Ash didn’t wait. Taking the con, he put on hard rudder, swung the ship to port, cranked up turns for 17 knots, and raced toward the contact. Behind him, as he could see when he glanced back, a massively burning freighter, her holds still exploding, was going down by the bow, men who seemed no larger than ants in silhouette against the fires leaping into the sea from the doomed freighter’s stern. With a U-boat to think about, he didn’t linger over what he’d seen; instead, with a speed that surprised him, he focused all of his attention on the Nazi sub he believed himself to be preparing to depth charge.
It had come, the attack, as Ash had expected it would–when everyone had least anticipated it, on a warm night, on a calm sea, with the watches running like clockwork–and there hadn’t been a single echo from the sonar to warn them, not, that is, until the ship had already been struck and was going down.
“Captain,” Gomez shouted up the voice tube, “she ain’t turnin’. She’s runnin’ straight toward the convoy. She’s tryin’ to get in there, inside the convoy!”
Ash continued to come around, trying to head off the submerged U-boat. If she got inside of him, she might torpedo one, two, or even three ships in quick succession and then maneuver so as to bring her stern tubes to bear, and that he absolutely had to prevent. Inside a range of 100 yards, Ash suddenly gave an order to swing the ship even more to port so as to unmask his starboard K-gun. Seconds ticked by, and then, when the time was right, Ash shouted “Fire!” his voice booming across the ship and heard the roaring KRUPPS as the K-gun fired. Instantly, Ash shouted “Right rudder!” down the voice tube, turning toward a point directly ahead of the U-boat’s path in the hope that he would cross the sub’s course and roll his ashcans straight down onto her bow.
Hamp, reacting to Ash’s order, rolled four at the same time, and within seconds the sea erupted in Chaser 3’s wake. As Ash threw the rudder hard to port, trying once more to cross the U-boat’s apparent path, Gomez sent up word that he had lost contact amid the explosions. Within moments, having turned a full 180 degrees, Ash dropped another pattern off the stern. Then, as the charges exploded behind him, he opened the range in an attempt to aid Gomez as the man tried to regain contact with the U-boat.
“Anything?” Ash shouted down to sonar.
“No contact!” Gomez shouted back. Then, after perhaps 30 seconds, Gomez reported hearing something on passive mode that gave Ash a pause. “Somethin’s going on down there, Cap’n, but I can’t tell what. Got a crackin’ sound, and then a bubble sound, an’ then nothin’. Could be a sub breakin’up, but probably not”
“Stay on it, Sonar,” Ash called back.
In the meantime, with the convoy warned and with Ash reporting a firm contact as he ran in for his attack, the senior officer in the Coast Guard cutter sent him a clear, unmistakable order: “Prosecute contact until 0700. If no positive results, rejoin following search.”
“Think we got him?” Solly asked hopefully.
“No,” Ash said, “but I think he’s down there, probably lurking near the bottom and gone silent. I’d expect to hear plenty of sounds if he’d broken up, and we didn’t. Gomez heard something, but that could have been nothing more than some German sailor banging on a pipe to close a leak. What we’ve got to try to do is pick the son-of-a-bitch up again so we can plaster him with another pattern and keep on plastering him until we do get him.”
Taking the speed down to 8 knots, Ash began to box the area, widening the box by a thousand yards with each circuit. Down below in sonar, Gomez stayed on the scope, refusing to accept relief. Ash remained on the bridge, Ash, Solly, and the lookouts straining their eyes by the light of the stars to scan the horizon in the event that the sub tried to come up and run away from them on the surface. Hour after hour, the search continued with no results. When the sun finally did come up, showing them an empty sea without a trace of debris or oil as evidence of the U-boat’s sinking, Ash reluctantly headed south, only catching up with the retreating convoy near the entrance to Raritan Bay the following night.
“Sorry the bastard got away,” Teague said to Ash as they tied up to the Staten Island pier that evening. “My boys were ready, Cap’n; we wanted to take a shot at him.”
