U.S.S. Seawolf

by Patrick Robinson

  The California attorney came straight to the point. “Two important members of the submarine’s crew, the Officer of the Deck and the Chief of the Boat, have both sworn they heard you apologize to the CO for committing the fundamental error of having the periscope on low power. Do you now deny that was so?”

  “No sir. I did apologize. I was completely intimidated by Captain Crocker, sir. He looked as if he was going to strike me. He was out of control.”

  “Were you normally afraid of Judd Crocker?”

  “A little. He’s a very physical person. And he can be quite threatening.”

  “Mr. Clarke, I did anticipate that you may wish to develop that line, and I took the trouble to comb through his naval record. Would it surprise you to know that no one else in all of his career has ever suggested for one split second that Judd Crocker had ever threatened anyone, or even growled at anyone, far less actually struck anyone? Does it surprise you to learn that?”

  “Yessir. He almost knocked me flying trying to get to the periscope.”

  “Since you had virtually wrecked his ship, he might have been excused a little haste, don’t you think?”

  “Not that much, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Clarke, do you know what he wrote about you in his personal log of the incident, written on the carrier on the way home?”

  “No sir.”

  “Let me read it to you. ‘Poor Linus Clarke. Never was I so sorry for a young officer. It was a devastating mistake to make. But he will have many years to reflect upon it. At the time I was so angry, and I am just grateful that I kept it all in check. Never even raised my voice, because it would not have done any good. Linus Clarke was sufficiently distraught without my adding to it. There were many times I enjoyed serving with him.’”

  Mangone looked up. “Does that sound much like the raging bull you describe?”

  “Well, no, sir. But he’d had time to think about his image by then.”

  “So he may have done. But he still doesn’t sound much like a raging bull to me. No further questions.”

  The final witness of the day was Captain Judd Crocker, and his tenure in front of the admirals would be short, because of the four principal crew in the conn at the time of the disaster, he was there the least amount of time, arriving only after the mistake had been made.

  The only disputed issue upon which he had to pronounce was the distance he saw through the periscope between the two ships, and he confirmed to Admiral Freddie Curran that it was indeed 500 yards. No doubts. “And,” he added, “it was still five hundred yards when we got to the surface and checked again a few minutes later.”

  Admiral Curran concluded by saying, “Yes, Captain Crocker. I think that is all very clear to the board now.”

  Which left the coast clear for Philip Myerscough’s final attack. He rose to his feet and said, “Captain Crocker, I believe this patrol had an element of a disaster to it right from the start?”

  Judd looked puzzled, and said nothing.

  “I mean, Captain, that you were under strict orders not to be detected under any circumstances. Is that correct?”

  “I am not at liberty to mention any details of a classified operation in Far Eastern waters.”

  “But Captain Crocker, it is, I believe, general knowledge that your submarine was detected by the Chinese three times?”

  “Sir, you could only have learned such fantasies from Lieutenant Commander Clarke, and he is no more empowered to speak of them than I am.”

  “Are they fantasies, Captain?”

  “I have nothing to say on that, counselor. Our mission was highly classified.”

  “Very well. Perhaps I may conclude by saying there were mistakes made by the commanding officer of USS Seawolf throughout the voyage. And possibly he made another when the distance had to be judged between the destroyer and the submarine.”

  Philip Myerscough knew well enough that he must have incurred the immediate wrath of Admiral Cameron, and he sat down swiftly.

  But the senior admiral was measured. “I am not entirely surprised that things may have been said to you which ought not to have been said. But such things happen in incidents like these when lives and careers are threatened. For the record, I would like to confirm that the United States Navy has no formal proof that Seawolf was ever detected before she caught the towed array. But we do have proof that her very difficult mission was accomplished under the command of Captain Crocker, who was not of course in the conn when the accident happened.”

  The chairman then thanked everyone for the frank and honest way in which the evidence had been presented, and confirmed that the board would continue in session for the rest of the week, examining further aspects of the loss. And that the findings would be made public on October 9, as previously stated.

  1130. Tuesday, September 26.

  The Oval Office.

  President Clarke was as angry with the United States Navy as he had ever been. In his hand he held the report from the Board of Inquiry investigating the loss of Seawolf, and the news it contained was not good.

  The admirals, conscious of a growing unrest in the media and the public about the precise circumstances of the submarine’s demise, were considering the possibility of a Special Court-Martial charging both the captain and the executive officer with gross negligence.

