Shelly had given O’Toole a free hand, hoping it would help him exorcise his demons. Despite his hammerhead approach to life, O’Toole was right-minded and did everything with a purpose. The training might fatigue the crew, but it would also be beneficial, and it was paying huge dividends; the gunners weren’t just good, they were incredible. The casualty and fire drills were sharp and efficient. Shelly realized drills were drills. In a real fight, the crew would be twice as good. He would have shut O’Toole down after three or four days if he hadn’t seen the crew’s amazing transformation.
Shelly was keeping close tabs on the cost. The crew was exhausted, and morale was in the crapper. A few days off in Pearl would cure those ills, but O’Toole would still be the most hated man aboard. On balance, the training was worth the temporary cost, but he needed to get O’Toole to back off.
He found O’Toole on the aft oh-one level, watching drills to clear a misfire from the 40-mm Bofors, and pulled him aside.
“XO, can you explain the four-hour drill you scheduled for this afternoon?”
“The purpose is to introduce the crew to the chaos of real combat. Up until now, we’ve run everything as an independent drill. The men have to know what to expect when everything happens at once.”
“If you want chaos, your drills will do it. The crew isn’t ready to handle the confusion you’ll throw at them, and you know it. I hoped the downtime I gave you in Oakland would help you get some perspective. You’re better, but the Green is still bothering you, isn’t it?”
“Captain, the Green is not the problem. They need to experience it. After we leave Pearl, the training will focus on communication and coordination.”
“Point taken, but why the high-speed turns?”
“I want the gunners to know what it is like to track a target when the ship turns and heels over.”
“Those turns will bury the outboard main deck in five feet of water. Are the K-guns going to be manned?”
“Yes, the chief briefed the men on what to expect and what to do. They will wear life jackets, and a petty officer on the oh-one level will act as a safety observer. They need to see a six-foot wall of water coming at them once, and they’ll never forget it. During the drill, we’ll launch depth charges from the K-guns and drop some from the fantail. The men have to know their equipment works and have confidence in their training.”
“So you’re going to have every weapon system on the ship operating at once while simulating and running casualty drills?”
“Yes, sir.”
The training scenario O’Toole envisioned would be worse than actual combat. It would create chaos from the unexpected turns and loss of power. Damage control teams would choke the passageways, and the simultaneous drills would overload the communication circuits. It was good training; he had to hand that to O’Toole, but enough was enough.
“Four hours is too much, XO, cut it to an hour.”
“An hour is not enough, Captain. Could you give me two hours?”
“Ninety minutes, and that’s it.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was one more thing Shelly fretted about: their ammo training allowance. “As soon as we secure from the drill, I want your ordnance report. It’s due today before we enter Pearl tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll have it to you before dinner.”
Shelly walked away feeling he had reached a good compromise with O’Toole until he realized O’Toole had snookered him. O’Toole would compress his four-hour drill into ninety minutes and intensify the chaos. Damn. At least the drills would be over.
9
By the time Shelly left, the gun drill was over, so O’Toole slid down the ladder to the main deck. He almost stepped on Chief Barnes climbing out the engine-room escape hatch.
“Sorry chief,” O’Toole said.
“It’s okay, sir, I’ve been stepped on by guys bigger than you. I’m coming up for some fresh air.”
“You two need to get out of my way.”
Strong was standing behind him with a pharmacist mate carrying a large spay can attached to a rubber hose and spray wand. O’Toole stepped out of the way. “What are you doing?”
“We’re spraying around all the door frames and deck holes for cockroaches.”
“They’re watertight door combings and hatches,” O’Toole said.
“Thanks, I’ll remember that next time.”
Strong told his gremlin to leave him alone; he was busy.
“Why are you spraying on the weather decks?” Chief Barnes asked.
“Don’t care about the weather. I’m spraying everywhere. Chief, I’ll be spraying the engine and boiler rooms this afternoon,” Strong said.
