When darkness fell, Charley told himself that with a little bit of luck, he would be asleep when the shark-sharks- struck. That would be a better way to go than putting the.45 in his mouth, or of being sunburned to death when the sun came up again in the morning. He was already desperately thirsty, and that could only get worse, not better.
He went to sleep thinking of Caroline. They were in the marble walled shower of the Andrew Foster Hotel in San Francisco, with the water running down from the multiple shower heads over them.
(Seven)
USN PATROL TORPEDO BOAT 110
160 DEGREES 05 MINUTES 02 SECONDS EAST LONGITUDE
09 DEGREES 50 MINUTES 14 SECONDS SOUTH LATITUDE
0505 HOURS 25 AUGUST 1942
At 0400, Ensign Keith M. Strawbridge, USNR (Princeton, '40), relieved FT 110's skipper, Lieutenant (j.g.) Simmons F. Hawley III, USNR (Yale '40); but Hawley elected to remain on the bridge.
Ensign Strawbridge wasn't sure whether Lieutenant Hawley was staying because there was no sense trying to go below and get some sleep; or because he didn't really trust him to assume command of the boat; or whether-despite the heat, it was a pleasant night, reminding both of them of sailing off Bermuda-he just decided to stay for the pure pleasure of it.
After all, he was the captain. PT 110 was, in the law, a man of war of the United States Navy; and Sim Hawley was therefore invested with the same prerogatives of command as the captain of the Aircraft Carrier USS Saratoga.
If he wanted to stay on the fucking bridge of his man of war and play his fucking harmonica, there was no one to say him nay.
Having just asked his executive officer if he thought bathing the harmonica in fresh water would be a good idea, to combat the rust from the salt spray, Captain Hawley was startled and somewhat annoyed by a report from Motor Machinist's Mate 3rd Class James H. Granzichek (Des Plaines, 111. Senior High '41).
"Hey, Mr. Hawley," he called. "Check out whatever the fuck that is on the left. The yellow thing."
Hawley did not like being addressed as "Hey, Mr. Hawley." He preferred to be referred to as "Captain," but thought it would be rather bad form to suggest it, much less order it. He also could not see where it was necessary for the men to use "fuck" every time the proper word did not immediately come to mind. And there was a proper Naval term for "on the left." Granzichek should have said, "to starboard." Or was it, "to port"?
But he looked for the yellow thing. First with his naked eyes, and then, when that didn't work, through his binoculars. The boat was shaking so much he couldn't hold the binoculars still.
"All engines stop," he ordered.
MMM3 Granzichek hauled back on the throttles that controlled the twin Packard engines of PT 110. She slowed, and then began to move side to side in the swells. This action tended to make Ensign Strawbridge feel a bit queasy, but it permitted Captain Hawley to see through his binoculars.
"Good God," he exclaimed. "It's a man in a life jacket."
"No shit?" MMM3 Granzichek asked, reaching for the binoculars. A moment later, he reported, "I think he's dead. He's not moving or waving or anything."
"May I have a look now, please?" Ensign Strawbridge asked, a trifle petulantly. Granzichek handed him the binoculars.
"How would you say, Granzichek," Captain Hawley asked, "would be the best way to take him on board?"
Granzichek, Captain Hawley reasoned, had been aboard PT 110 for three and a half months. He himself had assumed command only last Monday. Experience tells.
"Pull up alongside him, catch him with a boat hook, and then get a line on him," Granzichek said.
"Very well, then let's have a go at it," Captain Hawley ordered.
URGENT
CONFIDENTIAL FROM PTSQUADRON-30
TO COMMANDING OFFICER VMF-229
VIA CINCPAC
1. PT 110 OF THIS SQUADRON RECOVERED AT SEA AT 0530 THIS MORNING CAPTAIN CHARLES M.
GALLOWAY, USMCR.
2. CAPTAIN GALLOWAY IS SUFFERING FROM EXPOSURE AND DEHYDRATION BUT IS OTHERWISE IN GOOD
HEALTH. HE HAS BEEN TRANSFERRED TO HOSPITAL SHIP USS CONSOLATION
BY DIRECTION:
JB. SUMERS, LTCOM USNR
The End
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