by M. L. Maki
She looks up into his eyes and smiles, “I love you, mon amour.”
“I love you too, darling.” He leans in, kissing her deeply.
“I look terrible.”
“You look amazing.” He kisses her again. The kiss grows more passionate as they touch and explore. A minute later, the blankets are kicked off and they make love.
NAVY PIER, SANDBANK, SCOTLAND
0800, 15 June, 1942
Mike Brown picks Jean Luc from the car as Sheamus gets out. Laureen is wearing a yellow dress with a small blue flower pattern. Sheamus Stewart is in a black suit and Jean Luc is wearing nice pants and a white button-up shirt. Mike is wearing his officer summer whites with three rows of medals, silver dolphins, and combat patrol pin. He is not wearing shoulder boards, as instructed.
They walk through the gate to where the crew is gathered together. ST3 Leroy Guthrie joins them, “How are you doing, Mike?”
“I’m good.”
Chief Giblin walks up, “Congratulations, Mike.” Giblin is in his full-dress white uniform with three rows of clinking medals.
“Thank you Chief. Chief, you met my fiancé, Laureen. This is Sheamus Stewart, her father, and her son Jean Luc. Guys, this is Machinist Mate Chief Jim Giblin.”
Giblin shakes Sheamus’s hand then salutes Jean Luc, “Captain, it’s an honor.”
The little boy stands straight and does his best salute.
Jim, “Mike, you need to let the little guy know about his namesake.”
“I will.”
“You know Mike, I got someone I would like to introduce all of you to.”
Morrison joins them, “Chief, do you have a guest?”
Jim, “Well, she wants to pick me up after.”
Morrison, “Can we meet her?”
“Sure. I just…I’m not so sure she is ready to meet the parents.” They walk toward the blue Ford. Ann gets out of the car.
At a signal from Morrison, the gate guard lets her in. “Jim, if there’s a lady in your life, she should pin you.”
“W…what, sir?”
“I’m commissioning both of you. Mike, you’re getting your butter bars. Jim, you are getting your silver bars.”
Giblin swallows, and turns away. Then, “Ann, allow me to introduce my captain, Commander John Morrison. This is ST1 Mike Brown, his fiancé, Laureen Stewart, her father Sheamus Stewart, and her son Jean Luc. Guys, Ann Lochlin.”
Ann asks, “What’s going on Jim?”
Giblin, “I just found out I’m getting commissioned to lieutenant junior grade.”
Ann, “Really? Congratulations.”
Morrison, “We would like you to pin him. It’s about to start, so let’s take our places.”
In a few minutes, the command is arrayed, and Commodore Holtz walks up to the microphone, “Gentlemen, ladies. I am honored for the opportunity to have served alongside each of you. You are a serious bunch of warriors and it shows in everything you do. I don’t need to tell you what you do is important. You know that. I don’t need to tell you what you do impacts the very success of all our efforts against the Nazi’s. You know that. What I must do is share the appreciation with which our Navy looks at your actions. First, I must tell you that your submarine has received the Presidential and Meritorious unit citations.”
He pauses for the cheer, smiling, “Next, we need to address a number of promotions. Master Chief?”
ENCM Godoy says, “From, Commander, Naval Personnel Command to Lieutenant Commander John Morrison. As of 5 June, 1942, Lieutenant Commander Morrison has served as Acting Commanding Officer, USS San Francisco. Commander Morrison has the full faith and confidence of the Navy Department and as such shall be promoted to Commander, dated 5 June, 1942, with all the responsibilities and privileges therein. Commander Morrison shall, upon receipt, be assigned as Commanding Officer, USS San Francisco. Fair winds and following seas. Signed, Secretary Knox.”
LCDR Henry Morrison, XO of the USS Livermore, and John’s grandfather, puts the shoulder boards of a full commander on John. Once the boards are on, Henry salutes his grandson, his smile proud, and John returns it.
The promotion ceremony continues and every officer and enlisted person on board, below the rank of lieutenant, moves up. All, except Master Chief Godoy.
Godoy calls up Chief Giblin and ST1 Brown. Morrison reads them through the oath of office and Laureen and Ann put on their shoulder boards.
