Battle Stations

by Roger Jewett

  “That’s really one for the books. You meeting Tony that way,” Jacob said.

  “He said he knew you,” Warren responded.

  “Any idea where the hell he is?” Glen asked.

  Warren shook his head.

  The waitress brought the drinks to the table and said, “The drinks and dinner are on the house tonight,” she said and gestured toward another table.

  The three of them turned. There were four people. Two men and two women. One of the men was a civilian in black tie; the other was a commander. The women wore gowns. One was a blonde and the other brunette. Both were beautiful.

  “Who are they?” Warren asked.

  “Members of the press and Commander Horace Dean, CinPac’s press liaison officer,” Jacob explained, smiling and nodding at them.

  “Who’s the blonde?”

  “Connie Burke. She’s a reporter for the New York Post, and the other one, Beth Fields, is a freelance magazine writer.”

  “They’re gorgeous!” Glen exclaimed. “What do you think, Warren?”

  Warren looked toward the women and then at Glen. “They’re beautiful all right, but out of your league.”

  “I guess I should go over and thank them,” Jacob said, standing.

  “I’ll join you,” Glen offered.

  “I might as well go along,” Warren said.

  The three walked over to the table.

  Jacob introduced Warren and Glen, and the man in black tie said, “Charles Green. NBC news.” He shook hands with each of them.

  “Lieutenant Miller, why don’t you and your friends join us?” Miss Burke asked, smiling at him. She had blue eyes, straight white teeth and, it appeared from the décolletage of her black gown, lovely breasts.

  “We haven’t seen each other for a long time,” Jacob explained. He really wanted to tell Warren about Yancy.

  “Please,” she said in a very soft voice.

  “What about it?” Jacob asked, looking at Warren and Glen.

  “It’s okay with me,” Glen said, leering wolfishly at Miss Fields.

  Warren nodded.

  Green summoned the manager and two tables were quickly joined together.

  “Have you men eaten yet?” Commander Dean asked.

  “No, sir —” Jacob started to say.

  “Please, while we’re at the table,” Dean said, “let’s dispense with the military formalities.”

  “We haven’t eaten yet,” Jacob said.

  “Excellent!” Green exclaimed. “I’ll have the manager ask the chef to do a special —”

  “There’s really no need,” Jacob told him.

  “Nonsense,” Green responded. “There’s every need. You men are heroes.”

  Suddenly the music stopped and the spotlight swept across the floor to the table.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the band leader said, “we’re honored to have as our guests here tonight three very important Americans. Lieutenants Warren Troost and Jacob Miller and Lieutenant (JG) Glen Lascomb.”

  A spontaneous burst of applause filled the room. The three of them stood up.

  “I feel like an ass,” Warren whispered, while smiling.

  “Don’t let it show,” Jacob answered.

  “Lieutenant Miller, will you please come up here and say a few words to the people here tonight?” the band leader asked.

  Jacob hesitated.

  “Your show,” Commander Dean said.

  Jacob walked to the bandstand.

  There was another burst of applause.

  The spotlight poured over Jacob.

  “First, Lieutenant,” the band leader said, “let me congratulate you on behalf of all of us here and on behalf of the American people for taking out so many of the enemy.” And he stuck out his hand. Reluctantly, Jacob shook it.

  “I also happen to know that you were shot down,” the band leader said. “Would you share with us some of your thoughts that you had while you were waiting to be rescued? Did you think of your mother and father — perhaps your sweetheart?”

  Jacob wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass to make everyone in the room think about the war from a slightly different perspective.

  “I know it must be hard for you —”

  “It’s not hard at all,” Jacob answered and in a loud clear voice, he said, “I wasn’t alone.”

  “You mean you knew that God —”

  “Lieutenant Yashi Kurokachi was with me,” Jacob said. “He was shot down before I was. He was rescued with me, and someday when this war is over, maybe we will have the opportunity to meet as friends.”

  An awesome silence filled the room.

  “Well, thank you, Lieutenant, for your most interesting comment,” the band leader said and immediately gave the band the downbeat.

