The Marathon Watch Page 10

  Meyers didn’t move. Lee continued, “Something is seriously wrong with supply. Less than a third of the stuff we order gets through. That’s the most important problem.

  “Second, with the status of the equipment and the inexperienced crew we have, the engine room is dangerous. My average man has less than two years’ experience. According to my staffing charts, the average should be over five years.”

  Lee paused, so Meyers prompted, “And the third problem?”

  “The men, sir; they’re exhausted. We’ve been at sea so much, and every time we get into a port, they have to work four times as hard and long to keep the equipment running. It’s not right, XO. They need some slack.”

  “Anything else, Lee?”

  “There are other problems, but they’re manageable.”

  “Like what?”

  “Morale. All the men are in a ditch from Chief Ross on down.”

  Meyers knew a pep talk would do no good. What Lee needed most was the unvarnished truth.

  “I’m impressed with your grasp of your situation,” Meyers began. “I already know about this stuff, but you’ve only been here a day, and you have a bit more to learn. Take heart, Lee; you’re not alone. We have two radars. One hasn’t worked for three months, and the other can barely reach out ten miles. Our sonar is so sick the only way we could find a submarine is to run into it. Half the stuff in the laundry is busted. The reefers can’t keep stuff frozen anymore. The cook’s upset because his mixer’s broken.”

  “What’s the problem, XO?” Lee asked.

  “First and foremost, it’s supply. We have a devil of a time getting the stuff we need. I’ll follow up on your supply requisitions, but no promises.”

  Lee seemed happy with the reply. Meyers was growing to like Lee, and the sparkle in his eyes had an element of devilishment about it. Maybe he and Lee could help each other. Meyers thought for a second; what he had to say had to be phrased carefully.

  “All I can tell you, Lee,” Meyers started slowly, “is to be creative. They’re your men, and you’re responsible for morale. It’s your engine room, and you’re responsible for it. You have a free hand to solve the problems. Just don’t do something dumb or in direct violation of orders.”

  Lee looked perplexed. He needed time to think it out.

  “Thank you, Lee,” Meyers said, dismissing Lee.

  Once Lee was gone, Meyers picked up the sheaf of papers from his desk and pitched them into his in basket, then opened his lower-right desk drawer, pulled out the diary, and threw it into the trash can. He didn’t need it anymore because Lee was going to be an effective ally. The battle for the Farnley was starting anew.

  §

  It was just after eight when the messenger told Ross that Lee wanted to see him. Ross had experienced the unpredictable behavior of junior officers before. He had to live with it, and considering the current conditions on the Farnley, this wouldn’t be too irritating by comparison.

  Ross walked back to Lee’s stateroom and entered unannounced.

  Lee was lying in the lower bunk, intently reading a navy tech manual. A stack of manuals sat on the floor next to Lee’s bunk. Before Ross could say anything, Lee looked up. “Chief, thanks for coming.”

  Ross shook his head at the sight of the manuals and Lee’s cheerful face. “What are you so happy about? Do those books have some jokes in them I missed?”

  Lee’s eyes twinkled at Ross. “If I were happy, I wouldn’t have to read these books, but then I’d read them anyway.”

  Ross tried to figure out what Lee was talking about and decided it was some kind of joke. Ross wasn’t in the mood for mirth. “What did you want to see me about, sir?”

  “Bad news, I’m afraid, Chief. First, tell the men there will be a sea bag inspection as soon as we get under way. Set up the time when you can make sure all the men will be available. Tell them I expect every man to have a complete set of clean, serviceable uniforms.”

  Ross began to object, but Lee’s black eyes were so steady and clear, Ross felt Lee already knew what he was going to say. Ross remained silent.

  “The other bad news is that I’ve ordered special work details for all our men.” Lee pulled two sheets of paper from the bunk beside him and handed them to Ross.

  Both orders were identical, one for each of the next two days.

