The Marathon Watch Read online

  “No, Biron,” Meyers screamed, raising his hand toward Portalatin like a traffic cop. “Captain, that’s a dangerous maneuver. Let Biron handle the ship.”

  “XO, I won’t have you challenging me on the bridge like this. Do you understand? Mister Biron, you have your orders. Make them so!” Javert was yelling, his voice shrill.

  “Sir, range to skunk Lima six-hundred yards. Zero-eight-zero to avoid. Two-hundred yards to extremis, skunk Lima.”

  Biron was still indecisive. For the safety of the ship, Meyers knew he had to end this and snap Biron out of his apparent daze. He stepped directly between Javert and Biron and turned his back to Javert. In a firm voice that would brook no delay or second thoughts, he said, “Bring us about, Mr. Biron.”

  “Right hard rudder!” Biron’s voice was like a thunderclap.

  “No.” Javert screamed.

  Portalatin’s huge shoulders drove his hand in a slashing movement across the top of the wheel.

  As if oblivious to Biron’s last command, Javert jumped to his feet, grabbed Meyers’ arm, and spun him around. Squinting through his rage, he yelled, “I won’t have you or any other officer questioning my authority. Do you understand? We would have been perfectly safe doing it my way.”

  “You’re wrong, Captain,” Meyers replied, then caught his balance as the ship heeled sharply to starboard. The insanity of the situation appalled Meyers, a captain ordering his ship into a collision and an executive officer yelling and arguing with his captain in front of the crew.

  Javert turned his rage on Biron. “Mister Biron, when I give you an order, I expect you to follow it. Do you understand, mister?” Biron ignored Javert, and kept his eyes on the ferry as it passed down the port side barely a hundred yards away.

  They avoided collision by less than twenty seconds, a time far too short for two large vessels. Meyers’ temper flared at Javert’s attack on Biron.

  “Captain, do you see that puff of smoke behind the ferry?” Meyers began. “The ferry increased speed. If Biron had done what you said, we would be colliding with them right now!”

  Javert made no attempt to look. “Mister Meyers! I won’t have this insubordination. I won’t have this challenge to my authority. Off my bridge, now!”

  Meyers welcomed those words. He’d done his job. The ship was out of danger. Meyers pushed his way past Biron and stormed off the bridge.

  Descending the ladders to the main level, Meyers wondered if he’d crossed the line. The question was stupid because he had, on several accounts. He’d crossed the line. Now his hell would be over, and the hell for the crew of the Farnley would soon be over. He’d made the right decision no matter what happened. Or, he wondered, was there something else he could have done?

  Walking slowly, Meyers passed through the wardroom and stepped over the low combing to enter his small stateroom. The four-foot-long sea bag hung from its pipe, gently swaying with the roll of the ship. The rough green twill in the bag’s midsection was worn smooth. The round, smooth spot stared at him, trying to tell him something.

  Slowly, the message came to him. It wasn’t over. He’d crossed the line, but it didn’t matter. Javert wouldn’t bring charges. Meyers could hear Javert’s standard answer, “Reports of increased disciplinary problems only show superiors that a captain isn’t doing his job. Good captains don’t have disciplinary problems.” Javert would find some way to deny what had happened on the bridge.

  Meyers jabbed at the sea bag inquisitively. It swung away slowly from the mild blow. The voice inside Meyers’ head called out, The captain knows he needs me; he can’t shit-can me. Meyers threw a left hook into the bag. The bag wobbled end for end and swung away. I can’t resign or force the issue. I have a responsibility to the crew. The rage swelled up again. Meyers threw a right jab, and pain shot through his shoulder from the impact. I can’t do my job. He braced himself. I can’t win. He swung with his left. I can’t quit. He stepped into the bag, driving his right fist deep into the bag’s midsection. I can’t even get fired. I’m trapped!

  Grunting with each swing, he slowly increased the speed of his blows. His blows become rapid, and his grunts became a continuous scream. Just a few more days. When the admiral visits, he’ll see. It’ll be over soon. Oh, God, please! The admiral has to do it. The captain would deny everything. He would just continue as he always had.

