Attack of the Greyhounds

by H. Nelson Freeman

  Maggie caught her breath, her hand clutching at the top of her uniform. “How bad?”

  “The message didn’t elaborate, but the ship is still under his command. I would hazard to guess it’s not serious.”

  “Oh, Joy, I hate this war. You know it’s not just us who are hurt, our families, children, and those innocents which wars claim are hurt, damaged for life, injured, and killed. And both warring sides feel the same things. To top it off, it creates hatred for those losses. It’s insane.”

  A flood of tears burst from the overbearing tension built up over the flood of horrible wounds the patients, doctors, and nurses dealt with daily. Maggie regained her composure as quickly as she lost it. She looked around to see if her moment of being human drew notice, and was relieved it had apparently gone unnoticed.

  As much as Maggie wanted to make contact with some individuals she knew were involved in the ship’s movements, she refrained from the urge. Since before the onset of the war, security saw a serious increase in intensity. Inquires of the kind can have a negative impact on both her and Chris’ careers’, not to mention the possibility of legal issues for friends and colleagues.

  Maggie kept her secret, but as to be suspected, it affected her personality visible in small ways, such as loss of her normal jovial attitude. She no longer smiled but replaced with a forced grin. Sleeplessness came on more rapidly with her concern over the wounds Chris may have received.

  Fortunately, Maggie’s torment ended two weeks later when the two damaged destroyers steamed into Pearl. Their crew’s proud, but bone-tired, smiled, happy to be at the island paradise, and home for several of the men.

  Maggie was dressed out in a freshly starched uniform with the gold stripes of a Lieutenant Commander. No matter how hard she tried, she could not hide her hour-glass figure and clashing red hair. She was a live poster for the Navy that never failed to turn the heads of males with speechless looks, and women, whose eyes were full of envy. But none could miss the sparkle of the “I’m not on the market,” wedding set on her left ring finger.

  The commander left her little used car in the parking lot at the end of the pier. Slowly approaching the large open space at the pier, she needed to work hard to maintain the proper military bearing with anxiety working over-time on her.

  The pilots directed the damaged ships to the open space, with HALLIS leading the way. Once the HALLIS moored to the pier, the AGAR slipped in behind her.

  Maggie’s razor-sharp vision had no problem seeing and assessing the damage. The bullet holes and missing glass in the bridge twisted her insides. That was her husband’s station, and the damage renewed her concern for his safety.

  Then a salty looking Captain stepped over the hatch combing, as he watched the supervisors direct the mooring procedure. He turned around to return inside the bridge, his gaze flying across the pier. He almost missed the person standing about fifty yards from the ship, but the stark white uniform with red hair whipped his eyes back. Captain Lanner brought his binoculars to his eyes, and there stood a woman that rivaled Aphrodite. Even though Maggie was his wife, his mouth dropped at her stature and beauty. He waved, and she returned it. Only after the large overhead crane set the gangway to the quarterdeck, and swung away, did she begin walking toward the ship.

  Maggie paused at the top of the gangway, turned toward the stern, and saluted the colors. She did a right face, saluted the OOD, and asked, “Permission come aboard?”

  “Granted,” the OOD replied. “One moment, Commander.” He reached for the ship’s phone and dialed the Captain’s Cabin.

  “Captain, there is a special visitor at the quarterdeck.”

  ‘Sharp sailor, that. Ensign Banner,’ ran through his mind.

  The Ensign turned and said, “The Captain will be right down, Commander.”

  Relieving the tension, Maggie said, “How do you like your new duties, Doug?”

  “Not at all what I thought it would be. The paperwork is unreal.”

  “It doesn’t get any better as you go up. Once you get to Commander, it doesn’t get easier.”

  “Captain on deck,” the Messenger called out.

  Everyone snapped to attention and saluted, “Carry on,” the Captain’s strong voice resonated.

  As the Captain and the Commander made their way through the ship, Maggie said, “I have never seen how a captain lives aboard ship.”

  “It’s small; I assure you.”

