“Fine, Dave. Keep moving on this one. I won’t second guess you, but keep me informed. I need to know what lies to tell when the higher ups start asking questions.”
“You bet, Eric. But now tell me, what’s happening to us? The whole damn country, I mean. Are we gonna win?”
He invited his old friend to be seated. “Dave, we got the age-old problem. Politicos got elected in peacetime. War changes everything and they don’t know how to handle it. They can’t grasp the notion that winning the war is more important than getting re-elected.”
“Lucky we had Roosevelt. He could handle both sides of the coin. Coming into office at the onset of the Great Depression made him tough and inventive, tools he needed for dealing with the war. But are you saying there’s a chance we’ll put our tail between our legs?”
“Frankly, yes. It’s not at all like the last one. Back then wide oceans kept the bad guys far enough away for us to train men and crank out equipment. We had no complex manufacturing or training issues. Not so today. Ocean widths are no longer a factor. Everything’s harder and takes more time. And we can’t replace losses in a few months like we did after Pearl Harbor.
“Our biggest job right now is to signal the government that we can come back. We need a big victory, like Midway. Submarines are all we got left so it’ll be with them or nothing. Otherwise, a growing faction in Washington sees merit in knuckling under … and there are a lot of influential writers pushing this.”
“You know, Eric, I figured that might be the case. Damn it, the issue’s no different than what we had during the American Revolution. A lot of people saw the easier road of giving up, but thank God, enough troops with spine forced the issue. Sure, it’d be easier to fold to the Reds, like the candy-ass peace crowd touts with their intellectual bullshit. The same group that bitched so much about the Gulag Archipelago detentions will end up there if they win and Soviet history repeats itself.”
“Simply put, Dave, we need a hell of a victory. The Soviets know this and will avoid a showdown.”
“Maybe they’ll do something dumb.”
“So far, we have the monopoly on that. The Soviets are not fools. They know what makes pabulum for our special interest groups and play the Simon-pure logic of their intentions through our own media. And it’s damn effective.”
“Hopefully, we got enough hard-asses left that won’t sit still for that.”
“I hope you’re right, Dave. President Dempsey’s no FDR, but he appears to be his own man. He got the job as a compromise candidate in the last election, but the war snapped some backbone into him. He’s trying to rid himself of bureaucratic deadwood. We gotta give him something to cheer about before the next election or he’ll get dumped.”
“In that case, you better put this on and get your commodore butt out there and find out what goes on in this here submarine fixing operation,” said Dave as he handed his friend a freshly painted white hard hat with a naval officer’s device on the front over the letters, COMSUBRON 3. “This’ll give ’em plenty of warning you’re comin’.”
“Thanks, Dave,” said Danis setting the hat on his head at a jaunty angle. “Now let’s go have a look at Zane’s Pitstop.”
Brent completed his post watch check of the ship and stopped in the wardroom to play a tape and have a cup of coffee. He found Dan Patrick there listening to the sound track of Dirty Dancing, a Brent favorite. It surprised Brent because Dan had the reputation of being Denver’s number one sack rat. He planned to hear a classic, a part of his continuing effort to cultivate a taste for it, one of Bea’s passions. So far, he’d warmed up only to Rachmaninoff’s Symphony Number Two because part of it sounded like Barry Manilow’s, All By Myself.
Smiling at his friend, Brent said, “Wonder of wonders. The Patrick machine’s alive, well, functioning after midnight and before breakfast. I’ll call the quartermaster and have him log this historic event.”
Dan grinned as the tape rendered Hungry Eyes. “Shush, no talking in church. Damn that tune turns me on. Did you watch Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey do this scene in the movie? Or had you fallen asleep by then?”
“Missed the flick. We’re divided up into doers and watchers. I fall into the former category.”
“Maybe so, Brent, but in my book, just watching them is enough doing for me. Anything new on the watch?”
“No. We’re barreling ass toward the op-area. The engineers did a great job on the patch. No indication on the noise level monitor all the way to full speed. It sure is a relief to be back in deepwater. We need it for acoustic advantage if we expect to find anybody and I sure as hell hope that’s why we came out here.”
“Ah, mad … mad is the warrior. Pardon me if I reject this opportunity and continue to indulge in prewar decadence.”
Brent wondered, Is Dan right? Am I really so wrapped around the tactics axle I can’t do anything else? Brent tried to make conversation by asking, “What do you plan to do when it’s over, Dan? The war, I mean.”
“Guess that depends on who wins.”
“Us, of course. If we don’t, what the hell does it matter anyway?”
“See how easy it is to fish you in, Brent. Why don’t you back off a fathom or two? Maybe some problems would go away if you opened up a bit. But first, let me answer your question. I really don’t know. I’ve given the Navy a fair shot but really don’t think it’s my bag. The law has appeal and maybe politics. How about you?”
“Looks like it will be something other than the Navy. The pasting I’ll get from Bostwick will put those lights out.”
Dan used a comforting tone knowing how much Brent loved the Navy. “Might not be all that bad. Maybe Bostwick’s all bark and no bite. The patrol’s been successful enough for the Captain to blow his horn. To complete the picture, he’s gotta drag us along with him. I hear Woody’s nominated for a Navy Cross.”
Brent asked, “What about the others?”
“Silver Stars for Henri and Barnes and Bronze Stars for the others, including posthumous awards for the casualties. Can’t believe anything short of a Silver for you with all you’ve done.” Dan did not believe this but felt it would sit well with his friend. “The Navy means a great deal to you, doesn’t it, Brent?”
“I owe it just about everything.”
Dan responded with a question. “No big family shoes in need of filling?”
“Not really. My father died ten years ago.”
“What did he do?”
“Worked.”
Dan had long noticed Brent’s reluctance to talk about himself. “I don’t mean to pry, but it’s sure hard to get anything out of you. We’ve known each other for two and half years and I don’t even know where you grew up. You oughta let me in on what matters to you. Example. You come down here every night to learn about classical music, but never ask any of us about it. Woody’s damn near an authority on the subject. He’d be happy if you’d ask him.”
“I don’t know about all that.” Brent remained silent a moment then finding the situation awkward; he groped for the right words. “But your friendship is very important to me, Dan, especially right now.”
“I won’t push it, Brent. You’re a big boy. Maybe a little softening up might help your case with the Old Man.”
Brent looked at his friend and spoke sincerely, “Thanks, buddy.”
Dave Zane looked up from his desk and out the window of his shack-turned-office. He caught the forms of Gerry Carter and another man climbing aboard the barge that supported the repair facility offices.