“Oh, Daddy, I’m so … so grateful. God, I’m so grateful. I thought the worst.”
“Hell, Bea,” he said, releasing her and smiling into her eyes as he had done throughout her life, “nothing them damn Sovies got measures up to a 688. Brent will be back before you know it and likely with a couple of Red scalps in his belt.”
Bea recomposed herself. “Thanks, Dad, but I’m still worried. Be sure to tell Eric how much I appreciate the message.”
Dave took the opportunity to probe for what future she saw for Brent. He knew of her bruising from the disastrous affair and couched his words in terms easy for her to evade.
Looking away and scratching behind his left ear, a gesture that signaled meaning beyond his spoken words, he asked, “What’s in store for Brent after Denver? His tour must be just about up by now.”
Her father’s giveaway quirk betrayed his intention to exploit her good mood and she responded, “Brent and me … where do we go from here, you mean?”
Crinkling his face into a squint-eyed grin, he said, “Well, seeing as you brought it up, the thought did enter my mind.”
“I’m very fond of him, Dad. And I believe he feels the same way about me. He’s a sensitive man and a good catch. We’ve made no plans, but he discusses the future often. It’s always in terms of us. He wants children.”
Dave exclaimed, “Damn it, you know my dream is to bring a grandson up here! How long do I have wait?”
“Till you stop being so cantankerous. From my seat, that could take awhile.”
“Okay, okay. I get the message. What else is coming down with Brent?”
“Before the war started, we planned for me to join him for a month in San Diego. Brent expects orders and would take some leave before the next duty station. He wants to know if it’s okay by me for him to request the east coast.”
“Asked? That’s the kind of question a naval officer asks his wife, not his girlfriend. Likely that’s another damn thing that’s changed since my day. How do you feel about this?”
“Would I marry him? I’m not ready to say that. We’ve got some distance to run. You know he has an ex-wife and a son.”
“Didn’t his wife remarry? You’ve got no competition there, Bea.”
Dave’s hopes for Brent and his daughter showed clearly.
“Can’t you see there is, Dad? I can’t compete with a ghost, and sometimes, that’s how his ex comes across to me.”
Chapter 9
Captain Bostwick entered the Denver wardroom, where his officers had assembled for a war conference. The ship meandered along at one-third speed, all unnecessary machinery secured to reduce radiated noise. This all but eliminated the probability Denver would be detected and improved her own ability to detect enemy ships.
The captain smiled a greeting. “First, let me say how proud I am about the way you’ve handled things.”
Brent tried unsuccessfully to capture Bostwick’s eye. The young officer sought reassurance that his conduct during the Tango kill vindicated him in the eyes of his commanding officer. He also felt that the captain’s apparent surge of self-confidence might evaporate in the next crisis.
The captain said, “We’ve given our countrymen something to cheer about … God knows, they need it.”
Brent liked what he heard, but not the implied message. He felt the captain had unusual ideas on what comprised success. They had failed in their mission to screen Utah and crossed the entire Pacific Ocean with little to show for their efforts, only a diesel-electric submarine.
Bostwick went on, “We’ve been hit, but not hard and have a fair understanding of the damage. Fortunately, we had no personnel casualties. Now, I want to review the facts and identify available options.”
Jack Olsen spoke. “The engineer thinks we can fix it.”
Raising his eyebrows Bostwick asked, “Fix it? We’re banged up outside the hull. We can’t make that repair submerged.”
Nodding toward the operations officer, Jack said, “Dan.”
“We can do it on the surface, Captain.”
An astounded Bostwick questioned, “On the surface? In the middle of the Pacific with enemy control of the air?”
His tone hung like a pail of ice water about to be doused on the plan.
Dan spread out one of the charts obtained by Quartermaster Henri on the eve of their departure from Bremerton. “Not in the open sea, sir.” He pointed to their present position. “We’re a hundred twenty-five miles southeast of this small cluster of islands in the Kuril chain. We can approach submerged, then anchor on the leeward side of one of them.”
His impatience blatantly apparent, Bostwick demanded, “And then what?”
Dan made his voice steadier than his conviction. “Surface after dark, anchor, and conduct the repair.”
The captain countered, “Are you out of your mind? The soundings on this chart alone are not reliable. How good are they?”
“My guess is not very good at all. But we have a Fathometer.”
“What about the mine field?”
The captain clearly wanted no part of the idea.
Brent jumped in. “They’re probably MZ 26s, sir, moored at thirty-six meters. We can avoid that depth by running shallow. We have to anyway in order to make landfall at periscope depth.”
“We’ve run checks, Captain. The noise threshold from the damage is acceptable at six knots. At five, we can be there in little more than twenty-four hours.”
The captain’s arguments quickly diminished and he grasped for straws. “What about Magnetic Airborne Detection equipped aircraft?”
“MAD range is a thousand feet, okay for localizing, but not for search. It’s even worse in shallow water. You would not believe how much junk sits on the bottom that will distract it.”
Bostwick had to hear the plan out, though he searched his mind for reasons to disapprove.
Next, the engineer spoke, “If we keep the hole above the waterline, the job should be fairly simple. We’ll burn off the jagged edges and then weld a piece of plating over the hole. Grinders will smooth it up. We’ll rig blankets around and over the worksite to keep the bad guys from spotting weld flashes.”
Bostwick’s hostility to the idea became more open. “What about airborne radar?”
Several officers showed understanding expressions for the captain’s point of view.
Dan replied, “It’s useless once we’re close in. There’s so many other land targets, we’d never be picked out of the clutter.”
The captain quizzed the chief engineer for more details on the repair plan and then retired to his stateroom for a private conference with Jack Olsen.
Bostwick closed the door and gestured menacingly at his executive officer. “For chrissake, Jack, why the hell didn’t you nip this stupid idea in the bud before it came to me?”
Jack hesitated, recognizing the Captain’s tone and knew the going would be rough. “I’m not sure it’s such a bad idea, sir.”
“You’re right. It’s not a bad idea. It’s a shitty idea, and we’re not going through with it. Now dammit, Jack, we got our ticket home. A war wound, and in spite of it, we went on to kill an enemy. Nobody expects any more from us.”
An overpowering personality had earned Bostwick a perfect track record for getting Olsen to knuckle under.
Out of character, Olsen responded, “Captain, I disagree.”
“Disagree?”
Bostwick had never heard these words from his executive officer.
“Yes, sir, the plan is sound. Risky, but sound. The way I see it, we collect a salary all our lives not for what we do in peace but for what’s expected of us in war. We’re capable of doing much more than we have so far. We’ve got to do it, or we live a lie.”