Barnes scowled. “Don’t you dare spray in engineering unless I’m with you. This ship reeks of insecticide.”
“Seen any cockroaches lately?”
“No.”
“Then stop complaining.”
After Strong moved down the deck, O’Toole turned to Chief Barnes. “I wanted to tell you those casualty drills you ran yesterday were the best I’ve seen. When you called out your best men and told them they were casualties, your crew didn’t miss a beat.”
“Yeah, they know what needs to be done, and if the responsible guy goes down, someone’s gotta step up and take responsibility. If they don’t, no one is responsible, something won’t get done, and someone’s going to die. That’s the deal.”
“You’re a tough bastard, aren’t you, chief?”
“I guess so. I feel like I’m one-third mother, one-third teacher, and one-third bastard. That’s my job, isn’t it? Sorta like your job. We just have to be careful not to turn into a prick.”
“What do you mean?”
“A bastard is someone with high expectations. He raises hell and cracks the whip, but he always explains why and makes sure to train his men how to do their job. That way the men know the bastard has their back, and they know what to expect. A prick raises hell and cracks the whip by shouting orders. The men don’t know where he is coming from, don’t know why, and they never know what he wants. Bastards are good for a crew. Pricks ain’t. There’s a ditty I learned years back:
We’ve six caring captains
They taught us all we knew.
We’d follow them to hell and back
For whatever they wanted to do.
Their names, which tell us everything are
How, What, When, Where, Why, and Who.”
“That’s the deal, sir. If you don’t tell the men what’s up, no matter how bad it is, they’ll dream up something worse.”
Barnes words tore at O’Toole’s gut, and he cursed his blind spot. He had missed something again. “Are you saying I’m a prick?” O’Toole asked as conversationally as he could.
“Didn’t say no such thing, sir, but I understand the what and why you’re trying to get at with the crew; they don’t. Let’s just say, I wouldn’t take any solo walks on deck at night if I was you.”
“How’s morale in engineering?”
“Good, sir. I explained it to them. They’re tired but proud.”
Barnes stared at the sky while O’Toole grappled with what Barnes had said. After several seconds, Barnes spoke up, “Saw in the plan of the day we’ll be doing some high-speed steaming this afternoon. How fast do you want to go?”
The question confused O’Toole. “Flank speed.”
“Do you want flank speed or flank speed?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Every engineer keeps two knots in each hip pocket for the captain. Flank speed is the top speed without stretching the equipment all the way out. If I take the equipment to its spec limit, that’ll give you another two knots. If you need more, I lock down the safeties and run everything flat-out. That’ll give ya forty more pounds of steam and another two knots.”
“You can do that?”
“Yeah, and it’s sorta safe, since the boiler design safety factor is fifteen percent.”
“I’ll remember t
hat, chief, but for today we’ll use normal flank speed.”
§
Captain Shelly stayed in his captain’s chair during O’Toole’s chaos drill. O’Toole turned the ship every way he could. Mounts lost power while firing, all the guns blazed away. Sonar, CIC, the gun crews, damage control teams, engineering, torpedo crews, and depth charge crews were all trying to talk on the phone circuits at once. Two damage control teams almost got in a fight trying to use the same passageway at the same time. Still, the crew did better than he would have guessed. Most of the problems were fixable; all the crew needed was better communication discipline and learning when to go to an alternate plan. He was pleased. From a pure training perspective, O’Toole had done the impossible. Two weeks ago, his crew was a rowdy bunch of kids. They were now a disciplined fighting team.
With the ship and bridge quieted down, Shelly relaxed as the Able churned ahead at a patient ten knots. It was a beautiful clear day, the sea a brilliant blue calm. He looked forward to seeing Hawaii. O’Toole roused him out of his reverie.
“Ordnance consumption report, Captain,” O’Toole said, handing the report to Shelly.
The hair on Shelly’s neck came to attention, and his face turned hot. He looked at O’Toole and said, “My cabin, now.”
