Run Silent, Run Deep. Edward L. Beach
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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 somebody’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 it’s 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?”
He turned and dashed away, leaving me virtually thunderstruck. I had, of course—as we all had—realized that Jim and Laura were as good as engaged. But I didn’t expect their marriage to hinge upon his qualification for command of submarines.
The upshot was another unforeseen complication, too. Upon receipt of my recommendation for Jim’s qualification for command of submarines, Captain Blunt immediately ordered three other skippers in our squadron to form an Examining Board, and he furthermore directed them to meet on Jim at once. With Christmas almost upon us, this was not a popular order. The conversation with Blunt had taken place on Tuesday; Thursday was Christmas; Friday, Saturday, and Sunday the Examining Board worked Jim over on his knowledge of Submarine theory, tactics, strategy, logistics, and even history. Furthermore, our two weeks’ refit was summarily cut in half and the following Monday found S-16 getting under way again.
Cutting short our repair and upkeep period was hard on the ship and crew. Jobs which had long wanted doing had to be again postponed; some of the very urgent ones had to be hastily rushed to completion. Our topside paint job had to be foregone, the rust spots merely scraped and daubed with red lead. Nor was this all, for the members of the Examining Board also had to give up what plans they might have made. One, Roy Savage, had already received his orders to the Needlefish, soon to be launched at Mare Island. Carl Miller was awaiting his orders any day. Only the third, Stocker Kane, was like myself apparently fated to stay in his old R-boat a while longer.
After thinking over the prospect of leaving my ship to Jim, I was not too happy either. Against my better instincts I had pushed him into a situation for which I knew he was not yet ready. I had officially signed my name that, in my opinion, he was ready for the examination, when in my bones I felt this not to be the case. True, Jim could handle the ship well, and he had studied—and therefore presumably knew—the submerged-attack doctrine. But now that the question had come to issue I was convinced that, so far as Jim Bledsoe was concerned, it was much too soon. His judgment under pressure or in emergency situations was still an unknown quantity. Somehow I felt unsure of him. Under these circumstances how could I, seeking my own advantage, blithely leave S-16 and her crew of forty men to him? And yet, having started the train of events, I was powerless to stop it.
Qualification for command of a submarine is probably the toughest formal test of a submarine officer’s career, and it is almost equally tough on the Examining Board and his own skipper. Successful qualification usually does not carry with it an immediate command assignment—though in Jim’s case it would, and somehow he had guessed it. No special insignia exists for it like the gold dolphin pin for qualification in submarine duty. A mark is