“You’re getting to be a damned good Exec, Ralph.” Brannon grinned. “Soon as we come within the command area of Key West, the skipper there is a guy I served under in 0-boats in New London before the war, I’ll throw us on his mercy, let him sweat over what to do with us.”
An hour after Eelfish had transmitted Brannon’s message to the Commanding Officer, Key West, the answer came back.
“Sorry, your transmitter must be out of order. Can’t read you. Suggest you proceed original orders if your receiver will pick up this message and Godspeed.”
Brannon grinned, and Eelfish raced toward home, past Cape Hatteras, up the long reach of the East Coast, and then, at last, the turn around the eastern end of Long Island and into the waters of Block Island Sound, through the Race, and up the Thames River, where a huge crowd was waiting on the pier. Brannon put his binoculars to his eyes as Ulrich delicately maneuvered the Eelfish in midstream, turning her to point in to the dock, gauging the run of the tide.
“By God, she’s there! Gloria! And my daughter! I think it’s little Gloria, she looks so big!” Lieutenant Lee, standing down on the main deck, smiled, thinking of his own wife in Australia.
The first two weeks in New London passed swiftly. The Reservists in the crew added up their points and were sent to Great Lakes Naval Base for discharge. When the last Reservist had left Mike Brannon walked up to the Submarine Personnel Office.
“I’m short thirty-six enlisted men and I have no officers in my Wardroom except my Exec,” he said. He put a roster on the Personnel Officer’s desk.
“I think we fought this war with nothing but Reserves,” the Personnel Officer said.
“We’d have been in a hell of a mess if we hadn’t,” Brannon growled. The Personnel Officer looked at him and then down at his desk.
“You’re going to be stationed here for some time, sir. You’ll be used as a training ship for a while, but before that starts the people who built Eelfish want to put her in dry dock and go over her from stem to stern. You’re the first New London boat to come back here that’s suffered extensive depth charging.
“So, if I may suggest it sir, you could grant leave to your crew, what’s left of it, and yourself, and your, ah, one other officer. Thirty days minimum. The engineers will be busy with your ship for at least six weeks.” He looked up.
“The Command at the Submarine School has given strict orders, sir. The battle flags on your Conning Tower are not to be painted over when they paint your ship. We, everyone here, is very proud of Eelfish, sir, and you and your crew. You must have noticed the people here who come down to the pier and just stand and stare at the ship. They’re proud, sir.”
“Thank you,” Brannon said. He turned and went out the door, and walked back to the Eelfish.
EPILOGUE
The next year passed swiftly for Mike Brannon. He was promoted to full Commander and given the extra responsibility of Assistant to the Squadron Commander. Gloria found a pleasant house to rent on the Sound that was well within their budget, and they settled into the peacetime routine of a middle-seniority career officer on his way to Flag rank. They entertained junior officers once a month and were, in turn, entertained by their senior officers.
Sitting in his office in the Submarine Base in New London early one morning Brannon saw his door open, and Chief Yeoman Booth came in carrying a tray with two full cups of coffee in one hand and a letter in the other.
“Got a letter from Chief Flanagan,” he said, putting the coffee cups on the desk. “Thought you might like to hear what he’s up to, sir.”
“I would,” Brannon said, reaching for a coffee cup.
“He retired a year ago when I was on leave,” Booth said. “Went out to the Philippines. He’s got a regular business letterhead with half a dozen companies listed. Everything from construction to salvage work to ships’ supplies. He says he’s making money at all of them.”
“He’s a good man,” Brannon said. “Whatever he turns his hand to, he would be able to do.”
“He married a girl from Tacloban,” Booth continued. “Said he inherited a ready-made family. She’s got twin boys about fourteen, fifteen months old.” He looked at Mike Brannon, his eyes crinkling in a smile.
“Tacloban,” Booth went on. “That’s where he went ashore to deliver the orders to the guerrilla guy and didn’t come back for a night and a day and when he came back he was passed-out drunk and Brosmer swore he smelled pussy on him.”
Brannon nodded, smiling.
“Well, he’s married, and he says he’s happy as hell. Great woman. Good kids. You heard about Captain Mealey?”
“Made Rear Admiral,” Brannon said. “Going to be our boss as head of Submarines, Atlantic. Hell of a good move.”
“Sablefish is due in at ten hundred hours, sir. You want to meet her at the pier?”
“Hell, yes,” Brannon said. “John Olsen’s her skipper.”
Lieutenant Commander John Olsen crossed the gangway to the pier and engulfed Mike Brannon in a bear hug. “Hah! Three full stripes. Congratulations, Mike.”
“First things first,” Brannon said. “How about dinner at my house at about eighteen hundred? I’m going to be tied up here, but I’ll send a car to pick you up.”
“Can the car pick me up at the station, the railroad station, at seventeen hundred? My fiancée’s coming in on the seventeen hundred train from New York.”
Brannon’s eyebrows rose. “You engaged? The great woman hater? She’s welcome. I have to see this wonder woman who managed to trap you.
“Now, what can I do for you before I shove off to a lot of meetings? You’re part of our Squadron now and I sort of wear the number two hat in the Squadron.”
“I’ll give you an easy one,” Olsen said. “I need a first-rate Chief of the Boat. Mine looked all right during the pre-commissioning, but he fell apart when we started operating out of Key West.”
Brannon chewed his lower lip reflectively. “I’ve got Steve Petreshock in Eelfish as my Chief of the Boat and you can’t have him. I know, Fred Nelson. He made Chief a couple of months ago and he’s in excess. You know how good a man he is. That suit you?”
“Perfect,” Olsen said. “If he wants to come aboard.”
“He’ll jump at the chance,” Brannon said. “He knows he’s in excess, and Chief of the Boat billets don’t come along very often. I’ve got to run. The driver will meet you at the train station at seventeen hundred hours. See you at the house.”
John Olsen walked into the Brannon’s living room with a buxom, black-haired smiling woman at his side.
“These are the Brannons, dear,” he said to the woman. “Mike and Gloria. Folks, meet my fiancée, Mrs. Joan Hinman.” He watched as Brannon’s face twisted.
“You mean?” Brannon asked softly.
“What John means, Captain Brannon, Mrs. Brannon, is that I am the widow of Captain Arthur Hinman. And I am going to be Mrs. John Olsen if this Swede doesn’t chicken out on me.” She looked at the Brannons, her dark blue eyes under heavy black eyebrows level and serene.
“I’m delighted!” Gloria Brannon cried. She rushed forward and swept Joan Hinman into her embrace. She released her, and Mike Brannon came forward and shyly kissed Joan’s cheek.
“How did all this happen, if I may ask?” Mike Brannon said as the four sat on the shaded porch at the back of the house.
“I was stationed in Key West with Sablefish,” Olsen began. Joan waved her hand at him.