  In the past four days there had been a succession of stories leaked about the loss of Seawolf, and the media was beginning to get warm. The admirals felt that a court-martial would clear the air and put everyone off the scent of what had really happened in the South China Sea, especially since the President’s son was involved. Nothing, surely, could be worse than that.

  And so the admirals, including Mulligan and Cameron, had agreed upon this course of action. The court-martial would almost certainly find both men not guilty, but to have staged it, and put two of their own through the humiliation, would hopefully absolve the Navy from further blame.

  The trouble now was that the President was not having it. He stood before Admiral Morgan and said categorically, “No one is going to court-martial my son. Not while I sit in this chair as Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces.”

  “But, sir, I don’t see that we have any choice. We have to deflect the media from the real story, which would have this administration thrown out. You would be in disgrace, sir. Going to war with China, to save Linus. Even you, sir, could not get away with that.”

  “Okay. I accept that. But look here, Arnie, I’ve read this report, and I don’t think anything of this Crocker guy. Jesus, I’m a lawyer, and there’s not one shred of corroboration to back his claim that Linus made a mistake. Nothing, ’cept stuff that happened after the fact. I mean, give me a break. There was three seconds on the periscope. And you guys want to hang my own son on that? Nossir. That’s not going to happen.”

  “Mr. President, the Navy is going to court-martial either Linus, or both him and Judd, for the loss of the ship. After all, he was driving the damned thing.”

  “So he may have been. But this Crocker guy should have been there. He’s the captain. And his evidence is flawed against my boy. Linus has always been truthful, ever since he was little…and this Crocker character is trying to turn him into a liar. And that’s what I’m not having.

  “Admiral Morgan, I want that captain court-martialed. But I’m not having Linus there with him. He’s the CO. Let him take the blame. It’s just his word against the truthful word of my boy. I’ll even have Linus stand witness for him. But I’m not having that boy facing a Navy court-martial, which would ultimately bring a much greater disgrace upon him than it would for a normal person.”

  “Sir, I will make your wishes known to the respective admirals, and we’ll just have to see how the cards fall. But I do know everyone is very concerned about how much press this thing is beginning to attract.”

  “All right. But don’t come back with a lot of crap. I just want to be told that Linus is not going to be facing a U.S. Navy court-marti
al. Not after all that boy’s gone through.”

  0900. Wednesday, September 27.

  The Oval Office.

  Morgan paused before the door of the Oval Office, then entered.

  “Sir, you’re not going to like this,” he said to the President. “The Navy is to convene a Special Court-Martial charging both Captain Crocker and Lt. Commander Linus Clark with gross negligence in the loss of the submarine Seawolf. Sir, they feel they have no choice in the current climate, and I agree with them.”

  “GODDAMNIT, ARNIE! Can I overrule, strike Linus off the charge?”

  “Yessir. As C-in-C you may do as you wish. But I am told you will then receive the instant resignations of your chief of naval operations, Admiral Joe Mulligan, and that of the commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Archie Cameron.”

  “THEN TELL ’EM TO GET THE HELL OUT AND I’LL APPOINT A COUPLE OF GUYS WHO WILL HELP ME OUT HERE…MAYBE APPRECIATE SOME OF THE STUFF I’VE DONE FOR THE NAVY.”

  “Is that your last word, sir?”

  “It sure as hell is. I need a new CNO and a new CINCPAC, right? Please start things moving, and announce nothing about the court-martial.”

  “Very well, sir. But we have to hurry. They intend the court-martial to sit on Friday morning, while the evidence is fresh.”

  “They can sit whenever the hell they like. But the only man they’ll be trying is Captain Judd Crocker. I want him charged with being absent from his place of duty in the face of the enemy. China, right. That’s an enemy.”

  Arnold Morgan left without another word. And within 30 minutes the two resignations were in. It took another five hours to make new appointments, and both men were given to understand that if the Navy wanted its massive budget for the next two years to be approved by the President, they would acquiesce to his wishes in the court-martial of Judd Crocker.

  Admiral Dick Greening, flying in from Pearl to replace Archie Cameron, had no feelings about the trial, and felt that the probable letter of censure to a captain who had lost his submarine could not possibly be worth such a total disruption.

  The appointment of a new CNO was more difficult, but in the end they appointed Admiral Alan Dickson, Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet. His views, too, were ambivalent on the subject of Judd Crocker’s court-martial. He was not, however, appraised of the President’s wish that the captain should be found guilty, and the entire matter closed at that point.

  Admiral Morgan requested a delay until Monday for the trial of Judd Crocker, which was granted. And he spent much of the weekend trying to reason with the President. But there was no reasoning. He did not wish Linus Clarke even to attend the hearing, and he sent him home to the ranch in Oklahoma.

