“Yes, Captain.”
“Screw up one more time and kiss your navy career goodbye. I can’t ignore you violating orders and hiding the facts from me. I don’t want to put a letter of censure in your file, but I will if you don’t get your head straight.” Shelly, fists clenched, turned to stare at the blank gray wall for several seconds. He threw his chair against the bulkhead and yelled, “Damn you, O’Toole, I can’t go to war with an executive officer I don’t trust. You’re a loose cannon. Dammit, I’m putting you in hack. You’re restricted to the ship until further notice. Dismissed. Out of my sight, now!”
O’Toole left Shelly’s cabin with his cheeks burning, his mouth dry and foul tasting. What had he missed? His body filled with the tingling of failure. He was lost. His training had accomplished the impossible, but he had failed again. His wall had blocked him from success again. His blind spot had hidden the consequences again.
No. No. No. Damn it, no. You screw up! This is no way to make admiral.
Had he lost his dream as well?
O’Toole headed for his quarters. He wanted to be alone. This wasn’t what he had expected. What had he done?
Trust, one’s good name, is a man’s only true possession. No one can take it away, and he had squandered it. How had he let it come to this? Had his subconscious pushed him over the edge? Had he let his guilt and grief over the Green drive him to this? Pricks and loose cannons have short careers and never make admiral.
He had lost himself somewhere in the Solomon Sea. Now if he lost his career, or worse, he would never be able to face Kate, his grandfather, his mother, or himself. He would rather die. Garrett had predicted this. He had been right when he said, “Maybe you’ll get lucky and get killed.” He wished he had died on the Green.
The realization came to him that in betraying the navy and the captain for the sake of the training he had betrayed himself and his family. The Green was a weight he could not carry; it would crush him. He might live, but he would be as good as dead. He needed a way to fix this. He needed to find himself, maintain his perspective, and stay loyal to himself, his crew, his ship, and the navy. After the Green, he had promised himself no more men would die due to his inadequacy. Was that too much to ask or accomplish? He just needed to be adequate, just good enough to get his men home alive. The Green was a lesson not a curse. The Green had filled him with anger and he had taken it out on himself and the crew. He had to lead not push and he had to leave vengeance to God.
By the time O’Toole reached his quarters his anger was yielding to rational thoughts, and he knew it would take time to figure his way out of the mess he made.
Strong was lounging in his bunk, reading a threadbare comic book. “I’ve seen people run over by a horse look better than you.”
“The captain’s on my ass.”
“As well he should be. What happened?”
“Nothing. It’s my problem, Doc.”
“You caught hell about the training, didn’t you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I doubt that, after your merciless treatment of the crew. I can’t believe all your training was necessary.”
“What is this, Gang Up on O’Toole Week? First Barnes calls me a prick, then the captain, then Garrett, and now you. I stand by what I did. Training is necessary; training is the way men learn how to fight and survive.”
“I know, but you made them do the drills over and over to the point of bored exhaustion.”
“On the Green, the Japs didn’t give them time to think or time to remember what they were supposed to do. They needed to run on instinct. In combat, that means the crew runs on muscle memory.”
“I would guess if you drill them once or twice and keep them fresh that would be enough. Beating them down the way you did isn’t right.”
“You’re dreaming, Doc. I ran the training because training is my responsibility. I owe it to them. I did the right thing, and on that my conscience is clear. Training is necessary, but I ran the training the wrong way.”
“You owe it to them? I can’t believe you said that. You owe it to them to push them to the point of exhaustion? You owe it to them to make them do the same things over and over again? You think you’re doing something for the crew, I think you’re doing something to the crew. I just don’t understand why you push so hard.”
“Because in the end training will save lives.”
“You’re rationalizing. You can’t know that, and what happened on the Green would have happened regardless of how well trained the crew was. Go easier on the men. I hate to see men pushed so hard and treated like that.”
“Is that why you got me confined to my quarters back in Oakland? You think I should go easier on the crew?”
“I was more worried about your health at the time. Now I’m more worried about the crew’s health.”
“In the revolutionary war, Commodore Barry trained his cannoneers to be the best. They were so lethal British ships would surrender after a single broadside. Don’t you think that saved lives on both sides?”
“You’re still rationalizing, except you’re using a legend to defend your actions. A legend from the distant past with nothing to do with the modern navy.”
“I don’t see it that way. Besides, it doesn’t matter. Training is my responsibility to the navy and the men. Butt out.”
“I can see this discussion is going nowhere. I’m headed topside for some air.”
O’Toole sat down at his desk and wondered if the crucifix and the statute of Commodore Barry represented the two sides of the argument. Be kind and merciful or be tough. The Green taught him that in war, the way to show kindness to the crew is by being tough as hell on them to make them best they can be, to make them adequate.
The nightmares were about two weeks apart now. His problem was he cared for the men. If he could build an emotional wall between himself and the crew, things would be better, but the thought of cutting the crew off repelled him. When he had written letters during survivor’s leave, he had cursed himself for not knowing the men better.
