Cazanavette’s eyes narrowed. “Sir?”
“Nothing, XO. Forget I said it.”
Cazanavette paused. “Sir, I should tell you that I maintain my position on the torpedo exploders. I still think that what you did was wrong. Yes, we did sink the freighter, that’s true. But whether the modifications had anything to do with it’s another question.”
Tremain started to respond, but Cazanavette uncharacteristically cut him short.
“However, Captain, I want you to know that your perception of me is totally wrong. I’m not waiting for you to ‘fail’, as you say. I’m not that shallow, sir. If you succeed, that means this crew succeeds, and I want that more than anything else.” Cazanavette paused. “You might not know it, sir, because this is your first trip with us, but there was something different about this boat and this crew during our last attack. All of the Mackerel veterans noticed it. In my personal opinion, I think the difference was you, sir. And if you ask me, sir, it was your leadership that sank that freighter and got us out of there alive, not the torpedo modifications. There was a drastic change in our crew after we sank that ship. You showed them what they could do. And the only reason I’m saying these things is because I care about the officers and crew of this boat, and I don’t want them to lose the confidence they have regained in themselves.”
Tremain was taken aback. He had been completely wrong about Cazanavette. About his motivations, about his reasoning, about everything. Cazanavette had bared his soul to him and there was no ill-will in it. It was a very rare occasion in the navy for a subordinate officer to compliment another officer on his abilities as a leader. It seldom happened, because fellow officers always viewed each other as competition, and it was usually seen as a sign of weakness.
“I guess that’s what I came here to say,” Cazanavette continued. “The crew needs your leadership, Captain. And I don’t want you to believe it if you hear the crew comparing you to Captain Russo. There’s a marked difference between you and Sammy Russo, sir. Russo was not a born submarine skipper — you are. And with you as our captain, I know this boat can do the job. We just need another chance to prove it. I just wanted to make sure you knew how I felt before you made your decision.”
“Decision? About what?”
“About whether to go back to Pearl, sir.”
Tremain smiled. A sure sign of a good executive officer was that he always knew what his captain was thinking.
“I’m actually considering that very thing at this moment, XO,” Tremain said, then added awkwardly, “And, thanks for the kind words. They help sometimes.” Cazanavette nodded and smiled.
His XO was not a careerist after all, Tremain thought. He saw now that they were more alike than he had ever realized. Both of them wanted the Mackerel to succeed. Both of them wanted to accomplish the mission. Both of them wanted to restore the crew’s confidence in themselves. They wanted the same things. He could not see it before because their methods were so different. Now, finally, on this issue they were in complete agreement.
“All right, XO.” Tremain grinned. “I agree. We’ll stay on station until the bastards send us another target.”
Cazanavette smiled in approval, then left the stateroom without another word. Tremain decided at that moment that he completely trusted Cazanavette to do whatever was in the best interests of the ship and her crew.
Tremain sighed, then poured himself another cup of coffee and settled down to finish the letter to Rudy O’Connell’s family.
Chapter 11
“Two … three.. four.. five contacts at least, Captain. Some are big ones.”
As the men brushed past him to their battle stations, Tremain looked over the SJ radar operator’s shoulder to see the green incandescent spikes appear on the display. He had to squint to help his eyes adjust from the red light in the conning tower to the green light of the display. The display showed several radar returns indicating that a Japanese convoy was out there in the darkness, northwest of Mackerel’s position.
“Heading southeasterly, sir,” the radar operator continued. “I’d say about ten knots.”
Tremain and Cazanavette exchanged glances. Mackerel had been patrolling Mogami Bank for four days now, and they both knew that fuel constraints would soon force them to head back to Pearl Harbor. No ships had been sighted and they had begun to doubt ComSubPac’s decision to send them here. The discovery of this new convoy eliminated all doubts.
“What do you think, XO?”
“It looks like a gold mine, Captain. Judging from those returns I’d say we’re looking at three heavies and two mediums. There’re bound to be escorts, but conditions are in our favor, it being a moonless night and all. It’s so dark out there I doubt they could even see us if we were right alongside them. I just hope they don’t have radar.”
“Concur.” Tremain nodded as he pulled on his bridge coat. “We’ll go in on the surface. Take over down here and get me set up to approach the convoy from astern. I want to try to penetrate the formation and do our shooting from the inside. That’ll confuse the escorts.”
“Aye, sir.” Cazanavette began setting up the chart desk to plot the convoy’s bearing and range information that would be coming from the radar.
Tremain began climbing the bridge ladder. Halfway up, he paused and called back down to Cazanavette, “Remember, XO, you’re my eyes. I can’t see a damn thing up there.” Then he continued on up the darkened bridge hatch.
When he emerged onto the bridge, Tremain found that the night was even darker than he had expected. He could not see his hand in front of his face. Normally, the red light down inside the conning tower would not be visible at the bridge hatch, but on this night the open hatch glowed dull-red. It was the sole source of light above deck, and thus it shone like a beacon. Tremain quickly covered the hatch with the nearby blackout curtain lest the Japanese see it too.
He allowed several minutes for his eyes to adjust then made his way over to Hubley, who was looking through the TBT on the starboard side. Hubley was looking into black nothingness, attempting to catch a glimpse of something from the far-off Japanese vessels: an open hatch, a flashlight, a cigarette, anything that would give indication of their whereabouts.
Tremain took the conn and drove Mackerel entirely on Cazanavette’s recommendations. For the next half hour under the SJ radar operator’s and Cazanavette’s guidance, Mackerel sped up to flank speed and slipped around behind the Japanese convoy, the whole time keeping a safe five thousand yards of separation. Cazanavette fine-tuned Mackerel's course until it precisely matched that of the convoy, then he increased Mackerel's speed and she slowly crept up on the convoy from astern. Soon she was so close that Tremain could see the white water from the Japanese wakes breaking over Mackerel’s bows.
“What’s the picture now, XO?” Tremain spoke into the intercom. “I still can’t see the convoy.”
“Captain, I’ve been able to plot the convoy fairly well based on our radar observations,” Cazanavette’s voice squawked on the speaker. “We’re looking at three columns abreast, each column containing three ships. Looks like the heavies are out front, with medium-sized and small ships bringing up the rear. Convoy course has been steady at one three zero, speed has been constant as well at twelve knots. The Japanese don’t seem to be zigging, probably because of the visibility conditions. We’re lined up five hundred yards aft of the middle column right now, sir.”