  “You still haven’t shown me your cabin.”

  The light went on in the slightly frustrated head of the Captain. “Certainly, I’d be happy to show you.” He led the way to the Captain’s Cabin behind the bridge.

  The door no sooner closed when Maggie reached around her husband and locked the latch. The two launched into a feverishly deep kiss of better things to come. When they came up for air, Chris said, “We should probably take a break before we get interrupted.”

  “I know of several nurses that seduced a willing patient in rooms off the wards. Care to set a record, sailor?” She dropped her hat on the tiny desk, then began carefully unbuttoning her shirt.

  Chris decided to exercise his authority to initiate the Captain’s desire for a little privacy.

  Twenty minutes later, two immaculately dressed Officers made their way to the quarterdeck. Maggie turned and saluted Chris and said, “Thank you for the tour, Captain. I look forward to our next meeting, then gave him a quick wink.

  The flushed Captain returned the salute, then left the quarterdeck as Maggie walked down the gangway a bit lighter in her stride than when she came aboard. Nobody on the bridge said a word, going about their jobs with sincere diligence. Doug Banner smiled.

  A stream of brass trooped aboard the ship. These representatives of the shipyard met briefly with the Captain, then dispersed to the damaged areas to more accurately assess the extent of damage to provide planners with a reasonable time for repairs.

  Commander Cedrick DeRyder, the Officer in Charge, sat in the wardroom with Captain Lanner.

  “Looks like the Japanese tried hard to sink you. Your after-action report was well detailed. And, your overall record in combat is decisively the hallmark of a top commander.”

  “Sir, I would not care to lose this command. I’m trained fighter pilot, fighting the enemy is what I do; we have a tough, dedicated enemy to defeat, and snatching experienced commanders for prancing about serving coffee for an admiral isn’t good policy.”

  “That’s a pretty dangerous position for your career, Commander. I have heard you’re outspoken, but it will only hurt you. Look, this is between us, and it stays in this wardroom. I appreciate your position, but no commander lasts more than two tours in command. You still have a lot of time on your first tour, and with the rapid ascension you have had, and you're well above average record of success, almost guarantees you a second tour as a can driver. My best advice is to tone down the rebellion, be a quiet fighter, and blow the hell out of the enemy. There would be nothing to stand in your way to the stars.”

  “I understand, sir, my apology, I get a bit defensive about this ship, and its crew.”

  “Don’t apologize, your zealous protection of both, is an outstanding attribute, don’t lose it.”

  “I’ll try not to, Commander.”

  “Have you drawn up any diagrams for operation, or written any papers to fight by, using your ideas?”

  “No, sir, I try not to become strapped into a pre-formed mission platform.”

  “Good, we have developed a belief that flexibility by the commander is a tool for success. I may suggest beginning both written and graphic plans to defeat the enemy in a battle when you can; it will make a great foundation for your future.”

  “Thank you, sir; you make a good case for change.”

  At fifteen-hundred hours, the inspection team met in the wardroom for their debriefing. Commander DeRyder stood before the men and called on each according to the roster of repairs. The after deckhouse needed a complete rebuilt. The two shel
ls that hit it and the accompanying fire gutted the structure and softened the surrounding steel. Most of the electrical and vital electrical circuits within suffered catastrophic destruction.

  The fifty-two needed repairs and the forward bridge structure suffered from punctures and dents.

  Captain Lanner asked to speak. “Gentleman, the forward bulkhead is not much more than light boiler-plate, hardly strong enough to stave off the seven-point-sevens bullets. In storms, we

  Wait for it to collapse in on us. I propose welding a new face directly onto the existing one. Weight is of no issue there, and I doubt the ship's performance would suffer enough to be noticed. However, I have completed some preliminary calculations, and the products of the figures suggest it would defeat the aircraft-mounted twenty-millimeter.”

  The officers conferred for twenty-minutes, several of the designed, trained men checked, Chris’ figures, and agreed the proposal had sufficient merit to be tried on his ship.