How do you care and not drive the men through exhaustive training to make them the best they can be? How do you obtain absolution when you order men to their death? How do you explain yourself to the men in your dreams?
He didn’t need to like the crew, and he didn’t need the crew to like him. His job was to keep them alive. He had done the right thing; the men were adequate. He’d be able to take them home after the war. That’s all that mattered. He was wrong in the way he had managed himself and the training. He had to be loyal to his ship and captain. He had to be loyal to his men. He had to be loyal to himself and who he was. His loyalties were his masters, and they pulled him in different directions.
How do I serve three masters?
11
The Able spent the next four days in Pearl Harbor in normal shipboard routine. The captain granted the off-duty crew Cinderella liberty each night, which made the two hours before midnight the noisiest and rowdiest part of the day as drunken sailors made their way back to the ship. On the fourth day, they rearmed and took on fuel. The fifth day, they weighed anchor to rendezvous with a convoy headed to Auckland, New Zealand.
The convoy screen included the Able, two other destroyers, and three destroyer escorts. Even at thirteen knots, the merchantmen had a hard time keeping up, and the monotonous fourteen-day trip seemed to be taking forever.
On the fifth day out of Pearl, O’Toole headed to the bridge after dinner to get some fresh air and check the chart. He stared at the chart of blank ocean showing their position and felt stupid. Their current position and track were marked in pencil in a large empty space of sea. The chart looked the same as it had yesterday, but for some reason he had to check the chart anyway.
“Figured I’d find you here,” Strong said, strolling into the wheelhouse.
O’Toole glanced out one of the eight portholes across the front of the wheelhouse before turning toward Strong. “First time I’ve seen you up he
re.”
“Thought I’d come up to the penthouse and catch the view. At my age, I have to be careful. I was afraid being this high up would give me a nose bleed.”
O’Toole chuckled. “This is a wheelhouse, not a penthouse.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember next time. So is that the steering wheel?”
“It’s called the ship’s wheel or the helm.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember next time.”
Strong pushed his giggling gremlin back into the shadows.
“You always say that. Let’s go to the bridge wing where there is some room to talk.”
“You mean the balcony?”
“No, the bridge wing.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember next time.”
“Will you ever learn to talk like a sailor?”
“You aren’t around much lately, and when you are you’re rather quiet.”
“Got a lot on my mind.”
“I figured after our discussion last week you’d never talk to me again. I was wrong for sticking my nose in your business. You’re doing what you believe is right, and that’s what’s important. After all, I’m a healer not a warrior. Turns out, based on the scuttlebutt, I had the problem figured wrong. Rumor is the captain darn near threw you off the ship in Pearl.”
“Well, he never said those words, but you pretty well summed up our conversation.”
“What happened?”
“I screwed up, Doc. I betrayed my captain, and I betrayed myself.”
“Ouch. Both of them are hanging offenses.”
“No kidding.”
“You got things on the mend now?”
“I hope so. I need to be tough, but I can’t treat the men like machine parts. That’s what bothers me the most. I betrayed myself. Treating the men badly isn’t who I am or what I believe in. Somehow, I was blind to that. The second case of blindness I had was forgetting the crew has to work together, including the captain and me.
“I was angry because so many men on the Green died needlessly. None of the officers, including me, had done their jobs. I let the anger blind me, and I became a loose cannon.”
Strong took a second to light his pipe. “Our perspectives change as life hands us new lessons. That doesn’t mean our old perspectives were wrong, just less informed. Sometimes the lessons are easy, sometimes they’re harsh. Some are so harsh men die. Been going on like that for thousands of years, so don’t think you discovered it.”
“Never thought of it that way.”
“Well that’s the way it is. Some guys get mad at life because life handed out the lessons in the wrong order, and they say, ‘If I had only known.’ Well, life didn’t, and we aren’t smart enough to figure things out anyhow.”
O’Toole furrowed his brow for a second and turned toward Strong. “What’d you come up here for anyway, Doc?”
“Just a little fresh air, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
§
At dinner, Shelly sat at the head of the table with O’Toole and Strong on either side.
“Captain, I was hoping you might be able to clear something up for me. Is this room the wardroom or the battle dressing station?”
O’Toole said, “This is a compartment, not a room.”
“Then why don’t they call it the ward compartment?”
“Because.”
“Okay, thanks, I’ll remember next time.”
O’Toole cringed but remained silent, so Shelly said, “Both are correct names for this space. What you call it depends on the context.”
“Well I was wondering because this is our dining room—”
Shelly held up his hand to keep O’Toole from interrupting.
Strong continued, “I thought we might spruce things up a bit. Everything is bare gray steel, including the deck.”
“It’s fine the way it is, Doctor. Don’t get any ideas about decorating.”
Strong nodded.
As was the custom, the dinner chitchat stayed away from ship business. After they had finished dinner and sat back to enjoy a cup of coffee, the discussion turned to the strategies employed in the Battle of Midway.
Strong amused Shelly. He resembled a spectator at a Ping-Pong tournament, so the captain was surprised when Strong said, “Captain, do you know Pat is working on his own theory about tactics?”