  “You want me to lead a work detail to the navy supply depot on the NATO base to scrounge around for repair parts? It doesn’t take half our men to do that, and it certainly doesn’t take ten hours a day for two days. It’ll take about five minutes. I’ve tried before, and they wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  “What’s across the street from the supply depot?” Lee asked casually.

  Ross thought for a second, then squinted at Lee. “The navy uniform shop.”

  “What’s next door to the uniform shop?”

  “The enlisted club,” Ross said, smiling.

  “That’s why I want you to lead both work parties. I know the men have been pent up for a while, and I wouldn’t want them to get into any trouble like getting caught drinking while on an official work detail.”

  Ross grinned widely and tried to detect a smile or smirk on Lee’s face, but he couldn’t tell. Lee, with his sparkling eyes, probably looked the same way happy, sad, or angry. Ross turned serious. “Mister Lee, I know what you’re trying to do. If the captain finds out about this, you’re in big trouble.”

  “I don’t understand. I expect you to turn that supply depot upside down looking for anything we need. Our parts have to be somewhere. I think they got lost in the inventory at the depot.”

  Ross knew this game well. “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

  “Thanks. That’s all I can ask. Don’t forget the sea bag inspection. I’m going to be tough.”

  Ross got up to leave and, halfway to the door, turned to Lee. “I’ll make sure no one is caught drinking while on duty.”

  Lee returned to his book, and Ross headed forward to the chief’s quarters. Things had happened quickly with Lee, and Ross wondered what Lee’s real motives were. He still hadn’t figured him out. Lee always looked the same; happy. He could always see the wheels spinning tirelessly behind Lee’s black eyes, but it was impossible to tell what the man was thinking. The sea bag inspection was a dirty trick, and the men were going to hate it. Maybe Lee was trying to bribe the men into looking good with his fake work party or trying to make points with Javert or Meyers.

  Ross decided it didn’t matter. In a few more weeks, Lee would have learned that his efforts wouldn’t make any difference. Meanwhile, Ross resolved to enjoy the fresh breeze while it lasted; it never lasted long on the Farnley.

  §

  It was almost ten p.m. Commander Beetham’s boxy office made Admiral Durham feel tired, but this was important. He didn’t want to snub Beetham’s efforts by putting it off until tomorrow. Beetham had done an excellent job and had used the bureaucracy to trick the bureaucracy.

  By tapping into the navy’s computerized message routing system, he’d put the equivalent of a phone tap on every Operation Marathon ship.

  “What we did was put a tag routing on each ship,” Beetham explained. “The tag routing is only in the computer system and never appears on the messages. Anytime a ship’s name appears in the routing, the message is automatically sent down to the tag routing.”

  Beetham smiled. “In this case, the message is copied to CINCGLOBNAVCOMCORFORFLOT.”

  Durham almost laughed. The fictitious command name was so absurd, Commander in Chief Global Naval Communications Coordination for Forces Afloat, no one would question the routing. The average sailor would conclude that anything that stupid had to be official.

  Beetham continued, “We receive the messages here, and I have briefed three officers trained in intelligence analysis on how to screen the message traffic. We’ll know where they are and what they’re doing, and we’ll have a pretty good idea of what’s happening aboard the Operation Marathon ships. If a
nything significant happens, you’ll know about it.”

  Durham was pleased. “Any significant developments relating to safety, I want to know about immediately,” Durham began. “You’ll need some phone numbers, access to my private message network, and a way to track my movements.”

  “Don’t worry. We have all that stuff.”

  Behind Beetham’s deadpan response was a little bravado. He was playing with Durham because both men knew “all that stuff” was highly classified.

  Durham raised an eyebrow and asked a silent question. Beetham tried to conceal his pleasure that Durham had noticed. “Well, you told me to set this thing up, so I did.”

  “A good job it is,” Durham said, getting up to leave. “Just remind me never to ask you to do a favor for the President.”

  “Service with a smile,” Beetham said, still deadpan. “If anything major happens, you’ll know about it in seconds.”

