Cutterfish
Tex Bullock had the topside watch and was a little irritated about it. He was a Second Class Torpedoman and he thought a TM2 ought to have more important things to do than stand a watch he didn't even think was necessary on a submarine. He figured if there had to be a watch at all, at least give it to some new guy. He understood the watch was needed on the bigger ships, like cruisers and even destroyers, since they had stuff going on constantly. People coming and going all the time, visitors galore and all sorts of ceremony, like bells, boatswain's pipes, flag hoists - stuff like that. He thought, 'Hell, some of them have over a thousand people.' But on a fleet boat, with fewer than 80 crew and officers, nothing much went on. Guys went on liberty; the married guys went home for dinner and to be with their families. But apart from loading torpedoes, which they did only once in awhile, or loading stores occasionally, topside was mighty quiet on the boats. Naturally, they did need to keep track of where everyone was all the time. And, of course, security - after all it was 1942 and we were at war. He thought that he may want to re-think this topic completely, 'Hell, maybe it makes sense...Christ I don't know.'
There was one extenuating consideration. On Cutterfish for the last several days and nights, all the enginemen and auxillarymen had been doing major repairs, which could not be done at sea. Therefore all their junior seamen were not available for topside watches. All this at a time when the torpedomen had virtually nothing to do. Tex already felt better about COB's decision to put all the torpedomen on the topside watch roster. Tex looked at the topside log resting on the wooden lectern, which the carpenter shop made for them in exchange for a bunch of luncheon meats, and noted that it was June 11, 1942. He thought time did indeed fly. He recalled joining the Navy seven years earlier, and was pleased with himself that he had made TM2 so fast. But, this war had speeded everything up, including advancement. He figured the Navy had probably grown twice as large as it had been in 1935 when he joined - maybe even more than that.
Just then he noticed the skipper, at his usual fast pace, coming down the pier about a hundred yards away, so he flipped his cigarette over the side and scrambled up the ladder to the bridge, keyed the IMC, and announced. "Cutterfish arriving. Cutterfish arriving." This particular custom of announcement of the captain's arrival was one he totally agreed with. Letting the duty officer and the duty section know the captain was coming back aboard made sense in an otherwise relaxed shipboard routine. At least things were relaxed while tied up to some pier - they never were relaxed at sea. Tex thought, 'Too damn many things to go wrong and kill you at sea.' There was a bar in Norfolk he frequented which catered almost exclusively to submariners, which had a plaque with a quote by some long dead author he'd never heard of, which said, "To be at sea is to face the enemy." Tex liked that because it was particularly applicable to the boats. Subs were dangerous, 'Lots of ways to get killed on a sub.' He said it again as he met the skipper at the brow with a hand salute, mumbling it to himself, 'Lots of ways to get killed on a submarine.'
Chief Petty Officer and Cutterfish's Chief of the Boat (COB) Butch Pierce, was at that moment, having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk at the little base housing apartment he shared with his wife Lynn and his boy Danny. One thing about being the COB was that nobody ever questioned where you were. The Captain or the officers might need to talk to him and so they'd say, "Get hold of the COB, I need to talk to him, quick as he can get here." But nobody would ask him to account for his time since it was assumed that wherever he was, it was important for the boat. The COB was the leading enlisted man aboard a sub and the liaison between the skipper and the crew. The man given that position always took it very, very seriously. Pierce was very proud of it as well.
His Dad had been well off and had sent him off to college as a young man, but he got caught in the stock market crash of 1929, lost everything, had a heart attack and died. Pierce had just finished up his sophomore year and did not wish to burden his family further. He also had developed a hatred and mistrust of business in general and the Navy seemed to be a perfect option for him.
Butch Pierce knew that nothing requiring his attention was going on aboard Cutterfish so he took the time for a quick lunch at home. He had this ominous feeling that he'd damn well better enjoy the little windows of time he had with his family while he could. This war, while it had been pretty quiet for the Atlantic Fleet so far, was going to heat up and he'd wish he had seen more of his family. Plus, he was only 15 minutes away from the boat and everyone knew how to track him down. He had his mouth full when the phone rang, so Lynn answered knowing it would be for him. She knew almost no one in Norfolk except the wives of a few of the married crew and her immediate neighbors. "Hello? Yes sir, he is right here." She put her palm over the phone and said, "It's the XO." Butch quickly washed down the latest bite and took the receiver.
"Yes sir, Pierce"
"COB, we need you at a meeting in the Ward Room as soon as you can get here."
"Be there in fifteen sir."
