The junior officer introduced him to each person. Mrs. O’Toole seemed a bit self-conscious and nervous. O’Toole’s grandfather, Daeg, caught Murphy off guard.
Daeg rose to his feet and stood ramrod straight. Murphy could almost feel his strength and confidence. The rough, weather-beaten face of the man was that of a seaman.
“I’m glad to meet you, Mister O’Toole, and welcome you to Oakland and the Farnley.” Murphy said, extending his hand.
Daeg’s hand was the texture of rough brick, and his grip hard and vise-like. The handshake and the clear penetrating eyes unnerved Murphy. He leads a hard life and is proud of it, Murphy concluded.
“Ayuh,” Daeg said.
After meeting the other family members and other dignitaries, Murphy took his position at the podium.
“Admiral?”
Murphy turned to see Kate O’Toole.
“Yes, Mrs. O’Toole?”
She glanced down then back up. “Admiral, my husband told me I would pin the Command at Sea Insignia on his uniform during the ceremony. I was wondering if . . .”
Murphy listened to her request and agreed.
O’Toole showed up with a minute to spare. They exchanged salutes.
“Are you ready for this?” Murphy asked O’Toole.
“Can I wait thirty minutes to give you an answer?” O’Toole asked.
“I understand.”
“I don’t know how, but everything is coming together.”
“It always does,” Murphy said. “It’s time, shall we begin?”
“Yes, sir,” O’Toole said, and nodded to Paxton standing between the podium and the officer ranks.
“Attention!” Paxton called out.
The officers and senior petty officers came to attention, and Murphy stepped to the podium. “Welcome to the commissioning of the USS Farnley. This is a ceremony steeped in centuries-old tradition and always begins with a blessing of the ship by the chaplain.”
After the blessing, Murphy put the formation at parade rest and kept the ceremony moving by introducing various dignitaries who each kept their remarks brief. The last speaker, the ship’s sponsor, the grandson of Harold Farnley, took the podium.
There was movement to Murphy’s right. A small, stiff-legged dog in a dress-white jumper and an extra bouncy step marched across the fantail, took a position at the end of the front rank of officers, and sat.
In the formation, eyes twitched, heads turned ever so slightly, shoulders shook, faces blushed, jaws clenched, and relaxed lips became strained straight lines.
Unique, Murphy thought. Never been to a commissioning ceremony with a dog.
The ship’s sponsor paused a second and continued his speech, ignoring the interruption. Murphy smiled.
The sponsor finished, and Admiral Murphy approached the podium, unfolded a piece of paper and read. “By authority of the President of the United States, the War Department, and the Department of the Navy, I, Vice Admiral Clair Murphy, hereby direct the USS Farnley be added to the roll of active United States Navy vessels prepared to stand in harm’s way.”
The signalman broke the US flag on the fantail’s staff, the band stuck up the national anthem. Ship Shape stood when the crew snapped to attention and saluted the flag.
The band finished the national anthem, and Admiral Murphy turned to O’Toole and said, “Lieutenant Commander Patrick O’Toole, read your orders.”
O’Toole stood and took four measured steps to the podium and kept his eyes focused on the papers in his hands. O’Toole waited until the last second to lift his eyes to the formation and the faces in front of him. When he did, he froze for a second before taking a deep breath to regain his composure.
Admiral Murphy understood this moment well. A moment when a man’s fears and insecurities came home to roost. A moment when men reached deep to hide their fears, to lead with confidence.
O’Toole’s 353 men stared at him. No one would ever speak the words, but in the next few seconds, O’Toole would take a sacred oath to God, the navy, and his men never to violate their trust, loyalty, or confidence. In turn, they would follow his orders to their deaths if need be. The office of captain is a sacred trust guarded by generations and proven in the blood of battle. O’Toole would be Master after God, and responsible for the crew, the safety of the ship, and all those who sailed within her.
O’Toole took a deep breath and read his orders, “From the Honorable Frank Knox, Secretary of the Navy. To Lieutenant Commander Patrick O’Toole. You are hereby directed to take command of the USS Farnley. Make all necessary preparations for war and report to the Commander in Chief, Pacific for further assignment.”