  PLACING BETS

  August 1971, Bay of Naples

  Operation Marathon: Day 414

  Ross gulped down the last quarter cup of tepid coffee. He’d been up all night coaxing the Farnley’s engineering plant back to life, and the coffee did little to dispel the puffy, tired feeling. Other than that, this day was just another day, one less day until retirement. It didn’t even matter they were leaving Naples for ten straight days at sea. Ross looked at the brown stains in his coffee mug and thought about getting another cup. He decided against it. It was almost breakfast, and the plant still wasn’t ready for sea.

  Ross retrieved his clipboard and walked to the main platform railing. He yelled, “Ya got the main circ pump online yet?”

  A voice from under the starboard turbine answered, “Almost.” Ross guessed it was Stucky.

  Almost, Ross muttered to himself. Everything on the Farnley was either almost working or almost broke. Ross watched as three firemen and Lee made their way from under the starboard turbine and joined Stucky on the catwalk. The group exchanged words before Stucky gave a thumbs-up to Ross and headed for the ladder.

  He’d lost track of Lee, but he should’ve guessed Lee was with the men working on the pump. Lee had his nose into everything. He wasn’t getting in the way, but his habit of watching everything and helping the men got on his nerves. He’d told Lee to leave the men alone, but Lee had ignored the warning. Now the men were bitching.

  Bitching about everything. At first, it was about having to buy uniforms, then it was about the sea bag inspection. Next they’d be bitching about the chow. He’d been afraid Lee would get the men’s hopes up by setting expectations too high, like the uniforms. Now his black gang was the envy of the entire crew with their new, clean uniforms, and they were strutting around like they were important. Until Lee showed up, the men hadn’t bitched about anything for months.

  Ross looked at his checklist. Satisfied, he called to Stucky, “Open the main steam stop valve.”

  This was almost the last step, and one of many Ross worried about because the valve had become unpredictable. As he looked at it, it wasn’t any wonder. The main steam line, wrapped in dirty gray insulation, jutted out from the forward bulkhead almost eight feet above the platform. After five feet, the insulation bulged to cover the main body of the valve.

  The insulation was different from the rest; ratty and black with blackened, oil-soaked plaster powder bleeding through the torn asbestos fabric wrapping. The cast iron valve wheel, devoid of paint, was black from the dirt hiding in pores of the metal casting. Only a greasy coat of oil protected the wheel from rust. Ross felt the valve would be at home on a derelict or a tramp steamer, but not on a U.S. man-of-war.

  Stucky mounted the wooden bench, stretched to reach the valve wheel, and twisted his entire body trying to open the valve. His hands slipped on the oily valve wheel, and his extended body denied him the leverage required. He readjusted his body and grasped the wheel with a clean rag. In one all-or-nothing attempt, he yanked at the valve wheel and wound up jerking his body completely off the bench. Still hanging on the valve wheel, Stucky let go and dropped to the deck.

  “What now, Chief?” Lee asked.

  Ross didn’t need this. He turned to confront Lee. “We open the valve,” Ross said as caustically as he could, then yelled to the men standing on the platform, “Just don’t stand there; give him a hand.”

  Two men jumped onto the bench with Stucky, carefully positioned themselves, and tried again in vain. Lee was staring at Ross, but he ignored the young officer. Soon a man found a pipe and wedged it between the spokes of the valve wheel. Stucky gave the pipe a jerk. The valve cracked open with a snap of rusty metal breaking loose, and steam hissed into the main piping. The Farnley was slowly catching up with him. He would never make it to retirement. Dejected, Ross turned and leaned on the railing.

  “You did a hell of a job getting that second boiler online.”

  Ross recognized Lee’s voice. The statement sounded patronizing and angered him. To Lee he said, “Bull! It was kid’s stuff, the type of stuff I learned as a recruit.”

  “On the Able?”

  Ross tightened his grip on the rail with his bony hands until his knuckles turned white. He hadn’t known how far Lee’s nosiness had extended. Ross glared at Lee. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “She was a good ship, wasn’t she?”

  Ross forgot his previous question. “Sure wasn’t anything like this bucket.”

