Splinter on the Tide

by Phillip Parotti

  “You can count on it,” Ash said, as Claire slid to the curb in front of the Bath bus station. “See you at The Eiseley, then, in about two hours.”

  “Perfect,” Claire said, giving him a kiss. “And see that you don’t sit down next to the prettiest girl on the bus and try to chat her up on the way down to Yarmouth, my love.”

  “Couldn’t possibly,” Ash said. “I’m much too exhausted.”

  When Ash reached The Eiseley that evening, he found Solly, Hamp, and their girls already parked around a comfortable circular table in a corner where the bartender had just delivered their drinks.

  “Ah,” Hamp said, “our master arrives. Siéntese, Jefe. What’ll you have?”

  “I think I’ll wait for Claire,” Ash said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “I hope you’ve had a delightful weekend, the four of you.”

  “You see,” Chana said, giving Hamp a dig, “how a gentleman behaves. He waits for a lady and is obviously attentive to her every need.”

  “I must observe,” Hamp said, “that he’s setting a dangerous and thoroughly unnecessary precedent. If he were to persist in that kind of behavior, a woman could start expecting it, and that would be an ordeal for any man to endure. I must undertake to instruct him and give him guidance.”

  But before he could say another word, Claire arrived wearing her little black number and instantly produced the effect that Ash had imagined that she would, all four of the others staring wide-eyed and rising to greet her as Ash made the introductions.

  “What we are dying to know,” Keren said as the party resumed their seats, “is what kind of tea the two of you sipped this weekend.”

  “Orange pico, with a slight hint of peppermint,” Claire said smoothly, everyone at the table dissolving into laughter. “And you?”

  “Oh,” Keren said, “we were very sedate. These two limited us to sips of Earl Grey at that place called the Queen Bee’s.”

  “We wanted somewhere with plenty of light,” Chana said, “So that this one and my intrepid brother over there would behave with decorum and keep their hands to themselves.”

  “I defy you to say that we didn’t behave with perfect manners,” Solly protested.

  “Keep your shirt on,” Chana said. “I simply want your Commanding Officer to know that we kept you in line.”

  “Remind me to hire you as ‘welfare mistress’ for Chaser 3,” Ash joked. “And then, once you’ve put these two through their paces, I’ll let you start on the crew, because there’s no telling what they’ve been up to.”

  “Hill and Polaski seem to have taken up with a couple of local girls,” Solly said.

  “We met them at the movies,” Keren explained.

  “Where Michelson, Teller, and that kid named Zwick provided witty commentary,” Hamp added.

  “Nothing untoward, I trust,” Claire said.

  “All in good fun,” Solly said. “In fact, that Michelson is something clever. He had us all laughing.”

  “I suspect,” Ash said, “that after word gets around about having seen the two of you with Chana and Keren, your stock will improve immensely with the crew. You may even be asked to sign autographs.”

  Hamp beamed. Solly turned slightly red.

  “Oh, stop,” both girls said at once.

  “Orange pico, anyone?” Claire said, flashing a radiant smile.

  They talked on, the six of them, over two successive drinks, and then, while Ash and Claire said goodnight, Solly and Hamp collected the girls’ luggage, called a cab, and took them to the station where they were catching the night train for New York.

  “You’ve the makings of a happy ship,” Claire said, once more kissing Ash good night inside the ball room.

  “Yes,” Ash said, “and for my money, you’re the best thing about it. What say I treat you to supper tomorrow night?”

  “You’re on,” Claire said.

  Throughout the week, at Anson’s Boatyard the work went forward unimpeded. Within days, Anson’s crew had scraped down the hull, sanded, re-caulked seams, painted, and signed off on the papers for hull maintenance. Meanwhile, in the engine room, the factory technicians, working with Solly and the snipes on board, had made good progress overhauling the engines, while Chief Stobb and two other firemen began tearing down and overhauling their pumps. In the midst of all of this, on Wednesday afternoon, yet another Navy staff car came through the gate, passed straight by the two Quonset huts where the other chasers were building, and drew up in front of the warehouse where Ash kept his office. When it finally stopped, Commander Fromkern stepped out. Ash snatched up his hat and immediately hurried out to greet him.

