were milling about in an unorganized group. Lee looked serious and was carefully carrying a brown Masonite clipboard. A small American flag like those given to children on the Fourth of July was taped to it. Under the flag was a walnut-sized bulge. Ross looked inquisitively at the clipboard, but Lee offered no explanation.

  “Have the men form up, Chief, facing outboard.”

  Ross scratched the back of his neck and shrugged before complying. The sun had almost set, and the sky was aglow with gold and orange tones. The men stood casually in formation, shuffling their feet, their heads turning to one side or looking down, trying to hide their smiles and snickers.

  Lee stepped in front of the men and, holding the clipboard in his right hand, rested it on top of the railing stanchion. When he spoke, his solemn voice was strong but low, and its edge cut through the sound of the sea and the wake.

  “Men, I thought it would be appropriate for us to say good-bye to our fellow shipmate, Petty Officer Third Class Elmo Cockroach, and commit his memory to the deep,” Lee began.

  The furtive shuffling and head movement of the men increased, but penetrating the half-darkness, Lee’s eyes stabbed at each man, forcing them to return his gaze.

  Lee continued, “It’s only fitting that Elmo be buried at sea since he lived his entire life aboard this ship, and, sadly, they became inseparable.

  “What can we say about Elmo as we say good-bye to him? What do we know about him? He was a shipmate and a diversion from the boredom of the sea. He wasn’t a fighter. Elmo was nonjudgmental. He neither looked up nor down on anyone. He had no ideals, no heroes, and no enemies to strengthen him. Elmo was neither coward nor hero. All he wanted to do was get by, to survive.

  “Elmo was Elmo, nothing more, nothing less. Elmo’s only single accomplishment was that he accomplished nothing.”

  Lee paused and scanned each face in the silent formation. Ross had watched his men grow quiet and had tried to catch Lee’s eye. Lee ignored him.

  Lee took a deep breath and resumed. “Elmo was a cockroach, and like all cockroaches, he was a survivor. Strangely, we identified with him.”

  Lee stopped abruptly and fixed his gaze on Ross. The fading sunlight and shadows somehow made Lee’s clear black eyes appear hard as steel. Ross lowered his head to look at his shoes, but Lee’s eyes and the eyes of his men bit at him. When he raised his eyes to return Lee’s gaze, Lee continued.

  “Elmo wasn’t an able seaman.”

  It was as if the other men had disappeared. Two men, Ross and Lee, eyes locked, unflinching, faced each other. Lee lowered his voice as if talking only to Ross.

  “His legacy is that he left no legacy, and that’s not part of the deal. The real tragedy is, Elmo died a survivor.”

  Lee tipped the clipboard up, and a small white bundle slid down the board and fell into the sea.

  “Dismiss the men, Chief.” Lee walked away before Ross had a chance to react.

  WOODEN SHIPS AND MEN OF STEEL

  August 1971, Mediterranean Sea south of Crete

  Operation Marathon: Day 420

  It was just past ten that night when Ross poked his head around the corner of Lee’s quarters. Lee, lying in his bunk, looked up over the clipboard propped on his knees. “Mister Lee, I saw your light on. I hoped you were still up. Do you have a minute?”

 
; “Sure. Come on in. What do you want, Chief?”

  Fifteen years earlier when he put on his chief’s stripes, Ross had accepted this responsibility. Without being asked or told, he knew it was his responsibility to help train young officers. This wasn’t Ross’ first avuncular visit, and he had hoped he could avoid this one, but he couldn’t.

  “Mister Lee, I want to help you. We have to work together. Can I speak openly?”

  Lee nodded.

  “That stunt you pulled earlier this evening. What the hell was that all about?”

  Lee’s eyes sparked back at Ross. “I was burying a fallen shipmate. It’s your fantasy, Chief, not mine. What was Elmo all about?”

  Ross screwed his face in thought. “Mister Lee, I know what you’re trying to do. Don’t do it. You’ll only hurt the men and yourself.”

  “What about you? Will you get hurt?”

  “That doesn’t matter. I can ride things out. Don’t screw up your career.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ross looked into Lee’s eyes again, trying to figure out what Lee meant by the question. All he saw was honest curiosity.

  “The Farnley is the Farnley. She’s an old ship, and under the best circumstances, we’d have to hold her together with baling wire. The navy has written her off.”

  “What has that got to do with getting hurt?” Lee asked.

  “You’re just going to get the men all excited, and when you can’t support them, they’ll get more discouraged than they are now. Don’t do that to them, please.”

  “Are you worried about the men, Chief?”

  Ross’ pulse quickened. “Of course I am. Most of them are just kids, but they’re good kids. Some really grew up today when we lost power. It takes guts to do what they did today.”

  “I know they’re good men, Chief, but don’t you think they deserve better?”