The Shark Mutiny

to establish the simple truth, and most of that’s not in dispute:

“One. Was there a mutiny on board the submarine?

“Two. Was Commander Reid relieved of his command and placed under arrest?

“Three. Who was responsible?

“Four. Did that officer have the support of the senior officers?

“Five. Why? What had the CO done wrong?”

“Dick, we’re talking real basics then, at this stage?”

“Absolutely. And those basics should be established very quickly. Which will allow the board to arrive at one of two conclusions: A) There was a mutiny, and the ringleader MUST be court-martialed under Navy regulations. B) There was no mutiny, the CO was under psychological stress and Lieutenant Commander Headley was well within his rights to assume command of the ship under Navy Regulation one-zero-eight-eight.”

“Yeah,” said Admiral Bergstrom, “but B requires the CO to agree he was under stress, and that Headley was correct to take over.”

“Afraid so,” said Admiral Greening. “And my forecast is that he will do no such thing. We will talk to Commander Reid at the highest level. Admiral Dixon will have him into the Pentagon, maybe even to Admiral Morgan’s office in the White House. They’ll pressure him, but I cannot see him agreeing to accept the most complete humiliation any CO can suffer. Just can’t see it.”

“Well, I’ve got another curve for you,” replied Admiral Bergstrom. “Tonight, at approximately twenty-one hundred, Commander Rusty Bennett is arriving back here from Diego Garcia, and he has a major problem with your Captain Reid, leaving that young combat SEAL to die out there in the gulf. To my certain knowledge he is filing a formal complaint about the conduct of Shark’s CO during the time the guys were trying to get out of Iran.

“He’s alleging that the seas were clear of any potential foreign warships, and the skies were clear of foreign fighter aircraft. And he’s alleging cowardice of the very worst kind against your Captain Reid. I’ve seen the preliminary, and it ain’t pretty reading. Rusty, you know, was in the submarine at the time.”

“I think that may be rather helpful,” said Admiral Curran. “Even Captain Reid may not relish the idea of appearing at a court-martial and having to listen to two counts of cowardice against him, by two different officers, from two different but connected areas of operations.”

“The problem there is Commander Reid’s degree of wackiness,” replied Admiral Greening. “Let’s face it — not to go beyond this room at this moment — he must be a wacko. You don’t get guys like this hitherto outstanding XO Dan Headley and two proven SEAL combat Commanders, Hunter and Bennett, all thinking he’s a complete jerk, along with a lot of other senior submarine officers, unless there’s something the matter with him.

“And it’s been my experience that the more of a wacko a guy is, the more he’s likely to adopt a firm, unyielding defensive position. If he were normal, he might say, ‘Okay, I’ll back down, you guys save my career, I’ll go for a little psychological help and I’ll leave the Navy with honor, and a full pension. No courts-martial, no trouble.’

“Unhappily, that is not the way of the greater-crested common wacko. He is apt to see the world from a very narrow perspective. His own. The psychologists call it Loss of Insight. It means that you can no longer grasp the views of anyone else.

“How many major murderers appear sorry? Full of regret? Very few. They try to justify their actions. Remember Son of Sam, in New York. Wasn’t his fault, was it? There was a voice telling him to get out there and start killing. And what about that fucking dingbat they had in England, the Yorkshire Ripper who murdered all those women? He was just cleaning up the streets, right? He wasn’t sorry, despite battering innocent women, students, to death. He went to jail mystified that society had turned against him. Pleaded not guilty, I think.

“Plainly, I’m not saying Commander Reid is a criminal. But I’d bet he’s a wacko. And wackos never make life easy. They defend. To the death.”

Tuesday evening. June 26.

San Diego Navy Base.

The journey back from the Indian Ocean had been fraught with tension. Shark’s original CO being confined to his cabin was a constant reminder to the entire crew that they were steaming back into big trouble. In the beginning, a lot of the younger crew, anxious to see wives and girlfriends, wished to hell that Commander Reid could be reinstated in order to free them up to go home as soon as they docked.

They anticipated a very formal welcome, which might even see certain popular and trusted members of the crew placed under arrest. Everyone knew they had been to some degree a party to a mutiny. However, the presence of the wounded SEALs on board was a vivid reminder of the supreme heroism of the Shark’s XO and his fellow officers.

Everyone was in awe of Commander Hunter and “his guys,” and rumors of their success and bravery swept through the submarine. The four body bags stored in the torpedo room were also a chilling reminder of the SEALs’ desperate battle for the Chinese base, and by the time the submarine approached California’s coastal waters, opinion was hardening. Opinion that they, the Sharks, were a part of this great and selfless campaign, and more and more of them began to stand four-square behind the Exec who had saved the Special Forces.

It was 2030 when USS Shark came in sight of the coast. She was making 20 knots through a warm evening, on a calm surface, which rose with the long Pacific swells but offered no discernible chop. On the bridge stood Lt. Commander Dan Headley, the Navigation Officer, Lt. Shawn Pearson, and the Officer of the Deck, Lt. Matt Singer. Directly below them in the control room, Lt. Commander Jack Cressend had the ship, with Master Chief Drew Fisher at the conn.

They rounded Point Loma, heading up into the narrow channel that leads both to the U.S. Naval stronghold of San Diego and to the headquarters of SPECWARCOM. Above them, to their port side, on the heights, was the Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery, where Buster Townsend and Bobby Allensworth would both be laid to rest this week. The bodies of Catfish Jones and his colleague were being flown to their home states.

Shark slowed as she reached the narrows. She stood fair up the channel leaving the North Island Naval Air Station to starboard. Then she made her hard right turn toward the towering stilts of the Coronado Bridge, and into the sheltered waters of San Diego Bay.

Lieutenant Commander Headley brought her alongside at 2120, and the mooring lines were attached. On the dock stood the resolute figure of Commander Rusty Bennett, in company with Admiral Bergstrom. The Pacific submarine boss, Admiral Freddie Curran, was also there. And there were eight Naval guards on duty, along with a throng of wives, girlfriends and colleagues from the base.

As Shark was made fast and the men began to file out onto the deck, there was a spontaneous burst of cheering from the crowd. The figure of Lt. Commander Dan Headley stood motionless, unsmiling, on the bridge, watching the scene below as families looked forward to being reunited after months and months apart.

It did not seem that much different from any other submarine homecoming in San Diego. But it was different. No ship had ever returned here after a mutiny on the high seas. And there were certain protocols that had to be observed. Plainly Commander Reid would be escorted immediately to the offices of the Submarine Fleet HQ in San Diego, and, probably separately, Lt. Commander Headley would also be required to attend a debriefing.

Admiral Curran had made it quite clear that no one was to be arrested. There was not to be a semblance of authoritarian action, just a formal welcome, and a routine conference among senior officers. The less anyone knew about the events in the Bay of Bengal, the better. Meanwhile, the two conflicting signals sent from a distant ocean by Shark’s Captain and XO were not much short of nuclear meltdown in Admiral Greening’s private filing system.

Commander Reid was the first officer to leave the ship, and he was greeted by Admiral Curran. The two men left immediately in a staff car for the central office complex. Thirty minutes later, Lt. Commander Headley, in company with the limping Commander Rick Hunter, crossed from the submarine to the shore, where Commander Rusty Bennett and Admiral Bergstrom awaited them. They shook hands and separated, the two SEALs boarding a staff car with the Admiral, Dan Headley boarding another car alone with a staff driver.

Curiously, there was little for the XO to say. His defense of his actions would be unwavering, scarcely varying from the short signal he had already sent. The problem was Commander Reid. Could he be persuaded to agree he