A messenger walked up and said, “XO, sir, Doc Strong asked if you could come down to battle dressing for a minute.”
O’Toole turned to Chief Barnes. “Chief, you got it and anything else you want.”
14
December 16, 1942
USS Able; en route to Kogeri Island
Strong met O’Toole at the door and whispered, “Hatfield isn’t going to make it. He asked for you.”
The room was silent. Blood smears streaked the deck where someone had attempted to wipe up, and blood-blotched linen littered the room. Three men on cots next to the door raised red eyes that followed O’Toole to the far end of the room where Hatfield’s gun crew was huddled. One crewman hobbled a bit. His missing trouser leg exposed a heavy bandage on his thigh. Dozens of stitches closed several shrapnel wounds on another man’s back. The last man’s arm was in a sling, and blood seeped through the bandage on his other arm.
Two of them sidestepped for O’Toole. IV bottles dripped clear liquid into Hatfield’s arm, and one large blood-stained bandage covered half of Hatfield’s chest.
The man at the head of the table looked at O’Toole but jerked his eyes away and had to push his lips together to stop the quivering of his chin. After a second, he said, “Hey, Hats, Lieutenant O’Toole’s here to see you.” He made a valiant effort to sound cheerful and almost succeeded.
Hatfield’s eyes blinked open, but he didn’t speak. O’Toole mustered an approximation of his everyday voice and said, “Hey, Hatfield, you wanted to see me?”
Hatfield turned his eyes to O’Toole and managed a half smile. “Yes, sir.” Hatfield’s voice was weak, and O’Toole had to bend over to hear him. “I wanted to thank you for everything sir, and tell you I’m sorry I let myself get all busted up like this. I let you down.”
I let you down?
He couldn’t understand why Hatfield would apologize. O’Toole’s guts twisted as if his body was trying to turn him inside out. “You didn’t let anyone down, especially not me. You saved the ship.”
“It’s my job.”
“You went above and beyond, Hatfield,” O’Toole paused to clear the lump in his throat. “I’m proud as hell of you and your gun crew.”
“Thanks, sir. I need a favor. Could you see these get back to my daddy?” Hatfield dropped two heavy objects into O’Toole’s hand.
O’Toole stared at the two marble-sized brass balls in his hand. “What are these?”
“Daddy gave ‘em to me. Said I’d need brass balls to fight the Japs. He wants them back. There’s a nickel’s worth of brass there. Can you get them to him when the war is over?”
“Don’t worry; you can give them to him when you get home.”
“Keep them just in case. You got big ones, sir, but these are better. Use ‘em to keep the guys safe.”
O’Toole’s chest hitched. The silent knot of men around Hatfield gazed at him with worried eyes. One man turned to hide his face.
“I’ll use them to keep the guys safe, Hatfield. I promise.”
Hatfield closed O’Toole’s hand around the balls and squeezed O’Toole’s fist weakly.
A half smile crossed Hatfield’s lips, and he closed his eyes. His face turned peaceful, and his hand relaxed. Doc Strong placed his stethoscope on Hatfield’s carotid, bowed his head, and lifted the sheet over Hatfield’s face. One of the men, voice squeaky and face contorted, said, “He’s okay, Doc, really. Hats, tell him you’re okay. Hats—”
O’Toole was floating in a moment of time and turned his thoughts toward the jumble of broken parts in his chest. The other three men were crying. He reached deep inside to pull his strength forward and rubbed his eyes to clear the tears. He failed. He lifted his chin, turned, and headed to the door. Doc Strong turned away toward a tray of instruments.
The men on the cots lowered their eyes and turned their heads away as he passed. A rage and anger clenched him he couldn’t contain. He turned to the men in the room and shouted, “Never forget him! He saved this ship and our lives. We owe him everything.”
§
O’Toole stormed on deck and leaned his back against the bulkhead. In a slow beat, he drove his left fist into the bulkhead behind him.
