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Run Silent, Run Deep
3
"Maybe so. What's that got to do with your qualification?"
More quick puffs. "Don't you see? We'll have to build a lot more boats-the dope is that E. B. tripled their order for steel plate already. Everybody who has a training boat now will get one of the new fleet boats. All the fleet-boat skippers who have made a few war patrols will become Division Commanders, and all the Execs of these river boats will move up to skipper!"
I snapped to attention, immediately on guard. "Where did you hear that?"
"Oh, it's around. All over the base, in fact. They say all the skippers around here will receive orders in a couple of weeks.
I'll bet", — here Jim took a deep drag-"old Blunt told you to qualify me, didn't he?"
"No such thing, Jim." I hoped the lie sounded convincing.
"A Squadron Commander can't do that anyway. You know that."
"Sure, but he can make some pretty strong suggestions. I'll bet he told you to get me qualified so I could take over some- body's boat when he leaves, come on now, didn't he?" Jim's face lighted with pleasure. He rushed right by my beginning remonstrance. "Say-that would be pretty good! Skipper of my own boat! They'd probably even give me the S-16. You'll be leaving pretty soon, you know!"
"Listen, Jim," I began again uneasily. "You can think what you want. It doesn't make any difference. Maybe you're right and there will be a lot of moves. Eventually its bound to happen, but it can't all take place in an instant. After all, it takes over a year to build a fleet-type submarine.
But Jim's enthusiasm was not to be dampened. He probably didn't even hear me. "Everybody knows they're setting up a pool of Execs qualified to take over these river boats when the skippers leave, but I didn't think I was eligible. If I get the S-16, or some boat like her, they won't want to send me back to being Exec again; so they'll just have to leave me here until they get far enough down the list to give me one of the big ones. That will take a long time." Excitedly he stubbed out his smoke, jumped to his feet.
"What do I have to do?"
"Well," I hesitated, "I imagine the Squadron Commander will appoint a Qualification Board on you."
Jim's face fell. "You mean I'll have to make a submerged approach with this old tub? Why, she's so out of date it would be just a waste of time!"
"That's where you're wrong, Jim," I said a bit sententiously, startled by his sudden vehemence. "Even if the S-16 is not very modern, for all you know you might have to command this ship or one like it in action. After all, there is a squadron of S-boats out in the Philippines right now. Besides, what about the training exercises for the sub school?"
"They ought to have their heads examined," said Jim, reaching into the desk for another cigarette. "That's just plain crazy, keeping those S-boats out there. They ought to be brought back as quickly as they can."
Jim and I had argued this point before, although he had never expressed himself so directly regarding the fighting prowess of the S-16.
"Easy, old boy, you may be right, but there is nothing you can do about it. The Examining Board will expect to see you make a submerged approach in this boat, using the equipment she's got-so you may as well figure on it."
Jim lighted off and took a petulant puff.
"I haven't had a chance to do any approach work since reporting to Philadelphia."
As skipper, it was, of course, my responsibility that my officers have adequate opportunity for their own training, and I had to admit the justice of this. The demands of the sub school had taken priority, and I had not insisted on saving adequate time for either Jim or Keith. Keith, of course, would soon be up for his dolphins.
"Look, Jim," I said, "after we get the S-16 back together and this refit finished, we'll take time out of our post refit trials to give you a couple of practice runs. That's all you need. Just enough to get your hand back in.
Jim's brow cleared, somewhat indecisively. Then he leaped to his feet, crushing out the hardly tasted cigarette as he rose.
"I want to run up the dock and phone Laura. Okay?"
"Sure!" I rose too. "Give her my best."
"You bet I will!" He turned at the stateroom entrance. "This is a terrific break, you know! This is just what we've been waiting for. You'll be our best man, won't you?"
He turned and dashed away, leaving me virtually thunder- struck. I had, of course-as we all had-realized that Jim and Laura were as good as engaged. But I didn't expect their marriage to hinge upon his qualification for command of submarines.
The upshot was another unforeseen complication, too. Upon receipt of my recommendation for Jim's qualification for command of submarines, Captain Blunt immediately ordered three other skippers in our squadron to form an Examining Board, and he furthermore directed them to meet on Jim at once.