  Jacob walked across the dance floor to the table.

  “That will be in all the newspapers tomorrow morning,” Commander Dean commented, his voice tight with anger.

  Jacob sat down and looked at him. “Kurokachi is a man just like me,” he said. “Neither of us is a killer. When it comes right down to it, Commander, most of us are scared shitless.”

  “Jake, why don’t you come with me,” Miss Burke said, standing up.

  Jacob looked questioningly up at her. She went around to the rear of his chair. He could smell her perfume.

  “Go with her,” Warren said softly.

  Jacob looked at Glen.

  “We’ll catch up with you another time,” Glen told him.

  “Come, Jake,” she urged, gently taking hold of his hand and drawing him out of the chair.

  “I’ll see you guys,” Jake said.

  “Sure thing,” Warren answered.

  “Sure thing,” Glen echoed.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Connie said as they stepped into a garden adjoining the hotel lobby.

  “I made an ass out of myself,” he answered, “and I spoiled a perfectly good evening for a lot of other people.”

  “Something was bothering you,” she answered.

  He blew a cloud of smoke toward the sky. “I guess I didn’t like what the band leader said.”

  “But that’s what it boils down to, doesn’t it?” she responded, “taking out the enemy?”

  “That’s exactly what it boils down to,” he said, blowing more smoke into the night.

  “I’m going back to New York in a week. I know you’re going back the day after tomorrow. I’d like to see you when we’re back there.”

  He looked at her. “Isn’t something confused here? Shouldn’t I be the one to say that to you?”

  “You didn’t know I was going to be there, but I knew you were.”

  “You’re not supposed to know that,” he said with a smile.

  “I only told you because, as the regs state about classified information, ‘You have a need to know’.”

  He slid his arm around her bare shoulder. “How could I refuse you?”

  “I’m trying to make it as hard for you as possible.”

  “You’ve succeeded,” Jacob said. “Suppose we make a date now… I’ll meet you on June 25th at 1900 — I mean seven o’clock — in the lobby of the Plaza.”

  “It’s a date,” Connie answered.

  “Sealed with a kiss,” he said, bending down and kissing her on the lips.

  CHAPTER 37

  The Tarpon was on the surface 100 miles to the east of Attu. Though it was summer, a sudden storm came roaring out of the Arctic, bringing with it intense cold, mountainous waves, and ice that had to be chopped away.

  Tony came down from the bridge through the conning tower hatch, pulled off his face mask, and shaking his head, complained to no one in particular, “It’s murder up there.” He was a different-looking man than he had been months before when he first came aboard the Tarpon. Now he was bearded, and in his eyes there was no longer the look of a young, inexperienced officer. This was his fourth patrol.

  He pulled off his foul-weather gear, looped it over his arm, and was j
ust about to leave the bridge, when the boat’s bow dipped, and a torrent of water gushed into the conning tower and sluiced through the open hatch and down into the control room.

  “Fire!” someone shouted moments later from the control room.

  Tony hit the Klaxon button, waited until its blare stopped, and switched on the 1MC. “Fire in the control room… Damage control, fire in main control.” He handed his gear to a nearby sailor and dropped through the hatch into the control room. Electric arcs and blue flames sputtered out of the main power cable.

  Brisson appeared on the scene. “Get that fire out,” he ordered, pointing to the large fire in the corner.

  Smoke and fumes were rapidly filling the compartment, Keffer, the chief electrician’s mate, used the fire extinguishers on the flames, but more fire continued to burn.

  “Fire in the forward battery room,” a man shouted.

  “Tony,” Brisson yelled, “get damage control to the forward battery room.”

  “Skipper,” Keffer said, “we got the fires we can see, but there’s a lot of burning goin’ on that we can’t see.”

  “Pull the forward battery breaker and forward power switch,” Brisson said. “I want to reduce the electrical load forward.”

  Keffer said, “Right away, sir.”

  Brisson went up to the conning tower.

  Tony followed him.

  “Conn, the smoke and fumes forward are driving damage control back,” the DCO reported.

