The Marathon Watch Page 9

  “Do any of you know what the safe limits are for boiler warm-up?” O’Toole asked the group.

  No one chose to answer.

  “You’re all inadequate as captains,” O’Toole began, lowering his voice to a bare whisper. “You should know that. The lives of your crew depend on it. Look in the BUSHIPS tech manuals. Do any of you know the safety factor built into the BUSHIPS numbers?”

  Silence.

  O’Toole continued, “Does anyone know the safety factor built into the boiler design limits?”

  Silence.

  “Get your manuals. Read them. Talk to your chiefs. When you deliver your readiness reports in an hour, I expect each of you to know the answers. You better be able to tell me what the minimum safe boiler warm-up time is and what the absolute minimum is in an emergency. We’re under way in three hours.”

  O’Toole looked carefully into the eyes of each of the six men. As expected, he’d silenced their protest, but he saw no fear or intimidation in their eyes. That was good. He did see surprise and would fix that as well as the stunned confusion. They were good men, and he saw they were thinking. Never again would they accept the status quo without challenge. They would be underway on schedule. It was going to be a good day.

  Smiling at the group, O’Toole said, “There’s another purpose to all of this. Audacity, audacity, forever audacity. To that end, my first rule of tactics is never be where the enemy expects you to be. It seems the expectation is that we’ll be here in four hours, so we’ll be somewhere else. I’ll see you in an hour.” Then he turned and resumed his casual journey.

  VISITS

  August 1971, Bay of Naples

  Operation Marathon: Day 409

  Meyers, dressed in his tropical white uniform, stared at the blank beige wall over his desk. He’d dressed almost an hour earlier, and his body begged him for motion as though an imaginary force was pulling on his arms and legs. He wanted desperately to do something, but his thoughts had rendered him immobile. Admiral Eickhoff was due any minute; all he could do was wait.

  Even if Eickhoff came aboard oblivious to the situation, it wouldn’t take him more than five minutes to tell there were serious problems. Then what would Eickhoff do? Investigate? Relieve Javert?

  Meyers couldn’t make himself believe Eickhoff didn’t have some suspicion about the Farnley. In all his years at sea, Meyers had learned not to be deceived by an admiral’s detached, distant air. Admirals were a shrewd, perceptive lot.

  If Eickhoff knew what was going on, he wouldn’t walk softly. He would be decisive and relieve Javert. It would be over quickly and quietly. Conceivably, Eickhoff had ordered the Farnley to anchor out. Perhaps he’d privately communicated with Javert and told him to cancel liberty.

  Meyers wondered what entry he would make in his diary tonight. Usually, the navy makes an effort to rehabilitate a captain, and give him a chance to turn the ship around under close supervision, but that wouldn’t make much difference. Javert doesn’t have the experience or personality to command even under the best of circumstances, and Eickhoff has to know that. Eickhoff would see the ship’s condition has deteriorated to a dangerous level. Had someone on board been writing letters home? Had the word gotten back to the admiral?

  Meyers felt relieved by the sound of approaching footsteps. Soon the speculation would be over and he would have answers to his questions.

  “Sir, the admiral’s barge has left the America.”

  “Have you told the captain?” Meyers asked, looking up at the young sailor.

  “Yes, sir. He said to meet him on the quarterdeck.”

  As Meyers approached the quarterdeck, he could see the captain was already waiting, pacing up and down. Javert’s lanky frame only made his nervousness look more awkward and foolish.

  Once Eickhoff was aboard, Javert took the lead, heading up the port side toward the wardroom. Javert and Eickhoff, walking side by side, engaged in small talk.

  As they walked forward, Meyers stopped listening. Instead, he wondered if Eickhoff had noticed the gritty deck, the rusty bulkhead, the frayed and rotted fire hose, the shaggy haircuts, or the yellow hue of the crew’s frayed white uniforms. The cheerful small talk continued even as they walked across a spot on deck where the paint was worn through to bare metal. Eickhoff gave no indication that he had seen anything. Meyers’ mind raced to make sense of Eickhoff’s lighthearted behavior. This wasn’t what he had expected.

  The small talk continued while they seated themselves in the wardroom and nervous stewards served coffee. After the stewards left, Javert turned to Eickhoff. “Well, Admiral, what brings you to the Farnley?”

