It had been a hectic duty day so far, much like his last one. Mackerel's repairs were almost finished. The places in the conning tower where the enemy shells had penetrated had been welded and tested. The ballast tank had been sealed as well. The drain pump was now fully functional again, as were the stern planes from their normal hydraulic supply. All that remained now were a few minor jobs that would not keep Mackerel from going to sea one way or another. And it was a good thing too, since the submarine’s departure date had been moved up once again.
Yesterday they had learned that Mackerel would be leaving Pearl Harbor in two days. No one among the officers and crew knew exactly why they were leaving Pearl so early. Wright heard some rumors that they were being sent out on some kind of special mission, and that these torpedoes, which they were now in the process of loading, had been modified in some special way. Whatever the reason, Wright did not care much. To him, it only meant that he would have just one more day of liberty.
He glanced over at the waterfront. In the distance, he could see the top of the naval hospital poking out from beyond the ComSubPac building. Seeing the hospital made him think of Margie, since she was probably there working at this hour and he could see the third floor where she worked. It also made him think of the other night when he and Salisbury had seen Tee with the two prostitutes. He wondered if Margie would ever find out, or if she would just end up marrying Tee only to discover his unfaithfulness at a more painful time.
“Sir?” Wright’s daydreaming was suddenly interrupted when Petty Officer Anderson appeared at his side.
Wright snapped out of it and directed his attention to the sailor. Anderson was part of the duty section today, and it was the first time that Wright had seen him since the night he and Salisbury had lugged him to his room at the Royal Hawaiian. Anderson’s face had a small scar near his lip where the bouncer had struck him, but he was cleanshaven. His dungaree uniform was clean and pressed, a marked difference from the last time Wright had seen him, though his face was red and his eyes bloodshot and he still looked like he had not slept for days.
“What is it, Anderson?”
“Chief Freund told me what you did for me the other night, sir. I just wanted to thank you, sir,” Anderson said distantly.
“That’s quite all right, Anderson. We all have rough nights every now and then.”
“Yes, sir.” Anderson paused, then added, “Sir, could I speak to you in private?”
Several men were working within earshot, applying paint to the conning tower and bridge. Anderson appeared to be on edge and Wright could tell that this was not just a casual request.
“Sure,” Wright said. “What about?”
Anderson glanced around. “It’s about Mr. O’Connell’s death, sir. I’d really rather talk to you about it alone, sir.” “Are you okay, Anderson?”
“I just have to talk to someone, sir.”
“All right. I have to stay up here until the weapons load is complete, then I’m going to eat dinner. How about you come by the wardroom after dinner?”
“I have to go on watch after dinner, sir.” Anderson sounded agitated. “I really need to talk to you, sir.”
“Okay, okay,” Wright said. He had never seen Anderson behave in this way before. “Just come by the wardroom after you get off watch and we’ll talk all you want. I’ll stay up, don’t worry.”
Anderson fidgeted around, avoiding eye contact with Wright. He obviously was not satisfied with the answer. He looked as if he was going to say something, but then he hesitated as if he was suddenly aware of the men painting nearby. Then without another word he walked away, quickly disappearing down the bridge hatch.
Wright was bewildered by Anderson’s actions. He knew something was wrong. O’Connell’s death had obviously affected the sailor, but this behavior bordered on an emotional disorder. It sounded to Wright like Anderson needed to talk to a navy chaplain more than a young and naive ensign like himself.
Wright was befuddled at what to do about it. Chief Konhausen was the only senior enlisted man aboard, and Wright was not sure whether he should betray Anderson’s trust by telling the chief. Then Wright suddenly remembered that Cazanavette would be coming down to the ship in the morning to check on the repair progress. He had certainly dealt with these kinds of situations before. He would know what to do. Wright decided that he would discuss Anderson’s behavior with the XO first thing in the morning.
He sighed and went back to watching the torpedo load. There was just one more torpedo to go. Every few minutes, he glanced over at the hospital.
At 2100 hours on Wright’s duty day, some of the mechanics planned on testing the ship’s drain pump. Wright thought it would be a good idea if he watched the test since it would be the first running test of the new drain pump. One of the mechanics came to the wardroom when they were ready to test and then led Wright down the ladder into the pump room, a small confined space beneath the control room deck plates.
The drain pump itself was the size of a large trash can and was mounted vertically to the deck near the middle of the room. The pump had a suction and an intake pipe connecting it with the ship’s intricate drain system. These two pipes passed through an assembly of valves, which branched off into a series of pipes that disappeared into the fore and aft bulkheads and ran to the bilges in every compartment on the ship. Using this network and different valve line-ups, the drain pump could pump water overboard from any compartment on the ship if there was ever any flooding. It was the most reliable and fastest way to get rid of water, and one of the most important systems on the ship. A submarine captain would not think of getting underway without an operable drain system.
One mechanic spoke up, “There’s some water in the aft engine room bilge, sir. We’re lined up to pump from there. We’ve got the phones manned in both spaces.”
“Very well,” Wright said. “Commence pumping to sea.” “Commence pumping to sea, aye, sir,” the mechanic acknowledged, then opened two valves and started the pump. It started with a shrill whine, then changed pitch as it took a suction on the pipe leading aft to the engine room bilge. The pump motor was noisy in the small room, but it sounded like it was functioning properly. The mechanic intently watched the pump-discharge pressure gauge for a few minutes before giving Wright a toothy grin and a thumbs up.
Then Wright heard a faint “pop.” He had never heard that noise before and he assumed it had come from the pump motor. He immediately signaled for the mechanic to shut it off.
The mechanic flicked the pump motor switch and scratched his head as the pump wound down.
“I don’t know what that noise could have been, sir,” he said. “I don’t smell any smoke. The motor seems to be fine.” “Call back to maneuvering,” Wright said. “Maybe a circuit breaker tripped.”
The other mechanic, wearing the sound-powered phone set, nodded and made the call. He shook his head as the response came back.
“No, sir. Maneuvering reports that no breakers have tripped.”
What on earth could that noise have been? Wright wondered, now that he was certain it could not have come from the drain pump. It had sounded very faint, almost like it had come from a different compartment, or even outside the ship. It had been a single distinct “pop.” It sort of sounded like …
Wright grabbed at the mechanic’s shoulder. “Who’s the topside sentry on watch?”