O’Toole turned to Admiral Murphy, and the admiral asked, “Do you accept these orders?”
“Yes, sir.”
Murphy turned to the assembled group and said, “It is the navy’s custom to allow a new captain’s wife to pin the Command at Sea Insignia on her husband’s uniform. Today, at Mrs. O’Toole’s request, I would like Mister Daeg O’Toole, Lieutenant Commander O’Toole’s grandfather, to step forward and do the honors.”
O’Toole’s grandfather stood without hesitation, marched to the podium, took the gold star and anchor insignia from Murphy’s hand, and turned to O’Toole.
His grandfather raised the insignia toward his chest. After a second he realized his grandfather didn’t know where to pin the insignia. “Center of right pocket,” he whispered. His grandfather’s hands jerked and hastily fastened the insignia in place. For a split second, his grandfather’s eyes flashed with pride, and his lips opened as if ready to speak. O’Toole started to mouth the word adequate, but his grandfather stopped, bobbed his head, sniffed, and hurried back to his seat.
Kate began crying and handed a handkerchief to his mother. Tears ran down his grandmother’s cheeks.
Admiral Murphy turned to O’Toole and said, “Congratulations, Captain. Assume your duties.”
O’Toole composed himself and said, “Lieutenant Paxton, assume the duties of executive officer of the USS Farnley. Set the quarterdeck watch.”
Paxton shouted orders, and an officer with two enlisted men marched to the head of the gangway. The officer made an entry in a logbook, turned toward Paxton, and reported, “Sir, the log shows at 0832 hours the USS Farnley stands at rest alongside pier fourteen, Oakland Navy Yard. The watch has been set.”
O’Toole concluded the ceremony by saying, “Executive Officer, take command of your men. Set normal shipboard routine. Bring this ship to life.”
As Murphy expected, O’Toole didn’t move as the formation dissolved. The admiral waited for Captain O’Toole to digest and relish the moment. Soon O’Toole’s wife joined him and gave him a big hug and a kiss.
“Ohhhhhh, I got lipstick on your uniform,” Mrs. O’Toole squealed.
“Don’t worry, you can’t keep white uniforms clean for more than two minutes,” O’Toole said.
“Shall we go to the reception?” Murphy asked.
Once in the tent set up on the pier, Murphy took his place in the receiving line next to O’Toole and his wife. Soon the tent filled, and the receiving line dwindled away. Finally, Admiral Murphy thought, I can find out more about this young captain. He scanned the crowd and spotted O’Toole’s grandfather, Daeg, chatting with Lieutenant Strong, the ship’s doctor.
O’Toole’s grandfather and the doctor were a study in contrasts. Lieutenant Strong’s rumpled uniform and slouchy posture couldn’t have been more different from O’Toole’s grandfather’s neatly pressed clothes and ramrod bearing.
“Mister O’Toole,” he said.
“Call me Daeg.”
Strong wandered off with his empty punch glass.
“Daeg, this must be a proud day for you.”
“Ayuh.”
“If I may ask, what do you do for a living?”
“Ground fisherman. I command the fishing schooner Marella out of Gloucester.”
Murphy waited for Daeg to continue, but he didn’t. “Th
at must be where your grandson got his seafaring ways.”
“Ayuh.”
“Your grandson is special. It’s unusual to see such a young man command a destroyer.”
“No surprise to me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Got his father in him, and he’s got the seaman’s eye. He was born to it. The Lord meant for him to command a ship. I raised him tough. Got caught in a wicked blow once. A salt keg broke loose. It fell and broke my leg. He stepped in and started giving orders to the crew. Do this. Do that. Trim the sails. He was just eighteen. Men thrice his age followed his orders without so much as second thought. The boy stayed on the helm for twenty-three hours straight. He saved the ship.”
“From what I’ve heard, your grandson is quite the leader.”
