“Would you say, sir, that our Admirals have built a Maginot Line of sorts in their orders to submarine commanders on how to fight this war?”
Hinman felt rather than saw Butler’s sudden tension. “I cannot say that, sir,” he said. “I can say that none of us, high command or submarine commander, has ever fought a submarine war. My reasoning, sir, is that you have to feel your way, to find tactics that will work. Then you analyze those tactics and use what is good. When I was an Executive Officer in peacetime I had a Captain who thought that way. After we had gone through a battle exercise we’d sit down and try to figure out how we could have done it better.
“One of the things we always talked about was the feasibility of a night surface attack. We were never allowed to use that tactic then, we are forbidden to use it now.”
“So you took it upon yourself to disobey orders?”
“I did, sir.” Hinman realized that he was making an effort to face the magnetic eyes of President Roosevelt, to resist the feeling of immense power that radiated from the man in the wheel chair.
“By Heaven, I’m glad you did!” The President’s meaty hand slapped the arm of his chair. “Not only did you sink ships, you have also upset some of the old fogies who run our Navy!” He reached for his coffee cup and eyed Hinman from over its rim.
“Do you know about the Graf Spee, Captain?”
“The German pocket battleship, sir? I know her Captain was ordered to scuttle his ship rather than take her out to sea to fight a superior British force.”
“Would you have obeyed those orders if you had been her commanding officer?” The President’s voice was very soft.
“No, sir! I would have gone to sea to fight!”
The President smiled. “Winston told me he would have shot any British Captain who scuttled his ship rather than face the enemy!” The big head canted to one side, the cigaret holder jutting out like the bowsprit of an old sailing man-of-war. “I cannot officially condone your disobedience of orders, Captain, but I can say this to you sir: My mind goes back in history to Commodore Perry at the Battle of Lake Erie, one hundred years before I became an Assistant Secretary of the Navy. Perry sent a message, ‘We have met the enemy and they are ours!’ That message cheered a beleaguered young nation. In a smaller way the story of your ship action did the same thing. After Pearl Harbor, the loss of the Philippines, we needed something to prove that we are a nation of seafarers, that the enemy can be beaten with determination and courage.
“That’s why I agreed to Ben’s plan to have you make a tour to not only sell War Bonds but also to let the people who build our weapons see you, to see a man who took his ship among the enemy and destroyed that enemy! Now there is one more item before we finish; Ben wrote a long letter outlining some things he said were of great concern to you, and to other submarine captains.”
“Well, sir,” Hinman said hesitantly, “one thing is personal; I’d like to go back to sea in command of a submarine.
“What concerns me, all of us, most, is the failure of the Mark Six exploder. Theoretically, this is an ideal weapon. It needs a lot more work, there’s a flaw in the design. If the people who designed the exploder would admit that, we’d have a superior weapon.” He paused.
“The last thing is, well, delicate. I think that too many of our submarine commanders are too senior in rank.”
“Too old?” the President said softly.
“Maybe, sir. I think they’re too cautious. I think that we should be using our submarines as offensive weapons, not defensive ships. Until the surface battle fleet is rebuilt the submarines are all we have.” He sat back, his face stiff. He’d said it, brought up the deficiencies of age to a man far older than any submarine commander.
“Point number one,” the President said calmly. “You can be sure of a submarine command when the bond tour is finished.” He looked at his aide. “Make a note of that, sir.
“Point number two. I will let it be known that I am distressed at the nonperformance of the exploder mechanisms. That will make a lot of people uneasy and I am sure the problem will be solved.
“Point three. You are out of order to suggest to your Commander-in-Chief that the wrong men command submarines!” The big face softened and there was a glint in the President’s eyes.
“There are many benefits that come with age, sir, as you will someday learn. But I acknowledge that in some areas we need the élan, the arrogance of youth. Your younger men will come to command soon enough; we have a vast program of new submarines to be built.” He turned to Butler.
“You have, I trust, instructed the Captain on how a press conference is conducted in the White House?”
“Yes, sir,” Butler said. “We will stand behind you and laugh at all your jokes.” Butler’s face was bland. The President cocked his head to one side, his eyes merry.
“You talk as if you were still a Washington columnist and you were getting ready to criticize me for running for another term.”
“Well you are going to do that, aren’t you?” Butler said.
“Of course I am!” President Roosevelt’s laugh boomed out in the office. “Of course I am! Now let’s show our friend to the people who call themselves the Gentlemen of the Fourth Estate.”
Captain Hinman barely remembered the details of the chaotic press conference. He was conscious of the big crowd of reporters, of the cluster of large microphones, the intensity of the lights that had been put in place for the newsreel cameramen. He recalled the President’s sonorous voice describing the details of Mako’s attack on the Japanese oil tankers and destroyers and how proud that he, the President of the United States, was to be able to introduce Captain Hinman to the people of the United States and the world. He remembered best the foolish questions that had been yelled at him.
“What did you think about, Captain, as you steered your small submarine into the enemy battle fleet?”
“Did you see a lot of dead Japs floating in the water?”
“Did you shake your fist and curse the enemy, Captain?”
“Did your crew cheer when they fired the torpedoes at the enemy ships, Captain?”
“What did it feel like, Captain Hinman, to have killed thousands of the enemy?”
He had answered the questions as briefly as he could, gently correcting the idea that he had sailed into the middle of a “battle fleet.” He had pointed out that merchant ships and oil tankers carried very small crews and that Mako’s action was a tiny piece in a giant jigsaw puzzle and that a submarine captain in battle is far too busy to think about cursing the enemy or shaking his fist, those things were done only in movies.
He recalled the dead silence that had fallen over the crowd when he had said the Japanese Navy was tough, efficient and a deadly fighting force. Then he heard a sardonic voice from the crowd of reporters.
“Is what you are saying, Captain, is that we shouldn’t be in this war, that the enemy is too powerful for us? Is what you are saying is that we were sucked into this war by our leaders who are more interested in saving Britain’s neck than in taking care of our own people?”
“No,” he said carefully, “I am not saying that or anything like that. What I am saying is that I do not underestimate the enemy. The Japanese Navy is formidable. It can be beaten. It will be beaten. But I give my opponent the same respect as I think Joe Louis gives his opponents when he steps in the prize-fighting ring. I do not take the enemy lightly. I respect him. I do not fear him.” There had been a spatter of applause at that and then a voice saying, “Thank you, Mr. President,” and it was over.