previously torpedoes had been fired with the hope they would function properly if they hit, they were now fired with the certainty that they would. The only problem remaining was the only one we should have had to worry about from the beginning: hitting the target.
My duties were changed also, for with the final solution of the torpedo problem and the setting up of the production and inspection lines, there was nothing left for me to do. Blunt refused to give me another submarine; I would have to wait a while longer, he said, and I found myself detailed, instead, as Officer in Charge of the Attack Teacher.
This was virtually the same gadget which Walrus' crew had trained on during our precommissioning days in New London, with one difference: the trainees here would within weeks be doing it for real. Some days we were extra busy, and for weeks at a time I would have to allot appointments just as a doctor might, trying to give most to those who needed it most. And there were slack periods when nobody seemed to want our synthetic attack training. During those times, to keep the small crew of the Attack Teacher from growing stale and at the same time to keep my own hand in, I used to run off attacks on my- own, sometimes taking the part of the submarine skipper, some- times for variety that of the tar get. On these occasions it be- came a sort of no-holds-barred competition and our favorite cast of characters was to pit the destroyer against the submarine, one of each, with the destroyer, to make it even, aware of the sub's presence, though perhaps not exactly where. The Attack Teacher included a sonar-attack section also, so this was integrated into the game.
The men loved it; especially whenever one of them got me, as make-believe submarine skipper, into a box from which, try as I might, I could not escape. More than once my theoretical submarine was rammed by the destroyer; and much more frequently I was driven below periscope depth, after which the whole group would repair to the sonar rooms and with high. hilarity try to knock me out with depth charges. Part of the time the submarine won the fight, too, and when it was my turn to shoot torpedoes at the destroyer, I always pretended, in my own mind at least, that I was shooting them at Bungo Pete.
Stocker Kane showed up with the Nerka shortly after had taken over the Attack Teacher, and many pleasant hours of visiting with him in the Royal Hawaiian Hotel ensued before he set out for his next patrol. He had loved Australia. was as he imagined America must have been a hundred years ago, he said.
He talked a lot about Hurry, too, and a little, not much, about Laura. 'You know how you'll take a liking to someone,' said. 'Laura and Hurry seemed to hit it off especially well, and they've been corresponding with each other ever since you all left New London. Hurry doesn't think she's happy, though.
She's been trying to get Laura to come out and stay with her in San Francisco, so that she'll be there when they send the Walrus back for overhaul.' He chuckled. 'She says Jim doesn't write enough. Hurry's always looking around for someone to mother a little, not having any youngsters to keep her busy.' The faintest suggestion of a shadow crossed his face.
'Maybe she's working on me, too,' I said. I told him of the two letters she had written me.
'She told me she was going to. She thinks you ought to get married, Rich. Leave it to Hurry! She probably thinks you ought to have been the one to marry Laura, instead of Jim.'
I managed to smooth my startled look into a grin.
This would be Nerka's sixth patrol, probably Stocker's last for a while. The rotation policy rarely permitted a skipper more than five patrols in succession. But Nerka would most probably be heading for Mare Island or Hunter's Point for a much- needed overhaul after her sixth, and no doubt ComSubPac was willing for Stocker to have the privilege of bringing her back.
Three weeks later I was, of course, on the dock when Walrus came in, having completed her seventh patrol on the way back from Australia. She was something to see as she came bravely around the point of ten-ten dock. From her bullnose to the top of the periscope supports was a perfect clothesline of small Japanese flags, each one representative of a ship she had sunk.
She looked weather-beaten, tired, patches of rust showing here and there, though with no visible damage, but there was no denying a certain elan about her and about the sure manner in which Jim put her alongside the dock.
His fame had preceded him. He had made three patrols in and out of Australia instead of two. His second run had been better than the first, and on his third he had entered an enemy harbor, sunk two ships there and shelled a fortified island, ex- changing fire for half an hour and escaping unscathed. He had sunk a Japanese cruiser near Palau, and he had put three torpedoes into one of the huge Jap battlewagons, a sixty-thousand- ton monster. A Japanese submarine had fired a torpedo at him; personally seeing it first himself, he had swung away to avoid the torpedo track, then fired two torpedoes out of his stern tubes back at the submerged Jap. A great explosion had announced his success, and all sorts of debris had come to the surface by way of proof. With only nine torpedoes left, three forward and six aft, he had engaged in a melee with a six-ship convoy during which he had actually backed into action at one point, and sank three more ships. Finally, with no torpedoes remaining, he had attacked one of the surviving freighters with the four-inch deck gun and every automatic weapon the ship possessed, silencing her defensive battery and sinking her, and still without receiving a scratch in return.
To cap it all, he picked up four prisoners and brought them back with him. The crowd which awaited Walrus was the biggest I had ever seen for any submarine. Jim looked wonderful; bronzed, alert, brimming with self- confidence.
I shook hands with him right after the Admiral and Captain Blunt.
'Hi, Rich!' he said. 'How's the leg?' Still holding my hand, he turned to Admiral Small. 'Here's the man who's responsible for all I know about submarining, Admiral.' He winked at me as the congratulations engulfed him.
Keith also looked tan and fit, as did Hugh, Dave and the rest, though I did not see Jerry Cohen. Leone's grip was hard and firm. 'Hi, Captain! Glad to see you back on your feet! Guess I'll be joining you here for a while!'
'You being rotated?'
'Yep! They tried to make me get off in Australia, but I said nix to that. So this is my last trip in the old Walrus. Dave took leave in Brisbane during the sixth run, so now he will finally get his chance at the TDC.'
'Good! You rate a rest, after seven runs-where's Jerry Cohen?'
'Oh!' Keith chuckled. 'We've been calling him Cobber in- stead of the skipper. He stayed in Australia-liked it better than anybody, but by this time he's probably out on a patrol with one of the boats regularly based there.'
Jim's Exec, a Lieutenant named Knobby Robertson whom I had met when he reported aboard the Walrus after my injury, now approached. 'Will we see you at the Royal tonight, Commander Richardson?'
'Oh, no,' I demurred. 'You fellows have a lot to talk over your first night in. I'll drop over later.'
'No, sir. The Captain said he might not get a chance to ask you himself, and for me to make sure that you come!'
That night I realized finally that I had lost Walrus completely.
There was a difference about my old comrades, a difference hard to put into words. They looked the same- they were the same-but the songs they sang, the stories they told, and the general tough, devil-may-care attitude about them were all new. Perhaps I was subconsciously disappointed to find such a radically complete change. I had almost forgotten that nearly a year had elapsed in the interim, that Walrus had made three more patrols, three hard-hitting, supremely successful patrols, since I had last seen them. They had gone on, had continued to pursue their destiny. It was I who had grown slack and soft.
The whisky flowed, more and more bottles were opened, and I felt myself drifting away from them, a little farther with each story retold. This was their party, their right to relax from tension, their given privilege-not mine. I wondered if Jim's request for my presence had only been politeness after all. He had become reeling drunk.
Finally I heaved myself to my feet, declined the proffered additional drink, made the excuse that I had work to do the next day.
'No, you don't! Not yet, skipper-I mean Rich!' Jim grabbed me around the neck, nearly fell, then steadied himself. 'Listen.
I got something I want to tell you. Been meaning to for a long time.' He turned me half-around, fumbled on a nearby table, grasped a bottle by the neck, waved it at the others.
'See you all later, fellows! Here's the best skipper the old Walrus ever had, my old pal Rich, and we're going away to have a talk!' With that he pushed open the door into the adjoining', room, kicked it shut behind us, sat, or rather flopped, on the bed. He held out the bottle.
'Pour a drink!'
