She looked uncomfortable as she hid most of her face behind the lamp. The words did not seem to flow naturally and Wright got the impression she was forcing herself to say them with each breath.
“I blame you for my brother,” she continued softly, “and it’s extremely hard for me to say this to you, but I guess I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for getting Tucker back safely. He means a lot to me.”
Wright nodded. His eyes dropped to the floor and after two months of cursing her nightly in his prayers he did not know what to say to her. He thought about telling her that her fiance was an asshole and the one man he wished had not made it back. He felt like telling her that she was a bitch and that she could go to hell too for all he cared. In his mind, Tee’s volatile behavior was mostly her fault, a mere byproduct of her infantile accusation that he was somehow responsible for Troy’s death. She had targeted him for abuse and Tee had been more than happy to oblige his fiancee.
Maybe it was Wright’s obligation to his dead friend then that held his tongue and kept him from speaking what was on his mind.
He managed a weak smile.
“Anytime,” he said, then turned and headed down the stairs to his waiting liberty.
Chapter 13
Wright slouched into a chair at the wardroom table and propped his head onto one hand. He was completely exhausted. He lightly jingled the keys around his neck that he had just received from Tee, who was sitting across from him. As Tee rattled off everything that had happened during the previous day, reading from the duty officer’s notebook, Wright checked the clock on the bulkhead. It read 0740. Just a few minutes more and he would assume the position of ship’s duty officer. Then he would be responsible for all maintenance, repair, and upkeep activities on the ship for the next twenty-four hours. He was not feeling up to the task.
As Wright came on board that morning he noticed that Mackerel was already a beehive of activity. Repair crews from the shipyard and trucks full of spare parts appeared on the pier, seemingly out of nowhere, and began to assault the battle-weary submarine with rivet and welding guns. Wright had had to step over equipment and people and duck past dangling wires and makeshift ventilation ducts as he made his way below to the wardroom. He could hardly keep count of how many men he had seen on board, let alone know what they all were doing. Welders with their oversized faceguards blazed away, grimy mechanics disassembled the diesels into a thousand little pieces, and electricians buried themselves in open panels. The confined spaces forced the workers to brush elbows and stand back-to-back in some spaces, but they worked with a diligence and professionalism that indicated they had done this many times before. It was a complete hodgepodge of sweaty faces and blue uniforms. Wright had heard stories about Pearl Harbor’s repair crews, the hard-working men who shared none of the glory but fought the war every day repairing the damage done by the sea and by the Japanese.
As Tee made his way through the list of items, Wright got a good idea of what was being repaired or upgraded today. It was too much information too fast, and he desperately tried to commit it all to memory. He was thankful that Tee had written it all in the duty officer’s notebook, a green-colored, oil-stained notebook that now sat amid a scattering of plans and specifications on the table in front of him.
Wright struggled to keep his eyes open as Tee continued. He had a terrible headache.
The alcohol and sun from the day before was taking its toll on his aching body. He and Salisbury had gone to the beach and gotten drunk as they had planned, but they had found no women willing to satisfy their sex drives.
Chief Freund poked his head in the wardroom, ducking under an elephant trunk-like temporary ventilation duct, his hat cocked to one side. “Good morning, gentlemen. Which one of you was the duty officer yesterday?”
“I was,” Tee said. “What do you need?”
“You didn’t, by chance, see Petty Officer Anderson anywhere about yesterday, did you, sir?” Freund asked. “Did he come by the ship?”
“No. Not that I know of. Did you ask the sentry?”
“Yes, sir. He hasn’t seen him either.”
Wright was suddenly curious. “What’s up, Chief? Is Anderson in trouble?”
“Hope not, sir.” Freund shook his head. “None of the boys have seen him since we arrived in port. He missed check-in this morning, so unless I can find him he’s now looking at an ‘unexcused absence.’ That just might get him in trouble.”
Wright remembered Anderson. He was the radar operator in his watch-section during the patrol. He was the same man who noticed the Japanese plane in time for the ship to dive, back when Rudy was killed. As far as Wright knew, he always did his job and never caused a commotion. In fact, when Mackerel returned to port yesterday, Anderson received a commendation letter for his actions. He did not seem like the kind to go “UA.”
“He’s not in the brig, is he?” Wright asked.
“First place I checked, sir,” Freund said. “He’s not there or in any of the local jails either. He’s just plumb disappeared. I’ve got some of the boys going around to the local brothels as a last resort, but it looks like I’m going to need to call the captain.”
“I think you should give him another day or two to turn up, Cob,” Tee said suddenly, in an unsteady tone.
“Since when did you give a rat’s ass about a member of the crew, Mr. Turner?” Freund grinned. “You must be turning over a new leaf or something, sir.”
Tee did not smile. He did not respond either. He simply went back to reviewing the notebook.
To Wright, he appeared jittery. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous about something.
“I’ll give you a call if I see him today, Cob,” Wright said. “Thanks, Mr. Wright.” Freund smiled. “You all have a good day now.”
“You, too.”
Freund left the wardroom and the two officers continued the turnover process. Wright was shocked at Tee’s congeniality as they went through the checklist. He had expected Tee to be back to his usual behavior, especially after a few days in port. Normally, Tee would be condescending and brash. Instead, he read over the work items for the day with seeming sincerity. He said nothing intrusive, nothing confrontational, nothing rude. Maybe he had finally accepted Wright into the wardroom, after all.
“Okay, I relieve you,” Wright said, after Tee had finished going through the list. “Have a good time on liberty,” he added. He thought he might at least try to make some conversation.
“Huh?” Tee mumbled, not making eye contact with him. “Yeah, Wright, yeah. I’ll see you around.”
Tucking the notebook under his arm, Tee ducked out the door and was gone.
What’s eating him? Wright thought. Something had to be troubling him.
Wright checked the clock. It was 0800. As if on cue, a half dozen supervisors from the shipyard filed into the wardroom bearing a ream of work orders that had to be reviewed and signed. An ear-splitting paint stripper revved up on the hull just outside and steadily emanated a white noise, which Wright and the others had to shout over in order to discuss the planned repairs and maintenance in detail. As the only officer on board, Wright was ultimately responsible for it all. He had to understand every detail of their work because the safety of the workers and the ship rested on his shoulders alone. As an added nuisance, the metal dust in the air infiltrated Wright’s nostrils and started him sneezing every few minutes.
Glancing at the clock again, Wright began to think that this day in port was going to be as tough as any he had ever experienced at sea, except for the near fatal depth charging. It was 0801, and he had twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes to go on his first day as the ship’s duty officer. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry, his tongue fuzzy, and his eyes ached. He should have drunk less and slept more last night. But he hadn’t. And so for him it was a case of tough luck and duty calls.