  “Making good progress, are they?” Fromkern said, after Ash had saluted him and the two had shaken hands.

  “Yes, Sir,” Ash said. “Hull’s back in shape. The tech reps you sent and my engineers are getting the plant in condition without any trouble. I think everything will be completed on time or a day or two before.”

  “Been able to give your people some leave?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Ash said. “One section went last week; the others are away right now.”

  “Good,” Fromkern said. “They get rusty, you know, if the op-schedule doesn’t give them some time for themselves. What about you and your two officers?”

  “Ah ... we’ve spent some quality time with friends, Sir. I think you could say that we’ve been well satisfied.”

  “Excellent,” the commander said, showing Ash a grin. “Glad to know that the environment satisfies. Now, about this equipment modification that you’re scheduled for down in Portland. I’ve wrangled you a radar and a very good third-class petty officer to maintain it. I think it will take us about three or four days to install it. We’ll have to reinforce your mast a trifle and make some other adjustments, but once you get it on, I’m guessing that it is going to make your life one hell of a lot easier—for navigation, for station keeping, particularly at night, and for hunting U-boats.”

  “I’m stunned,” Ash said, nearly euphoric. “I never imagined we’d get a radar on something this small.”

  “Production’s finally getting up to speed,” Fromkern said. “I’m not going to say that these sets are perfect, but they’re the most effective things we have for finding U-boats and bringing the krauts to heel. We’re starting to equip aircraft with radar as well, and a combination of air search, working in conjunction with our escorts, is making a swift difference, particularly along the coast.”

  “I saw an intelligence report that said that the Nazis are drawing back into the mid-Atlantic,” Ash said.

  “That’s partially true,” Fromkern said, “but not entirely. Krauts sank a tanker not three nights back, no more than 12 miles south of Cape May. Ship went down within three minutes, taking all hands. Escorts didn’t even get a contact. So it’s still hostile out there, and dangerously so. That’s why we’re trying to put radar on as many of the escorts as we can, as fast as the sets can come out of the factory.”

  So, Ash reasoned, conditions were changing, but it also seemed clear that they weren’t changing fast enough.

  “There’s one other thing that we’re working up as well,” the commander continued. “Got the idea from the British, but we’re putting together some small task units that we’re starting to call Hunter-Killer groups: a few destroyers, destroyer escorts, and corvettes, working with jeep carriers—merchant hulls with much smaller than usual flight decks but with some effective aircraft. We’ve got one or two of them roaming around in the mid-Atlantic along the chop line, all of them with the primary responsibility for finding and sinking U-boats while breaking up their Wolf Packs. Thus far, when the weather is right for flying, it looks like they’re an effective deterrent, and if we get enough of them out there, they might even become deadly. You won’t be joining them, of course. A chaser simply isn’t fast enough to keep up with them.”

  After looking at Ash’s paperwork regarding the upkeep and speaking for a few minutes with Olie Anson, Commande
r Fromkern returned to Ash, shook hands once more, and wished him God speed. Then, as quickly as he’d arrived, the man was gone, his staff car whipping through the gate trailing a thin cloud of dust in its wake.

  “You’ve a smile on your face,” Claire said as the two sat over coffee in the Queen Bee’s that evening. “Particularly good day?”

  “Yes,” Ash said. “Can’t tell you much about it, but our survival chances have been improved. And anything that offers a better guarantee that I’ll be able to get back here with you when the war allows looks like a good thing to me.”

  “Take hold of as many things like that as you can,” Claire said. “I don’t suppose the Navy would consider stationing you in Yarmouth, would they?”

  “No,” Ash said, “although the mere idea sounds thoroughly delightful.”

  “What do you suppose they actually intend for you?” Claire asked.

  “I’d only be guessing,” Ash said.

  “Go right ahead and guess, love.”

  “Well,” Ash said, “I've been in command of Chaser 3 for about six months now. From what I've heard about other ships our size, I'm guessing that they’ll leave me on board for another 12 months at the least and then move Solly up to command as my relief. Hamp, of course, will then move up as the X.O., and they’ll draw a third officer from the schools somewhere.”

