“For God’s sake why, George?” Hubley asked.
“Captain Russo was relieved for a reason, boys. And it wasn’t because we lost two sailors. It’s because we came back with twenty torpedoes on board and no ships sunk. The patrol before this one was a complete failure too, and you all know it.”
“The captain did everything he could, George,” Hubley protested. “You can’t blame him for bad torp—”
“Who else is there to blame?” Olander interrupted. “How can ComSubPac keep a skipper in place when his boat has two hard luck patrols in a row? Other boats are sinking ships and they use the same torpedoes we do. They don’t seem to have torpedo problems.”
“I just think our patrols were bad luck,” Hubley said. “Captain Russo had nothing to do with the way they turned out.”
“I know how you feel, Carl,” Olander said. “That’s understandable. Captain Russo has had some good patrols on other boats, but not on ours. Everything he could do was not enough to make our boat succeed. And that’s all that matters to ComSubPac.”
Wright could tell that the other officers respected the experienced engineer’s opinion. Most stared into their bottles, the memories of the last patrol obviously vivid in their minds.
Olander seemed to sense the mood he had created at the table.
“Now don’t get me wrong, boys,” he said. “I have as much respect for Sammy Russo as the rest of you. He’s a good man. But I’ve been in boats longer than any of you. I’ve served under captains of all types, and I tell you that Sammy Russo is not the kind of captain this crew needs right now. Russo cared more for his crew than he did for the mission. Right now, this crew needs someone who doesn’t know them so well. Someone who won’t be afraid to tell them to stare death in the face and still get the job done.” “You’re always gloomy, George,” Hubley scoffed. “And I still think Russo beats any captain ComSubPac could try to replace him with.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow in any event,” O’Connell said. “Drink up, boys.”
As Wright listened to the conversation among his new shipmates he began to dread this new assignment. When he was at submarine school, the instructors had always said, “Above all else, pray that you get a happy ship.” They had explained that there was nothing quite so depressing or miserable as a ship with an inner turmoil. Mackerel certainly had internal problems, and Wright found himself now wishing that he had not been assigned to her.
“There’s Margie, Tee,” O’Connell said as he motioned toward the club entrance with his bottle. “You better straighten up.”
A group of WAVES in their skirt uniforms entered the club and migrated to different tables throughout the place. They were obviously all nurses who had probably just gotten off shift at the base hospital and they had the instant attention of every man in the club. The fact that they were the only women in the club, besides Hubley’s wife, made them beautiful by definition. They were not wearing much perfume, but the little they wore managed to waft across the room and stimulate every over-worked, sex-starved man in the place.
Wright watched with growing interest as two of the WAVES waved and came toward their table. They both looked cute and curvaceous in their uniforms and Wright thought for a moment he might change his mind about the Mackerel. Then one of the WAVES removed her hat to let her auburn hair fall to her shoulders. There was something oddly familiar about her and Wright knew that he had seen her before. She held her purse close against her side and a smile appeared on her face as Tee rose from his chair to greet her. The other men followed suit to greet the ladies, but she approached with her arms outstretched to embrace Tee.
“Margie,” Tee said. “Don’t you look gorgeous, girl. You get prettier every time I see you.”
Tee’s demeanor had completely changed from the violent drunk he had been only a few moments before, although his speech still slurred a little. He lifted her off the floor and swung her around a few times.
“You’re such a liar, Tucker,” she said, laughing giddily in his arms.
Wright suddenly remembered how he knew this woman. The uniform had thrown him off, and the fact that she was in Pearl Harbor half way around the world from where he had last seen her. The realization set in like an icicle as he looked up to see that Tee had put her down and her eyes were now coldly fixed on him.
They stared at each other in silence. Her smile had disappeared and her face grew paler with every passing second.
“Margie,” O’Connell said, totally oblivious to the tension between them. “This is Ryan Wright. He’s the new guy on our boat.”
Margie said nothing but moved closer to Wright, never taking her eyes from his. Her eyes said it all, and Wright should have seen the blow coming before Margie slapped him across the face.
“You son of a bitch!” she shouted. “I hate you!”
She would have struck him again if Tee had not stepped in front of her to block it. That was the good news. The bad news was that he seemed more intent on continuing
Margie’s onslaught himself as he stood chest to chest with Wright.
“You know this guy, Margie?” he said over his shoulder. “What did he do to you?”
“I didn’t do anything to her,” Wright said, rubbing his cheek. “I’m a friend of her brother.”
“You mean you were a friend of my brother. Past tense, Ryan. And you weren’t much of a friend at that.”
Ryan saw that the other officers were exchanging confused glances. Cazanavette looked at him and raised his eyebrows.
This was just what he needed, Wright thought. What a first impression this must be making on the executive officer of his new ship.
“Margie, I don’t think this is the time or the place for this,” Wright said, looking past Tee at her.
“Some friend you turned out to be,” Margie said quietly as her eyes filled with tears. Then she turned and stalked out of the room, her friend following closely behind her.
“If I find out you’ve done anything to hurt her, asshole,” Tee said as he jabbed a finger in Wright’s chest, “I’ll kick your fucking ass from here to the emperor’s fucking palace.” Tee then hurried off after her, leaving Wright and the others standing around the table.
The four officers regarded their new ensign with puzzled looks. The still-seated Barbara Hubley sipped her drink and tried to avoid eye contact with him. Wright himself was confused. He never thought that Margie could harbor such ill feelings towards him for so long. It had been six months and she still blamed him.
“I’ll say this for you, Wright, you’ve got a way with the ladies,” O’Connell said. “What was that all about?”
“It’s a long story,” Wright said. He did not feel like talking about it. He sat down with the others and O’Connell must have sensed his mood and did not press the issue. Instead, he called for another round of beers from a passing waiter.
O’Connell and the others talked and drank but Wright sat and sipped his beer in silence, his thoughts drifting to Margie Forester, and to her brother. Her brother who was now dead. His friend Troy Forester was dead and Margie still blamed him for it. Troy Forester, his college roommate, his role model, his best friend, his virtual brother, had been dead for almost six months now. He could still see Troy’s smiling face when they said goodbye a year ago, when Troy had left for Marine boot camp and he had left for Navy Officer Candidate School. He could cite every feature of Troy’s face, as if it had been yesterday. They had argued about which one of them would bring home more medals. Wright had joined the navy first and, not to be outdone by his best friend and chief competitor, Troy had joined the Marines the next day.