  §

  Just past midnight, Meyers put his pen down and stared at the open page in his diary. As he’d made his entry for the day, he’d searched for an avenue of escape and found none.

  This was the second time in the last few days Javert had almost killed someone. He had to do something, but what? He could continue to fight Javert, or he could bring him down. Technically, both were mutiny, the former private, the latter public.

  At Annapolis, like all midshipmen, he had learned about mutiny, its causes, mechanisms, and inevitable outcome. The written laws concerning mutiny were few and simple, but mutiny wasn’t just a simple legal infraction. It was the unwritten law of the sea, the unwritten code of the Navy that bothered Meyers most.

  These laws were not written in ink on mortal paper; they were written in the blood of generations, tested by adversity, and presented as a gift of wisdom to the next generation. As he studied the handful of mutinies in naval history, the voice of generations was clear, their expectations high, and their standards unwavering. The gravest sin and ultimate travesty, mutiny was the coward’s way out.

  Tradition demanded that the conclusions were inescapable; mutiny was never justified. In the modern navy, mutiny was bloodless. Officers determined to bring a captain down wrote innocent letters, made seemingly innocuous statements to the chaplain, or told humorous stories to officers from other ships. Ultimately, the navy investigated, relieved the captain, and punished the mutineers. Even keeping a private log of a captain’s irrational behavior was mutinous. The judges would see the log as a preplanned defense to a mutinous act; that proved premeditation.

  His teachers had taught him the responsibilities of an officer, especially a ship’s executive officer. He had a responsibility to protect the ship from a mad or incompetent captain, but he also had a responsibility to follow that captain with his full loyalty and obedience. Anything else was mutiny. The fact that the responsibilities were in conflict made no difference. It was up to the officer to resolve the conflict without impinging on the unlimited authority of the captain. All his teachers had been impeccable officers, and Meyers felt cheated; they never had to apply the canons they taught.

  Until now, Meyers had thought his teachers had taught him well. Over his years at sea, the theology of tradition had withstood the test of experience. All his captains had truly been exceptional men whose mastery of their office wasn’t just exceptional; it was pervasive. He’d seen captains calm a frightened bridge crew with a word, a wink, or a beguiling smile. If these men had anything, they could make men believe in themselves and in the impossible.

  Out of the thousands of captains in every century, perhaps three dozen could be called mistakes. He’d also been taught the navy rarely made mistakes. Perhaps a dozen would fall through the cracks and another dozen would keep their commands, but the navy would end their careers. The navy would relieve the remainder, but only a few of these would be brought down by mutinous officers. In every case, it was the executive officer who held the ship together despite the captain or led the mutiny against him. Neither situation was good, but mutinous ships always paid the higher price.

  Meyers knew no two cases were the same, and the Farnley followed the pattern. Meyers didn’t know what to do about Javert. Javert wasn’t a man gone insane or intoxicated by unbridled power. These would be easy to deal with, but his judgment of Javert was more a matter of opinion. Javert didn’t have the experience, the emotional stability, nor the native ability to lead or command.

  “Excuse me. XO?”

  Meyers looked up to see Biron standing in the doorway. Meyers closed the diary and threw it into th
e lower-right desk drawer.

  “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  “I saw you were up, so I decided to drop off my monthly reports,” Biron said, handing a sheaf of papers to Meyers.

  “Thanks,” Meyers said. “That’s the last of them.”

  Meyers hadn’t been back to the bridge, and no one had stopped by to tell him what had happened after he’d left. Not knowing bothered him, but reopening the subject could be worse. He glanced down for a second, bit his lip, then looked back at Biron. “What happened after I left?”

  Glancing over his shoulder first, Biron looked carefully at Meyers. “Not a word,” Biron began in a whisper. “I got us straightened back out, and the captain just sat in his chair squinting like he does. He sat there for about an hour before asking if I had heard that we were getting our new engineering officer in Naples. I said no, and that was it. Other than that, he left without saying a word. Did he speak with you?”

  “No, I haven’t seen him. From the tone of his voice, I figured I was at least confined to my quarters, so I stayed here.”

