Tremain saw that his last statement had finally affected Ireland, who looked down at the floor, then rose from his desk and walked over to the window. He tipped the blinds with two fingers and stared out at the waterfront.
“I never had a combat command at sea, Jack,” he said with genuine feeling tinged with regret. “I never had the privilege. So I can only imagine what kind of bond can form between a captain and his crew during the heat of battle.”
“A strong bond, sir. One that cannot easily be replaced.” Ireland nodded. “I imagine so.”
Ireland was guiding him away from the subject, Tremain thought. He could not wait anymore. He had to get the truth from him.
“Sir, is Mackerel going somewhere especially dangerous this time?”
Ireland stared straight ahead for a moment, then nodded. He did not take his eyes from the window.
“Somewhere very dangerous, Jack,” he said solemnly. “The odds are against their return.”
“Sir, you have to keep me on board for this mission, whatever it is,” Tremain said quickly. “You know as well as I do that Stillsen is not cut out for this kind of thing. You can’t have that character trying to prove his command worthiness on a mission like this. It would break up the cohesive unit I’ve formed them into. And, worse, it would happen right before they go into battle. You of all people understand that, sir.”
“What about Judy, Jack? Would she understand? Would she ever forgive me for sending you back out one more time?”
Tremain had thought all of this through the night before, tossing and turning, his head spinning with things he would have to say to his lovely and patient and enduring wife. But he felt sure that Judy would understand, eventually. She was that type of person, she had always been.
“She’ll understand, sir. I’ll write her a long and heartfelt letter. She’ll understand that you made the decision for the families of the eighty-five men on the Mackerel. Any choice that will increase their chances of survival is the right one. She’ll understand that. She always has.”
Ireland appeared to consider. He did not say a word for several minutes as he poured himself another cup of coffee and took several long gulps.
“I think I can get SubPac to buy off on it,” he finally said. “You make a compelling argument, Jack.”
“Then it’s settled, sir.”
“All right, Jack.” Ireland nodded with a small smile. “Stillsen’s already been briefed on the mission, but I’ll find some safe place to stash him until you get back.” Ireland paused. “And make sure that you come back, you hear me, Jack?”
“Aye aye, sir.” Tremain smiled.
“We’ll set up a briefing for you and only you tomorrow, Jack. This thing is top secret, understand? You won’t even be able to tell your XO until you’re underway.”
“Right, sir.” Tremain got up to leave. “Thank you, sir, for understanding.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
Ireland watched Tremain leave his office. A few moments later he heard the outer door to the division office shut as Tremain left the building.
Soon there was a knock on his door and Sammy Russo entered.
“He’s gone, sir,” Russo said. “How’d it go?”
“Perfectly, Sammy,” Ireland said, winking as he lit up a pipe. “Whatever you told him last night really did the trick.” “I still feel uneasy about this, sir, deceiving a friend and all. What if he doesn’t come back from this mission? I’ll feel like I had a part in his death.”
“I know the feeling, Sammy.” Ireland puffed on the pipe. “Every time one of my boats doesn’t come home, I know the feeling. The mission always comes first, though. Our goal out here is to win the war, not worry about how many letters we’re going to have to write. My goal is to have my submarines do their share. This mission calls for the best we’ve got and Jack Tremain, voluntarily in command of the Mackerel, is the best we’ve got. You can never order a man to go on a mission like this and expect success. You have to get him to want to go. He’s going for them now, not because I ordered him to do it.”
Slightly sickened by Ireland’s orchestral mind games, Russo walked to the window and looked down at his old boat tied to the pier.
“Don’t feel bad, Sammy,” Ireland said, patting him on the back. “You did your old shipmates a favor. You actually gave them their best chance for survival.”
Russo nodded, not taking his eyes from the Mackerel below. He had never really liked Ireland. But he had to admit to himself that Ireland did have a point, although a somewhat twisted one.
Chapter 16
The war room in the ComSubPac headquarters building was small but imposing. It was sparsely decorated with a single conference table and chairs that took up most of the space. It had no windows and only one door. Three feet of insulated concrete shielded each of the room’s four walls, to prevent any eavesdropping from the adjacent rooms. Though it was only one level beneath the ground floor, it was virtually inaccessible to anyone except those with the proper security clearance and the all-important “need to know.” Even Tremain had to show his identification card twice to get past the marine guards at two separate checkpoints. ComSubPac took the “silent” in silent service very seriously.
Tremain entered the room and noticed an admiral sitting at the head of the long mahogany conference table. Tremain recognized the man immediately as the deputy chief of staff, Rear Admiral Giles. A grim-looking Ireland was there too, along with two other officers wearing the insignia of the intelligence community. They were all sitting quietly along the opposite side of the table when Tremain came in. The admiral sized up Tremain for a tenth of a second, then nodded and pointed to the empty chair to his right.
Since the war began, Tremain had heard many stories about Admiral Giles. It was rumored that he personally engineered and was responsible to Admiral Lockwood for all submarine missions that fell outside of the “traditional” role of a submarine. In other words, he was in charge of the special missions, the missions that men did not come back from. Most submarine captains dreaded the inevitable briefing with the Admiral because it undoubtedly meant that their boat would be an instrument in some impossibly wild plan dreamed up by a person who rode a desk for a living.
“Commander Tremain.” Giles spoke curtly, bypassing the unnecessary introductions. He acted as though he had somewhere to go and so wanted to get the meeting over with quickly. “I’m sure you are wondering what all of this is about, so I’ll get right to the point. The purpose of this briefing is to familiarize you with the objectives of a new CinCPac operation which will include your submarine.” Include? Tremain thought to himself. Don’t you mean sacrifice?
“Tremain, I must tell you first, and of course you know, that everything we discuss here today is classified Top Secret Ultra and is to not be repeated outside this room.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good. Now, let’s get to it.”
Giles motioned to one of the intelligence officers, who quickly flipped on a slide projector atop the table. A poor-quality image of a large ship in drydock appeared on the screen on the wall.
Tremain could not tell what kind of ship it was due to its shroud of scaffoldings and canopies, but judging from its relative size next to the shipyard cranes it looked to be on the order of a capital ship.
“Commander Tremain,” the intelligence officer spoke. “This is a photograph of the battleship INS Kurita.” “Never heard of it before.” Tremain shook his head. “No, sir, you should not have,” the intel officer continued. “This ship has not yet joined the Combined Fleet. She’s a new construction ship. This photograph was taken five months ago by one of our operatives in the Kobe naval shipyard. You can see in this photo that the Kurita’s hull had just been completed.”