Mealey sat in the radio shack and pushed the transmit button.
“Mealey to Mauler one. Mealey here.”
“Mauler one affirmative.”
“Report your position,” Mealey said.
“Mauler One is on station as ordered, sir.”
“Is this the Captain speaking?” Mealey asked.
“No, sir. Captain is in the radio shack. This is Harold Crippin, Chief Radioman, sir.”
“Please put Captain Marble on the microphone,” Mealey snapped.
“Marble here.” The voice was a slow drawl.
“How many torpedoes do you have left?” Mealey asked.
“Mauler One reports all torpedoes aboard, sir.”
“Were you aware, sir, that we were under heavy attack?”
“We saw your fires and heard what we took to be some depth charging, sir.” Captain Marble’s voice over the air was almost frosty. “We received no orders to contradict those you issued with commendable firmness, sir, to stay on our station.”
Mealey stared at the microphone. He drew a deep breath and thumbed the transmit button.
“Stand by to copy your orders, sir.
“Eelfish is returning to port with only one, repeat one torpedo. Mauler Two has sixteen torpedoes. Mauler One will proceed in company with Mauler Two to original patrol area. Advise Mauler One, as pack commander, that the rest of that task force is steaming back toward Manila. There is a heavy cruiser in that lot and at least six destroyers. Over and out.”
“Thank you, sir. Mauler One will assume pack leadership and proceed to original patrol area. Over and out.” The circuit went dead and Captain Mealey pushed his chair back from the radioman’s small table.
“You son of a bitch!” he whispered to himself, “you damned cowardly son of a bitch! I’ll hang you, Marble, I’ll hang you so high you’ll get airsick reading the charges!” He went out into the Control Room and climbed wearily to the bridge. Jim Michaels’s voice came up through the bridge speaker.
“Mauler Two reports reading message to Mauler One and wishes Eelfish a safe and speedy return home.”
“Tell them Godspeed,” Mealey said. He turned to Mike Brannon.
“I’d appreciate it, Captain, if you’d take back your ship, sir. I suggest you secure from General Quarters, set the regular sea watch, and have Mr. Olsen lay down the most direct course to Fremantle. I would like to see you in the Wardroom in ten minutes.” He turned and began to climb down the ladder. Brannon, watching him, wondered at the slowness of his movements and then realized, as Captain Mealey looked upward, that the older man’s face was haggard with exhaustion.
CHAPTER 18
Mike Brannon walked into the Wardroom and found Captain Mealey sitting there, a cup of coffee in front of him. The Captain reached for his pipe and tobacco and began to fill his pipe with slow, deliberate motions.
“As part of my last duties as the wolf-pack commander,” he said, “I think we should get off a report at once telling Pearl Harbor and Fremantle what ships we sank and what the Sea Chub sank and advise Fremantle that we are returning to port because we have only one torpedo left. Advise Fremantle that Hatchet Fish and Sea Chub have been sent to the original patrol area by my order. That’s the only mention I want made of Hatchet Fish in this message. Advise Fremantle of our course and ETA. I don’t want some trigger-happy submarine skipper shooting at us on our way home because he doesn’t know we’re supposed to be going through his area.”
Mealey stopped and sipped at his coffee, and then he lit his pipe. “I don’t know how you go about getting ready to write a contact and action report, Mike. But if I may make a suggestion: So much was going on during our action, so damned much, that rather than leave something out it might be a good idea to get everyone in here and get the benefit of their recollections. With the plots, of course. I think if we do that we’ll have a very comprehensive report, and that’s what Captain Rudd is going to need. We can do that right after the noon meal.”
“If I may suggest it, sir…” Brannon’s face was concerned. “You look awfully tired.”
“I know how I look,” Mealey said. “I washed my face when I came below. I am not that tired, sir, nor that old. I am forty-one years old this past birthday. This is supposed to be the prime of my adult life, at least intellectually. What you see in my face, sir, is not weariness. It is disgust.
“I am sick to my stomach, sir. Sicker than I have ever been in my life, and the sickness is not due to anything I ate.”
“I understand, sir,” Brannon said softly.
“Do you?” Mealey’s eyes were boring into Brannon. “Yes. You probably do. You’re Irish. You would understand.” He looked up as Pete Mahaffey came into the Wardroom with a carafe of coffee.
“Captain,” Mahaffey said to Brannon, “cook wants to know if he can feed steak for the noon meal. Cook figures Captain Mealey needs some more red meat.” His cheerful face split in a wide grin.
“Absolutely,” Brannon said.
“One steak or two for you, sir?” Mahaffey said to Captain Mealey.
“One. Very rare.”
The contact report from the Eelfish arrived at the Bend of the Road while Admiral Christie was holding a staff meeting. He read the message and bounced to his feet, waving the message flimsy in the air.
“Mealey smashed that task force to bits!” he shouted. “He sank, let me see, it says here he sank one small aircraft carrier, a tanker, a freighter loaded with ammunition, a troop transport — he says he saw hundreds of troops in the water — and two destroyers! My God!
“He says the rest of the task force hauled ass back toward Manila Bay. Call General MacArthur right away, Sam. This can make a hell of a difference to his plans.” He sat down in his chair, holding the message in front of him.
“Oh, this makes my day! My whole week! That crusty old S.O.B., he was right. The wolf pack idea is a good one.”
“How many Captain Mealeys do we have in our skipper locker to run wolf packs?” Sam Rivers said dryly. “And what about Hatchet Fish and Sea Chub?”
“Let me see, I didn’t even read the whole thing. Oh, he says that Shelton in Sea Chub got a troop transport and has two prisoners and that he got a destroyer.” He read through the message again. “That’s strange, not one word about Hatchet Fish’s part in the action. The only time he mentions Captain Marble and Hatchet Fish is at the end where he says he ordered the other two boats to proceed to the original patrol area under command of Chet Marble. That’s very strange.”
“Not to me,” the Operations Officer growled. “Old Chet Marble was probably hunting for a way to get away from that action if I know him. Either the water wasn’t deep enough or it was too deep or the Japanese destroyers were vicious. He’d find some reason not to put his ass in danger.”
“Now wait a minute, Sam,” Admiral Christie said. “We don’t have Chet’s side of the story. Maybe he lost touch with Mealey, maybe his communications got fouled up. Maybe Mealey deployed him way out in left field and he couldn’t get into the fight. We just don’t know.”
“I know one thing,” Sam Rivers growled. “Being with Mealey must have done something for Shelton in Sea Chub. If he got two ships he must be creamin’ his shorts! He’s never hit a ship up until now, and he’s made three war patrols.”