Shelly shut the door on his cabin and turned on O’Toole. “What the hell is this? You had authorization to use twenty-five percent of our ammo load-out for training. This is over thirty percent.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You knew about this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You chose not to tell me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Deliberately?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Damn you! I could be court-martialed for this.”
“I know, but you command the best-trained crew in the Pacific. They’re adequate; you’ll be able to take them home when the war is over.”
“This is all about the Green.”
“I thought about what you said earlier, and you might be right. But no more men are going to die due to my inadequacy.”
Shelly kicked the metal trashcan across the cabin.
“Get off the inadequacy crap, O’Toole. You’re a damn good officer, but you’re acting dumb crazy. Take whatever’s bothering you about the Green, stuff it in a ditty bag, and pitch it overboard. Damn, I need to be able to trust you. That’s the way this works, but you go and do this. Get this in your thick Irish skull: if you pull something like this again or disobey another order, I will court-martial your ass. I’m going to discipline you for this. I don’t know what yet because I need to calm down before I make up my mind. When we get to Pearl, we will talk again. Dismissed.”
§
O’Toole left Shelly’s cabin headed for the fantail to decompress. He screwed up again. Another blind spot on the far side of his wall. Half of him was angry. The other half didn’t care what Shelly had said: Nothing the navy could do to him could be worse than letting another man die. What he had told Shelly was the truth. No more men were going to die needlessly because he hadn’t done everything he could do to prevent it.
He also realized that Shelly had been right earlier. There was a part of him wanting to know what happened below decks on the Green. Though less frequent, the nightmares still came. Men cut to shreds on deck. Men trapped below decks. Men drowning. Men dying in agony from explosions and fire. Men cooked alive by steam. Surely every dead sailor from the Green had paid him a nocturnal visit at least once. He pleaded to join them, but they wouldn’t listen. All he could do was promise them no more men would die because he hadn’t done his job the best he could.
§
November 23, 1942; 0755 Hours
Pearl Harbor Naval Anchorage; Oahu, Hawaii
As the Able steamed into Pearl Harbor the next morning, O’Toole felt the comfort of the familiar. He knew Pearl Harbor, its verdant hills surrounding the blue Pacific and Ford Island, the harbor’s pearl.
Filled with every type of warship—battleships, cruisers, destroyers, destroyer escorts, and ammo ships—the harbor was alive. Everywhere there were signs of a nation fighting back. Crews tended to ships damaged in last December’s attack, and arc welders and grinders threw golden sparks into the harbor. Crane barges tended ships, and tugs crisscrossed the harbor. The dry docks held not one but two or three ships crammed between the dock walls.
There was a motor whaleboat waiting by their anchor buoy. As the Able approached, the whaleboat pulled alongside and a lieutenant in dress whites called to the bridge, “Request permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted,” Shelly called back.
Before the crew had secured the Able to the mooring buoy, the officer appeared on the bridge. “Captain Shelly?”
“Yes.”
“I am Lieutenant Pencraft, attached to COMNAVORDPAC. Admiral Garrett wishes to see you, your executive officer, and the chief in charge of gunnery in his office at once. He wants the chief to bring his training log.”
Shelly glanced at O’Toole, patted his khaki uniform shirt, and said, “We’ll change uniforms and meet you on the quarterdeck.”
“The admiral was adamant. He said at once.”
Shelly glanced at O’Toole again. “Very well. XO, find the chief and his logbook. Meet us on the quarter deck.”
On the way to the admiral’s office, Shelly remained silent and stared straight ahead. Shown into the admiral’s office, the three men came to attention.
Garrett continued writing a letter and ignored the men for several seconds. He put the letter in his out basket, looked up and said, “Good morning, gentlemen. Chief, may I have your training log?”
Chief Starret handed the green hardcover logbook to Garrett, who opened it and flipped through the pages. He found what he wanted and studied the log, flipping pages back and forth several times. “Chief, these numbers can’t be right.”
