Splinter on the Tide

by Phillip Parotti

On the bridge, Ash gripped the rail to steady himself and called for coffee, and Watts, when he brought it up to Ash, brought it up with a smile.

  “Put somethin’ medicinal in dat, Cap’n, medicine-like, five-star. You needs it. Perks a man right up, dat medicinal, an’ all.”

  “Thank you,” Ash said, not wishing to beg the question, willing for once to set aside the Navy’s proscription against alcohol at sea.

  “Ya come on down ta da mess deck later, I’ll fix ya a breakfast ya won’t forget.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” Ash said, flashing the cook a smile. “I really will.”

  With the sun well up, the PC and the chasers that had directly participated in the attack found everything they were looking for; once back underwater, the U-boat had apparently broken up. An oil slick had surfaced, bits of bedding had floated to the top, a few bits of wood were found, and aside from the Germans that Chaser 3 and the PC had killed with their deck guns, they discovered two more dead Germans, one tangled in some kapok that the PC captain thought to have been torn from netting of some kind, the other with his arms still thrust through a life jacket that the man never had time to tie.

  “I guess that clinches it,” Ash said to no one in particular.

  “I guess so,” Hamp said. “Well done, Captain. Very well done indeed!”

  “I wonder,” Ash said. “The only thing I feel right now is fatigue.”

  The PC captain, before he departed to return to Newport, sent Ash a message thanking him for “a bold and successful search, in every way brilliantly executed,” and Ash, while appreciating the gesture, nevertheless took it as a sign of the euphoria overflowing aboard the PC after the crew had lashed a broom to their mast.

  “What about us, Cap’n?” Michelson asked, from his position as morning lookout, “Do we get to put up a broom too?”

  “Yes,” Ash said. “Best we just take some pride in the fact that for once we’ve done the job we were sent to do.”

  After seeing the PC depart and ordering the chasers into a zig-zag for their return to New York, Ash finally did go down for breakfast, Watts placing in front of him a plate so piled with scrambled eggs, sausage, and hash browns that Ash wondered how he would ever get through it. But once he started on the meal, Ash suddenly discovered that he was famished and ate with an intensity that he had seldom felt. Throughout the meal, one after another, the crew kept coming down, congratulating Ash, congratulating themselves, and tucking into their own meals like they thought that their food might stop on the morrow.

  Afterward, with Solly on the bridge to handle things, Ash poured himself into his bunk and slept like one of the dead for three straight hours before the bridge messenger woke him, according to the order that Ash had left when he’d first turned in—to notify him that Bell was about to relieve Solly for the afternoon watch. Bell was doing fine as a novice watch stander—he was alert, intelligent, and capable—but in that moment, with Bell still standing bridge watches under instruction, Ash knew that he missed Samarango more than he ever had before. Three, or six, or even nine hours’ more sleep would not be enough, he knew, to bring him fully back on line and up to speed. Without hesitating, he sat up, pulled on his wash khakis, and headed up to the bridge to take his place as Officer of the Deck with Bell attending. On the strength of the breakfast that Watts had fed him, he knew that he could sleep again between 1600 and 2000, but afterward, Bell would have the evening watch, and Ash would have to go up one more time. How many more weeks, he wondered, until he could feel confident enough in Bell to give him a watch of his own? Three, he imagined, perhaps four, but if Samarango passed out of midshipman’s school and joined the fleet as an ensign, Ash knew that the effort would have been worth it and harbored no reservations.

  They made Raritan Bay on the following afternoon, COMDESLANT allowing them to tie up to the Coast Guard piers for a two-day rest. Hamp and Solly left the ship even before the crew could change into their liberty uniforms, but Ash, once he’d seen the liberty party off, returned at once to his bunk and slept straight through the day until midnight, when he finally got up, went down to the galley, and fixed himself one of the sustaining cheese and onion sandwiches that Watts had shown him how to make.

  Grubber, handling the radio watch, found him in the chart room around 0100 that morning and handed him a DESLANT message that directed him to take a convoy south, leaving at 0800, some 31 hours away. Ash initialed the message to signify that he had seen it and understood its contents, and then, when Grubber disappeared back down to Radio, Ash went out and climbed to the bridge.