Damn you, Hatfield. You were told to stay in your quarters. Why didn’t you listen? Someone needed to stop you. When I find out who—Chief Starret—Strong, I’m going to have your ass. Damn you. Damn all of you. I should have ordered your ass off the gun you sonofabitch. Why didn’t you follow orders?
Put this away; your duty is to your ship.
He took a deep breath and headed aft. A crew was working over the side and sparks cascaded into the water from the white heat of the welder’s torch.
A Bofors crewman on the upper level was relaxing at his gun. “Square you asses away! That’s no way to man your gun. We’re dead in the water, a sitting duck. Stand ready and keep your eyes to the sea! You do that again, your ass is mine.” Surprised and bewildered, the crewman stiffened up and turned his eyes to the sea.
O’Toole stepped over a fire hose that hadn’t been stowed yet, and grabbed two sailors watching the repair party. “Get these damn hoses stowed!”
Chief Barnes heard O’Toole’s outburst, stuffed his screwdriver in his hip pocket, and walked over to block O’Toole’s way. “What’s the matter, Lieutenant?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“What I saw wasn’t nothing. You never jumped the men like that before.”
“Hatfield’s dead.”
Barnes turned his head to stare into the distant sky. “That’s going to hit the crew hard.”
“Don’t tell me something I already know. Out of my way, Chief!”
He tried to push Barnes out of his way, but Barnes nudged him back against the bulkhead.
“Get your shit together, Lieutenant! You’re out of control. The crew doesn’t need a madman; they need Lieutenant O’Toole. When word gets out about Hatfield, they’re going to need an anchor. You’re all they got. It’s your responsibility. That’s the deal.”
He wanted to push Barnes out of the way, but he stood still. Barnes’ stone-hard face was less than four inches away. The chief’s eyes were firm but questioning. O’Toole clenched his jaw, took a deep breath through his nose, and lifted his chin. He let out his breath, trying to exhale the anger from his body. Neither man moved for several seconds.
Barnes put his hand on his shoulder and tugged him away from the bulkhead. “Here’s the deal. As soon as we get this patch on, we can get underway. Our first problem will be the two feet of water in the engine and boiler rooms.”
“What’s the damage in engineering?”
Pointing the way with his screwdriver, Barnes said, “Come below with me and I’ll show you.”
§
The wounded still occupied battle dressing, so the officers ate on the mess deck with the crew. O’Toole and the other officers made small talk as they ate the fried seagull dinner. This was the third time they had had chicken this week. After dinner, O’Toole headed for the captain’s cabin. O’Toole entered the cabin and asked the pharmacist mate to step outside. Shelly’s face was still pale and was more haggard than before. O’Toole guessed Shelly wasn’t getting any sleep, and that the pain was a constant fight for him.
Shelly said, “XO, being confined to a bed is ten times scarier than standing on the bridge during an attack.”
O’Toole managed a weak smile. “Never thought about being boxed up like this with all hell breaking loose outside. Guess not knowing what’s coming is worse than getting shot at.”
“Between you getting my ship shot up and Doc Strong trying to drown me with bug juice, I’ll take the bridge any day.”
“Well, after today, you’re welcome to it. Hatfield got killed, and eight men are wounded.”
“I heard. Your training is paying off. You turned this crew into a bunch of Commodore Perry’s cannoneers. We’ve compiled a hell of a record over the past three days—attacked by thirty enemy aircraft and onl
y four got away. That’s damn good.”
“Chief Starret did one heck of job training the men. The reason I came to see you is to be clear on the plan for tomorrow morning.”
“We’re still a go. From what I know, bow damage is nothing more than a bloody nose, and Barnes says we’ll be operational in another two hours.”
O’Toole nodded. “You’re keeping up with things, and you should be aware, Barnes is a miracle worker. I went into engineering to assess the damage and swore it would’ve taken a month to get things up and running again.”