  Commander DeRyder looked at the Captain and let a small smile form on his face; Captain Lanner took as a positive move on their earlier conversation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Maggie was waiting for Chris when he came down the gangway. Chris jumped into their red convertible, and Maggie shifted the V-eight flat-head into gear and pressed on the gas pedal. The Navy Lieutenant Commander easily shifted through the three gears as any man could.

  Chris watched his wife from the corner of his eye, marveling at her expert, careful driving. The fact they were on the Pearl Harbor Naval Base made it easier with the lower posted speed limits.

  Chris and Maggie settled in at home, and she made him sit in the small kitchen at the equally small table. The nurse in her came out, and she began examining his recent wounds. The leg wound was well on its way to being healed. Chris’ shoulder had an inch round scarlet indentation. Although healing, his shoulder was still stiff.

  “Maggie, I’m going to be fine…”

  “Shush, this shoulder needs physical therapy, and I’m going to make you feel much better.”

  “But I’m…”

  “Shush, I said. I need you in top condition; you have a lot of time to make up with your wife.” A broad smile revealed her sparkling teeth and full lips. Then with an impish look, the tip of her tongue swiped across her upper lip, bringing a flash of desire through him.

  Debriefings filled Chris’ next day, along with action reports, and meetings with the squadron commander and the commander of destroyers in Hawaii. Then Naval Intelligence took part in taking his time. By fifteen hundred, he was able to get to the ship, where the XO brought him up to date on the beginning of the overhaul period, and personnel changes.

  By sixteen-thirty, he walked into their home. Maggie hadn’t yet arrived. Chris showered and shaved, then sat in his easy chair to wait for the beautiful woman in his life.

  “Chris, Chris, wake up, it’s seventeen-forty, you going to sleep in this chair all alone, or share a warm, comfortable bed with a hot-blooded woman?”

  The next morning Chris drove Maggie to the hospital. The white-uniformed officer would pass for any other female officer, except for the slightly flushed cheeks, dreamy eyes, and a satisfied smile on her face. Chris pulled away from the curb, heading for the ship, with a little larger smile chiseled on his face.

  This day and those that followed seemed to be consumed by endless meetings, then a three-week course to sharpen his understanding of the thrust in upcoming offensive operations.

  The shipyard tugs moved the ship to a dry dock, where the planned work below the waterline proceeded to completion. Work continued at a twenty-four-hour a day pace. The one last-minute alteration didn’t stand out at all but doubled the strength of the bridge against aircraft strafing attacks. It still had to pass the sea tests.

  The three months needed for the completion of the overhaul passed like a fortnight with a fast daily pace. The destroyers set to sea for their engineering trials. The engineers and shipyard representatives aboard checked every facet of the power plant and propulsion system. Her high-speed test began at zero-zero-zero-zero-hours, where the speed increased at a pre-set rate over four hours. By zero-four-hundred, the ship rushed through the Hawaiian waters on her way to the maximum possible speed.

  Captain Lanner contacted the Chief Engineer, Mr. Reagan. “Pat, what’s the pitlog (pitometer) show?”

  A few seconds later, the Chief Engineer replied, “Captain, we are doing thirty-seven-point four-knots and holding.”

  “Outstanding, pass the word to the four main spaces for me, will you?”

  “Gladly, sir.”

  The additional weight failed to slow the ship enough to note. At zero-eight-hundred-hours, another pre-determined set of speed decreases slowed the ship, without endangering the machinery. By noon the proud Gleaves went through the pre-determined maneuvers, again without adverse effect from the additional weight.

  After a week of checks, double checks, and adjustments, all the installed equipment functioned at their optimum; the ships headed for the surface fire range. The Bo ‘sun activated the 1MC and called, “General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations. General Quarters for surface action.”

  Like all combat ships, the crew rushed to fill the main reason for the ship’s existence, firing their main battery at the enemy. In this case, it would be to check all systems in each of the four five-inch main guns, the Fire Control station above the bridge, and all the communications, electrical and verbal, on all circuits involved.