  Across the harbor, the lights of Manhattan gave Ash the impression that he was looking at the Emerald City, a place straight out of The Wizard of Oz. Brooklyn seemed slightly more subdued, and Ash wondered how Solly and Hamp were spending their evening. Then, predictably, his thoughts drifted to Claire, and he wished more than anything that he could go home, and stay—for a long, long time. Such thoughts, he knew, were dangerous. They would depress him, and he was in no condition to be depressed. Taking a grip on himself, he turned, went back down to the wardroom, and slept straight through until 0900 the next morning, when he finally rose, dressed, and went out on deck to begin checking with Chief Stobb about the condition of the engineering plant and to make sure that fuel, water, and stores had been topped off so that the ship could get away on time and with all that she needed on the following morning.

  About an hour before lunch, Ash discovered a lieutenant commander coming down the pier. When the officer came aboard, Ash made haste to greet him.

  “Morning,” the man said, returning Ash’s salute. “Have some place we can talk? This won’t take long; I’m from ONI.”

  Ash took the officer to the wardroom where, without waiting for Watts to send up coffee or without bothering to sit down, the officer pulled an envelope from his inner pocket and handed it to Ash.

  “You have a man named Teague aboard?” the commander said.

  “Yes, Sir,” Ash said.

  “This is for him,” the man said. “Doesn’t need much explanation. We ran down his wife, or his ex-wife, in Sedona, Arizona. She’d apparently divorced him already, in Reno or Carson City, but we recovered half the money for the house she sold out from under him. There’s a check in there, and an official copy of the divorce papers, all signed, stamped, and legal. I didn’t take a hand in this myself, you understand. ONI out of San Francisco seems to have handled it, with a little help from the FBI. I’m just here to see that this packet gets into the right hands. Yours seem to be the right hands.”

  “I’ll see that he gets it,” Ash said. “Teague’s on liberty at the moment, but thanks, for both of us. I’m the one who asked ONI in on this. I’m glad that it turned out well. Seems like we did the right thing.”

  “Without question,” said the lieutenant commander. And then, taking a quick look around, “Three of you living in here? How do you do it?”

  Ash laughed. “It’s small, but it’s home,” Ash said. “And has been for almost 18 months now.”

  “Christ,” the commander said, “there must be a special place in naval heaven for you guys. Is the crew this cramped?”

  “Even more so,” Ash said.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” the commander said, shaking his head. “It would give me claustrophobia after ten minutes. May even be giving me a bit now.”

  “We’ve sort of learned to live with it,” Ash said.

  Solly and Hamp rolled back from Brooklyn shortly before midnight, waking Ash as they came down the ladder and started readying themselves for bed.

  “I take it that your two glamor girls haven’t run off with the Marines after all?” Ash said, double folding the pillow beneath his head.

  “No,” Solly said, “but Chana did pick Hamp’s pocket, just as I told him that she would.”

  “We took the girls to a new place that’s hot,” Hamp said. “The Copacabana. Latin flavor. Unreasonably expensive. Wise choice on my part. Chana nearly swooned.�
��

  “Hell,” Solly said, “I nearly swooned. That place cost us a week’s pay at least; I nearly fainted when I saw the bill.”

  “As usual,” Hamp said, “he exaggerates. Chana saw Cesar Romero, and that turned out to be better than if I’d bought her that mink coat you mentioned to us.”

  “I still don’t think that Cesar Romero was anywhere near the Copacabana last night,” Solly said. “I think you just told Chana that he was there so that you could give her a thrill.”

  “Well,” Hamp said, “she certainly thrilled me as a recompense, so I have no trouble counting the night as a success.”

  “Funny,” Ash said, “but I don’t think I had figured you guys as aficionados of Latin music.”

  “We’re not,” Solly said, “but Hollywood seems to be making a lot of movies with Latin themes, and to our misfortune, I think the girls have been seeing some of them.”

  “Propaganda, I call it,” said Hamp. “I’d bet money that Hollywood has been told to soft-soap South America in order to stimulate their support for the war. Someone told me that Argentina is downright fascist in its sympathies. Even Disney seems to have gotten into the act with something called Saludos Amigos that’s going around the theaters. And it’s supposed to be pretty good too.”

