“What’s this meeting about?” Olsen asked.
“The usual thing, I guess,” Brannon said, as he settled himself in the car’s back seat. The driver closed the door and got in behind the wheel, and the car moved away.
“I guess they’re going to talk about our next war patrol area. I hope they give us a good one.”
The two officers walked into the cool foyer of the Bend of the Road. The Marine sentry checked their ID cards and waved them toward the long hallway that led to the conference room. As they walked toward the hallway they saw an officer dressed in khakis that glistened with a starched sheen, the creases in the shirt and trousers standing out like knife edges. The officer wore the silver eagles of a captain on his collar tabs. He stood with his feet slightly spread apart, his hands clasped behind his back. As Brannon and Olsen passed by him he stared at the men with cold, pale blue eyes. His harsh face gave no evidence of welcome.
“Boy, I’ll bet he’s a tough one,” Olsen half whispered to Brannon as they walked down the hall. “That four-striper back there, did you see those eyes? I thought they were going to bore a hole right through me.”
“His face is familiar, damn it,” Brannon said, “but I can’t put a name to him. I should be able to. Not that many four-stripers wear a white mustache.” The sentry at the door of the conference room checked their ID cards and opened the door and closed it behind them.
“Good to see you, Mike, Olsen,” Admiral Christie said from the head of the table. The members of the Admiral’s staff were sitting on both sides of the table, and Brannon noticed an empty chair next to the Admiral. He and Olsen moved toward two empty chairs farther down the table.
“I want to congratulate you, Mike, on the job your people did on Eelfish on that refit. I had a few minutes last evening and went down there with Sam Rivers. You were on the tender having chow, and we didn’t want to bother you. No offense, I take it?”
“Of course not, sir,” Brannon said. “You’re welcome aboard Eelfish any time, you know that.”
“You’re getting your torpedoes today?” Christie asked. Brannon nodded.
“You’ll get stores tomorrow, and you’ll shove off day after tomorrow at zero eight hundred. You’ll be fueled after stores are aboard,” Admiral Christie said. He nodded his head at the empty chair beside him.
“We have a guest with us from Pearl Harbor. And we have a special mission for Eelfish.” He nodded at one of the junior staff officers, who rose and left the room. He came back in a few minutes with the officer Brannon and Olsen had seen in the foyer. The Admiral rose.
“Captain Brannon, Mr. Olsen, this is Captain Arvin Mealey. Arvin, you’ve met my staff. This is Captain Mike Brannon, C.O. of the Eelfish, and his Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander John Olsen.” The dour-visaged four-striper came around the table and shook hands with Brannon and Olsen, who had risen to their feet. His handshake was brisk and powerful. His pale blue eyes bored into each man, and then he went to the head of the table and sat down beside the Admiral.
“Since this is Captain Mealey’s operation I’m going to let him brief you, Brannon, Olsen. If you will, sir?” Captain Mealey got to his feet and stood, as Brannon and Olsen had seen him earlier, with his feet spread a little apart, his hands clasped behind his back. The cold eyes looked down the table.
“Ever since the war in Europe started,” Mealey began, “the German U-boats have been operating in what they call wolf packs. As few as two submarines or as many as twenty will operate with each other. They ambush convoys. The tactic has been very successful for them. Very successful.
“For some time, quite a long time, some of us have been trying very hard to get approval of the wolf-pack tactic for our own operations. Up until now the powers that be in Washington, the High Command, have not given approval.
“Now we have it.
“I might say at this point that we don’t have any real information on how the Germans carry out their wolf-pack operations. The only information we have comes from the victims, officers and men who have been sunk and then rescued or whose ships managed to get away while others were sinking all around them.
“We know that in some cases the Germans, who seem to have excellent intelligence, form up on each side of the convoy course. They wait, submerged, in a long row. As many as ten ships on each side of the convoy route. When the convoy comes abeam, the submarines on one side will all fire at one time. A broadside of torpedoes. Then they’ll go deep, and the submarines on the other side will fire their broadside. Then both sides will surface and run among the convoy shooting with deck guns. In a large convoy of fifty or sixty ships traveling in lines there is bound to be a great deal of overlap, and most torpedoes seem to find a target.” He paused.
“When they use a smaller number of submarines, down to as few as two, the tactics vary. But always they are bold and very aggressive. The loss of lives and ships in these attacks has been enormous. In many cases the Germans seem to prefer to attack at night. The reason for that is quite obvious. Merchant-ship captains are not used to maneuvering radically at night in company with other ships, and they get confused. The submarines which surface go among them like a pack of wolves among sheep. Hence the term wolf pack.
“One thing we must recognize, and we often fail to do so, and that is that we must recognize the brilliance of the enemy when it is warranted. Admiral Doenitz is a brilliant tactician. We are now going to use his tactics, so far as we are able. I have been sent out here from Pearl to command the first wolf-pack patrol.
“I have chosen to put my flag in the Eelfish, if Captain Brannon has no objection. We will not have a large number of submarines to work with, only two others, the Hatchet Fish and the Sea Chub.” He stopped, his cold eyes looking at Mike Brannon.
“The decision to put my flag aboard Eelfish rests, sir, with you. Your decision will be heard without prejudice, I assure you. I could sail aboard either of the other two ships if you would rather have it that way.”
“I have absolutely no objections, sir,” Brannon said. “If I may, sir, I look forward to the experience, to learning whatever I can from the man who took the Mako, my old ship, under a twelve-destroyer screen to attack a battleship.”
“And who got the living hell depth charged out of him,” Captain Mealey said with a wry smile. “Don’t forget that part, Captain Brannon. Audacity in war always extracts a price. We paid heavily on Mako for that attack.”
“And don’t forget that while the Japs were, as the Captain says, depth charging the hell out of him he came up to periscope depth and blew one of the attackers to pieces with one torpedo,” Admiral Christie said in a booming voice.
“Arvin, you’re going to put your flag in the smartest, cleanest, best-run ship in my command. You and Mike and Olsen can go to lunch if you wish. You’re welcome to eat here. We’ve got so much work to do we’ll eat and work at the same time.”
Captain Mealey and the two Eelfish officers found a table shaded by a huge hibiscus bush on the patio. They ordered from the menu, and when the waiter had left Mike Brannon cleared his throat.
“Sir, if I may, can I ask a few questions?”
“Go right ahead,” Mealey said.
“First, you’re welcome to my stateroom.”
“I’ll share it with you, if you don’t mind,” Mealey said. “I went aboard last evening with the Admiral, and I noticed that the top bunk wasn’t made up. I like top bunks.”