With Christmas almost upon us, this was not a popular order.
The conversation with Blunt had taken place on Tuesday; Thursday was Christmas; Friday, Saturday, and Sunday the Examining Board worked Jim over on his knowledge of Sub- marine theory, tactics, strategy, logistics, and even history.
Furthermore, our two weeks' refit was summarily cut in half and the following Monday found S-16 getting under way again.
Cutting short our repair and upkeep period was hard on the ship and crew. Jobs which had long wanted doing had to be again postponed; some of the very urgent ones had to be hastily rushed to completion. Our topside paint job had to be foregone, the rust spots merely scraped and daubed with red lead. Nor was this all for the members of the Examining Board also had to give up what plans they might have made.
One, Roy Savage, had already received his orders to the Needlefish, soon to be launched at Mare Island. Carl Miller was awaiting his orders any day. Only the third, Stocker Kane, was like myself apparently fated to stay in his old R-boat a while longer.
After thinking over the prospect of leaving my ship to Jim, I was not too happy either. Against my better instincts I had pushed him into a situation for which I knew he was not yet ready. I had officially signed my name that, in my opinion, he was ready for the examination, when in my bones I felt this not to be the case. True, Jim could handle the ship well and he had studied-and therefore presumably knew-the sub- merged-attack doctrine. But now that the question had come to issue I was convinced that, so far as Jim Bledsoe was concerned, it, was much too soon. His judgment under pressure or in emergency situations was still an unknown quantity.
Somehow I felt unsure of him. Under these circumstances how could I, seeking my — own advantage, blithely leave S-16 and her crew of forty men to him? And yet, having started the train of events, I was powerless to stop it.
Qualification for command of a submarine is probably the toughest formal test of a submarine officer's career, and it is almost equally tough on the Examining Board and his own skipper. Successful qualification usually does not carry with it an immediate command assignment, though in Jim's case it would, and somehow he had guessed it. No special insignia exists for it like the gold dolphin pin for qualification in submarine duty. A mark is merely placed opposite your name in the submarine force roster, — but no man can be ordered to submarine command without that mark.
A submarine is a demanding command in peace or war, probably more so than any other ship. The submarine skipper personally fights his ship, giving all the commands and making all the decisions. During war his is the responsibility for success or failure; his the praise for sinking the enemy, the blame for being sunk himself. In peacetime there are still the hazards of the malevolent sea-ever-ready, with its sequence of inevitable consequences, to pounce mercilessly upon momentary disregard for its laws.
Appearance before a Qualification Board, a serious matter for the candidate, is thus equally serious for the members of the board themselves. On the one hand, they hold the career of a brother officer in their hands, but on the other, and much more important, they must consider the lives and well- being of his future ship's company as well. And it is serious, also, for the person or persons recommending him, whose own judgment in so doing is under inspection.
On Monday we were-somehow-ready. The disassembled pieces of machinery had been put back together, mostly unrepaired, and great patches of red preservative on our decks and sides betrayed the areas we had been scraping free rust and loose paint. Prior to the arrival of the Qualification Board, Jim, at their dictum, had made all preparations for getting under way; this was something he normally did every third clay anyway, when he had the duty-though not, of course, under quite the same degree of pressure. The engines were warmed up and primed, the batteries fully charged, the crew at stations. All lines to the dock bid been "singled up," which means that the usual three strands of mooring line to each of our four cleats had been reduced to one, ready for immediate release. I waited on the forecastle, swathed in muffler, foul-weather jacket, and sea boots, turning my back to the freezing wind sweeping the river. Jim, of course, was on the bridge.
Three figures suddenly appeared from behind the parked cars at the head of the dock, marched toward us. I recognized them immediately: Carl Miller, skipper of the R-4, Roy Savage of the S-48, and Stocker Kane of the R-12. Savage was the senior in rank, a Lieutenant Commander of several years, and had been designated "Senior Member" of the Qualification Board. He was a stocky, taciturn individual, whose usual imperturbability seemed only intensified by this assignment.