He kissed and hugged his wife thinking how really good she felt, and how great their sex was. Danny was at his last day of school, and thought to himself how nice it would be to just stay home and make love that afternoon. He headed for the door thinking that easily more than half the times he felt like this, some higher priority, usually the boat, took control.
He stepped from the pier, stopped for an imperceptibly short instant in the middle of the brow, faced aft, saluted the ensign on the short pole at the very end of the after deck and headed for the escape trunk door just beneath the main deck. He stepped down the first two rungs, and dropped the rest of the way onto the Torpedo Room deck plates. Tex had been relieved from the "8 to 12" topside watch and was standing talking to his buddy and fellow torpedoman, Shorty when they heard Pierce hit the deck plates,
"Hey, COB, home for a matinee again? You married pukes got it made you know that? Ain't that right Shorty?...married guys get it as regular as clockwork."
By this time Pierce had one leg through the watertight door into the next compartment when he stopped and sat on the steel combing,
"The thing about you right arm rates is that you are always thinking about sex. Who would marry a couple of ugly deck apes like you two, with your knuckles dragging the deck? I'm gonna' ask the Captain if he'll let the two of you out of the Navy, so you can go to work in Hollywood in one of those Lon Chaney horror movies. He'll probably give me a medal for gettin' rid of you."
The Ward Room curtain was tied back and Pierce slid into the banco, which circled the table in a U shape. The seating couldn't hold more than maybe six or seven officers. Pierce fit right into the picture in his pressed khakis. His uniform was identical to the officers' except for the collar devices. He poured a cup of coffee from the ever-present urn and, like the others, waited for the Captain. They heard, "That will be all." from the passageway as Captain Keiffer dismissed the steward and entered the tiny room.
"Good afternoon everyone. Hi, COB, everything all right at home?"
"Family is fine Captain, thanks for asking."
"Glad you could join us. I just got back from Squadron and have some orders. Those German U-boats are really raising hell along the Virginia and North Carolina coasts. They said the average was one merchant ship every eight hours over the last three months, which sounds a little high to me. But, as you well know, I am just a simple submariner, trying to do his job." They all smiled at the irony since he was anything but a 'simple submariner'. The one with the widest grin was the Captain.
"We've sent out a couple destroyers and some of those commandeered rich people's yachts with results you might expect. So, nothing is happening while our fellow Americans sit on the beach at night on the hoods of their cars, and watch the tankers burn off shore. Evidentially, Admiral King's strategy is to hold us back for more important things in the Pacific with the Japs. I don't understand that, and neither do the boys at Squadron. Squadron has come to the conclusion that we could use some 'on the job training', and I've got orders to get underway and "train" off the Virginia and North Carolina coasts for a few weeks. Are you getting the picture?
"Bill, are your torpedoes and ordinance ready?"
"Yes sir, we got the two Mk14's back from the Torpedo Shop last week, and we pretty much stay current on shells for the deck gun and small arms. We're OK."
"How about you Paul? Are we stored up for, say, three weeks? Crew's all in town?" He was looking at his executive officer (XO), Lt.Cdr. John Thomas Walter, and thinking how lucky he was to have this man. If he had a fault, it was that he seemed a bit stiff - almost too serious. He was one of the best ship handlers he'd run across and he was great under pressure. 'Under pressure' - he smiled to himself at his little submarine joke.
"I'll just need 24 hours on that Captain. COB and I will talk to Foster and see what fresh stuff he'd want for three weeks and we're topped off on diesel fuel. 'Doc' Hosea is the only one out of town. He went to DC for a refresher course on independent medical duty, and is due back on the boat this evening actually."
"COB you have anything to add? Any hold ups from your end?"
"All set as far as I can see Captain. When can I tell the crew?"
"Tell them now if you like. Give them a little time to retrieve their laundry and go to the exchange."
"Aye, Captain."
"OK, gentlemen we'll sail at 0800 on the 12th. Lets get cracking."
Pierce headed forward though the very narrow passageway and stepped into the forward room. Tex Bullock was drinking a mug of coffee and leaning against the port mine table when he saw Pierce coming,
"Hey COB, any new skinny from the Ward Room?"
"Yeah, we're sailing in about 20 hours, so the two of you better get your gear together and maybe go ashore if you don't have the duty. And go ahead and spread the word so the crew has a bit more time to prepare."
The uniform of the day in Norfolk was still dress blues, even though it was a little warm for the wool. There was a temperature range window for all sailors when it was too hot for blues and too cool for whites.