  “So,” Solly said, “what did Claire have to say about your promotion? Pleased, is she?”

  “She’s promised to bank the increase,” Ash said. “Practical girl, Claire.”

  “Why don’t you ask her to call Brooklyn,” Solly said, “and get her to put some of those new-fashioned ideas into Chana’s head. That could make things hugely easier for us the next time we come in. It might even induce Keren to cook us another turkey, and if Keren sets the example, maybe Chana could burn something for us again. Just think of the money that we could save.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Hamp said. “The lovely Claire is probably saving Ash’s money for new curtains, a new dress, or even a new coat. What you have to realize, Solly, is that the feminine mystique, in so far as I’m acquainted with it, is genetic. Women are born with a gene that is wholly absent from males; it’s called the shopping gene. You and I, we need something, we go straight to a store, buy it, and leave. Shopping for the women I’ve known is, instead, a social activity—like a tea, a coffee, or a bridge party—and it is impossible for them to shop alone because they need a friend to tell them how much money they are saving with each bargain they pick up. But I need not go into detail. I’m sure that the lovely Keren will instruct you.”

  There was more, but Ash, after rolling his eyes, fell back to sleep.

  28

  The remainder of the month saw Chaser 3 running small convoys, sometimes single ships, back and forth between New York and Cape May. Spring storms, one of them strong, buffeted the ship during one of those weeks, the front finally petering out into light rain and squalls before disappearing entirely. Once more, with green water springing back over the bow, forcing the ship to pitch like a bobbing mummer, men had been seasick. But with the storms blown south, the seas calmed to an acceptable, reasonably comfortable level, and the men regained their equilibrium. Krupp, having passed his exam for radarman 3/c under Moroni’s close instruction, received a transfer and left the ship late one night while they were tied to the Coast Guard piers at Staten Island. Teller, having passed a similar exam for machinist’s mate, left with him as Hill—having advanced to yeoman 2/c during the same exam period—checked in two replacements, fresh-faced boys from Wyoming coming straight to the ship from boot camp at Great Lakes. Slowly, Ash realized, the wheel of time kept turning.

  In early June, Chaser 3 joined a screen of two DEs, two PCs, three chasers, and a fleet tug escorting a convoy of 40 ships toward Norfolk, all of them deeply loaded, all of them making speed at 16 knots, forcing Ash to push the ship harder and faster than he had previously had to do while engaged as an escort.

  “I wonder what the rush is?” Ash said to Solly. “We’ve had Tunisia sewed up for weeks.”

  Not long after Solly had gone off watch and the crew had taken lunch, Solly rushed back onto the bridge with a smile on his face.

  “I know why the rush,” he said to Ash. “We invaded Sicily this morning. Biggest invasion fleet in history. We’re ashore and pushing inland. This bunch we’re with must be carrying resupply. Things are going to move faster now. I have a feeling.”

  “Sicily,” Ash said. “I would have thought somewhere on the Italian boot, but I guess they don’t want to leave Sicily sitting on the Allied flank. Wonder if they’ll go straight from there to Italy proper, or on up to Southern France.”

  “I’ll guess Italy,” Solly said, “to try to knock Mussolini out of the war”

  “Good guess,” Ash said.

  “Have you heard the news?” Hamp said, coming up the ladder. “We’re in Sicily!”

  “Heard it,” Solly said.

  “Word is that we have the Eyeties on the run" Hamp said, his face bright.

  “The Eyeties are one thing” Ash said, “the Germans are another. I wonder what they’ve got on Sicily?”

  “Any chasers in the Med?” Hamp asked.

  “Some,” Ash said, “but what they’re doing I couldn’t say, although I did hear that a bunch of them helped convoy a fleet of small boys over there, landing craft mostly, probably as a build-up for this thing”

  “Plenty of U-boats in the Med?” Hamp asked.

  “U-boats and Italian subs, both” Ash said.

  “Italian subs amount to much?” Solly asked.

  “According to one intelligence report I read,” Ash said, “Nazi U-boats are armed with Italian torpedoes. Does that give you any indication?”

