He’d done the same thing with submarines. If he’d been a naval designer, the submarines would have been a hell of a lot different. More livable certainly, especially the attack boats. But they also would have cost more, and that’s why Buck Nelson drove them and others designed them.
This time his mind was playing games. Damn if he wasn’t designing a miniature submarine just for Jeff Sones. The kid wanted to drive boats like he was a fighter pilot. Okay, Nelson’s mind was in synch and putting together one that would blow Sones’s mind. What a power plant. And steering surfaces that would put Sones and his crew in harnesses like those pilots. Before his brain let him go, Buck had created the most beautifully maneuverable submarine in the world. No torpedoes — but one hell of a ride!
Then he fell asleep.
Neil Arrow, arms swinging with his step, was in the lead, walking at a steady pace down the wide dirt road in the Waianae foothills. It was his turf, his idea, and he’d guaranteed they could do it without being seen. So all four of them, still in civilian clothes, had piled into the rented car and Arrow had driven them to the hills west of Pearl Harbor, where they could stretch their legs and get a little exercise.
“Why not?” Larsen had agreed when Neil suggested they get away from the base. “Spruance and Nimitz used to do it all the time. Spruance was a health nut. He’d get out beyond Makalapa with his commander-in-chief and walk Nimitz’s ass off. Let’s see if you gents can keep up with me.”
They’d gone at least a mile at full tilt with Ray Larsen in the lead before he abruptly slowed down and said, “Okay, now that you’ve all met your maker, Neil can take the lead. The horse knows the way.” The CNO was sweating profusely and droplets rolled from under his red crew cut down his neck to stain his shirt.
“Ray Spruance was a generation too early. He would have loved to know you,” Robbie Newman muttered. He was the least athletic of the group and was puffing visibly. “I was damned if you were going to get the best of me, but you came close to having another casualty on your hands if you kept up that pace.”
Larsen held up two fingers and grinned. “Two casualties, Robbie. Look at OP-02 over there,” he said, pointing at Mark Bennett, “He can hardly catch his breath. What do you say there, Admiral? Going to issue a directive on physical fitness to the sub force?”
“I’m going to call your wife when I get back and tell her she was almost a widow.” Mark Bennett glanced over to Arrow. “You were thinking about it, too, weren’t you?”
They were strolling easily now up a gentle path with heavy undergrowth on either side. The air was thick. It seemed to Bennett that the birds chattering in the canopy of trees over the path were making an effort to compete with the conversation.
Neil Arrow let out a sigh of relief. “You’re lucky you gave in, Ray. None of us would have ever blown the whistle on the other guy.”
“You were right, you know, Neil,” Larsen answered. “This really is relaxing. I needed it as much as anyone. I think we were definitely getting too close to the problem.”
Arrow could sense the undercurrent of frustration and resentment that persisted among the four of them. It scared him. Decisions made in the heat of anger could come back to haunt you. In this case, there was no margin for error. They weren’t in the driver’s seat on this one, never had been. Every bit of information that came to them, as meager as it was, was new. Someone else was calling the shots this time. Their initial goal was to confirm just who the enemy was in this case. It had to be the Soviet Union.
But this was so unlike the General Secretary’s recent efforts. Why was he pushing a nuclear confrontation? That was the only purpose they could envision. What mistakes had been made on the U.S. side so far? They had to neutralize the situation and then come back swinging. It was necessary to be rational, consistent, cautious, regardless of what was happening. Anger had no place in their decisions.
Each of them had been mulling over their own thoughts for a few moments when Arrow turned toward Ray Larsen. He opened his mouth to speak, then realized his thoughts hadn’t fully jelled.
“Go,” said Larsen, jabbing a finger in his direction, then dropping it to his side with a sheepish smile.
“You don’t have to give up your bad habits completely, Ray. We wouldn’t know how to react.” Arrow tried to glare at the CNO but his expression became a satisfied smile. The man was set in his ways but he was trying. “I’ve got an idea we ought to be thinking more about Pasadena, other than her being lost.”
“Why?”
“That’s a point,” Newman muttered to himself. “She was in absolutely superb shape.” He saw submarines as machines that either functioned perfectly or sank. It was black and white. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t the least hint that Pasadena could perform any other way but perfectly. The so-called “deadwood” that Newell, her captain, transferred off his own boat were considered excellent performers on others. Therefore, why not consider other aspects? If human error was a possibility, why not human fallibility?
“What’d you say, Robbie?” Bennett asked.
“Pasadena. She was in terrific shape. That’s Wayne Newell’s boat. All of his have always been 4.0, engineering-wise, I mean,”
“Whatever way you want to look at them,” Bennett commented “He’s so goddamned squeaky, I’d hate to work for him.”
Larsen looked in Bennett’s direction briefly. “How well do you know him?”
“He was one of my officers when I had Stonewall Jackson. “
“Was he like that then?”
“I don’t know when he wasn’t like that.”
“You don’t like him, Mark?”
“I wouldn’t pick him out to go drinking with … even if he did drink,” he added as an afterthought.
“How about fighting a war?”
Bennett glanced at the CNO, who was staring straight ahead. “He’s driven to perfection. He would either sink everything that came anywhere near him or go down trying. And before you start telling me that’s the only way to do it, Ray, you were the one who told me there’s no point in sacrificing a submarine for a single target unless you were sure it was the ultimate target.”
“Did I say that?”
“You’re damn right you did. Newport. Naval War College. Visiting lecturer. I was a student, and I’ll regurgitate everything you said that day, even most of the percentages you quoted.”
Newman moved up beside Larsen. “Sounds like he’s got you.” He could sense the tension had disappeared somewhere during the first mile. “Why are you so interested in Wayne Newell?”
“I don’t know,” Larsen answered uneasily. “I hadn’t even thought about him until you brought up his name. I guess I get scared by perfect people. Maybe it’s a sixth sense. I didn’t even think of who Pasadena’s CO, was until you mentioned it, Robbie.”
“He’s good, isn’t he, Mark? I mean beyond your distaste for his drinking habits,” Newman asked.
“Yeah, I recommended him for an XO’s billet when he was ready to leave old Stonewall. He wouldn’t make mistakes. Like we’ve all said, it would have had to be human error for her to disappear.”
“Come on.” Larsen turned abruptly to the rear. “I feel better now, Neil. Maybe Spruance had the idea first, but you hit it right on the head this time. We all needed this. Let’s take another look at Pasadena’s position.”