March Anson and Scoot Bailey of the U.S. Navy

by Marshall McClintock

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  _KAMONGO_

  “_Kamongo?_” Stan exclaimed, holding in his hands the orders whichdirected him to the same ship. “What kind of fish is that?”

  “Never heard of it,” March said. “They’re building so many subs thesedays that they’re running out of fish to name them after. Let’s ask theExec tonight at mess.”

  Captain Sampson knew about the Kamongo.

  “A very important creature,” he said. “If there hadn’t been a Kamongo,we probably wouldn’t be here today.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” Stan asked, wondering at the officer’s smileand twinkling eyes.

  “Well, the story has to go very far back in history,” the Captain said,“back when the earth was mostly covered with water and the only livingcreatures were _in_ the water. There had to be something that crawledout of the water and learned how to live on land. That was Kamongo.”

  “How did he do it?” March asked. “Did he have lungs?”

  “Maybe a Momsen Lung,” Stan suggested with a laugh.

  “Not quite.” Captain Sampson smiled. “We don’t know that it was Kamongoitself that did the crawling out, but it must have been something likehim. You see, another name for Kamongo is Lungfish. He’s a kind offish—more fish than anything else in many ways—but he’s also got lungsof a sort. He can live under water or above it. And so can a submarine.I think it’s a fine name for a sub. I’d like to be boarding her withyou.”

  “_Kamongo_,” muttered Stan, almost to himself. “_Kamongo._”

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking the same thing,” March said. “Getting used toour ship’s name. It’s like suddenly finding out you’ve got a wife andsomebody tells you her name—and you’ve never heard it before.”

  “If you say it over more and more,” Stan said, “you get to like it.It’s got a good sound.”

  “Yes, I think so,” March agreed. “It’s got strength. And for somereason it sounds sleek and trim. And being able to live above or belowthe water—that’s our ship, all right!”

  “Two weeks,” Stan mused. “You’re going home, I suppose?”

  “Yes, I’m going home,” March replied. “It may be the last time forquite a spell.”

  “I’m going, too,” Stan said. “Good old Utica, New York. I’m glad itisn’t far.”

  So Stan and March said goodbye the next day, as they said goodbye toall the others they had come to know so well at New London. But to eachother they were able to say, “See you in a couple of weeks—aboard_Kamongo_!”

  Then March went home, and saw his mother and Scoot’s family and many ofhis old friends. But Hampton did not seem right without Scoot himself.It had been a wrench when he went off to New London without him, butthere he had been so busy, so absorbed, that he had hardly had time tomiss his friend of so many years. Now, back in the town they had grownup in together, the town wasn’t all there without Scoot.

  March had written Scoot a note before leaving New London, telling himthat he was going home on leave before reporting for duty. And Scoothad gnashed his teeth on getting the letter, realizing that March hadfinished his training first. Scoot felt that he was finished, too, forhe had done everything but fly down the funnel of the trainingcarrier—backwards.

  “What’s left for me to learn?” he asked. “Unless they set up some realJap Zeros here for me to shoot at I don’t see what else I can do.”

  Then, just four days before March had to leave Hampton, Scoot got hisown orders—to report in three weeks’ time to the new aircraft carrier_Bunker Hill_ at San Francisco!

  He raced home from Florida as fast as he could go, and he and March hadtwo days together before March left. They talked submarines andairplanes all day and all night, and Scoot’s family had to wait untilMarch left before they had a really good chance to visit with him.

  But March felt better when he got on the train for Baltimore. It wasgood to have seen Scoot for even that short time. There were a millionother things they could have talked about, but they had got close toone another again in that time and they had gained greater spirit fromtheir companionship.

  He tried not to think that he might not see Scoot again—ever. But hecouldn’t help facing it.

  “After all,” he told himself, “submarine duty is no bed of roses.People do get killed in it. And flying a Navy fighter against the Japsis not the safest occupation in the world. There are lots of youngfellows going out on such jobs who won’t be coming back from them. Howdo I know but what Scoot and I—or one of us, anyway—are among them?”