“So did I,” Ash said, showing his gunner a smile, “so did I. Hang in there, Teague. I’m going to do my best to get you a good clean shot at one of these coffins just as soon as I can force one to the surface”
“Not to worry,” said the gunner. “You can count on us, Cap’n. That popgun is just itchin’ to fire, an’ when it does, we ain’t gonna disappoint you”
“That’s the ticket,” Ash said. “We’ve just got to keep the faith, the both of us.” Later, down in the wardroom, as the three of them prepared to turn in, Ash looked at Solly and then at Hamp, and said, “I’d bet money that if we’d stayed out there for another 12 hours we’d have forced that U-boat to the surface in order to replenish his air. I don’t think for a minute that we’ve sunk him, but we damn well might have done him some damage, and that might just have been enough so that he couldn’t have stayed down throughout another night. No use crying over spilled milk, but I sure hated to walk away from this one.”
Before either Solly or Hamp could reply, a skinny kid named Michelson, wearing his shirt open and a pair of dungaree cut offs, came sliding down the ladder, running in a message from radio where he’d been standing watch.
“Good news, Captain!” the kid said, thrusting out the message board, grinning from ear to ear. “Straight from COMDESLANT!”
“Michelson,” Ash said, looking the kid up and down before taking the message board from him, “if we get a surprise visit from anyone senior to me, you are liable to be in a peck of trouble over that outfit you’re wearing. I have no objections to it when we’re out at sea, but for in-port watches, you probably ought to get into whites or at least a full set of dungarees.”
“Yes, Sir,” Michelson said, swallowing the correction but still smiling.
“Now,” Ash said, taking the board, flipping it open, and starting to read, “let’s see what this good news you’re bringing me is all about.”
Suddenly, Michelson seemed so excited that Ash wondered if the man might not be about to twitch.
Then Ash smiled, turned to be sure that Solly and Hamp were listening, and began to read: “0800, 5 July 1942 Proceed Portland; offload ammunition. 0800 6 July 1942 Proceed Anson Boatyard, Yarmouth for upkeep. 0800 22 July 1942, Proceed Portland Navy Yard for equipment modification.”
“Not a word about this until I announce the news to the crew in the morning,” Ash said to Michelson, after he’d signed off on the message, and the radioman was about to depart.
“Yes, Sir,” Michelson said, showing Ash a suddenly straight face. Watching the man disappear back up the ladder, Ash imagined that the word would be all over the ship in less than five minutes.
“I guess,” Solly said, seeing the man go, “that life’s a wonder after all.”
“I’d guess,” Hamp volunteered, “that the ravishing tea-sipping spinster of Yarmouth is in for a surprise.”
“Now, now,” Ash said, “let’s not go putting a cart before a horse. Solly, see Stobb and Samarango and work out a leave schedule so that each man can take a week’s leave if he wants it. Stobb’s family is up in Buffalo, so I want him to be able to get up there for a few days, which means that you will have to oversee the engine room in his absence. I’ll need a fully working crew aboard to move the maintenance forward, but we ought to be able to handle what needs to be dealt with according to a reasonable rotation. My guess is that we’ll once more be moved into The Jarvis House for the two weeks we’re in Yarmouth so that Anson’s people can get at the interior, and if that turns out to be the case, I want all personal gear to go in their sea bags so that they don’t leave anything lying around. But for now, let’s get some sleep so that we can shag out of here early in the morning and get up to Portland so the men can have a good liberty the night we arrive.”
Ya
rmouth, on the morning after they had taken off their depth charges and ammunition–as far as Ash could see while threading the channel–hadn’t changed much during their absence, but Anson’s Boatyard was another matter entirely. Slightly beyond the dock where Chaser 3 tied up, everyone with eyes could see that two spanking new chasers were under construction and nearing completion. Not many yards up the beach from where the ships were on the ways, small Quonset huts had been erected to serve as temporary offices for the pre-commissioning crews, an ensign or two, as well as a few sailors coming and going from their entrances. And finally, on the gate, Ash spotted a sentry box as well as a gate guard and a sentry, both of them armed.
Mr. Anson met Ash as he tied up.