  After two days, the ships returned to Pearl Harbor Shipyard for tweaking of all systems and double-checking the newly established measurements, adjustments, and settings. A week later, the two Gleaves steamed to the ammunition storage piers, where they took on a full load of Mark fifteen practice torpedoes. Then it was back to sea, this time to the torpedo practice range. The same precise method of testing, and retesting every part of the torpedo system continued until every facet met the strict settings, including the engineer’s three-thousand-pound-per-square-inch air compressor. This compressor provided the launching power for each of the thirty-eight-hundred-forty-pound torpedoes. Once all the testing and resetting of the multitude of systems that make up the destroyers offensive and defensive firepower, the ships returned to Pearl, this time to their normal mooring station, a buoy in the East Loch.

  The Captain got on the 1MC, “This is the Captain. We have completed our overhaul and post overhaul inspection. The next two weeks will be devoted to cleaning up the ship and getting her ready for an intense training period. To the new men aboard, listen to the officers and petty officers carefully and utilize every moment to hone the skills you will need in the coming months. Don’t hesitate to ask your supervisors any questions about your duties; you won’t have time to ask when we get under fire. My congratulations to the Officers and men who have worked so hard to get this ship ready to fight. You are doing a four-oh job. Captain out.”

  Both officers and men enjoyed the liberty hours, and only a few got caught violating the Hawaiian wide curfew. Mr. Flagg volunteered to set up a ship’s roast and party for the entire crew. It would set up better communications between the Officer Corps and the enlisted ranks. On a small ship, like a destroyer, both worked together as one. Over ninety percent of the enlisted crew joined in. Those men with families provided a bond between many of the single men.

  Captain Lanner submitted a request for a ship’s patch with the skull and crossbones on it; however, it was rejected because it might be frowned upon at the upper echelon.

  Chris sat at home, thinking about a different design that might be accepted. Maggie asked, “What are you thinking about so seriously, your face is twisted into a scowl?”

  He explained his dilemma to her, adding, “My mind is a blank right now.”

  “Maybe you could do with a woman’s touch?”

  “Did you have something in mind?”

  “What is it destroyers are known as I know what it is, but I c
an’t quite bring it out?”

  “The only thing I ever heard them called are Greyhounds.”

  “That’s it,” he smiled.

  “Are you going to put “Greyhounds of the Sea on the patch?

  “No. It’s going to be “Attack of the Greyhounds,” with a snarling head of a greyhound in the center.”

  Chris submitted the new design the next day, and it received a positive endorsement. The design was forwarded up the chain of command and ultimately approved. From there, it went to Heraldry, where expert graphic artists put it together.

  The days flew by now filled with training, upkeep, back to sea for more training, with emphasis placed on firefighting and damage control. Every night the three engineering shifts underwent casualty control training in addition to firefighting in the spaces. Day after day, the men worked and trained. By the time the training phase was over, the crew had shown they were ready to head in harm's way.

  Likewise, the days of bliss for all the married couples drew to a close, as the ship stood ready for her deployment to support the war. On both sides of the after stack, the new ship’s patch was attached. Cloth patches paid for by the Officers and senior Petty Officers had been distributed to the crew for jackets. Heraldry had modified the wording to one word in large red letters, ‘ATTACK.’ Beneath that the head of a mottled grey, snarling, Greyhound with slightly oversized teeth in full view took center stage.

  Family and wives stood back from the pier’s edge, where the last of the Officers and men boarded the final boats to the buoy moored ships awaited. Last hugs, tears, and kisses sent their men to war. As the boats shoved off, there was the last glimpse of fleeting waves between loved ones.

  The mothers and wives talked as they walked toward the waiting blue base bus, while the younger children jumped and played.

  The two ships joined a convoy heading to the South Pacific again. Their role as escort turned deadly serious put the crew in a heightened level of alertness.

  The convoy wasted no time in sailing for Vanuatu, where the reconfiguration and destinations of out-going convoys took place.