Run Silent, Run Deep - Страница 23

Jim got back the next morning. We were at breakfast in the wardroom when he came, aboard and sat down to join us. He had, some sort of news, I could tell, and Keith broke the ice for him. Keith had an amusing name for each of us.

It was he who had dubbed Tom Schultz 'Father' or 'Dad.'

Jim, he occasionally called "Cobber"-probably because of a secret yearning Jim had once expressed to go to Australia.

So far as I could discern I had yet to be honored by his attention in this regard. But, of course, a skipper could never be sure.

"Father, Oh, Father," said Keith in mock plea to Tom, "Cobber's home with us at last and going to help us with the war after all. Dost thee think thou couldst make our gallant Executive tell us where he's been? Keith pronounced the last word as though it were spelled b-e-a-n.

Jim chuckled. "Hold, it, Sonny boy. If you'll give me a. chance, I'll tell you where I've bean." He drew a deep breath.

"Two days ago Laura and I were married. She came back with me to New London and is at the Mohican Hotel right now."

We all stared at him.

I could not begin to explain the peculiar sensation the news evoked in me. Certainly I had no right to be interested in Laura for myself. There was just that odd yearning for an indefinable something that never could have been that she, or the mention of her, always brought out. I forced a congratulatory smile.

"That's grand, Jim. We all hope you'll both be Very happy but what a shame you have so little time together!"

Jim smiled ruefully. "Thanks," he said, "but it can't be helped. We might have had more time if certain things had worked out better, but we'll make out. Well even send all of you an announcement, after the war's over."

The deep-seated resentment was still there all right.

Two days later was Memorial Day, the day we were scheduled to leave New London en route to the Panama Canal.

We were to get under way at 14 30, 2:30 P m. and the morning was filled with last-minute preparations which belied the status of that day as a holiday. We started cleaning up the ship at ten-thirty and at eleven-thirty piped down dinner for the crew. At one-thirty we would have open gangway for relatives and friends of our ship's, company. Certain critical pieces of equipment had been covered over with paper or canvas so that our visitors could be permitted to go below in order actually to see and feel the places where their sons and husbands would be fighting the enemy.

At noon we had lunch in the wardroom. Tom brought his wife Cynthia; Dave Freeman his mother, a large matriarchal- looking woman who had journeyed up from Washington to see him off; and Jim, of course, was with Laura. It was a bit crowded with three extra people in the tiny eight-by-six- foot room, and the conversation ran in uneasy fits, with long lapses of silence.

Cynthia Schultz was a sweet-faced, pleasant woman about Tom's age. In their life together, no doubt, they had had many separations for various lengths of time, but this was a special one and no one knew how long it would last or what the outcome would be. She sat very close to him during the whole meal and hardly touched her food.

Mrs. Freeman, on the other hand, chatted gaily as though there was nothing whatsoever on her mind, or as if her son were not on the verge of entering the shooting war.

Laura, sitting next to Jim on my right, was quiet, like Cynthia, and also ate very little. I could not help noticing the plain gold band on her finger, unaccompanied by any- thing resembling an engagement ring. She fingered it nervously with her thumb, until she noticed me watching.

The three women brought home to me for the first time what war must mean to the thousands and millions of mothers, wives, and fiancees left behind. As we were waiting for dessert, even Mrs. Freeman fell silent, and I noticed her fumbling for Dave's hand under the table.

Then lunch was over and it was time to make preparations for getting under way. I had not had an opportunity to speak to Laura except to extend the usual wishes for future happiness. Keith, Hugh, and I went topside to set things in motion, while Tom, Jim, and Dave took the opportunity to show their guests through the ship. A small crowd had gathered on the dock and I noticed many of our men there also bidding their last good-byes. Some of the women were unashamedly sobbing, and there were many long embraces. A hard lump rose in my throat as I watched.

At 2:00 P.M., Hugh Adams, who had the duty, directed that all guests please leave the ship. A few minutes later the last few had struggled up from below and crossed the gang- way to the dock. Last were Mrs. Freeman, Laura, and Cynthia Schultz. We stood at the head of the gangway for a few moments speaking our formal good-byes.