“Ayuh. He’s adequate. After that, I gave him the ship in heavy seas. He’s better at it than I’ll ever be. Got his father in him.”
“I’m sure he will be a good captain.”
“Ayuh. Adequate.”
Strong wandered back, his glass full of red punch.
“Lieutenant, you’re the ship’s doctor?”
“Well, that’s what they tell me,” Strong replied.
Strong was not navy, just a neighbor who stopped by to lend a hand. Admiral Murphy’s rank didn’t faze Strong, and his rumpled uniform confirmed he was just passing through. Murphy kept an eye on Strong’s slow-moving, slow-talking ways. Men like the doctor were not as dumb as they looked. Murphy, who still didn’t have fix on O’Toole, wondered if the doctor might open up.
“So what do you think of your new captain?” Murphy asked. This question was out of bounds, and Strong should know it, but with the doctor’s casual military approach he might open up.
“Well . . . I served with him on the Able, and I think I know him pretty good. But even for an old country doctor your question is a dangerous one to answer with all these military rules to follow.
“It’s somewhat like Mrs. Audrey back home. She’s a sculptor and makes statues and stuff. Well, her boy Matthew came down with the whooping cough, so I made visits to her house several days straight. The first day she tells me she’s making a statue of Robert E. Lee and throws a bunch of Robert E. Lee clay on her table, and starts working it, but it doesn’t look anything like Robert E. Lee. Next day come by, and by gosh the pile of clay had turned into the general, but it was rough and bumpy like it needed to be sanded down. Well, the third day I come in, and there’s this beautiful statue of Robert E. Lee standing on her worktable. I thought she was done with it.
“I commented on how realistic it looked and asked her if she was finished. Do you know what she said?”
Murphy wondered where the doctor was taking the story. “No, what did she say?”
“The general was still soft, and he wouldn’t be a general until he had been through the fire. The next day, I got there when she pulled the general out of the kiln. She said she had put the statue through the fire and it was as hard as nails. The general is done.”
“So how does the statue relate to your captain?” Murphy asked, confused.
“He’s all there, but there are two more steps to go.”
§
Strong drank too much punch and felt waterlogged after the reception. Once the dignitaries left, O’Toole took his family to the train station for their trip back home. Strong watched for O’Toole to return from a discreet distance. Ship Shape wasn’t concerned about discreet and camped out on the quarterdeck waiting for O’Toole.
When O’Toole returned, he and Ship Shape headed for the bridge. O’Toole’s gait was slow and deliberate, and he kept staring straight ahead through concerned eyes. Strong guessed ghosts of battles past had returned.
When he reached the bridge, O’Toole sat in his captain’s chair scratching Ship Shape on the neck. O’Toole’s stared vacantly through a wheelhouse window.
“I thought I would find you here. A good captain’s always on the bridge.”
O’Toole turned toward him. “What are you doing here? You seldom come to the bridge. Nosebleed, remember?”
“Ah, well, I wanted to say congratulations. You’re going to make a great skipper.”
O’Toole’s brow furrowed. “Yeah.”
“Why so pensive? This should be the happiest day of your life.”
“Sorry, that was the day I married Kate.”
Could he get him to open up? Should he? O’Toole was the captain; their roles different. Yet he had been O’Toole’s friend for some time, long enough to break the rules, he finally decided. “Well, something’s eating you.”
“About halfway through the commissioning ceremony it hit me. I’ve made mistakes before; I’ll make them again. I fear I won’t be an adequate captain.”
“You’re nuts. You’re a brilliant tactician. Hell, you’re a legend.”
“A legend who lost two ships.”
“No, a legend who got sucker-punched once. A man who became a legend by winning an impossible battle. An officer who saved the lives of many of his men. Your crew’s version says you sank a cruiser and damaged another before sinking five Jap destroyers. Next week it’ll be two battleships and five cruisers.”
“In both cases, I was responsible to prevent the situation, and I didn’t do it. I just keep falling short, and I never seem to be able to get it right. There were things I could have done to change the outcome. I didn’t, and men died because of me.”