Next is the award ceremony. John Morrison receives the Navy Cross for his role in the sinking of the Tirpitz. Ensign Brown receives a Navy Commendation Medal with a V device for valor in combat. Nine other Commendation Medals and sixteen Navy Achievement Medals are issued.
Captain Ashley Thorne receives the Purple Heart and Distinguished Flying Cross. As Holtz pins them on her he says, “You have earned the Prisoner of War Medal, too, but it isn’t authorized yet.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s the absolute least we can do.”
“What will happen to me?”
“We have to send you back stateside to get better. If you have a problem, contact Admiral Lee. He’s NAVAIR Jets, and he’s a close friend of mine.”
“Thank you.”
After the ceremony Holtz says, “Well done is too small a praise. May God bless you and your fine vessel. Commander Morrison, take charge and carry out the plan of the day.”
Morrison salutes, Holtz returns it and walks to his helicopter with Ashley. Cumberland is waiting in chains.
Morrison looks over his crew. He nods his head, “Congratulations. Remember not to drink away your pay raise. Gentlemen, dismissed.” He joins his grandfather. Henry Morrison renders a crisp salute, “Congratulations, Grandson.”
John returns it, “Thank you, Grandfather.”
CDR Huber shakes his hand, “I heard about Cumberland. Thank God, you pulled them out.”
“I owe much of that to my crew.”
Huber, “We always do. Can I invite you for a beer?”
“Sure.” The three men walk into town.
CHAPTER 5
NAVAL YARD, WASHINGTON, DC
0846, 15 June, 1942 (1346 GMT)
The cherry trees are in bloom and the skies are a clear blue. Lt. Kichiro and Ensign Maki walk up the stairs to the Engineering Building. They show their ID and walk in.
Maki, “Have you been here before?”
“Yeah. I have a desk. Just don’t chit chat and keep to the facts.”
“Okay.”
Walking by with a coffee pot, Captain Warren sees them, “Kichiro, Maki, Conference Room 2.”
“Yes, sir.”
Maki’s head is on a swivel as they walk through. They sit in the conference room alone. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Wait.”
In four minutes, CAPT Warren, CAPT Rickover, and Lt. Mallory walk in followed by Admiral Klindt.
Klindt, “Okay, torpedo tube 2 on the San Francisco has been damaged and Commodore Holtz has asked for spook mods to the San Francisco.”
Warren, “Do they need the mods to kill U-boats?”
Klindt, “They’ve been assigning them to support SEALs. The local commander decides how to use what we give them. They want spook mods, they get them. Dry Dock?”
Rickover, “Ink is dry on a floating dock in New York. It has a lift capacity two hundred percent of the San Francisco’s gross weight.”
Klindt, “The tender has a machine shop and the materials. Kichiro, you ramrod tube repairs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Klindt, “Mallory, coordinate with Lieutenant Simmons on the nuke repair package. Keep it brief. I want the sub in and out of dock as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rickover, “Do we even have the transmitter they want?”
Klindt, “It’s being built. If it works, all the new boats will get them as well. The sub will provide an officer to manage testing. They are diving on the tube to inspect it. From debris, it’s likely a zinc fell into the mechanism. Al
l the others will need inspecting, as well. Meanwhile, they’ll be going back out to sea. Maki, an ensign is ignored. I need you to be a lieutenant.”
“Sir, I was a second class three months ago. If they won’t listen to me as an ensign, I don’t deserve the promotion.”
Admiral Klindt stares at him, “Put on silver bars, JG. I’m placing you in charge of the dry dock. Officer in command. Retain, hire, or fire, the civilian crew as needed. Buy whatever equipment you need and get it to Holy Loch. It has to be there ASAP. Warren, cut him the paper he’ll need, and give him a budget.”
“Yes, sir.”
Klindt, “Anything else?”
Mallory, “Nothing to report.”
Kichiro, “Nothing to report.”
Rickover, “Senator Truman wants to talk to you soonest.”
Warren, “Nothing to report.”
Maki, “Nothing to report.”
Klindt stands, “Don’t forget your errand this afternoon, Kiche.” They all leave.
Kichiro, “Maki, why the fuck did you turn down a promotion?”
