Many couples were marrying with only a few weeks in prospect during which they could be together. I should have realized what the prospect of an assured year in New London would mean to two people in love.
Jim had figured it out pretty accurately. He had correctly guessed the reason behind my sudden decision to recommend him, and his analysis of its effect was equally correct. There was not much the Bureau of Naval Personnel could do except let him stay in New London, while he waited until it was willing to give him a fleet boat of his own. Lucky was the couple, during these tortured times, who had this indefinitely long prospect to look forward to!
But I couldn't prevent a twinge of jealousy, or envy, when Jim gave me the news of his and Laura's plans. And then when I had to destroy it all, there came the strangest feeling of nakedness, as though for an instant he had looked right into my innermost soul, — had seen there things I hadn't even admitted to myself, or suspected until that moment, which he hated me for.
4
The week immediately following Jim's failure to qualify for submarine command was an extremely un- comfortable one for everybody in the S-16. He fell into a cold sullenness which included everyone in the ship, and he spoke to no one except when absolutely required to. When on watch his orders were given in loud, defiant tones as if daring anyone to question them. There was no more of the cheerful banter which had been his habit, and I don't think he addressed ten words to me during the whole time.
We were back at the refit pier to complete what we could of our interrupted repairs, hence both Saturday and Sunday, for the second time since our arrival in New London, were scheduled "alongside." Friday afternoon at the close of working hours, still saying not a word to anyone, Jim dressed in civilian clothes and disappeared. The customary "Permission to go ashore, sir" was conspicuously absent, and we did not see him again until Monday morning when he arrived precisely fifteen minutes prior to our scheduled time for getting under way.
Next week, amid the rain and sleet of the winter's first storm, was no better. He took his turn on the bridge without a word, did what was required of him, and no more. When it was his turn to get the ship under way or bring her in at night, I had to spend long, uncomfortable, silent periods on the bridge with him, and twice when, following our long- standing custom, I went up to relieve him for a few minutes during long stretches of watch, he refused me with a curt "No, thank you." Keith and Tom, of come, also felt the strain keenly, though we did not discuss it, and the rest of the crew's unwonted quietness showed they felt it too. Jim had been popular with them.
Miller and Kane had accepted my dictum regarding Jim without question or comment. Roy Savage, though he also said nothing, showed signs of irritation; but I made no explanation. There was really not much to say.
"The Squadron Commander's initial comment, delivered in the process of lighting his pipe, was generous. "You've got to do what your conscience tells you, Rich. I wouldn't want you to recommend someone you don't believe in." That much of it was easy. Then the conversation took an unexpected turn.
"Do you want to disqualify Bledsoe for submarine service?" he asked abruptly, palming the glowing pipe bowl and point- ing the stern at me. "If he's not qualified to take command, he has no right to be an Exec. He's supposed to step into your shoes, you know, if anything happens to you."
I suppose it should have been predictable. I could have foreseen this reaction, should have expected it. I could feel panic growing in me as he waited for my answer. After what I had already done to Jim, — now this. All I could think of was one of Blunt's own aphorisms to the effect that there are times for caution, and times to stand up and be counted. This was one of the latter. I drew a deep breath and shot the works: "Listen, Commodore. It was my fault for recommending Jim Bledsoe prematurely and for not having him ready, not his. There is nothing wrong with him that a little time won't fix. He is an excellent, fully qualified submarine officer, and he will be a credit to the submarine force and to the Navy. He should not be disqualified for submarine duty." I paused worriedly, searching for the clincher. "I'm satisfied with him. I would be willing to have him as my Exec anywhere,"
I ended uncomfortably.
Blunt remained silent for several seconds, tapping the desk with his finger and drawing on the pipe. "Well, you're Bledsoe's skipper and you ought to know, but it is damned near unprecedented for a man's C. O. to withdraw his qualification in the midst of his test. If he can't take responsibility when it comes his way, we don't want him around."
Blunt was known for his you're-on-the-spot way of looking at people and he bent such a gaze on me now. "You should not have recommended him if you did not think him ready for qualification, Richardson," he said slowly. My heart sank to my shoe tops. "Well look at it your way and give Bledsoe the benefit of the doubt, — but this is going to prevent you from getting the boat I promised you. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too, sir," I replied, but this I had been expecting and my heart was pounds lighter as I closed the door of his office behind me.
Life went on in its new groove for several weeks with no appreciable change. Our operations were routine. Jim was efficient, precise, thorough, and unapproachable. He went to New Haven every chance he got. Then the whirlwind hit us.
Captain Blunt was waiting on the dock with a group of three other Captains and three civilians as we pulled in one rainy, cold Thursday evening.
"We want to see you right away, Rich," he shouted as Tom Schultz, whose turn it happened to be, was nosing along- side our dock. "Turn your ship over to your Exec and hop ashore."
This was indeed unusual. I swung over the edge of the bridge and hurried down the ladder rungs, welded to its side, scissored across the wire lifeline on deck, clung to it for a second, measuring the slowly closing intervening dis- tance, then leaped to the dock.
"Lieutenant Commander Richardson, this is Captain Shonard of the Bureau of Ships," said Captain Blunt. I stared at the Commodore, my tarnished Lieutenant's bars only too evident on my shirt collar. "This is Captain Smyth, and Captain Weatherwax"-bringing forward the other two naval officers-"and this is Commander Radwanski, Lieutenant Sprawny, and Lieutenant Dombrowski." The Commodore struggled over the names of the civilians. I shook hands gravely, wondering what this was all about.
"We have to talk. Come up to my office." So saying, the Commodore strode toward the two cars waiting at the head of the dock and there was nothing to do but follow him. I shouted over to Jim, standing sullenly on deck, "Take over, Jim. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Once up in Captain Blunt's office, he as usual got right down to cases and confused me even more.
"Gentlemen," he said, addressing the civilians, "Lieutenant Commander Richardson is the skipper of your new ship."
I almost choked.
The tall civilian, Radwanski, now turned to me and spoke hesitatingly. "We-are-pleased-to-make-your-acquaintance."
He accented all syllables with equal emphasis. "We-hear-you- have-a-fine-sub-marine. We-shall-call-it-Light-ning-Swift." I still had not the vaguest idea what he was talking about.
One of the other civilians came forward, the one introduced as Sprawny. He could hardly speak English at all but man- aged to get out something sounding like, "I am Meckaneeshun of the Blinks-a-wink." Lieutenant Dombrowski merely grinned and nodded his head.