“How’d she run, Cap’n?” he asked, shaking Ash’s hand and greeting him with a smile.
“Couldn’t ask for a better ship,” Ash said. “You built her well. She runs like a dream”
“Glad to hear it,” Anson said, his smile broadening. “Any leaks?”
“A small one,” Ash said. “Vibrations from an exploding freighter shook some caulking loose in the lazarette a couple of nights back. My damage control people patched it, but I’ll let you put your seal of approval on it.”
“Not to worry,” Anson said rapidly. “We’re gonna scrape your bottom, rework the hull seams, paint, and give her a thorough going over. We have a couple of technicians coming from the factory to help overhaul your diesels, and we’re going to repack all of your bearings and give the pumps a thorough upgrade, check fuel and water lines, replace electrical lines where necessary, and unless I miss my bet, she’ll be better than new when you take her out of here in a couple of weeks.”
“What’s the plan for the crew?” Ash asked. “I’ve been guessing that you’ll want them off the ship, save for those working with you.”
“Right,” Anson said. “Sending some on leave, are you?”
“About half each week, in rotation,” Ash said.
“Good. The rest of them can bunk up at The Jarvis House, along with the people from these chasers we’re building. Plenty of room, and good food, as you know. Best, I think, if their personal effects go with them. I’ve good men here, but temptation is a nasty thing.”
“I’ll see it gets done,” Ash said. “When do we start?”
“Now,” Anson said. “Quick as you move ’em to The Jarvis, we’ll start. An’ I’ve cleared your old office so that you and your officers can have a place to work.”
“Thanks,” Ash said. “It’ll seem like old home week.”
Anson laughed, and half an hour later, Samarango marched the crew off the ship and straight out the gate, heading for The Jarvis House.
Inside the hotel, as the men going on leave stowed their sea bags in a secure storeroom and took their leave papers from Hill who carried them in a stack, the other men picked up their keys at the desk from Mrs. Jarvis and dispersed to their rooms. Finally, Ash, too, approached the desk where Mrs. Jarvis greeted him pleasantly.
“Captain Miller,” she said, smiling. “Glad to have you back. Things seem to be popping here these days, but I’ve saved you a good room where I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Jarvis,” Ash said, “and thank you.” And then, after he’d signed the register and received his key, Ash looked up and said, “I’m guessing, Mrs. Jarvis, that Miss Morris has once more decamped to The Eiseley.”
“That’s right,” his hostess said, her smile broadening. “Would you like her phone extension? She left it for you with, I think, the expression, ‘in the event he ever returns.’”
Ash allowed himself the hint of a smile. “I’d be grateful, Mrs. Jarvis.”
“I see that you have acquired wisdom during your absence,” Mrs. Jarvis said with a laugh. “I think it is a wise man who knows a good thing when he finally takes the time to see it.”
“I will hope to take my place among the sages,” Ash said, returning Mrs. Jarvis’ good wishes.
“One thing,” the woman said. “Claire Morris works during the day, at the public library. School teacher, you know. Has to have something to tide her over during the summer. I mention it because she doesn’t leave the library until five o’clock in the afternoon, so if you want to see her beforehand, you’re going to have to walk over. It's uptown a few blocks, on the right”
“Thank you” Ash said. “Good to know”
“Isn’t it,” said Mrs. Jarvis. “You might want to take out a card. Reading is such good fun.”
Ash laughed, climbed the stairs, found his room, and stowed his gear. Then he returned to the yard where Solly and Hamp were bent over their fold-down plywood desk arrangements, sorting through work orders and making out work assignments for the enlisted men that would be remaining in Yarmouth.
“Ha,” Hamp said, looking up from work he was doing, “take tea with the spinster yet?”
“Work first, refreshment later,” Ash said.
“Hear, hear,” Solly laughed. “I hope we are setting you a good example”
“Nonsense,” Hamp said. “We are just biding our time. The whole purpose of this in-port hiatus will become manifest on Friday night when the lovely Chana and a person of interest arrive here by train from the City. Rooms have been booked for them at The Eiseley to relieve them of having to fend off advances from the inferior elements.”