Mrs. Freeman reached out a gloved hand. "Captain," she said, "take good care of your ship, and bring my boy back safe." Her eyes gave her away. Though there was not the suspicion of a tremor in her voice, the grip she gave me carried much more than a casual feeling with it.

Cynthia Schultz now pressed my hand in her turn, kissed Tom tenderly, murmured something I could not hear, and was gone.

Laura was last. The perfunctory pressure of her hand and the deep misery in her eyes spoke volumes of feeling I would never be able to appreciate. How she must hate me! She turned to Jim, hid her face against him for a moment. He clasped her tightly to him, kissed her longingly. Her lips moved against his as she raised her face and leaned against him. The lump in my throat tightened till it hurt. I swallowed several times, finally turned away, struggling to retain my composure.

I had never wanted anything belonging to anyone else until that moment.

"Hugh," I said to Adams, "have the crew fall in at quarters."

After muster on deck abaft the bridge, I delivered a short speech to the effect that once we had left New London be- hind us we would be on our own. The sea was populate with enemy submarines who would like nothing better than a U. S. submarine's scalp to hang on their belts. We had a long trip ahead of us, I told them, and constant alertness would be our only assurance of safety. I finished my speech simply with the words "Leave your quarters. Man your stations for getting under way," and walked forward.

Just forward of the bridge, waiting for me to finish, stood Admiral Smathers and Captain Blunt. On the dock near the gangway were the skippers o If the two boats next in line be- hind Walrus, soon to leave for the Pacific themselves, and Stocker Kane and his wife, Harriet, unwillingly known as "Hurry," a pretty, sandy-haired girl, almost as tall as he, which didn't, after all, make her very tall. Behind them a throng of relatives and well-wishers stood watching, waiting for us to get under way.

Admiral Smathers gripped my hand. "Good luck, Richardson, have a good trip. Watch out for German submarines."

My old commanding officer gave me a firm clasp. "Good hunting, Rich, I'll be seeing you out there soon, I hope."

The other two skippers reached across the gangway, shook hands, murmured their best, wishes. Stocker stood on the dock with "Hurry." He slipped his, arm around her, waist, hugged her to him.

"Congratulations, old-timer! I wish I could be going with you, but I'll be only a few weeks behind."

I hadn't heard about this, and looked at him with a question in my eyes.

He went on to explain. "I got my orders day before yester- day to the Nerka at Mare Island. I'm flying there tomorrow.

It will take you so long to go through the canal that I might be in Pearl Harbor nearly its soon as you."

Stocker's wife hugged his arm to her. "Isn't that wonderful, Rich?" she said. "I'll be leaving too in just a few days. Ever since you got the Walrus, Stocker's been just itching for his chance."

Deep in her eyes a shadow belied her cheery voice. Two people this much in love shouldn't have to face war, I thought.

But of course it was no different for them than it was for everyone in Walrus' crew, except that our time was at hand.

A main engine roared into life, throwing a cloud of water and smoke out of the exhaust port and under the dock opposite. Two or three people standing nearby hastily backed clear of the spray. Then an engine on the other side thundered Its defiance.

I saluted gravely as Smathers and Blunt stepped over the gangway. As I did so two more engines simultaneously bellowed their sixteen-cylinder starting song.

Hugh was now up on the bridge. "Single up," he shouted.

Our four lines were swiftly reduced from three strands to one each as the bights were taken aboard. The skippers of the other two boats stepped up on the gangway, briefly reached out to shake hands with me. "Good hunting, Rich, good luck." They drew back.

"Take in the gangway!" shouted Hugh.

Stocker and the two other skippers, disdaining to wait for the regular dock crew, grasped the gangway themselves and dragged it away from the ship.

I turned and mounted to the bridge.

"The ship is ready to get under way, Captain," said Hugh.

"Very well," acknowledging his salute. "Take her out on time." It was then within a minute of 2:30 P.M. As Hugh waited, I spoke quietly to Jim.

"Have you had the ship searched for stowaways?"

"Nobody I know would be wanting to make this trip with us, Captain. Anyway, I had Kohler go through the ship. We have no unauthorized people aboard, sir."

I nodded. It was hardly conceivable that anyone would, want to stow away, but it had happened to a Mare Island boat several weeks ago.