“If I haven’t earned it, I don’t want it.”
Kiche looks at him, eyes opening wide, “I agree. Come on, I’ll show you how to arrange travel.”
“Thank you.”
HILLTOP OVERLOOKING HOLY LOCH AND DUNOON, SCOTLAND
2132, 15 June, 1942
Ann and Jim are on the cliff behind the house, her back to his chest and his head over her right shoulder, his arms wrapped around her. He says, “This is so beautiful it hurts.”
“Aye. It ‘tis.” She spins to face him, and their lips meet.
When they break, to catch their breath, Jim asks, “Was it that I box?”
“No, darling man. It’s ‘cause you took care of yer men. Ye put them first. It made me weak of the knees.”
WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT
1644, 15 June, 1942 (2144 GMT)
Kichiro waits for the transport to unload. A detail of Marines help a manacled Cumberland off the plane.
Kichiro, “Gentlemen, we have a panel van over here to transport him to the brig.”
Recognizing the voice, Cumberland’s head snaps up, “You’re a fucking lieutenant?”
Kichiro moves closer, “Cumberland, don’t do anything to add to your charges. You’ll meet the JAG lawyer defending you tomorrow. This way gentlemen.” He turns on a heel and walks to the prisoner transport.
MOORING BARGE, USS SAN FRANCISCO
0907, 16 June, 1942
Morrison stands waiting as the diver negotiates under his submarine and then up into the ballast tanks to access the damaged torpedo door mechanism. After a seeming eternity, the diver reappears carrying a grey, twisted, lump of metal. The offending zinc.
The diver tosses it onto the barge and Morrison picks it up. It is normally about an inch and a half thick, a foot long and five inches wide. This one is twisted and misshapen by the hydraulic door mechanism. Zincs are held in place by a couple studs. Both of the studs remain in the zinc. He hands it to Backes, “How much force would it take to do this, do you think?”
Greg meets his eyes, “Enough to damage the bushings.”
“I agree.”
Greg studies the fracture of the studs, “This one failed first. Likely the shock of repeated firings overstressed the remaining stud.”
Morrison, “The cold-water temperatures contributed. See, it’s a brittle fracture, not ductile.”
“I agree.”
Morrison, “Thank you, gentlemen, please continue and inspect all the other zincs.”
STEWART FARM
1107, 16 June, 1942
Mike is stripped to the waist and installing rafters on the roof of the tower. He drives the nails in with one or two powerful strokes. Rafters in, he takes a measurement, “Zero to eight. Four of them.”
Using a sawhorse, Sheamus cuts the top sheathing boards and hands them up. Using smaller nails, Mike hammers them in place. The two men work quickly and efficiently.
Laureen, weeding her garden, stands and looks up at her man.
Jean Luc stops, too, “Mummy, will they have the roof done today?”
“Yes, Jean Luc. I think they will.”
“Can I go up there then?”
“Your daddy said you have to wait until the railing is up so that you are safe.”
“Okay.” They both go back to weeding the garden.
SOUTH BROOKLYN MARINE TERMINAL, NEW YORK, NY
1012, 17 June, 1942
Lt. JG Maki gets out of the taxi and grabs his bags. He pays the cabbie and walks through the gate. He’s in his khaki uniform and they don’t even ask for ID. He finds the floating dry dock tied to the quay. There is no one on the brow, so he walks aboard and starts looking around.
“Hey, officer. Whatcha doing?”
“Who are you?”
The big guy climbs down to the deck, “Antonio Guerriero. I’m dock foreman.”
Maki offers his hand, and they shake, “Lieutenant Maki, officer in charge. I have no doubt we’ll work well together.”
“How are you so sure?”
Maki makes eye contact, “I’m betting you know your job, and like your job. You see, if you don’t get along with me, I have to fire you and find someone who does.”
“You ever ran a dock?”
“Nope, but Admiral Klindt gave me the job, so I have it to do. We need to prepare for an Atlantic crossing. Can you gather up the crew?”
“Yes sir.”
FISHERMAN’S QUAY, WARNEMÜNDE, GERMANY ON THE BALTIC SEA
1715, 17 June, 1942
SS- Oberführer Von Bergan and SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik Seidel study the map, “Sir, we covered an area of a hundred square kilometers. There was much on the bottom, but no aircraft.”