“Spoken like a true WASP.” Ash laughed. “And who might the ‘person of interest’ be? Some bathing beauty from Atlantic City, no doubt.”
“One of the lovely Chana’s running mates, to chaperone her, I’m sure,” Hamp said. “I have assumed an elderly duena, hirsute and vastly overweight, a retired governess possibly or even a female stoker from a Russian freighter just down from Murmansk.”
“Eat your heart out,” Solly said, slightly fuming. “I intend to tell my manipulative sister that she looks like a toad alongside a swan.”
“You will have understood” Hamp said to Ash, “that the lovely Keren has agreed to join in this little lamentation of swans that we have invited for the weekend.”
“So it would seem,” Ash said. “I commend you both”
“Perhaps you and the spinster might join us for tea,” Hamp continued, “if not for sport and recreation.”
“If this lad thinks he has enough money saved up to permit my sister even a moment of her preferred recreations,” Solly said, “he is a sadly mistaken. Chana, I can almost guarantee, will be looking forward to more lobster followed by expensive desserts. I intend to see that she is limited to plates of scrambled eggs and occasional burgers washed down by refreshing glasses of water or, at the most, coffee. Otherwise the two of us will need to visit loan sharks with very negative results.”
“Don’t look to me,” Ash said. “I’m as poor as a church mouse. Perhaps Hamp ought to put through a call to his grandmother at … where did you say, ‘The Glade’?”
“That, you will never live to see,” Hamp said.
The three of them then turned to work, Ash going aboard to where Mr. Anson had drawn the ship up onto the beach in order to make a last inspection before Anson’s work crews turned to their tasks, Solly and Hamp continuing with the papers that held their attention. At noon, all three went up to The Jarvis House, where Samarango had seen to the watch section’s sitting before taking them down to the yard to begin with their own arduous chores. Following the lunch, Ash saw Solly and Hamp head back, and only then did he turn uptown, looking for the public library.
Ash found what he was looking for soon enough in an unimposing building located in the midst of a small park. He stopped on the steps, brushed a mote of dust from the front of his khaki service dress, and went in, the transformation of the light from outside to inside momentarily blinding him until his eyes adjusted. Then, glancing to one side, he spotted her, Claire Morris, sitting behind the reference desk, her auburn hair radiating a rich copper color even beneath the artificial lighting. Without hesitating, Ash stepped forward. Claire looked up, saw him,
and flashed him a sudden, lovely smile that Ash quickly absorbed right down to his toes.
“You’re back,” she whispered, holding out her hand. “So good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too,” Ash whispered, taking her hand and feeling its warmth. “You’re working, I know, and I don’t want to interfere, but I wondered if we might arrange for a drink later, after supper? I have to eat with the crew at The Jarvis House where the Navy is footing the bill”
“The Eiseley has a cozy little bar,” she said at once. “Much quieter there than at The Jolly Roger, and far less crowded. Would that do? Say eight o’clock.”
“Perfect,” Ash said. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“So will I,” she said, once more showing him a pair of bright eyes. “I’m glad you’re back. I can imagine that you need a breather.”
“It’s good to be ashore. We’re plumb exhausted, all of us.” He did not add that Claire Morris promised to be the exact breather that he needed, the best possible breather of all.
17
The Eiseley’s bar—a comfortable lounge hung with long velvet curtains to muffle the sound and fitted out with a few well-cushioned booths and darkly painted tables and chairs—did provide an attractive place for a drink and some quiet conversation. When Ash walked into the room a few minutes before eight, he found the only customers to be a pair of ensigns, seated in a corner, talking over glasses of beer, while an elderly couple sat at a table, cradling what looked to be cups of coffee. Ash, greeting the bartender’s nod and indicating that he was waiting for someone, seated himself in a booth in view of the entrance. A few minutes later, Claire appeared at the door, spotted him at once, and came toward him. She had swapped the plain cotton skirt and blouse that she had been wearing in the library for something slim, black, and fetching. Ash, when he stood to greet her, felt slightly breathless upon seeing her.
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