  “How’s that? The Able was the same class ship.”

  “Stuff worked.” Ross turned his back on Lee and walked toward his bench.

  Lee followed, and after Ross sat down, Lee asked, “So?”

  Ross looked away from Lee. “So what? If we could get supply parts, I could make this a good engine room, at least as good as it was when I came on board, which was pretty damn good. That’s if you and the captain leave me alone.”

  “I don’t think so, Chief,” Lee said.

  Ross had hoped the truculence in his voice would register, but Lee either ignored it or failed to notice. He looked directly at Lee’s grinning face and sparkling eyes. The kid was playing some kind of game, but Ross couldn’t guess what or why.

  “What do you mean by that?” Ross asked.

  “I heard you bragged about rebuilding the main steam valve on the Able, and that you could spin it with one finger.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Sounds like an awful tall sea story to me. Even if you had the parts, I don’t think it could be done. Three or four fingers, maybe, but not one finger.”

  Ross had all of Lee he could take. Maybe this was a chance to teach the young officer something and put him in his place. Ross stood and looked directly into Lee’s black eyes.

  “Mister Lee, I know you’re an officer, but you’ve got a lot to learn about the navy and especially about this ship. I resent your implication that I was lying. What I said was true. You get the stuff required to overhaul that valve… ” Ross pointed to the main steam valve. “… and I’ll prove it to you. If you can’t get the parts, you leave me alone. Okay?”

  Lee glanced up at the valve, then looked into Ross’ eyes.

  “That valve is over thirty years old. You’re taking on one hell of a job, but I’d settle for three fingers.”

  “One finger,” Ross snapped. “Deal? You get the parts or you leave me alone.”

  Lee shrugged. “It’s a deal.”

  Ross smiled at his victory. The seals and parts required to overhaul the valve had been back-ordered for months. Lee didn’t stand a chance.

  “Good. Now I can finish my tour in peace and quiet,” Ross replied.

  Lee continued to look into Ross’ eyes as if he were expecting something more.

  “Is there something else, Mister Lee?” Ross asked.

  “No, I just wondered if there was anything I could do now.”

  It was like the previous conversation had never taken place. Ross couldn’t figure this kid.

  “Yeah, get some chow so I can get this bucket to sea.”<
br />
  Lee’s black eyes sparkled as if they’d just made some marvelous discovery.

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Lee turned and walked away.

  Ross frowned. He thought he’d actually seen Lee smile, but he wasn’t sure.

  §

  All through breakfast, Meyers deflected questions from the other officers about Eickhoff’s visit. He didn’t have any answers that made sense, and Eickhoff’s apparent pleasure with the Farnley troubled him. Was Javert lying about what Eickhoff said, or was Eickhoff lying? Meyers knew he was missing a major part to the puzzle. Everything about the Farnley seemed insane, but he knew somewhere there was a logical explanation.

  Lee had just finished his breakfast and was getting ready to leave when Meyers asked. “Could I see you in my cabin for a few minutes, Lee?”

  After Lee took a seat on the couch in Meyers’ stateroom, Meyers said, “I noticed some of your men this morning. They look good considering the work details you had them on in Naples.”

  Lee fidgeted, confirming Meyers’ suspicion. “I didn’t do anything,” Lee replied, then changed the subject.

  “What is the problem with supply? I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Lee had asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, and Meyers didn’t know the answer. “Don’t know. It just seems that any requisition with our name on it gets circular-filed by the supply system. I’ve talked with other ships, and they order the same part on the same day as we do, but they get forty-eight-hour service. I can’t figure it out. It’s funny, though, because sometimes we put the wrong part number down, something for a piece of equipment we’re not supposed to have, and we get it right away.”

  “Other ships don’t have the same problem?” Lee asked.

  “No.”

  Lee’s face lit up, and his body language told Meyers Lee had something he urgently wanted to do.

  “Is that all, XO?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks, XO, you gave me an idea.” Lee said, then hurried out the door.

  OPERATION STEEL HENGE