  Eickhoff smiled. “I just like to visit ships under my command every so often.”

  Eickhoff’s tone and artificial smile set off an alarm in Meyers’ head. He realized that all his thinking had been wild, hopeful rationalization. Eickhoff wasn’t going to do a thing. Meyers’ temper began to flair. Liar! Meyers cursed to himself.

  “And frankly,” Eickhoff continued, glancing over at Meyers, “I wanted to visit the Farnley. She’s the last World War II destroyer left. Did you know the navy is going to scrap her after this cruise?”

  Javert shook his head with just the right amount of sorrow spread across his face.

  Meyers’ thoughts shut out the conversation again. He managed to quell his anger, and the warmth in his face subsided. He hoped Eickhoff and Javert hadn’t noticed the inevitable redness in his face. None of what was happening made sense. Eickhoff was lying through his teeth, or he was a blithering idiot, or both.

  “Well, tell me, how are things going on the Farnley?”

  Eickhoff’s words brought Meyers mind back into the conversation. Meyers watched both Javert and Eickhoff carefully.

  “Not too bad, Admiral.” Javert was smiling, and Eickhoff looked like he believed it.

  Meyers had enough. He was going to flush Eickhoff out. “Well, Admiral,” Meyers interjected, “we have some supply problems, and—“

  Javert cut him off. “Nothing to worry about, Admiral. The usual supply snafus. Most of it is the type of stuff legends are made of, like the time the supply system delivered a semi-trailer-load of toilet paper to a submarine.”

  Both men laughed, but now Eickhoff was trying not to look in Meyers’ direction. What the hell is going on? Meyers thought.

  “Well, there’s one small detail I do have to talk to you about. I could have done it formally, but since I was coming over anyway, I thought I would just talk to you about it,” Eickhoff said.

  “What’s that?” Javert asked.

  “We got a formal complaint from a ferryboat pilot down at Messina. The complaint said the Farnley tried to cut him off, and you almost collided.”

  Javert fidgeted a bit, then smiled. “I’m not surprised he filed a complaint. It’s probably the only way he could save his job. You know how those Italian pilots are. We were going to pass safely ahead of the ferry when he increased speed. We did what we had to do, Admiral. We came hard on the rudder and passed astern of him. It was the only thing we could do.”

  “I thought it would be something like that,” Eickhoff said. “We can’t win this game with Italy being a NATO ally and all, so we’ll have to make a polite apology. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Javert said.

  Meyers knew the side glance Javert gave him was to ensure the subject was closed. The gesture was awkward and ill disguised. Eickhoff had to have noticed it. Meyers couldn’t believe what was happening. Eickhoff had bought Javert’s obvious lie, and the two men were chatting like old buddies at a class reunion.

  “Let’s get back to the purpose of my visit,” Eickhoff said, glancing at Meyers. “Captain, could you give me a tour of this antique of yours? It’ll probably be my last chance to see a grand old ship like this.”

  Javert jumped to his feet, and instead of answering Eickhoff directly, he turned to Meyers. “Mister Meyers, inform the quarterdeck the admiral and I will be taking a tour.
You wait for us there.”

  Meyers walked to the quarterdeck, and as he waited, he reran the facts in his mind. Admirals were never as dumb as Eickhoff appeared. The Farnley was a dangerous wreck, and Eickhoff had to be blind not to see it. No one, especially an admiral, would call the Farnley a grand old ship. Admirals don’t visit ships to take a walk and get a cup of coffee. Meyers knew something was wrong. He knew the navy, and he thought he knew the rules. Nothing added up.

  After Eickhoff left, Javert was all smiles. Without saying a word to anybody, he headed to his cabin, arms swinging wildly. The bounce in his step caused his legs to swing curiously outward like a waddling duck.

  Meyers returned to his stateroom to change into his khaki uniform. He reviewed everything he knew and tried to reconcile it with Eickhoff’s visit. It didn’t make sense. His navy wouldn’t let this continue. In his navy, admirals were smart and got to the point. They certainly weren’t like Eickhoff. Why was the navy trying to protect Javert and screw the Farnley?

