Mealey’s smile came and went. He pushed the chart toward Olsen and turned to Brannon.
“I’d suggest, Captain, that we take a tour through the ship, let the crew know what we’re planning. I have learned that when a ship’s company is taken into the Wardroom’s confidence, morale is increased and we are likely to get a better standard of performance.”
Steve Petreshock had finished topping off the charge in the air flask of a reload torpedo and was struggling to coil the copper charging line when Captain Mealey and Mike Brannon came into the torpedo room.
“Have to anneal this bastard again,” Petreshock said to Jim Rice. “The fucking thing is getting as stiff as a damned board.” He sensed the presence of someone else in his torpedo room and turned and saw the two officers.
“Sorry, sir,” he said.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Mealey said. “I know how troublesome a stiff copper charging line can be. You’re Petreshock?” The torpedoman nodded, and Brannon saw the muscles in his shoulders bunch slightly.
“The man over there behind all that beard is Jim Rice, Captain,” Brannon said. Rice nodded, his eyes on Mealey.
“I’d like to talk to both of you,” Mealey said. Jim Rice moved over next to Petreshock.
“We’ve been diverted from the patrol area Captain Brannon announced when we left Exmouth Gulf,” Captain Mealey said. “A Japanese task force consisting of an aircraft carrier, a heavy cruiser, two oil tankers, two troop transports, some freighters, and a number of destroyers is under way going south.
“We intend to intercept them tomorrow, about midnight. We will attack on the surface.” He heard the stir in the bunks as men who had stood the night watches, eaten breakfast, and then turned in leaned over the bunk rails to listen.
“Eelfish will have the first crack at the task force,” Mealey continued. “We face a problem. We will be attacking at night on the surface. There will be numerous targets. I will require that reloading of fired torpedo tubes begin as soon as those tubes are fired. A faster reload than you have ever attempted, I believe.” He paused a moment and turned his head as he caught a murmured “Dear Jesus!” from one of the bunks.
“When I had the Mako at Truk we had a torpedoman in the Forward Room who was named Ginty,” Mealey said. “Did either of you know him?”
“I knew Ginty when I was on the Asiatic Station,” Petreshock said. “Before the war, sir. Big brute of a man. A real good torpedoman.”
Mealey nodded. “He was all of that and more. When I started shooting from the Forward Room, Ginty started the reload. What I want to know is can you do that?”
“Captain, sir,” Petreshock said. “I’ve drilled my people who work in this room and the reload crew harder and longer than any other torpedo room in the whole fleet except for our own After Room.” Mike Brannon saw that Petreshock had assumed an almost belligerent stance, his legs braced, his head thrust forward, fists knotted at his sides.
“Soon as you or Captain Brannon start shooting, sir,” Petreshock said in a flat, hard voice, “soon’s you start shooting we’ll start a reload. Don’t worry about a fish gettin’ away if you have to dive sudden. We know our jobs, sir.” The last word came out bitten off, sharp.
“Very well,” Captain Mealey said. “I did not mean to imply you don’t know your job. I wanted you to be perfectly clear on the problems the Bridge will face in this action. We will have lots of targets. Some of those targets are more important than others, the carrier for example. We won’t have time to pick and choose so we’re going after the most important target of the lot and then just keep shooting until we have no more torpedoes. Once we’re in the middle of that task force I won’t be able to wait until someone untangles a block and tackle.”
“I understand, sir,” Petreshock said. “We’ll give you two reloads on Tubes One, Two, Three, and Four. No sense in trying to reload Five and Six if you’re in a hurry because we have to take up the deck plates to get at those reload torpedoes. That gives you fourteen fish up here and all you or Captain Brannon’s got to do is tell us when. Ginty was one hell of a man, but he wasn’t any better than my people.”
Captain Mealey and Brannon worked their way aft, stopping in each compartment to explain the attack they were going to make. The crew accepted the news with almost a total lack of concern. There were a few guarded attempts at wisecracks, which Mealey pretended not to hear. When they were back in the Wardroom Mealey looked at Brannon.
“I like the mood of the crew, Mike. They’re confident. That’s a good sign. They’ll perform. But I touched a nerve in that man Petreshock, up forward.”
“You did, sir,” Brannon said. “I served with Ginty when I was in Mako. He put the ship in commission, as I did. Petreshock isn’t as large as Ginty was, few men are, but he’s every bit as good a torpedoman as Ginty was. Steve is a fussbudget, a perfectionist. So is Fred Nelson, back aft.”
“One other thing,” Mealey said. “When I went in on the battleship at Truk I sent the Chief of the Boat to the Forward Room and the Torpedo Officer to the After Room to supervise the reloads. What do you think of that idea?”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Brannon said. “But I’m short one officer as you know. The Chief of the Boat is the Assistant Diving Officer and in charge of the Control Room during General Quarters. Mr. Lee, the Gunnery Officer, is the number two man on the plot under John Olsen. He takes over the plot if I use John Olsen on the bridge.”
“Understood,” Mealey said. “Forget it.” He thanked Pete Mahaffey for the fresh cups of coffee, reached for the chart on the table, and unfolded it. Olsen had drawn the projected course of the task force as Mealey had said he thought it would be. He had also drawn in the alternate course, down Mindoro Island’s west coast.
“Your Executive Officer is a careful man,” Mealey said as he studied the chart. “I think they’ll come to us.”
Eelfish surfaced an hour after dark and circled slowly south of Lubang Island, waiting for Hatchet Fish and Sea Chub to join up. An hour later all three submarines were close together. The coded message was sent informing each of the other Commanding Officers of the battle plan and their positions. Captain Mealey stood on the cigaret deck as the other two submarines disappeared in the dark, heading east.
“Now all we have to do is wait until they think about the message and see if they have any objections,” Mealey said.
“I don’t see why there would be,” Brannon said, picking his words carefully. “It’s a very large task force. There’s enough to go around for everyone.”
“They’ll have to exercise initiative,” Mealey snapped. He turned and moved closer to Brannon, so closely that he was standing shoulder to shoulder with him. When he spoke his voice was so low that only Brannon could hear him.
“Tell me, sir,” Mealey said. “Do you ever feel fear?”
The sudden question, the intensity in the low-pitched voice, caught Mike Brannon off guard. He hesitated a moment and then said, in a very low voice, “Yes, sir, I do. Every time we go to General Quarters. I used to worry about that. I still do, even though once Captain Hinman told me that he felt the same way. He said that before a wrestling match — he was a champion middleweight wrestler at the Academy — before a wrestling match he would be so afraid he’d throw up. I guess fear is normal.”
“It is normal,” Mealey said. “Admitting you are afraid is a bit abnormal. The man who does not fear takes unnecessary risks. The man who is afraid to admit his fear often takes even worse risks, just to prove he is not afraid. Both of those types get themselves killed.