  But such thoughts did not stay with him long. No matter what the factsof the matter or the statistics of casualties in wartime, March feltvery confident of returning home safe and sound and going on to live tobe at least ninety-five. As the train rolled along ever nearer toBaltimore, he thought more and more of _Kamongo_, his new home, his newship on which he was to be the navigation officer.

  “She’s probably about 1500 tons,” he said, “like most of them they’rebuilding now. Trim and neat, about three hundred and some odd feetlong. She’ll have one three-inch deck gun and a couple of antiaircraftmachine guns. Eight or ten torpedo tubes—fore and aft.”

  He tried to picture _Kamongo_ in his mind, so much more modern andpowerful than the old O-boats on which he had been training.

  “Air-conditioned,” he mused. “All the new ones are. I’m lucky to get ona brand-new ship! Freshwater showers. Plenty of refrigeration forcarrying good food. Why, we’ll probably come up with turkey onChristmas Day!”

  He pictured his life in the submarine, his meals, his quarters.

  “I may have a little cabin of my own—not much more than a telephonebooth, but all mine. Maybe not, of course, but these new ones reallymake you comfortable. Probably five officers aboard, crew of aboutfifty-five or sixty.”

  He wondered where they would go, where they would hunt out the enemyships.

  “Reporting on the Atlantic doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “That’sjust where she’ll take the water after her trials. We may take heranywhere for action. Now, Scoot knows he’ll be serving in the Pacific.He wouldn’t be going to San Francisco otherwise. Of course, most subsare in the Pacific now, too, but there are plenty operating in theAtlantic. Can’t tell where we’ll go. But we’ll have a cruising range ofabout fifteen thousand miles. We can go just about anywhere we want.”

  And then he thought of Stan. He liked the young Ensign with whom he hadgone through school at New London. He didn’t, of course, feel as closeto him as he did to Scoot. There wasn’t the same warmth between them.But the busted-nosed redhead was a real man, intelligent, human, and agood friend.

  “I’ll be darned glad to get on that boat and find one familiar face,”March told himself. “I wonder what the Skipper’s like.”

  He began to think more and more of this after he got off the train andheaded for the Navy Yard. If the Skipper happened to be an old-timercontemptuous of youngsters, or a gruff sort without any heart inhim—then it might not be so good. As he approached the gate, andprepared to show the sentry his pass, he saw someone ahead of him thatlooked familiar.

  “Stan!” he called, still not sure that it really was Bigelow. And then,as the man turned, he was sure he had been wrong, for the man wore thestripes of a Lieutenant (j.g.) and Bigelow was only an Ensign.

  But the man called back “March!” and March knew his first guess hadbeen right. It _was_ Stan Bigelow!

  “Stan!” he cried, pumping his hand vigorously. “I thought I was wrong.They’ve finally found out how good you are and made you a Lieutenant!”

  “Sure!” Stan cried. “The only thing that bothered me was that I oughtto have been made an Admiral. It all happened during my leave. I wassure sick of being an Ensign. Do you remember how the CPO’s look downon an Ensign?”

  “I surely do!” March said, showing his papers to the sentry. “But theydon’t think junior Lieutenants are so wonderful, either, as
you’ll soonfind out.”

  “But I think Chief Petty Officers are wonderful,” Stan said. “They knowmore than half the Rear Admirals in the Navy.”

  They were walking along the path together, between long low buildings.For a few minutes they said nothing.

  “Gee, I’m glad I ran into you,” Stan said.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” March said with enthusiasm. “I’mexcited as the devil about this, but I began to feel the need of afriend close at hand. I wonder what the Skipper will be like.”

  “Are you reading my thoughts?” Stan exclaimed. “He can make or breakus, you know.”

  “I know it!” March replied. “Why, on this first cruise the commandingofficer can get us out of the sub service just by saying he doesn’tlike the color of our eyes.”

  “_They’ve Made You a Lieutenant!_”]

  “Well, we’re going to find out pretty soon,” Stan said. “That lookslike a mighty pretty pigboat alongside that dock up ahead. It might beours.”

  It _was_ theirs. It was _Kamongo_, long and sleek and beautiful in thedark waters that lapped her sides. They showed the necessary papers tothe guard at the gangplank and went aboard. It was now almostcompletely dark.