  Eickhoff had killed his last ray of hope. He had no way out short of giving up. The thought of giving up was as repulsive as all-out mutiny. He couldn’t quit. That would be letting the crew down, but he couldn’t stand the frustration of fighting it. This wasn’t his navy anymore.

  A burning warmth filled his face, and he looked at the sea bag hanging serenely from the pipe. The shiny smooth spot in its midsection stared back like some cyclopean apparition, waiting, beckoning to him. He charged the sea bag, throwing his full weight into a single blow he hoped would blind the apparition. The sea bag wobbled and swung away, apparently unhurt. Tears flooded his eyes. He chased the retreating bag, punishing it with his fists. “Damn you!” he screamed.

  §

  Eickhoff hurried back to his quarters aboard the America and told his yeoman to track down the Farnley’s maintenance and supply reports. When the yeoman left, Eickhoff pulled the binder containing the fleet readiness reports from his desk drawer. Not waiting to sit, he turned to the Farnley’s page. The report was less than two days old and gave the Farnley an 85.7 rating, a mere seven points below the fleet average.

  As Eickhoff examined the report, he sank into his chair. Operation Marathon was slipping away. The condition of the Farnley had appalled him. He really didn’t have to look at the report, but it confirmed what he already knew. The bastard Javert had been lying on his readiness reports. The report was a complete fabrication. Equipment he saw tagged as inoperable was listed as fully operational or only marginally impaired.

  The screw up at Messina had to have been Javert’s doing. The way Meyers looked at him, he knew that any kid four weeks out of OCS would know better than to cut across the bow of an Italian ferryboat.

  The yeoman returned and walked toward Eickhoff carrying two large computer binders.

  “Is Pew back yet?” Eickhoff yelled at the man.

  The yeoman froze and replied haltingly, “I think so.”

  “What the hell’s he doing? Get him in here now.” Eickhoff screamed.

  The yeoman turned and started toward the door before Eickhoff stopped him. “Leave the damned reports, nitwit!”

  The yeoman hurried to the desk, dropped the reports, and hastily left.

  When Pew stepped into his quarters, Eickhoff had confirmed his worst fears. The condition of the Farnley was worse than he had initially guessed. The parts requisition backlog report showed that critical parts for every major system had been on order for months.

  Eickhoff looked at Pew. He was in no mood for pleasantries. “What did you learn in Washington?”

  Pew started to sit but changed his mind. “Not much, and what I did find out wasn’t good.”

  “Out with it!” Eickhoff urged.

  “There were seven Operation Marathon ships. The Farnley and four others are still running. One is operating out of Pearl, probably under Admiral Barker. I drew a blank on the others.”

  “Damn!” Eickhoff cursed, throwing the printout to the deck. It was worse than Pew knew. Barker had been a vocal opponent and had almost prevented the publishing of his article in the Naval Review. Barker would do anything to prove him wrong. “How reliable is your information?” Eickhoff asked, calmer now.

  Pew sat cautiously in the chair before replying, “It’s reliable. You see, John Stevens owed me a big favor, and—”

  Eickhoff waved off Pew’s explanation but remained silent. After a second, Pew asked, “You don’t look too good, Admiral. Is something wrong?”

  “The Farnley is a disaster. I don’t know how she can keep going.”

  Eickhoff pulled himself up short. He was telling Pew too much. With what he had observed, he had grounds to pull the Farnley out of Marathon, but it was too early; not with four other ships still running.

  “What are you going to do?” Pew asked.

  “I don’t know.” Eickhoff’s voice was almost a whisper.

  “If you pull her out of the operation, all will be lost. If you help her or lighten up on her, others will be able to question your conclusions. The same would happen if you replaced Javert. It’s all or nothing. Your promotion depends on it,” Pew said.

  Eickhoff started to reply but stopped himself. Pew knew he was in a pickle, and he was enjoying it. He didn’t want to be beholden to Pew or give him any more information he could cash in on later.

  “That will be all, Pew. Have a nice weekend,” Eickhoff said, dismissing Pew.

  By the time the door had closed behind Pew, Eickhoff had made up his mind. Pew was right. He’d passed the point of no return. If he pulled the Farnley out of Marathon, he would never be able to prove his point. He knew he was right about the reliability of the newer ships. That was what was important. Marathon had to prove his point. Marathon only had four more months to go. He had to keep the Farnley running, and he couldn’t give her any special treatment.