“You’re tough because it’s your job, and the men still love you.”
“Sorry, Doc, you can’t understand. You’ve never had to order men to their death. I’m not sure I can handle that.”
Strong pursed his lips. “You’re right, I’ve never ordered men to their death, but look at the other side. It hurts me to lose a patient, but I don’t quit because of it. Instead, I consider all the lives I’ve saved. You can’t take responsibility for the men you’ve lost until you take credit for the ones you’ve saved.
“On the Able you trained your gunners, and without your training, we would have died in the air strikes. Pat, you saved our lives. Everyone says your tactics were brilliant once the Jap ships showed up. Yes, we lost men, but you saved lives. Pat, you can’t feel guilty about the men we lost on the Able.”
“I don’t,” O’Toole replied unconvincingly.
“Tell me, Pat, what are you feeling guilty about?”
“It’s a different type of guilt now. I owe those men a debt I’ll never be able to repay. They did their job, they followed orders, they did their duty, and they did everything I asked without question. I’m the one who was inadequate.”
“Pat, that’s bull! Remember the simultaneous casualty drill you ran on the Able? Why did you do that drill?”
“Because the crew has to work together. If they don’t, the ship’s in trouble.”
“So it’s not about one man, or one division, or one fire team, is it, Pat?”
“No.”
“Then why are you making this all about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Pat, you’re a captain now: there is no more me. Yes, lives lost are going to hurt you, but if you let grief get in your way, more lives will be lost. The question is not about what happened, or who died, but about what Pat is going to do about it. The first day I met you, there was a piece of paper taped to your locker. Are you going to be a warrior, or are you going to waste away?”
“Like I said, I keep falling short. Good men died, and more will.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Pat, but get over it. This is war. Men die for no reason. You’re a captain now. Do your duty. If you don’t, you won’t be worth a shit as a captain, and when we get in a fight, a lot more men will die. Pat, we need you to be the captain you can be.”
O’Toole seemed lost in thought. His posture stiffened, and he nudged Ship Shape off his lap. Turning toward Strong, O’Toole said, “Lieutenant Strong, we aren’t bunk mates anymore. You will address me as Captain.” After a few seconds, he ad
ded, “Thanks for having been my friend.”
Strong wanted to hear those words, but they still hurt. Strong guessed they hurt O’Toole as much as they hurt him. Strong bit his lower lip then smiled. “I’ll always be your friend, Captain.”
§
After dinner, Paxton put together the plan of the day for the next day. Other than the training exercises, it would be a normal day for a ship getting underway. Light boiler fires at 0200 hours, set the underway bridge watch at 0700 hours, set the sea and anchor detail at 0730 hours, and get underway at 0800 hours.
“XO?”
The captain stood in the doorway.
“Yes, sir.”
“About tomorrow: I don’t want to light boiler fires until 0630 hours.”
Paxton was sure he misunderstood. “0630? We’re schedule to be underway at 0800.”
“Correct. Light fires at 0630.”
“That’s impossible if we’re underway at 0800.”
“I’ve warned you never to say that word aboard my ship. It is possible, and it’s your job to know because if anything happens to me, lives could depend on you knowing. Have you read the boiler tech manuals?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s not adequate. Get your engineering crew together and figure it out. Think about the General Prudential Rule. This is part of the training program for you and them. Don’t come back and tell me it’s against regulations. Where we’re going, if you live by the book, the Japs will be kind enough to bury you with it.”
Strong appeared in the passageway behind O’Toole. “Excuse me, sir, what’s the General Prudential Rule?”
O’Toole moved aside and turned toward Paxton.
“It comes from maritime law, Doc. There are specific rules ships must follow to avoid collision. Even if everyone follows the rules, there are situations where a collision could happen, and the General Prudential Rule covers those situations. The rule states that when all else fails, the ship’s captain must maneuver as a prudent seaman to avoid collision.”
“Sounds too complicated for me,” Strong said.
Vows to the Fallen: O'Toole (The Marathon Series) Page 21