  “Everybody’s down below,” March said.

  “Skipper may not even be there,” Stan replied.

  The sentry overheard them. “The Skipper’s below, sir,” he said.

  March and Stan walked across the narrow gangplank, climbed the conningtower ladder and then slid down the hatch to the control room below. Itwas brilliantly lighted, and they looked around, blinking.

  First of all March saw the gleaming, shining, newness of everything inthe room. It was beautiful! Then his eyes focused on two or threecrewmen who looked casually at him, then on a young man, about his age,who looked up with a smile. He saw the Lieutenant’s (not j.g.) stripesand saluted.

  “Lieutenant Anson, sir, reporting,” he said.

  “Lieutenant Bigelow,” Stan echoed him.

  The young man saluted back casually.

  “Hello,” he said. “Glad to know you. My name’s Gray.”

  March smiled. He liked this young man right away. Maybe another newofficer.

  “We’d like to report to the Skipper,” he said in a friendly tone.

  “You’ve done it, men,” the man said lightly. “I’m the Skipper.”

  March was thunderstruck. This young fellow the Skipper? Why, he didn’tlook any older than March or Stan, and March knew that _he_ wasn’tqualified to be the Captain of a submarine. But he quickly abandonedhis friendly tone and grew formal.

  “Oh—yes, sir,” he said. “Lieutenant Anson reporting.”

  “So you said,” the Skipper replied. “Come on into my quarters.”

  He turned and led the way through the small bulkhead door to a narrowhall from which doors led to very small cabins. In the first of thesehe turned and sat down behind a small table.

  “Officers’ mess,” he said, motioning them to sit down. “Cramped butbeautiful. Make yourselves at home.”

  Stan and March didn’t know what to say. They liked the young man, buttheir surprise at his youth bothered them. He seemed to sense theirthoughts, and smiled.

  “Don’t be upset,” he said. “I’m not quite as young and inexperienced asI look. Graduated from Annapolis six years ago, been in submarines eversince. I was executive officer on the _Shark_ in the Pacific since thewar began—happened to be at Pearl Harbor when it happened. On my lastpatrol lost my Skipper—God bless him—when he had a heart attack. Had totake over. Transferred to this new baby when I got back. Now—where doyou come from?”

  March relaxed and smiled. He liked this man at once. He could see theirthoughts, their surprise, and he could put them at their ease at once.

  “Served a year aboard the _Plymouth_,” he said. “Volunteered forsubmarine duty, sent to New London, just completed training there.”

  “My story doesn’t sound so good,” Stan said. “I was a teacher—and Ididn’t like it. Diesels, mainly. They finally gave in because Ipestered them so much and sent me to New London. I went through themill there with March—er, Lieutenant Anson.”

  “We might as well get this name business out of the way,” Gray said.“I’m not one for rushing into calling everybody by his first name rightoff, but on the other hand I don’t believe in keeping up theformalities forever—especially on a submarine. My name’s Larry. Whenyou feel you know me well enough and it comes easy, call me that. Untilthen, call me Skipper or Gray.”

  “My name’s March Anson,” March said.

  “It must have been bad when you were an Ensign,” Gray said. “A lot ofpuns about Ensign Anson, I’ll bet.”

  March grinned. “Plenty,” he replied. “That was the reason I liked mypromotion so much.”

  “I don’t know why I liked it,” Stan said. “But I just got mine and I’mmighty happy about it. Anyway, my name’s Stan.”

  “Now, we’re straight on that,” Gray said. “Anson, you’re the navigationofficer, according to my reports, and Bigelow is the engineeringofficer. There are two others. You’ll meet them a little later in theevening. Corvin is my Exec. He was with me on the _Shark_. He’s thediving officer, too. McFee was another from the _Shark_—he’scommunications and handles commissary on the side. Bigelow, you may notknow, but you’ll take care of the electrical end of things as well asengines.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stan said, hoping inwardly that he would remember all hehad learned about the many electrical ends of the submarine.“Electricity’s everything on a sub!”