“There’s nothing to say we aren’t operational, so we go in tomorrow morning. I want to make one change though. We won’t enter the channel between the islands until after the morning battle stations about zero-eight hundred. I think you’re right; we’ll want maneuvering room if they send more planes at us.”
“Can we stay at battle stations until we’re out of channel?”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
This is just like the Green.
He didn’t want to fail his men again. What was he missing? What couldn’t he see? Why wasn’t there a ready solution? He had to try harder.
“Still can’t talk you into going in on the east side before dawn?”
“No, and I will be on the bridge tomorrow morning, but you’ll be in charge. I can’t stand not knowing what’s going on.”
§
O’Toole went straight to his quarters. He had to find a way to get Shelly to change his mind. So far he had been supportive and argued his case within professional bounds. He needed time to think.
Still dressed, he flopped into his bunk and stared at the plank above him. Several minutes later, Strong entered, walked past O’Toole’s bunk, and took a seat in the steel chair. He gazed at the bulkhead for several seconds. “Want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Hatfield.”
O’Toole could feel his wall closing in on him. What was it he wasn’t seeing? He had pushed Hatfield’s death aside. Now Strong had brought Hatfield up. Had he let Hatfield down?
“Doc, your sense of timing is terrible, and your guesses about what I’m thinking are worse.”
Strong pulled off his shoes to massage his feet. O’Toole didn’t move but began speaking. “I can’t figure it out, Doc. I should’ve pulled him off the gun. Hell, I don’t know what should’ve happened; whatever it was, it didn’t happen.”
“You can’t turn back the clock and change things.”
“Crap, I know that. Just tell me what I should’ve done.”
“There is no answer to your question. From what I was told, had you pulled Hatfield off the gun a lot more men would have died. Have you thought about that?”
“When I do, I don’t like the answers.”
“Pat, stop looking for answers; there aren’t any. This is war; men die.”
“Isn’t that what I’m here for? I’m here to keep them alive.”
“You can’t save them all, and there are costs involved in saving lives.”
O’Toole thought for a long second before asking, “Are you suggesting the currency I spend to save lives is the lives of other men?”
Strong paused. “I hadn’t thought about it in those terms, and I don’t like the way you said it, but yes.”
“How would you put it, Doc?”
“I don’t know.”
“How about, command decisions have consequences? That sounds a lot more sanitary until you think it through.
“Pat, I don’t know.”
“Chief Barnes sort of tore me a new one today.”
“What happened?”
“I left battle dressing, and I was mad, and out of control. He grabbed me and told me to get my shit kit together because I owed it to the men.”
“Barnes is a good man.”
“They don’t make them any better, and I think I need to thank Barnes for kicking my ass straight.”
§
O’Toole headed straight for the main engine room and descended the ladder to the main level. The sound of the engines told him they were still limping along on two boilers.
O’Toole’s body hadn’t yet adjusted to the sweltering heat when he found Barnes sitting on a white wooden bench aft the gauge board with a cup of coffee in one hand. He was tapping his screwdriver on the bench with the other. O’Toole sat next to him.
“How’s it going, Chief?”
“I’m rotating my guys through the chow line. They’re beat and need a break. We’re still working on the plumbing back there.” Barnes pointed with his screwdriver to half a dozen men working along the aft bulkhead.
“Chief, you and your men never fail to amaze me. You’re one hard-ass SOB, but your men love you. This is undoubtedly the best engineering plant in the fleet.”
“Thanks, sir, I appreciate that coming from you. Sounds like you think we got an adequate plant and crew here.”
“What?”
Barnes grinned at him. “You don’t realize how much you use the word adequate do you?”
“I never thought about it.”
“Everything you said about me I could say about you. You’re an SOB, and your men are starting to love you, and some would die for you.”
The last few words stunned O’Toole. Normally they would be a compliment, but now they scared him. The thought of men willing to die for him was troubling; he didn’t want that responsibility on his shoulders. “I care about them too, Chief.”
“I’m familiar with the feeling.”