  “No joke?” Solly said.

  “No joke” Ash said. “Their army may not amount to much, but their navy is apparently very skilled with sub-surface warfare: good torpedoes, good subs, and a variety of specialists—swimmers and the like—trained to get in underwater and stick mines to our ships. Can’t afford to sell em short, if you see what I mean.”

  “I wonder what it’s like off the Sicilian coast?” Hamp said.

  “Exposed, I’ll bet,” Ash said, “first to the sea and then to air attack. You know how they pounded Malta.”

  “Think we’ll ever be sent over?” Solly asked.

  “Only COMDESLANT would know,” Ash said, “but if they were going to send us somewhere, to the Med or to the Pacific, I think they would have done it last year. Like it or not, they have us right where they want us. I think Chaser 3 will stick to the coast for the duration.”

  As June progressed and the Allies pushed further and further across Sicily, Ash and a host of other escorts convoyed more and more ships south toward their points of departure for Gibraltar. Not long after the invasion, Ash signed Bell’s letter—the letter qualifying him to stand bridge watches underway under all conditions—Ash finally satisfying himself that his quartermaster was up to the task and ready to perform it. For Ash, it meant a release from regular watch standing, a release from having to be on the bridge for eight hours each day in addition to the remainder of the duties he had to carry out as the ship’s commanding officer. So, without ever voicing his relief openly, he nevertheless gave thanks after his fashion for the respite that the milestone afforded him.

  In the middle of June, Chief Stobb approached Ash.

  “Things are runnin’ OK at the moment" he said, “but we could sure use some down time, Cap’n. I need to overhaul a couple of the pumps, the port diesel could stand some work, and I’m thinkin’ that our steering gear could use some attention. All that plus we got a lot of grass growin’ down below. I made the rounds with a wherry and a battle lantern while we were alongside the pier at Cape May a couple of nights back, and it looks like we got a wheat field growin’ down there, not to mention the barnacles I could feel when I put a hand under.”

  “No danger of our breaking down, is there?”

  “Don’t think so,” said the chief, “but then there’s no
tellin’ what tomorrow will bring.”

  “Right,” Ash said. “It’s been over a year since we last scraped down, so surely we’ll get a yard period soon. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Let’s give DESLANT two more weeks. If we don’t get some orders to go in by that time, I’ll put in a request. Think you can keep us going for that long?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Chief Stobb said. “Aside from the hull which needs to be scraped, I’m just thinkin’ about preventative maintenance.”

  “Good thinking, Chief,” Ash said. “I appreciate it.”

  To Ash’s surprise, he did not have to wait two weeks. Instead, after leading up a convoy from Cape May to New York—a convoy which dispatched him to depth-charge a sonar contact that turned out to be a whale—Polaski brought him a message on the bridge.

  “I think you’ll appreciate this,” the sailor said, handing Ash the message board.

  29 June 1943, Ash read, CHASER 3 proceed Portland, pier 2, arrive 1800 hours. CO CHASER 3 report COMDESLANT OPERATIONS 1900 hours for interview with Commander Lusk. 30 June 1943, CHASER 3 proceed Anson’s Boatyard, Yarmouth. Arrive 0800for 16 days upkeep and overhaul. Technicians provided. Crew authorized leave period.

  “Good news?” Polaski said, a grin stretching across his face.

  “Very,” Ash said, turning toward Michelson who was standing nearby. “Messenger, Id like to see Mr. Solomon, Mr. Hampton, and Chief Stobb up here quick march.”

  On June 29, at 1800 hours precisely, Chaser 3 tied up to Pier 2 in the Portland Navy Yard, and Ash immediately headed for COMDESLANT Headquarters.

  Commander Howard Lusk, USN, when Ash finally entered his office, struck Ash as a spit and polish regular with a no nonsense air about him. Much to Ash’s surprise, as soon as the commander shook hands with him and offered him a chair, he also called out to the WAVE working in the outer office and asked that coffee be sent in for the two of them.

  “I want us to have a talk,” Lusk said, showing Ash a smile, instantly converting what Ash had imagined as an officious interview into something more relaxed.