All the way back to the refit pier alongside which S-16 was moored I wrestled with the pros and cons, and as I felt the wooden planks of the dock under my feet I was no closer to a decision than before. Stepping close to the edge of the dock, I looked over the short, angular profile of the ship to which, until an hour ago, I had felt virtually wedded. Now she looked small, puny, and tired. The only mission she would ever have in the war would be to train submarine-school students. She could never expect to go anywhere nor do anything worthwhile; just spend the war going in and out of port, carrying trainees into Long Island Sound for a days operations.
Then the deciding argument flooded my, brain. The fleet boats by contrast were going into war and danger. Suppose Captain Blunt were to misunderstand my motives for choosing to stay with the S-16 instead of eagerly taking a far-ranging fleet boat? For that matter, how could I be sure myself: Could that have been the thought prompting the peculiar expression on his face when he said I could get one, eventually, if I really wanted one?
My head was spinning as I climbed down into S-16's torpedo room and made my, way aft to where Jim was working in the wardroom. He was deep in sorting out work requests and job orders; comparing one against the other and malting three piles which he had labeled "Will be Done,"
"Fight For," and "Next Time." No doubt about it, he knew how to be an effective Executive Officer. But at this moment the consideration of what was to be accomplished during our refit, ordinarily of consuming interest to all of us, had suddenly lost all fascination for me. I interrupted Jim, beckoned him into the tiny stateroom which he and I shared.
"Jim," I said, "have you thought much about qualification for command?"
Jim looked startled.
"Of course. You have to be qualified before you can have your own boat." I grinned at him, but inside I was in a turmoil. This was casting the die. Jim's face still held the surprised question as I took the plunge. "Well, I'm recommending you today."
A succession of emotions crossed his face.
"You're kidding! I thought, I was too junior."
"Not any more." Jim's bunk was folded up against the curved side of the ship, leaving room above mine so that a person could sit upright upon it. I sank into it, leaned back.
Jim looked down at the deck, shifted his weight uneasily.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Nothing, old man. I just thought it was time to put you up."
"I mean when the Commodore sent for you. Is this what you talked about?"
"Nope." I forced another smile.
"I'll bet it was though." Jim seemed lost in thought. He kicked the side of my bunk impatiently, jackknifed his length into the chair in front of our desk. He reached for a cigarette.
"Know what I heard yesterday?" He paused, the lighted match in front of it, then sucked the flame into its tip.
"What did you hear yesterday." I made it a statement instead of a question.
"That we're going to start a big submarine campaign against the Japs." He puffed moodily.
I put both hands behind my head. "What's so surprising about that? It's what the submarine force was built for."
"I mean against the Japanese merchant marine. We've been training to fight warships and to act as fleet advance scouts and all like that. That's why the big boats are even called 'fleet submarines.' Now they're going to send us against the merchant ships, just like the Germans have been doing."
"Maybe so. What's that got to do with your qualification?"
More quick puffs. "Don't you see? We'll have to build a lot more boats-the dope is that E. B. tripled their order for steel plate already. Everybody who has a training boat now will get one of the new fleet boats. All the fleet-boat skippers who have made a few war patrols will become Division Commanders, and all the Execs of these river boats will move up to skipper!"
I snapped to attention, immediately on guard. "Where did you hear that?"
"Oh, it's around. All over the base, in fact. They say all the skippers around here will receive orders in a couple of weeks.
I'll bet", — here Jim took a deep drag-"old Blunt told you to qualify me, didn't he?"
"No such thing, Jim." I hoped the lie sounded convincing.
"A Squadron Commander can't do that anyway. You know that."
"Sure, but he can make some pretty strong suggestions. I'll bet he told you to get me qualified so I could take over some- body's boat when he leaves, come on now, didn't he?" Jim's face lighted with pleasure. He rushed right by my beginning remonstrance. "Say-that would be pretty good! Skipper of my own boat! They'd probably even give me the S-16. You'll be leaving pretty soon, you know!"
"Listen, Jim," I began again uneasily. "You can think what you want. It doesn't make any difference. Maybe you're right and there will be a lot of moves. Eventually its bound to happen, but it can't all take place in an instant. After all, it takes over a year to build a fleet-type submarine.
But Jim's enthusiasm was not to be dampened. He probably didn't even hear me. "Everybody knows they're setting up a pool of Execs qualified to take over these river boats when the skippers leave, but I didn't think I was eligible. If I get the S-16, or some boat like her, they won't want to send me back to being Exec again; so they'll just have to leave me here until they get far enough down the list to give me one of the big ones. That will take a long time." Excitedly he stubbed out his smoke, jumped to his feet.
"What do I have to do?"
"Well," I hesitated, "I imagine the Squadron Commander will appoint a Qualification Board on you."
Jim's face fell. "You mean I'll have to make a submerged approach with this old tub? Why, she's so out of date it would be just a waste of time!"
"That's where you're wrong, Jim," I said a bit sententiously, startled by his sudden vehemence. "Even if the S-16 is not very modern, for all you know you might have to command this ship or one like it in action. After all, there is a squadron of S-boats out in the Philippines right now. Besides, what about the training exercises for the sub school?"
"They ought to have their heads examined," said Jim, reaching into the desk for another cigarette. "That's just plain crazy, keeping those S-boats out there. They ought to be brought back as quickly as they can."
Jim and I had argued this point before, although he had never expressed himself so directly regarding the fighting prowess of the S-16.
"Easy, old boy, you may be right, but there is nothing you can do about it. The Examining Board will expect to see you make a submerged approach in this boat, using the equipment she's got-so you may as well figure on it."
Jim lighted off and took a petulant puff.
"I haven't had a chance to do any approach work since reporting to Philadelphia."
As skipper, it was, of course, my responsibility that my officers have adequate opportunity for their own training, and I had to admit the justice of this. The demands of the sub school had taken priority, and I had not insisted on saving adequate time for either Jim or Keith. Keith, of course, would soon be up for his dolphins.
"Look, Jim," I said, "after we get the S-16 back together and this refit finished, we'll take time out of our post refit trials to give you a couple of practice runs. That's all you need. Just enough to get your hand back in.
Jim's brow cleared, somewhat indecisively. Then he leaped to his feet, crushing out the hardly tasted cigarette as he rose.
"I want to run up the dock and phone Laura. Okay?"
"Sure!" I rose too. "Give her my best."
"You bet I will!" He turned at the stateroom entrance. "This is a terrific break, you know! This is just what we've been waiting for. You'll be our best man, won't you?"