  “You made the correct choices up there, XO. If anything comes of it, I’ll back you all the way. If you hadn’t stopped him, a collision would have been inevitable. I’m sure the logs will agree. I’m just sorry I froze for a second up there. The captain’s orders made so little sense. I thought I had missed something.”

  Meyers had noted Biron’s indecision on the bridge. Normally, Biron was totally in control, but Meyers had observed that Biron got tentative and hesitant in critical or potentially dangerous maneuvers. It just seemed so out of character for him, but then again, the situation was so bizarre, anyone might have choked.

  Meyers put it out of his mind and said, “I shouldn’t have gotten into a shouting match with the captain in front of the crew.”

  “You couldn’t help it.”

  Two officers talking about their captain this way made Meyers uncomfortable. Wanting to change the subject, he pulled a message blank from his desk. “In case you’re interested, our new engineering officer is a guy named Lee.” Meyers tossed the form aside, then asked, “Are we on schedule?”

  “If we don’t break down, we should be approaching our anchorage at Naples about oh-seven-forty-five tomorrow.” Biron paused for a second. “XO, if it’s all right with you, I’m going to cut my men some slack in Naples. We’ve been going for almost a month straight, and the men need some time ashore. Naples isn’t that bad of a liberty port,” Biron said.

  “Can’t let you. The captain has canceled liberty in Naples. Only official work parties can go ashore.”

  “Why?”

  Meyers wished he had a good answer, but the only answer anyone would understand didn’t make sense. For a second, he thought about concocting a line of reasoning that would make Javert’s order seem sensible, but reason prevailed. Biron knew the score, and any attempt to defend Javert would look ridiculous and insult Biron’s intelligence.

  “The way the captain has it figured, we need the extra time to fix all the stuff that’s broken. Then there’s the visit from Sixth Fleet. He wants everything painted up, spruced up, and polished up for Admiral Eickhoff’s visit.”

  “He’s nuts. We can’t fix anything without parts. We can’t even do preventive maintenance on our gear. It has to be working first. We can spruce up the ship, but we can’t paint it. We can’t even get paint.”

  Meyers feared the direction this conversation was headed. Getting into a bitch session with Biron about the captain wouldn’t help matters. Changing the subject, he affected a cheerful attitude. “Know what you’re going to do when your time is up?”

  Biron looked surprised at the question. “No, but I want to decide before my orders arrive.”

  “With your record, believe me, you’ll get choice orders. The navy will do anything to keep you. Selected early for lieutenant, now up early for lieutenant commander. They’ll give you anything you want.”

  “Perhaps, but I promised my wife we’d talk it over. The separation is hard on her.”

  “I know.” Meyers looked at his watch. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hitting the rack. It’s late.”

  “Right!” Biron said. Meyers thought Biron wanted to say something more. Instead, Biron turned and walked away with a simple “Good night.”

  Meyers slept fitfully that night. He dreamt of the disgrace and humiliation of those few singular men who had been forever branded with a singular name—Mutineer.

  NEW MEN

  August 1971, Bay of Naples

  Operation Marathon: Day 408

  The Bay of Naples was calm. Five-hundred yards beyond the long riprap seawall, the Farnley’s tethered bow slowly rose and fell in harmony with the lazy one-foot westerly swells. At anchor for twelve hours, her bow faced west toward the USS America and the fiery setting sun. The America, silent and serene, dominated the horizon with her immense angular gray silhouette. The sun still heated the hot, humid evening air, but the silence of the bay, the calm of the sea, and the gentle landward breeze promised the welcome coolness of night.

  In their white hats, dungaree-clad sailors gathered in small groups dotting the Farnley’s fantail and lounged about smoking, exchanging stories, memories, and dreams.

  Below decks, the boiler slowly exhaled its steam into the engine room piping with a slow, steady rasp. The hum of a single generator, the soft hiss of steam leaks, and a few muted voices were the only sounds. Half the lights were off, casting the engine room in a soft light broken by long, equally soft shadows. Elmo, motionless except for the languid sweeps of his antenna, secluded himself in the shadow of Ross’ bench.