“It must be out there somewhere. To go east or west? He is an American. West is more likely. Have the Swedes accepted your papers?”
“Yes, sir. It is why we must return with our catch. A fishing boat that stays out makes no sense.”
“Very good. Continue to the west. I will continue my research. Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler.”
SILVER STRAND, WEST OF SAN DIEGO, CA
1012, 18 June, 1942
LCDR Issa gets out of a sedan with two civil engineering officers. Construction equipment is already clearing ground and two foundations have been laid. To the south, is a row of tents.
Lt. Mark “Fang” Fronczak approaches and salutes, “Good morning, Commander. Do you want to meet Class 1?”
“I do.” He turns to the engineers, “How long to build me a base?”
“I have a question about the budget.”
“Yes?”
“I was told, ‘just do it’. What does that mean?”
Issa asks, “Do you know the rule of three?”
“No.”
Issa, “Three choices: good, fast, cheap. You have to pick two, because you can never have all three. I want fast and good. I know that will be expensive. My budget to stand up the teams is 15 million dollars. I expect to spend ten to fifteen percent on construction. If it’ll cost more, tell me.”
“It shouldn’t. Thank you, sir.”
“Now, if you will excuse me.” He joins Fronczak and walks toward the tents. “How are you liking your railroad tracks?”
“It’s a change. Not used to getting salutes yet, sir.”
“No problem. Where are they in training?”
“Hell week is next week. They’re coming along. We’ve a good bunch of kids. We started with two hundred. We’ve a hundred and twenty-two now.”
“About right. Do you want to stay as an instructor, or get out there?”
Fronczak stops and looks at his boss, “Can I please have a team? This is your job, here.”
Issa nods, “We can do that. You and Triage divide up our qualified operators, minus my staff, into two half teams. As we qualify operators, we we’ll fill out your teams.”
“Yes, sir.”
COMMODORE’S CO
NFERENCE ROOM, RAF ALCONBURY
1400, 19 June, 1942
Commander’s Morrison, Little, and Huber sit drinking coffee and eating cookies. Commander Hunt walks in, “The Commodore landed a bit ago and is grabbing a shower. Meanwhile let’s get started. First, we’re informal here. My first name is Samantha. Sam or Spike works. So, any crew issues?”
Vernon Huber, “Mostly planning weddings.” He chuckles.
She smiles, “We have a fair bit of that, too.”
Marion Little says, “We’ve made Glasgow off limits after a few issues. My crew is good.”
Morrison, “Things are much better. I’m hoping we’ll be getting qualified enlisted soon.”
Spike, “That’s in the works. They’re standing up all the schools we need, including a sub school in New London.”
John, “Good. How goes the war here?”
Spike, “I’m not sure that you got the word. Russia has negotiated a cease fire with Germany.”
Huber, “Why are we still sending supplies to those assholes?”
Morrison, “We all know that shit is decided outside this room. What’s important is, it means Germany can focus on Britain. Thanks for telling us. How goes things here?”
“We’re busy, but getting it done. Vernon, given that you’re the primary surface warfare unit we have up there, what do you need?”
Vernon, “I would love guided torpedoes and surface to air missiles.”
Marion Little, “I would too, but we have to clear modifications with NAVSEA.”
Sam smiles, “Sometimes, it is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. For now, we have the air threat handled. Write up what you want, and we’ll support it. I’ve been ignoring surface to air, and I shouldn’t.”
Commodore Holtz walks in and they all stand, “Sit, sit. Let’s get with it. We have a floating dry dock on its way to complete the repair of your torpedo tube. We’re also planning a modification to your sub. We will be putting retractable feet on your boat, John. We’re planning another mission for you that will require you to settle on the bottom and support a SEAL team.”
John, “You want us to enter the Baltic and, um,” he looks around, “stuff.”
“Exactly. My apologies Vernon, Marion, it’s something you’re not cleared into. John, I need you to plan the modifications, and any repairs, but I also want you out there fighting the subs. The Nazi U-boats are getting much better at hiding. How do you want to handle that?”