  “Abandon forward battery and torpedo room! Seal them off,” Brisson ordered.

  Smoke and fumes poured into the conning tower from the control room below.

  Tony couldn’t talk without coughing. His eyes burned.

  “Forward battery and torpedo room abandoned and sealed,” the DCO called up from the control room.

  “Secure engines,” Brisson ordered.

  The engine signalman used the phone to relay the order. “Secure engines answered,” he said, putting the phone down.

  Brisson switched on the 1MC. “All hands — dead!” he exclaimed; then he said, “Pass the word, abandon the control room. Seal it off.”

  Tony relayed the order. The hatch between the conning tower and the control room was sealed off. “All hands lay aft,” Brisson ordered.

  Tony watched the gyro compass short out. The electrical steering system went out and the engine order annunciators were knocked out of commission.

  “Radio transmitters are out,” the communications officer reported.

  The electrical controls for diving planes were shorted out.

  “Conn,” the XO shouted, “what the hell is going on down there?”

  Brisson said, “Tony, we’ve got to get back into the control room,” he said. “We’ll use the rescue breathers.”

  Tony nodded, pointed to three men, and said, “Let’s make a try for it.” They opened the hatch and within moments were driven back. “Get that hatch shut,” Tony yelled.

  The hatch was slammed down and secured again.

  “Skipper, I think we can do it if we charge the escape lungs with oxygen.”

  Brisson nodded. “It’s worth a shot.”

  Tony charged the escape masks with oxygen and gave the order to open the hatch to the control room. He took a deep breath and dropped into the smoke-filled room.

  The three men with oxygen-charged rescue breathers followed him.

  Using a flashlight, Tony located the valve control bank. He flipped the levers to partially blow number three main ballast and bring the boat level.

  One of the men pointed to his escape lung.

  Tony nodded. Their oxygen supply was getting very low. He held up two fingers and, pointing to the auxiliary induction valve, he made a circular motion with his hand.

  The men understood and immediately closed them off.

  Tony was sweating. His lungs were starved for oxygen. There was a ringing in his head. He pointed to the hatch.

  One of the men pushed it open and climbed out of the control room. The second man lost his footing and had to be pushed up and out. The third man seemed to take a very long time to climb into the conning tower. Finally, Tony started up. He felt himself slipping into a soft grayness and —

  He was on the deck and someone was putting a replacement rescue mask on his face. Within moments his oxygen-starved lungs began to relax and the ringing in his head stopped. He nodded and sat up. “I’m okay,” he said, taking the rescue mask off.

  Brisson reached down and pulled him to his feet. “We’ve got to get our engines started. We’re drifting too close to the beach.”

  Tony nodded and walked to the telephone bank.

  “We’ll try to suck air into the induction outlets aft,” Brisson said. “Stand by.”

  Tony picked up the phone to the engine room. “Stand by for a cold start.”

  “Standing by,” the EO answered.

  “Start.”

  “Start,” Tony repeated.

  Nothing.

  “I don’t have electrical power for the engine starters,” the engineering officer reported.

  “Try it again,” Brisson said.

  “Give it another try,” Tony said into the phone.

  “Not working, skipper,” Tony said.

  Brisson pursed his lips. “We’ve got to get electrical power to the engine room. You think you can go back into the control room and try to get it going from there?”

  “I’ll need the help of an electrician’s mate this time,” he said.

  Brisson looked around the bridge.

  “I think I can do it,” the chief quartermaster volunteered.

  “Okay, the chief will go with you,” Brisson said.

  Tony put the oxygen-charged rescue breather on again and dropped through the open hatch into the control room. The chief followed. There seemed to be less smoke than there was before. Tony held the flashlight on the electric control panel.

  The chief nodded and began to work, stopping now and then to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  Tony waited, his breathing becoming more labored with each passing second.

  The chief pointed to the master control switch. Tony put his hand on it. The chief made a downward gesture with his right hand. Tony threw the switch.

  A green light indicated that power was flowing to the engine room.