  Special treatment probably wouldn’t help. Javert was an idiot and more incompetent than he could have imagined. He knew Javert was weak, and that was the reason he had put Meyers, a strong competent officer, aboard as the executive officer, but it looked like Meyers was ineffective. For that, the only explanation was, again, Javert.

  The state of the Farnley could only be blamed on Javert. Javert was no longer a minor error in judgment on his part; he was a disaster. Now that he had toured the Farnley, he had lost plausible deniability regarding the Farnley’s condition. Eickhoff knew he was right about the high-tech ships. Marathon was too important. He had to keep things quiet, and he had to keep the Farnley running regardless of the risk.

  Operation Marathon had to work, had to prove him right, had to discredit Durham, O’Toole, and the rest of Pentagon brass. After they were discredited, to whom would Congress turn to lead the new navy? Who else but the visionary admiral behind Operation Marathon? They would turn to him, and he would have the power, prestige, and position he deserved.

  Durham’s safety concerns only showed how weak and undeserving Durham was of such high office. Military leaders can’t be frightened by a little blood. The safety of a few enlisted men was insignificant when compared to reshaping the navy’s senior ranks.

  As an admiral, he was responsible for thousands of men. He told himself that such men were exempt from safety concerns of a few when so much was at stake, and the stakes were getting higher every day.

  He couldn’t pull the Farnley out of Operation Marathon. It would look bad, and there would be no way he could justify his conclusions. If he relieved Javert, people would want to know why. Ultimately, they would ask why he’d picked such an unfit man for command in the first place. This would destroy his credibility. Without the Farnley, Operation Marathon gave him no political leverage. Without leverage, promotion was gone.

  Eickhoff considered the repercussions if he was caught lying to Durham. Not a problem; Durham isn’t that smart, he thought. Eickhoff pulled a message form from a desk drawer and began drafting a message.

  §

  BTEKEUT RKELTTHETD 0018-8-EIEIEI-EKT
HESSB.

  ZNYEEEEE

  R 14 1316Z AUG 71

  FM: COMSIXTHFLT

  TO: CNO

  REF: A) OPERATION MARATHON

  B) YOUR 05 2012Z AUG 71

  SUBJ: SITREP//N05823//

  BT

  CLASS: SECRET

  AS PER REF B. PERSONALLY INSPECTED FARNLEY THIS DATE. FARNLEY CONDITION DETERIORATED AS EXPECTED AND PREDICTED BY REF A. ONLY ONE MINOR SAFETY ITEM IDENTIFIED RELATING TO CONDITION OF FIRE HOSE. SUPPLY DIRECTED THIS DATE TO RELEASE MATERIAL TO CORRECT SAME NAMED DEFICIENCY. DETAILED CONVERSATIONS C.O. AND X.O. FARNLEY INDICATE NO OTHER OUTSTANDING SAFETY CONCERNS.

  BT

  N0833

  NNNN

  §

  Twice that afternoon, Lee had located Meyers and had asked him if he had some time to talk. Both times, Meyers knew what Lee wanted and asked Lee to wait until later. The issue wasn’t critical, and Meyers didn’t have the answers Lee would want. That knowledge frustrated Meyers and made his temper flare. It would be better to wait.

  At dinner, Lee brought a cardboard box with him and set it in the corner. After dinner, Meyers left the table and headed for his stateroom.

  Meyers had just sat at his desk when Lee appeared in his doorway, holding his cardboard box under one arm. “Excuse me, XO, but I only need five minutes.”

  Meyers knew he couldn’t put it off any longer, and he would have to admit to Lee he was helpless. Meyers faced his frustration and coming humiliation and turned toward Lee. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know what happened before I got here, and I don’t know how much pull Chief Ross has,” Lee said.

  Meyers guessed Lee had rehearsed the speech. He might as well let him get if off his chest.

  “Our supply status is a disaster. We’re barely operational. I’ve only been on board a day, but by a quick tabulation, one hundred percent of our engineering equipment is impaired in some way, and over fifty percent is inoperable.”

  Lee reached into his box, produced a sheaf of papers, and handed it to Meyers. “We have three problems, XO. First, we need repair parts. I brought copies of our overdue supply requisitions.”