“About earlier today; I want to thank you for straightening me out. I have never had a non-com speak to me like that. If it had been anyone else, I would have had their head.”
“Just part of the job. Just part of the deal.”
“I’ve been thinking. I’m letting myself get too close to my men. Had I maintained my distance from Hatfield, I wouldn’t have been so emotional.”
“I think your head is still screwed up, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you push your men so hard?”
“It’s my job.”
“Bull crap. Think about it for a minute, and after you do, tell me why you’re such an SOB.”
O’Toole shrugged.
“You said you cared for your men. You want to keep them alive, and the way you can do it is to make this the best fighting ship possible. The greatest kindness you can show them is to be tough as hell on them to keep them good and sharp. If you succeed, we all have a better chance of seeing our families again. That’s why you do it. It’s not about you or your job; it’s about them.”
“I’m still letting myself get too close to the men. Somehow, I have to maintain perspective.”
“You’re a good officer because you care. It’s your nature. You can’t change it, and if you try, you’ll dry up and blow away.”
“I can’t let myself get out of control like I did today.”
“Build a suit of armor. Live inside it. Don’t let anyone see inside. The bigger your heart is, the thicker the armor has to be.”
“That’s impossible, Chief.”
“Don’t care about impossible. It’s your job. Only you can do it. It’s your responsibility to them; you own it. That’s the deal.”
You own it. If only Barnes knew the half of it.
§
O’Toole went straight to Shelly’s cabin, knocked, entered, and excused the pharmacist mate. Shelly looked at him quizzically.
“One more time, Captain. Can I get you to reconsider our plans for tomorrow morning?”
Shelly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No.”
Everything O’Toole believed told him no was the wrong answer.
Be a warrior; challenge anyone who is not. I’m not going to fail again.
Shelly’s clutched the side of the bed, and his breath sawed in and out. O’Toole was unsure if it was fair to continue this discussion. No, he had to press on; both he and the captain had responsibilities.
“
Captain, I don’t agree with your decision. The Japs know our destination and when we’ll get there. It’s reasonable to assume after three days of air attacks they will be waiting for us. You’re putting the ship at unnecessary risk. I must insist you reconsider.”
“I won’t.”
“You can’t do this. If I am right, we’ll lose the ship and hundreds of lives. If I am wrong, we might ding up a motor whaleboat getting Pip ashore. For God’s sake, Captain, consider the risks.”
“I have—I have—” Shelly arched his back. “Speed is the answer. The chances of the Japs showing up at the right time are minuscule. Even then, we’ll be able to escape through the open end of the passage. I’ve agreed to stay at general quarters and delay the drop off until after the sun is well up. It makes sense, and you know it.”
“No I don’t, Captain. This isn’t the merchant marine where you have to get into port and turn your ship around in a hurry to keep making money. We’re not talking about surly stevedores; we’re talking about Japs with guns.”
Shelly screwed his face into a mask of determination. “I’ll ignore that impertinent remark. We go in at 0800 hours. That’s a direct order, XO. Don’t try to go behind my back, or so help me—”
“You could get us all killed.”
“Follow your orders! I’ll be on the bridge to make sure you do. Dismissed.”
O’Toole left Shelly’s cabin and walked as fast as he could to the fantail. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his face was hot as if sunburnt. Standing at the stern, he watched the milky blue braid from the ship’s screws disappear over the horizon. The violent turbulence of the ship’s wake resonated with the churning in his chest. Somehow he had to stop the captain and get the orders changed.
He didn’t fear combat. He feared the captain’s bad tactics might put them at a disadvantage and lead to the death of good men. His way could also lead to combat, but it gave the Able the tactical advantage in every respect.
He put his argument with Shelly out of his mind and visualized the upcoming conversation with Strong. He wasn’t in their quarters, but O’Toole found him seated at a small desk in the dispensary looking over medical records. It was obvious Strong was tired.
Vows to the Fallen: O'Toole (The Marathon Series) Page 12
