Salisbury listened intently and tracked the convoy, making small adjustments on his hydrophone director. He read off the bearings and Cazanavette plotted them, assuming that the convoy’s speed had remained constant at ten knots. Then, about the same time, Cazanavette’s plot showed that the convoy had emerged from the channel. Salisbury’s bearings started to track off to the west indicating that the convoy had turned right. The Kurita could not be among them.
Tremain had been sure of his decision, but he still breathed a small sigh of relief.
After a quick periscope search, Tremain ordered Mackerel back to the surface. Again, the guns were manned, and the hunters sat in silence for the rest of the night, watching and waiting for their prey.
Chapter 21
Wright and Salisbury strolled through the forward torpedo room on their pre-watch tour. Since O’Connell’s death, Wright had been reassigned to Salisbury’s watch as junior officer of the deck. As the two passed from space to space, Salisbury shined his flashlight inside nooks and crannies looking for any sign of problems and directed Wright to do the same. Salisbury was a marked difference from Rudy O’Connell when it came to standing watch. Their shared liberty antics seemed to be a distant memory as the hierarchical positions made their relationship suddenly very professional.
“Always check back there,” Salisbury said, shining his flashlight onto a grease-fitting outboard of one of the torpedo racks. “That’s a good place for corrosion to occur. Those drain strainers leak all the time.”
Wright appeared interested, then went on about his own inspection of the space, trying to find his own rust spot partly because it was his job, but mainly because he knew it would please Salisbury.
Salisbury found the torpedoman of the watch up by the tube breech doors and began speaking to him about the status of the tubes. While Salisbury was talking, Wright moved aft along the starboard torpedo racks, continuing to scan the space with his flashlight. He checked the hidden areas outboard of each torpedo rack, trying not to disturb the off-watch torpedomen sleeping in hammocks all around him.
Wright noticed two sailors lounging near the room’s aft bulkhead. He recognized them as Johnson and Dalton. As he drew nearer, he overheard pieces of their conversation.
“… can’t believe they’re going to give us to him,” Johnson said. “Let him slip up just once and we’ll see that his ass is accidentally dropped overboard.”
“Yeah,” Dalton replied, “I’ll be a skimmer again before I take orders from that asshole.”
Wright smiled inwardly. He assumed they were talking about Lieutenant Commander Stillsen. The poor man was already jinxed to have a difficult time as Mackerel's captain. Ironically, the Mackerel sailors had come to respect Lieutenant Commander Tremain, and they were not so eager to have Stillsen take over when they returned to Pearl.
“Anderson’s dead because of him,” Dalton said, and the other sailor nodded in agreement.
Wright’s ears pricked at what he had just heard. Maybe the men were taking this change of command bitterness a bit too far, since they now seemed to have laid the blame for Anderson’s death on Commander Stillsen. Wright could not stand by and listen to such foolishness, especially when it concerned Anderson’s death. It was something that he had grown very sensitive about.
The two sailors appeared startled for a moment as Wright approached them from out of the shadows.
“Hello, Mr. Wright,” Johnson said with a counterfeit smile. “Anything we can help you with, sir?”
“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about Anderson,” he said.
They glared up at the ensign like he was intruding. Wright continued, “I’m sorry to eavesdrop, but I think you are wrong to blame Commander Stillsen for Anderson’s death. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I’m the one who turned him away when he needed someone to talk to.”
The sailors looked at each other.
“We’re not talking about Stillsen, sir,” Dalton spoke up. “We’re talking about Mr. Turner. Haven’t you heard…” Dalton, who was somewhat junior to Johnson, stopped abruptly in response to a jab in the ribs from his compatriot.
“Nothing to worry about, Mr. Wright,” Johnson said quickly, still smiling. “It’ll all take care of itself in due time. Sorry to bother you, sir.”
Wright nodded and turned to rejoin Salisbury, but he stopped mid-stride. He was confused. The sailors were obviously trying to hide something. Something concerning Anderson’s death, and it had something to do with Tee, although he couldn’t guess what. Tee wasn’t even on the ship the day Anderson shot himself. How could he have been responsible?
Wright remembered hearing about Hubley’s transfer orders. Hubley was to transfer to another command as soon as Mackerel got back to Pearl. When that happened, Tee would take over as the new torpedo and gunnery officer. Tee would be in charge of the men of Torpedo Division, the largest division on the ship. Johnson and Dalton were both part of that division, so they would also end up under his command. For some reason, they did not seem to like the idea. They had not been talking about Commander Stillsen at all. The officer they had been talking about dropping over the side was Tee.
Wright suddenly felt a cold chill as he realized that these sailors had not been merely griping to each other, as he had originally assumed. They had not been venting or complaining. They had been plotting an actual threat against an officer’s life, and they were dead serious about it.
“Johnson.” Wright turned back toward the sailors. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Nothing?” Wright checked that Salisbury was still occupied on the other side of the room before continuing in a forceful whisper. “You just said something about throwing someone overboard. And you also said something about that person being responsible for Anderson’s death. That’s nothing? What’re you hiding?”
“Sir, this doesn’t concern you.”
Johnson looked irritated at Wright’s probing. His arrogance was starting to annoy Wright. Wright had to know. The two sailors knew something about Anderson’s death, and he would not let up until they told him the truth.
“Johnson, you tell me right now what you and Dalton were talking about or I swear I will go straight to the XO with what I’ve heard.” Wright immediately saw a response in the sailor’s eyes. “We’ll see what he thinks of your sneaking and plotting against an officer.”
The sailors glanced at each other with panic in their eyes as Wright shrugged dramatically and started to walk away.
“If you must know, Mr. Wright,” Johnson said finally, before Wright could take two steps.
Wright turned back to face them.
“Tell me,” he said.
Johnson looked hesitant. He contorted his face, then looked around once more to see if anyone conscious was within earshot.
“Sir, this is a big secret,” he whispered. “Me and Dalton don’t want to tarnish a dead man’s name. I don’t want to do that. Anderson was a good shipmate. Promise you won’t tell the XO, sir?”
Wright needed to know. He had held onto the guilt of Anderson’s death for weeks. He needed to know all of the circumstances for himself. “I promise, Johnson.”
Johnson nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“Well, what is it?” Wright said impatiently.
“There was no radar interference the day we got attacked by that Japanese plane, sir,” Johnson said, checking over his shoulder. “Anderson’s radar was working just fine. That bomber got so close to us because Anderson wasn’t watching his screen. He left his post to clean up a coffee stain. By the time he got back to the radar, the plane was already on top of us.”