“They’re accurate, Admiral.”
“Falsifying a log is an offense. I have never seen numbers like this. Are you sure, Chief?”
“Positive.”
Garrett took a deep breath. “You must be very proud of your gunners. The log says they’re not just good, they’re exceptional.”
Starret straightened a little and lifted his chin, “Yes, admiral, we’ve got the best gunners in the fleet.”
Garrett scratched his chin before asking, “Chief, did you know the Able expended far more ammunition for training than allotted?”
“No, sir.” Starret stole a side-glance at O’Toole.
“Did you keep Lieutenant O’Toole abreast of the number of rounds expended?”
“Yes, sir, on a daily basis.”
Garrett turned to O’Toole and asked, “Do you concur with that, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir.”
Garrett turned back toward Chief Starret, “Chief, convey my compliments to your men. You can also tell them based on the training log, I agree with your assessment: they are the finest gunners in the fleet. Thank you, Chief, you are dismissed.”
Garrett turned to Shelly. “Captain, were you aware of the amount of ammunition expended during the training?”
“Yes, sir. I approved the plan.”
Shelly’s response startled O’Toole. He hadn’t expected that.
“So you are telling me you disregarded regulations and your allotment of training ammunition?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why? On what grounds?”
“The results.”
“I see,” said Garrett, walking around to the front of his desk, shaking his head. “I’m not going to lecture you two on why what you did was wrong because it would take three hours to explain it to you. You know it was wrong. Captain, will you give me your assurance this will never happen again?”
“Yes, sir.”
Garrett walked to glare at O’Toole eye-to-eye. “That’s good, Captain, because both of you better understand that if it does, I won’t throw you two in the brig. I’ll have you k
eelhauled, court-martialed, and drawn and quartered. Do I make myself clear?”
O’Toole and Shelly answered together, “Yes, sir.”
“Captain, my compliments to your gunnery crew. Lieutenant O’Toole and I know each other and had a discussion over lunch a few months back. With your permission, I’d like to finish that discussion with the Lieutenant. Is that okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Garrett leaned back against the edge of his desk. O’Toole relaxed. “You’re at attention, Lieutenant.” Garrett snapped.
O’Toole straightened up.
“You’re a screwed-up puzzle if I ever saw one,” Garrett said. “You’ve got a helluva captain who took the fall for you. Make no mistake about this, I got a good idea what happened. Damn it, O’Toole, we need good officers, not cowboys. You can’t decide how you want to wage this war. This war is bigger than you are. The navy has rules so everything works together.
“Last time we talked, I told you about your opportunity to make an impact on this war. You’re either the dumbest sonofabitch I ever met or you weren’t listening. Know your limits and stay within them. Here’s the deal: screw up again and you’ll ride this war out from the brig. You’re a good officer, or so I thought. Get your shit together, Lieutenant.
“Captain, I expect you to regain control of your command. What happened is unacceptable. Both of you are dismissed.”
10
Shelly never made eye contact or said a word to O’Toole on the way back to the ship. When they boarded the Able, Shelly motioned for O’Toole to follow him and remained silent on their way to Shelly’s cabin.
Shelly indicated O’Toole could sit in the chair opposite his, but he remained standing. Shelly silently glared at O’Toole for over a minute. O’Toole couldn’t stand the silence any longer and said, “Captain, thank you for standing up for me; it was neither expected nor necessary.”
“Don’t thank me. I wasn’t defending you. I did it for the men and the ship. I wanted the admiral to keelhaul your ass. I allowed you to continue the training because of the results, and I hoped letting you run would help you get your shit together. I knew what was going to happen, but for you and the crew I thought it would be worth the hell I’d catch. Underneath this, I thought you were a good officer, the type I would want as my XO. Damn you, you violated my trust. Will you give me your word this will never happen again?”
Vows to the Fallen: O'Toole (The Marathon Series) Page 8