  Their day’s work done, a half-dozen sailors sat on the deck plates in a semicircle around Ross and his wooden bench. Ross was talking about the USS Able.

  Unnoticed, an officer slowly descended the escape ladder on the starboard side. When he reached the main level, the short man stepped silently into a shadow and listened to Ross. Elmo twitched his antenna and scampered over the edge, seeking darkness on the underside of the deck plates.

  Ross was speaking. “The Farnley is an Able-class destroyer, and my first ship was the Able, a destroyer, just like this one. She was one hell of a ship, and we had the best engine room in the Pacific. You should’ve seen her.” Ross shifted his position and examined the handle of his screwdriver.

  “She had just been commissioned when I came on board. Everything was brand-spanking new. We had this chief; Barnes was his name. God, he was a heller.” Ross paused, unsure he wanted to go on. After a second, Ross raised his voice and tried to draw strength from it.

  “Barnes was a man who got the job done no matter what. He didn’t give any excuses nor did he take any. He wouldn’t even accept good reasons.”

  “What kind of reasons?” Stucky asked.

  “Any kind, like ‘we don’t have a tool,’ or ‘I don’t know how,’ or anything. You only did that to Barnes once, and he’d cut you so low, you’d have to look up to see an ant. He never yelled or anything; he’d just talk to you serious-like. He’d say, ‘Son, that piece of gear is your responsibility. If you ain’t responsible for it, who is? If someone gets killed ‘cause it’s broke, excuses and reasons won’t count, and they won’t make you not responsible.’”

  “What gear did you own, Chief?”

  “Well, I was the junior man, so I got the main steam stop valve,” Ross said, pointing to the valve above his head.

  “Yeah, what can go wrong with a valve?” Stucky said with a chuckle.

  “Son, you didn’t know Barnes. He gave me the valve and told me to fix it. Christ! This was a brand-new ship, right?”

  All nodded. “Only problem was, brand-new didn’t live up to Barnes’ standards. I rebuilt that valve three times before Barnes was happy. When I got done, you could spin that valve open or closed with one finger.”

  “Come on, Chief, you didn’t say ‘once upon a time,’” Stucky said.

  Ross looked sternly at the freckle-faced sailor.
“Son, that ain’t no shit. If you’d ever known Chief Barnes, you’d know that.” Ross paused, held up his screwdriver, then continued, “Matter of fact, this here screwdriver belonged to Chief Barnes.”

  “Did he give it to you?”

  “Don’t know. I can’t remember how I got it. Woke up in a life raft with it stuck under my shirt.”

  “What happened to the Able, Chief?”

  “Went down off the Solomons. We did some fighting and ‘screaming steaming’ that day. We really cranked her up. We were making turns for forty knots.” Ross paused. “You guys have never seen an engine room like that. It’s so noisy, you can’t hear yourself think, and that’s good ‘cause if you thought about it, you’d swear she’s about to tear herself apart. The deck shakes, the equipment screams, and everything, including the air, vibrates like hell.”

  “Nothing like the Farnley, huh, Chief?”

  “In fact, she was just like the Farnley.” Ross paused for a second before adding, “Except she was a fighter.” Ross shook his head, then continued. “As it turns out, we got sucker-punched by a Jap cruiser. It only took one hit from the cruiser’s eight-inchers.” Ross stopped suddenly as he remembered the boiler explosion. How did I get out? he asked himself silently.

  Ross reached up and rubbed the burn scar on his neck. The gap in his memory still troubled Ross. He vaguely remembered something about screams, heat, and pain. He didn’t want to remember the rest. After the explosion, the next thing he could recall was a shipmate pulling him through the oily water toward a life raft. Somehow his mind retained a picture of Chief Barnes standing on the burning deck of the Able, but it was just an unconnected fragment. He knew it was the last time he saw Chief Barnes. Why did I live while so many others died?

  The group around Ross lowered their eyes and waited for him to resume. The man in the shadows swallowed and lowered his head. Behind Ross’ wooden bench, Elmo found a cookie crumb and danced around it, waving his antenna wildly.

  Ross shook off the memories and started again. “After we got hit, we took out two Jap destroyers.”