  Tony and the chief hurried back to the conning tower. The chief went out first. Tony started up, when suddenly he saw a burst of flame in a corner. He tore the mask from his face. “Fire!” he shouted. “Fire!”

  A fire extinguisher and freshly charged rescue masks were dropped down to him. He put the mask on and squirted foam on the fire. The fire was building. He retreated to the hatch and climbed out. “Seal it off,” he said to the sailor standing by. “Skipper, it’s out of control.”

  The phone to the after torpedo room rang.

  Tony picked it up.

  “Conn,” the TO said, “we’re taking a lot of smoke back here. Some of the men are getting sick.”

  “Stand by,” Tony said and repeated the message to Brisson.

  “Everyone topside,” Brisson said. “Maybe if we close the conning tower hatch, we’ll kill the fires below.”

  “All hands topside to the bridge… All hands topside, to the bridge.”

  The wind and sea tore at the men. In seconds their clothing was soaked and their bodies numbed by the cold.

  One man was almost washed overboard by a huge wave that broke on the Tarpon, but the chief grabbed hold of him.

  An hour and a half passed before Brisson ordered the men back into the boat.

  “We’ve got to get our diesels going,” Brisson said. “This time we’ll try from the control room. Tell the EO I want to re-establish an engineering watch in the control room and get those engines started.”

  “Skipper, before anyone goes in there, we better check it out,” Tony said.

  Brisson ordered the hatch opened.

  “If I can manage without a mask, the EO and his men will
be able to,” Tony said, lowering himself into the control room. It smelled of burnt rubber and cork. But the fire he tried to kill was out and the smoke wasn’t nearly as thick as it had been before. He climbed out of the hatch. “It’s not great down there, but it can be tolerated.”

  Thirty minutes after the EO and his men went into the control room, the diesels coughed to life.

  “All ahead standard,” Brisson ordered.

  “All ahead standard,” the engine order telegraph watch answered.

  “Reset the bridge watch,” Brisson said. “We’ll make port under our own power.”

  “Aye, aye, skipper,” Tony answered.

  CHAPTER 38

  Jacob managed to get a flight from San Diego to Chicago but couldn’t get one from Chicago to New York and had to settle for a one-way ticket on a “milk train” between the two cities. It was six o’clock in the morning when he arrived at Grand Central. He left the train, walked up the ramp, and crossed the concourse to the Lexington Avenue side. He stopped at a newsstand and bought a New York Times; then going outside, he got in the first taxi in the queue along the sidewalk outside the station.

  “Brooklyn,” he told the driver.

  The cabbie turned around. “Where in Brooklyn?”

  “Chester and Lott Avenues.”

  The man faced front, pulled down the flag, turned on the ignition and shifted into first.

  Jacob leaned back and closed his eyes. The train ride had taken 22 hours, and during that time he doubted he slept more than three hours, and never more than a half hour at a time. The train was full of men in uniform, some like himself going home on leave. But of all the men he met, he was the only one who had experienced combat. In some strange, indefinable way, that fact set him apart from the other men. It was as if, in their eyes, he knew some great secret or possessed a superior wisdom.

  “Comin’ home on leave?” the cabbie asked.

  Jacob opened his eyes. “Yes,” he answered. Even at that early hour, the city was warm and muggy.

  “Best way to go where you’re goin’,” the man said, “is across the Williamsburg Bridge, then follow the El until —”

  “You go the way you know best,” Jacob answered, picking up the Times. The British were holding the Germans at a place in Egypt called El Alamein. His eyes skimmed over a story about a fire aboard the Tarpon, an American submarine on combat patrol in the North Pacific, until they picked up the name Tony Trapasso; then he began to read it. The Tarpon’s captain, Commander Brisson, said, “Ensign Trapasso repeatedly risked his life to save the boat and its crew. I have recommended in my official report of the situation that he be promoted to the rank of lieutenant and be awarded the Navy Cross for outstanding valor above and beyond the call of duty…” Jacob smiled. He was almost certain that Miriam didn’t know anything about it yet.