  Which meant that on Monday morning, in the same room where the Board of Inquiry had sat, Captain Judd Crocker faced the court-martial alone. Only his father was there, waiting outside for the verdict. And for three hours, the former commanding officer pleaded his case, explaining the circumstances, trying to explain his XO’s mistake.

  But there was no pleading here. The Navy wanted a conviction, to get everyone off the hook. The President wanted a conviction, to get his son off the hook. This was a trial that was lost before it was held.

  At 1625 on the afternoon of Monday, October 2, Captain Judd Crocker was found guilty of gross negligence, effectively “on grounds that he had been absent from his place of duty in the face of the enemy.” He was relieved of command and issued a letter of the severest censure, with a recommendation that he leave the service forth-with.

  1400. Tuesday. October 3.

  Office of the National Security Adviser.

  Admiral Morgan had just proposed to Kathy O’Brien. “Thought I’d get that absolute formality out of the way before I go along and tell the Chief I’ve resigned,” he said.

  “Well, yes. I will marry you. But this is all a little sudden. I presume it’s about Judd Crocker’s court-martial?”

  “Not quite. It’s just that I can no longer give my loyalty to a man like President Clarke. This whole thing has been riddled with dishonesty and corruption. Nothing’s ever been straight, right from the start. And I cannot put up with it. I’m outta here, though he will not know that for a couple of days.

  “I’ve been in the United States Navy almost all of my life, and I have never known such a series of totally shocking events. Losing Joe Mulligan? Archie Cameron? Disgracing our best submarine CO? All for this little shit Linus Clarke? No, Kathy, I’m not having it. I’m out.”

  Then the admiral was gone, on his way to the Oval Office, taking with him his letter of resignation, effective Friday.

  The President was stunned at his decision to quit on him.

  The two men talked for an hour, John Clarke trying to persuade Arnold Morgan not to leave the ship. But there was no changing the mind of the National Security Adviser. He simply felt he could not offer this President the kind of loyalty he needed.

  They shared a pot of coffee, and just as they were preparing to shake hands, there was a tap on the door, and a thoroughly distraught Kathy O’Brien came in slowly, a white handkerchief pressed to her face.

  “Sir,” she blurted out, “Captain Crocker has shot himself. He’s dead.”

  President Clarke went white. His hand was clasped across his mouth as if trying to” stop himself from crying out.

  Admiral Morgan steeled himself and put his arm around Kathy, guiding her out of the room. Just before he walked out through the doorway, he turned and said, “Corruption, sir, when you’re dealing with men of honor, sometimes carries a very high price.”

  EPILOGUE

  They brought Judd Crocker’s body home by military aircraft, landing at Cape Cod’s sprawling Otis Air Force Base. His heartbroken family arranged a small private funeral on the outskirts of Osterville, just for relatives and the small contingent from Washington—the President, Admiral Morgan and Kathy, and Admiral Joe Mulligan. However, Lt. Commander Rick Hunter flew in with Brad Stockton on a military jet from San Diego, and they flanked Nicole and the two little girls throughout the proceedings.

  The service was conducted by the local pastor, and they laid Judd Crocker to rest near the grave of his grandfather in the hillside cemetery. The President himself looked as if every one of his worst dreams had just happened.

  Here, in this village by Nantucket Sound, he faced for the first time the consequences of his actions. The entire place was in mourning for a native son who had died by his own hand. Down at the Wianno Yacht Club, where Captain Crocker had learned to sail as a boy, the flag of the United States flew at half-staff.

  It was the same in the center of the town, outside the country store, where the town flag was also at half-staff. Shops all along Main Street

  were closed for the funeral, and a huge crowd was gathered on the sidewalks all the way down to the cemetery.

  There had been just enough in the newspapers and on television for everyone to know there had been something highly suspicious about the court-martial. No one believed that Judd Crocker could possibly have been solely responsible for the loss of the Seawolf.

  And now the President seemed to be in shock at the outpouring of hometown grief. The worst news he heard was that Admiral Nathaniel Crocker had told the Cape Cod Times that he would devote the next five years to writing a book about the loss of the submarine, and his son’s part in the disaster. He had, he revealed, been promised total cooperation by many of Judd’s crew.

  In the event, the final word, perhaps, went to Admiral Crocker, who waited for the President after the service.

  Judd’s father walked up to him, and he did not offer his hand. He just said softly, “I wonder, sir, whose son has the greater honor, yours or mine?”

 

 

 
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