“No, I didn’t. Tell us about your theory,” Shelly said to O’Toole, anticipating a spirited discussion.
O’Toole shrugged and slid farther back from the table. “It’s not a theory, Captain. If you look at Midway, the Japs followed doctrine and amassed a large powerful fleet. We didn’t cooperate and respond with our fleet because we didn’t have one, so we changed the rules. The Japs couldn’t deal with the chaos we created, and the rest is history.”
Shelly felt O’Toole’s assumptions and conclusion were overly simplistic. He started to respond, but Strong interjected, “He’s reading books on aerial combat, tank warfare, and cavalry tactics.”
Shelly raised an eyebrow. “This is going to be interesting. Pat, tell us what they have to do with the Battle of Midway.”
“Those types of combat use tactics based on deception, speed, maneuverability, and the assumption of a chaotic battlefield. Our current naval doctrine expects the opposite, and I find the contradiction interesting.”
The coffee in Shelly’s cup shifted from side-to-side with the gentle roll of the ship. “The way I understand doctrine,” Shelly began, “is commanders should concentrate their forces and organize the ships to maneuver as units. The formations should allow the battleships and cruisers to concentrate fire on the enemy and clear the way for destroyers to attack at close range. So are you assuming after the heavies clear the way, the destroyer attacks will resemble aerial or cavalry tactics?”
O’Toole leaned forward and furrowed his brow. “Yes and no. The capital ships are slow, less maneuverable, and big targets. They are sitting ducks for aircraft and fast maneuverable ships like destroyers. The trick is to find a way for destroyers to get close enough to fire their torpedoes. That can’t be done on an orderly battlefield, so the battles will evolve into melees; ships operating independently with a common strategy and purpose.”
“So you’re saying that in our doctrine the capital ships are set pieces in a battle that will never happen. That means everything I’ve learned and been studying is wrong.”
O’Toole studied his coffee cup for a second. “Yes, I think the battle will go to the fastest and most maneuverable force, and that means destroyers. The battlefield will be chaotic, and individual battles will resemble dogfights and cavalry charges.”
Shelly thought for a second. “Sorry, Pat, I can’t see us defeating the Japanese with destroyers. Eventually, our fleets will meet in one or more decisive battles. I can’t see the naval war ending any other way.”
“Maybe,” O’Toole began, “but huge fleets steaming in formation make wonderful targets for carrier-based aircraft. Those tactics won’t work anymore. The Japs assembled large fleets at Coral Sea and Midway and got beat by carrier aircraft at long range.”
“What if the fleets were dispersed?”
O’Toole shook his head. “Then the doctrine falls apart because it’s based on concentration of force.”
Shelly thought there might be an element of truth in what O’Toole was saying but felt his thinking had to be wild and radical. “Even if you are right, sooner or later, destroyers will have to meet the battleships and cruisers. That’s a battle destroyers can’t win.”
“I think they might. All of my destroyer training is based on destroyer divisions maneuvering as a unit to attack the enemy. I don’t think that’s going to work, but I can’t visualize what the battles will be like.”
“So there’s a hole in your theory?”
O’Toole sipped at his coffee and smiled. “Big enough to drive a battleship through.”
§
O’Toole had been to Auckland several times before, but the changes he
saw when they docked left him awestruck. Damaged cruisers and destroyers jammed the Stanley Point Naval Station. Two new floating dry docks big enough to handle a battleship sat adjacent the land dry dock. The two floating dry docks held two destroyers each. Workers crawled over the ships like ants. War was raging, and Auckland was now a major repair depot for Allied ships.
The Able tied up third out in a three-destroyer nest at the pier. Once satisfied the ship was secure in its berth, O’Toole headed for his quarters to read. He found Doc Strong leafing through a tattered magazine.
Strong glanced up at O’Toole and said, “Well, I’m glad that’s over.”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you keep from going crazy? Crossing the Pacific is the most boring thing I’ve ever done. Hell, this ship is like a clock. The minute hand moves to midnight and the watch changes. Every four hours the clock goes tic, and the watch changes. The clock goes tic, and the crew goes to morning battle stations. The clock goes tic, and the cooks serve the meals. The clock goes tic, and the crew goes to evening battle stations. The clock goes tic, and it’s Taps. Nothing changes. After two or three days you could go through the routine with your eyes closed and not miss a thing.”
“Welcome to the navy, Doc.”
Strong had not completely vented his spleen. “You go on deck, and all you can see is a circle of ocean around you. The engines drone on and on, but when you go on deck the next day, you’re stuck in the same spot, surrounded by the same circle of empty ocean. I prefer a Sunday drive with variety and scenery.”
“Would you prefer we sail farther north within range of Jap bombers and fighters? Trust me, Doc, in this line of work boring is good.”
“You got me on that one, but now I know why you sailors drink so much coffee; it’s the only way you can say awake. Boring, boring, boring.”
Vows to the Fallen: O'Toole (The Marathon Series) Page 9