  “Well, not quite everything,” Gray smiled. “But it’s pretty important.We can’t get along very well without it, anyway. But if you need anyadvice or just plain moral support, get next to McFee. He knowselectricity backward and forward.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Gray showed them to their quarters.Stan and March shared a tiny cabin that looked like a palatial mansionto them at once because they loved it so much. Then the Skipper askedif they had eaten dinner before they came aboard. They had not.

  “Good!” Gray said. “I’m just about to eat. We’ll have it together.”

  They went back to the little room that served as officers’ mess and themessboy appeared. Within a few moments they were eagerly eating rareroast beef, French fried potatoes, succotash, with biscuits and hotcoffee.

  “Don’t get spoiled by the biscuits,” Gray said. “We eat pretty well,but the cook doesn’t have time for such frills very often when we’reunder way.”

  By the time the meal was over March and Stan felt completely at home,and Gray seemed very much at ease.

  “We’ll go over the ship tomorrow morning,” he said. “She’s a beauty.Nothing finer being built today, and I know you’ll love _Kamongo_. Knowabout her name, by the way?”

  “Yes, Captain Sampson told us about it when we got our orders in NewLondon,” March said. “I like it.”

  “So do I,” Stan said. “I felt proud telling everybody at home aboutwhat it meant.”

  A little later, while they were talking, Corvin and McFee, the twoother officers, came in together. Introductions were informal and easy,and March began to feel very happy. These two men were just as young astheir Skipper. March felt as if he were really at home with people justlike himself. He turned and gave a look at Stan, who was beaming.

  “What’s that mean?” Gray asked, who seemed to notice everything. “Thinkyou’ll like us?”

  March didn’t know what to say. “It’s hardly up to us to decide—” hebegan.

  “Oh, yes, it’s very important,” Gray said. “If I don’t like you—offyou’ll go. If you don’t like me—I’ll know it, even if I like you, andoff you’ll go anyway.”

  He laughed. “You see, we’ve got to get along together.”

  McFee spoke up. “I think we will, Larry.”

  They talked for two hours more before going to bed. Gray told them thatthe rest of the crew would report the next morning before ei
ght, andthat they’d get under way by noon.

  March slept the sleep of the good and the happy, dreaming only ofnavigating _Kamongo_ right into the Japanese emperor’s back yard, inwhich he proceeded to sink the entire Japanese Imperial Navy.

  The next morning the officers had breakfast together, except forCorvin, who had stood watch in the early morning hours and so wassleeping. They all went into the control room then, where March wasstartled to see a familiar face.

  “Scott!” he cried.

  “Yes, sir!” cried the radioman with a wide smile. “I’m certainly happyto see _you_, sir!” And then he saw Stan behind March. “And you, too,_Lieutenant_ Bigelow!”

  “You notice things pretty quickly, don’t you, Scotty?” Stan laughed.

  “You’ve got to, sir, if you’re in submarines!”

  “Did you know you’d be assigned here, Scott?” March asked.

  “Not when you left, sir,” Scott replied. “And then I didn’t know whereyou’d been assigned. We’re all here, you know—the whole diving sectionthat worked together at New London—Cobden, and Sallini, and all of us.”

  “Wonderful!” March cried. “Why, I feel completely at home already!”

  “So do I, sir!” Scott said.

  Gray, who had listened to the exchange of conversations, spoke up.

  “The Navy is wonderful!” he said. “They really do things right. You’dthink nobody higher up would have time to think of these things. Buthere we’ve got two-thirds of a crew with officers that’ve been inaction. And the other third, just trained, all know each other.Officers and men were trained together. Why, we’re really going to getalong.”

  As they went through the ship, March and Stan said hello to the othermen of the diving section from New London, and there were mutualcongratulations all around. A spirit of happiness and friendship spreadthrough the boat. The older crew members, most of whom had served underGray before, caught this spirit and felt that all this was a good sign,a good omen for a new ship just starting out on her shakedown cruise.March saw Gray close his eyes for a moment, and smile very slightly. Hesuddenly realized the Skipper’s great responsibilities. He knew that acrew that got along was essential to successful submarine work. And ithad happened. This crew was going to click, and Gray knew it. He wasduly thankful!

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