Sully exclaimed: “Damn it, Eck, there couldn’t have been.”
That started an argument that lasted for hours. Finally, about 2 A.M., I went to bed.
We had early reveille and were met by a destroyer escort to take us in. The order from the bridge was one we hadn’t heard for a long time: “Station the channel watch.” We were in Pearl.
Every few minutes somebody would yelclass="underline" “Christ Almighty, look at that!” or “Look at those guns!”
The word finally came, “Secure the radio watch.” Then: “If you are in the uniform of the day, come on deck.”
This meant clean dungarees, shorts, shirts, and white hat. I had been prepared for this hours ago. I climbed topside, emerged from the conning tower, and stood transfixed. I was stunned by the sight and sound.
The Seawolf was slowly gliding into Pearl Harbor. But what a different spectacle than when we had last been here two years ago! It was unbelievable. The sky above us was darkened by huge, sausage-like barrage balloons. The harbor on both sides of us was a staggering scene of destruction, as though a tornado had twisted across it, overturning ships, snapping crane booms like matchsticks, splitting buildings in half. We passed piled-up fragments of planes, their wings jutting out grotesquely; ships splotched with huge holes, keels and hulls of nameless vessels. There was the screeching of moving derricks, the scream of air hammers, a bedlam of engines roaring, machines pounding, men at work.
The Seawolf moved slowly past a gigantic overturned hulk. Against its immensity, the men swarming over it appeared no larger than ants. Somebody on deck murmured in an awed voice: “The Oklahoma!” and I stared at it. To our right as we moved into dock lay a light cruiser with a damaged superstructure; on the left, we were passing Ford Island. It looked as though a hurricane had wrecked it. Trees were splintered, structures leveled to the ground. Directly ahead of us now was the submarine base. I had never seen so many submarines tied up before. Anti-aircraft guns bristled from every roof overlooking the harbor; sandbags were piled high in front of every building.
You could be sure of this: history would never record a second surprise attack on Pearl Harbor.
Quite a crowd waited on the dock to welcome us. I saw faces I hadn’t seen for months. There were shouts of, “Hello, Skipper, how was the trip?” and “Good hunting, Captain?”
We tied up. Lieutenant Deragon made an announcement to the crew. “We are now in Pearl Harbor,” he said formally. “The Captain expects to fuel up, take on supplies, and leave here the first possible moment. There will be free beer for the entire crew with the exception of the duty section.”
We cheered that.
Lieutenant Deragon went on: “The beer is at the swimming pool. You men know where that is. You owe a vote of thanks for it to Commander Stephens, executive officer of the submarine base.”
Captain Warder, smartly dressed in a new khaki uniform, as trim a naval officer as ever stepped on a deck, appeared from below.
Deragon concluded: “Now what we have done on this last patrol and where we have been is no one’s business but our own. You men are free now. Go ashore and enjoy yourself. But be ready to leave at half an hour’s notice. Now, I think Captain Warder has a few things he’d like to say.”
Captain Warder stepped forward. He was all smiles. “Boys,” he said, “this might sound repetitious. The only excuse I make for it is that I am sincere. I am proud of you all. We have made a fine record. We have a wonderful ship. To my way of thinking, we have the best submarine crew in the United States Navy. My thanks goes out to every one of you.”
We stood there listening, and we liked it.
“I am now on my way to Admiral Nimitz’s headquarters,” he said. “If we can possibly do it, we will leave tomorrow. I know you are eager to get home, and so am I. Now, have a good time. I’ll see you all up at the swimming pool.”
We found ice-cold beer at the pool. The crew of the Seawolf relaxed. We lolled about, lying on the grass, taking it easy on the deck chairs, and letting the sun and air get at us. Captain Warder appeared an hour later, sank into a deck chair, and paid his acknowledgments to a glass of cold beer. A few minutes later Commander Stephens joined him.
Old Pop Mocarsky, who hadn’t smiled in a year, marched up and stood in front of the Captain. He turned to the crew.
“How’s the beer, boys?” Old Pop shouted. “O.K.?”
“O.K.! Pop,” we shouted back. Captain Warder rose to his feet, put a hand on Pop’s shoulder, and looked at all of us.
“Pop,” he said, “the beer is fine. I’m fine, and you look fine. Today the whole world’s fine.”
After the party a group of us looked in at the ship’s service store. There we saw the first American girl we’d seen in nearly two years. She was standing behind the counter, sorting handkerchiefs, and she was small and blonde, and pretty. She came up to wait on us. We stared at her. A red flush crept into her cheeks.
“What are you men looking at?” she said finally, trying to fight off a smile. “Do you want to buy something or not?”
We realized then that we must have looked pretty odd, with our beards, our cut-off dungarees, wearing no socks, and staring at her like high-school kids.
Sousa said, “Now, honey, you ought to feel honored. Got any socks?”
She had some, and we all solemnly bought ourselves one pair each.
We were like housewives on a shopping tour, going from counter to counter, looking at things, feeling them, smelling them.
Yet the ship was on our minds. We felt a little lost away from her. And all at once we got stage fright. We felt conspicuous. We wanted to get away from the lights and people’s eyes, and down inside the Wolf again where lights were low and the faces around us, before and behind us, were the faces we knew. We hurried back. On the way we passed an officer. We had taken about four steps when he called out:
“Just a minute, sailors!”
We turned and stared at him.
“You failed to salute,” he said.
For the first time in months we realized we were back in the Navy. We hadn’t saluted an officer for a long, long time. Someone mumbled, “Sorry, sir,” and we saluted and hurried on.
The Wolf was fueling up at the dock. Supplies were coming aboard. The entire crew was there. We had liberty, no one had called us back, and yet none of us felt comfortable more than a hundred yards away from the Wolf. We were going home. We weren’t taking any chances.
Most of us sat up on deck that night and talked about home. I hit the sack early in the morning. Some of the others stayed topside and talked all through the night. I didn’t sleep well. I was so accustomed to pitching and rolling that the lack of motion disturbed me.
At 4 p.m. the next afternoon the cry echoed: “All hands to quarters.”
Sousa mustered the crew in three minutes flat. Not a man was missing.
“Stations for getting under way!” the order came.
I turned for a last look at Pearl Harbor, then I climbed down into the ship. The lines were pulled in; the sharp rat-tat-tat of our engines echoed across the harbor; we were escorted out by a destroyer; and after darkness fell, we set a straight course for San Francisco. We were heading home.
CHAPTER XI
The Wolf Comes Home
THE LAST trip of the Wolf was a rollicking one. Card games were in full swing in Kelly’s Pool Room, and bull sessions went on at all hours. The Skipper dropped into the radio shack the second night.