  “And you, where will you be assigned?”

  “My assumption,” Ash said, “is that I will either be sent down to Miami as an instructor or be assigned as a department head or as the exec on a destroyer escort of some kind. The yards are beginning to turn them out one after another, and that’s probably where experienced chaser captains are going to go. I won’t have enough seniority to command one of those ships; lieutenant commanders will probably get them, but if I’m promoted to lieutenant between now and then, a hitch as an X.O. may be in the cards.”

  “And whether you stay in the Atlantic or go out to the Pacific is strictly a matter of chance?”

  “Yes,” Ash said. “And for us, that stinks, I know, but there it is.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” Claire said, looking up with a reassuring smile. “There’s a war on, you know, so we’ll have to take what comes.”

  “You’re a trooper,” Ash grinned.

  “You bet,” Claire said, “and oh my, but do I ever intend to show you some trooping this weekend.”

  “Should I bring combat boots?”

  “Stock up on energy pills, if you can find some,” Claire said. “You’ll be shipping out next week, but before you go, I intend to give you the best weekend of your life.”

  On Friday night, coming in on the evening train, Chana and Keren returned from New York to enliven Hamp and Solly’s weekend, but Ash was not there to greet them. Instead, he had already taken the bus to Bath, where Claire once more picked him up at the station and drove him down to her friend’s bungalow. There, without hesitation or inhibitions, the two of them spent the vast majority of their weekend in bed, shamelessly making love, unable to get enough of each other. The following Sunday evening, when the two finally joined Hamp, Solly, and their girls at The Eiseley, both, regardless of the fact that they looked as placid as doves, showed signs of exhaustion around their eyes.

  “Oh, dear,” Keren said to Claire as she sat down beside her, “you do look like you need a drink. Long swim, was it, miles and miles up and down the coast?”

  “Oh yes,” Claire mused, “but the water was wonderful. Ask for Calvados, won’t you Ash, perhaps a double.”

  “Pick up a few seashells?” Hamp said to Ash. “Comb the beach for driftwood? See any porpoises during your swim?”

  “Claire and I took tea in Bath,” Ash said. “Pleasant walks, counting light posts, a little gin rummy, some contemplative viewing of the sunsets, and so forth. Lovely weekend. Very restful.”

  “Be careful you don’t fall off to sleep in your chair,” Chana said. “Those sunsets look like they’ve exhausted you.”

  “Hamp,” Solly said, “Chana looks like she needs another drink. I think her tongue’s about to become unstrung.”

  “Never you mind,” Keren said, patting Solly on the knee. “Chana’s merely being polite.”

  “And what, if I may ask,” Ash said, “did the four of you get up to this weekend?”

  “Bird watching,” Hamp said. “Chana wanted to count sapsuckers.”

  “Pleasant walks,” Solly said. “Keren wanted to bathe in fall colors and collect a few mementos for her memory book.”

  “Have you ever heard such a pair of asses in your life?” Keren said, pinching Solly’s arm.

  “Insipid to the point of nausea,” Claire laughed, taking Ash’s arm and squeezing it. “Like hearing something from Fauntleroy’s Etiquette Book for Little Boys.”

  “Officers and gentlemen,” Ash said, “officers and gentlemen, and the three of you wouldn’t have us any other way.”

  On the following Wednesday morning, Ash once more backed away from Anson’s dock and took Chaser 3 down the channel into the upper reaches of Casco Bay, made Portland with minimal effort, tied up alongside an assigned pier, and working closely with Solly and Hamp, welcomed the yard’s chief engineering officer aboard to complete the necessary paperwork for their modifications. Then, before anyone had a right to expect it, a crane came down alongside on the pier while a welder went up the mast to begin detaching the crow’s nest from its fittings. At the same time, a radar repeater and a necessary antenna were delivered to the ship and left crated on the pier, sitting under canvas, while materials were assembled for reinforcing the mast, the engineering officer telling Ash that he intended to finish the installation by Saturday afternoon, so that Chaser 3 could once more put to sea.

  Not ten minutes after the crew secured from quarters the next morning, Samarango reported that a radarman 3/c had reported aboard, and Ash asked to see him.

