“Before you leave, XO, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” he said stiffly, “I’m sorry I assigned you to the damage-control unit. I know that was embarrassing to you. It may have been an inappropriate move on my part.”
“Don’t apologize, Captain. I’m glad you did it. It helped me to sort some things out. It helped me to come to grips with some decisions I’ve needed to make for a long time — like the one to retire.”
Edwards shook his hand again, and an awkward silence descended on the room as Bloomfield made no move to leave. “It’s a shame about poor Dean,” Bloomfield said finally. “Yes, quite,” Edwards said simply, but then continued when Bloomfield’s expression indicated he wanted to know more, “They’ve got him over at the brig on Ford Island now. He’ll have to wait there for his court martial. And Van Peenan’s been admitted to the Psych ward up at Tripler. The JAG’s still trying to figure out what to do with him. They’re trying to figure out if Van Peenan wigged out and harassed Dean because he knew Dean was a saboteur, or if Dean only became a saboteur after Van Peenan started harassing him. That whole situation’s one big mess. Kind of a ‘chicken before the egg’ syndrome, you know?”
“But who was the original chicken?” Bloomfield said distantly. “I wonder if they’re asking that. Believe it or not, Captain, I can remember a time, three years ago, when a young Aubrey Van Peenan first reported aboard this ship. Believe it or not, he wasn’t too different from young Mr. Lake, there. Wide-eyed and very impressionable.”
Bloomfield leaned over and removed a well-worn notebook from the side pocket of his dropped bag. He turned the notebook over several times in his hands, rubbing the covers and sighing heavily. He held it in both hands, staring at for a while, and then suddenly tossed it onto Edwards’ desk as if it brought him physical pain to part with it.
“What’s that?”
“That, Captain, is a personal log. I’ve kept it since the day I reported aboard this ship, four years ago. I’ve kept it, I’m ashamed to say, to cover my own ass in case the JAG ever came snooping around this place.” Bloomfield chuckled awkwardly, and added, “You know, Captain, we can spend our whole damn careers learning how to find enemy subs that go deeper than ours, but sometimes we find — in the end — the deepest enemy is the one within ourselves.”
“I don’t want this,” Edwards said, picking up the notebook. “Why don’t you keep it as a—”
“Read it!” Bloomfield said, suddenly very serious. “Promise me you’ll read it, and then we’ll shake hands and say goodbye. It may help you to understand why Van Peenan’s the way he is. Hell, who knows, maybe Dean’s lawyer’ll be able to use it in his trial. I’m sure you’ll know what to do with it.”
Edwards climbed the weapons-shipping hatch ladder and emerged into the late afternoon sun. The warmth felt good on his face as he took a full deep breath of the fresh Hawaiian air and relished the picturesque surroundings. It was after working hours for most people, and already some sailboats rode the gentle breeze around the tranquil harbor, the white houses of Aiea and Pearl City dotting the green hills just beyond. Wearing his best summer khaki uniform, Edwards felt strangely out of place as he crossed Providence’s brow and stepped onto the sub base pier for the first time in seven months. He headed straight for the parking lot at the end of the pier, adjusting his stride to accommodate his sea-accustomed legs. One of Providence’s lieutenants had been good enough to retrieve his car from the deployment lot and it now sat in the closest space to the pier, reserved only for commanding officers. As he climbed in to the new-smelling sedan, he tossed the notebook he’d been reading for most of the afternoon onto the empty seat beside him. The feel of being behind the wheel after so long at sea was always a rare treat, a treat that landsmen never got to experience. After every deployment, he always felt like a sixteen-year-old kid with a brand new driver’s license.
As he drove along the harbor road, past the long row of black submarine sails jutting above the quay, past the softball field, past the officers’ quarters and the enlisted barracks, he tried to let the strains of command fade from his clouded mind. But when he came to the first intersection, he found himself facing one final command decision. Turning left would take him off the base and place him on the road to Honolulu. Going straight would take him onto the main surface base with all of its supporting command buildings.
He glanced at his watch. His daughter’s flight would be arriving at the airport in an hour. Her mother, his ex-wife, had been kind enough to send her to spend a week in Hawaii with her dad, a week Edwards had looked forward to since he got the email telling him about it, only three days ago. Apparently, his ex-wife had originally planned to send his daughter to see him as a surprise for his birthday, but the Providence had been diverted to Bunda only days before. Now, though his birthday had come and gone, he still couldn’t wait to see her, and he half-wished his ex-wife had come along too. How he could use some time with the opposite sex. Who knows, maybe her pony-tailed boyfriend would kick her out someday, and she’d come back to him. He smiled at the thought.
What was he doing? he asked himself as he sat at the intersection. He knew he was only stalling, now. He had left the ship with plenty of time to spare. The airport was only ten minutes away, fifteen tops. There was plenty of time now to do what he had to do. Besides, he’d never enjoy the week with his daughter unless he first cleared his conscience.
Driving straight through the intersection, Edwards maneuvered the sedan toward the cluster of white buildings on the left side of the road. As he pulled into the parking lot of the JAG building, he hoped his friend had not already left for the day. It was already 1700.
He returned the salutes of several passing sailors in the parking lot, then darted up the stairs to the second floor, relieved to find the door to his friend’s office still open.
“Can I come in?” he said, knocking on the frame.
“Well, holy shit!” A smiling commander roughly his same age stood up from a desk and shook his hand briskly. “Dave Edwards, home from the deep, eh?”
“How’s it going, Thomas?” Edwards chided. “Isn’t it tee time yet for you JAG types? I thought you’d be on the golf course by now.”
“Hell no!” Thomas said, gesturing for him to sit down. “How can I make it to the golf course with people like you barging into my office at the end of the day?”
“Well at least I’m not the first.”
Thomas sighed heavily and plopped his arms down on his desk. “Oh shit! Don’t tell me you didn’t just drop by to say hello.”
Edwards shook his head.
“Oh well.” Thomas threw his arms up in the air. “I work late for half the assholes down on the waterfront. I might as well work late for my old OCS roommate. What‘s on your mind?”
“I want to know how to go about bringing up charges against another officer,” Edwards said gravely. “Can you help me?”
“That all depends on who the officer is,” Thomas said, chuckling. “Or at least how many gold stripes he’s got on his sleeves! Ha, ha, ha!”
Edwards did not smile and Thomas quickly sensed that he was no longer in the joking mood.
“Oh, all right, Dave. Whatcha got?”