  “So,” Ash said, “your name’s Moroni and you come from Herrin, Illinois, by way of Great Lakes and the radar school. Part of Herrin’s Lombard community, were you? Know the Calcaterras, the Oldonis, the Brancas, by any chance?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Moroni said, a surprised smile spreading across his face. “You know the place?”

  “I spent a year in Herrin working for the paper,” Ash said. “Know the place well. Good folks. They’ll expect you to be a credit to them.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Moroni said.

  “The question I have,” Ash said, “is how well do you know this radar we’re getting?”

  “The SF-1, Cap’n? I know it, Sir. Trained up on it at the school. I can operate it, and I can repair it. Range on a good day is about 16 miles, nautical. Ground return’s sometimes a problem, but I know a trick or two to reduce it. Good little system when she’s workin’ right.”

  “We’ll look to you to see that she does just that,” Ash said. “Where are you bunking? We’ve got cramped quarters here.”

  “Bosun got me a place up forward, Sir. Said that a petty officer rates a bunk, so one of the seaman’s slinging a hammock. I feel kinda bad about it, puttin’ a man outa his bunk, but the bosun says that’s the system.”

  “And so it is,” Ash said. “Glad to have you aboard, Moroni. Give us your best and perhaps you’ll spot a kraut that we can sink.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Moroni said.

  On Friday afternoon, with Moroni and the shipyard’s technical people making final adjustments to the newly installed SF-1 radar, Ash took a room for the night at one of the better downtown hotels and then went to the bus station to collect Claire.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, as she took his arm. “It’s pretty obvious to me that I’m not going to like being away from you.”

  “It’s a little piece of hell that the war has forced on us,” Claire said, “but I don’t suppose we’re alone in our predicament.”

  “No,” Ash said, “I don’t suppose we are. I guess there must be a few million others in the same boat, a boat far more crowded than Chaser 3. An
y special requests about where you’d like to dine? Lobster, or perhaps something French? I hear there’s a good place over on Federal Street. One of the chiefs at the yard says that the chef’s from Bordeaux”

  “Sounds delicious,” Claire said, giving his arm a squeeze, “and then, I’ll take you straight to our room and give you a lovely dessert.”

  “Pumpkin pie?” Ash said, “With whipped cream?”

  “I’ll let it be a surprise,” Claire said.

  Their dinner, a fine cut of beef rolled and baked in a pastry shell and accompanied with a souffle, couldn’t have been better. But it was the dessert—something that they lingered over until well into the wee hours of the morning—that satisfied them most, and then, to the discomfort of both, the feast ended, Ash rising and pulling on his uniform as he prepared to return to his ship.

  “I won’t make a scene,” Claire said, standing in front of him as she reached up to kiss him goodbye. “I love you, Ash. Come back to me. I’ll be waiting.”

  “I love you too,” Ash said. “Look after yourself for me, and I will be back to love you more at the first opportunity.”

  And so, leaving Claire standing in her robe, Ash returned to Chaser 3, backed into the channel, and took his ship to sea.

  19

  On the morning that Chaser 3 left Portland, she picked up a convoy of eight merchant bottoms in Casco Bay and escorted them all the way down to Cape May, in company with a new destroyer escort commanded, as Ash had imagined, by a regular lieutenant commander who knew his business and made good use of the chaser, particularly at night when he stationed her on the convoy’s flank to guard against stalkers. The first thing that Ash noticed, almost from the outset, was that Commander Fromkern had been right; with the SF-1 operating at peak efficiency, life on the bridge suddenly became several times easier than it had been. To keep in practice, Ash and Bell still shot the stars morning and evening in company with a sun line at noon, but with the radar working, they really didn’t have to; Ash could glance at the radar scope, shoot rapid ranges and bearings to three recognizable points of land, as long as they were not too far from the coast, and have his navigational fixes plotted within seconds. At the same time, with all of them showing up as blips on the screen, he could keep track of the precise position of every ship in the convoy and, based upon the size of the blip it produced and its movements, the destroyer escort with which he was operating. Radar, he decided, was a magnificent invention, a seaman’s dream come true.