Tex and Shorty climbed the ladder in their blues and came out on deck just in front of Jim Dresser, a Quartermaster 3rd class, who had the topside watch. Shorty feigned some sympathy for a shipmate, who was not going on liberty his second to last night in port and said with a chuckle,
"Real sorry you got the duty Dresser - too bad. Gimme' ten bucks and me and Tex will get laid for you - it's as close as your gonna' get." Tex and Shorty thought this was hilarious and were laughing as they crossed the brow, throwing a hand salute in the general direction of the flag. Dresser had his chin sticking out, and responded in the usual unmilitary fashion of submariners,
"Yeah? Well fuck you Freeman and the horse you rode in on. I hope you get the clap!"
Shorty loved liberty, even though he usually had very little money to throw around on the beach. He stepped out in front of Tex as they headed up the pier, turned around and walked backwards as he bobbed and weaved like a fighter throwing jabs at Tex who paid him no attention. They were the boat's odd couple - most boats had a pair like them. Shorty was five feet four inches tall and Tex was six two and they nearly always went on liberty together. More than once Shorty's screwing around got them into trouble. This night, since they had only five dollars each, borrowed from the boat's "slush fund" at the usurious rate of "five for seven" (on payday), they decided to simply go to the Acey Ducey Club right there on the base. They both knew that their chances of meeting a willing female in Norfolk were virtually nil, and beer cost a lot more in town.
One thing on both of their minds was the fact that Cutterfish was top-heavy with torpedomen at a time when Electric Boat Company was building subs as fast as they could. All those new boats needed crews, and they knew they'd get split up soon and be assigned to other boats. Shorty had told Tex he had heard that in Pearl Harbor every boat coming in from a war patrol had at least a 25% turnover. Neither one would bring up the fact that a lot of them did not return at all.
The Acey Ducey Club was for first and second class petty officers. Beer and everything else was the same price as the Enlisted Men's Club, but the advantage was that there were fewer amateurs. The older sailors tended to steer clear of the younger guys ashore. Since the war began, it seemed that half the Navy was now completely inexperienced, 18 year olds from places like Iowa. Drinking with sailors with ten years in the Navy was usually a lot more civilized.
Butch Pierce stayed aboard late, supervising the working party passing stores by hand from the truck on the pier down the After Battery hatch. Foster, the first class commissaryman was kept very busy trying to find places to stow all the food. He was slower than the human conveyer belt and soon the boxes of food just stacked up everywhere in the crew's mess.
"Ptomaine" Tucker Foster was a really great cook who took his job very seriously. He had the creativity of a chef along with the temperament. The more senior of the crew took pleasure in teasing him and getting him all worked up. Foster knew that the difference between good chow and crap was not so much the ingredients since all the boats got the same stuff, but it was the proper preparation and attention to detail that made all the difference. He taught his subordinates rather that supervising them. The result was that Cutterfish was known as a good food boat.
After a short time the Crew's Mess was really a mess with boxes stacked high on every table and bench. Only the passageway was free for traffic and Foster knew he and his mess cooks would be up all night spreading the food throughout the boat. There simply was not enough room in the After Battery compartment for the food consumed by the crew for anything over a couple weeks. Every nook and cranny in the sub was crammed with boxes and #10 cans. COB marveled at how Foster knew where everything was.
The boat's chief engineman, Tom Monahans stepped into the Mess and looked around at the chaos and right away knew he had an opportunity to tool Foster around in all this excitement,
"Hey Foster, have one of your guys clear a table and a place to sit for me - I'd like to have a cup of coffee and maybe play some checkers." Foster stood there sweating looking at Monahans in disbelief,
"What?"
"I want to sit down in the crew's mess here and you've got all this shit stacked everywhere. Where the hell am I supposed to sit down?"
"Go back to the goat locker where you belong, you old fart, and stop bothering working people!"
"Foster, I don't think you understand the situation here. I'm a chief petty officer in the United-by God-States Navy and I'm entitled to unlimited coffee, three hots and a flop. That's what the recruiter told me. God damn it Foster, it's regulations for Christ's sake!"
Foster was smart and knew when he was being tooled around because his tormentors nearly always made their demands during impossible times like this and even though he knew it, he still got all excited and took them about halfway seriously.
"Monahans? I'm telling you this once," As he pointed, "there is the coffee machine, there are the mugs. Get your fucking coffee and clear out of my compartment!"
"OK, God damn it, that's enough! Where is the COB? I don't have to take this shit from some cook!"
"He's topside you jerk, handing down all this shit. Come on, I'll escort you up there so you can tell him your problem. I want to see him kick your oily ass over the side...probably leave a slick. Then he'll put a lazy ass, son-of-a-bitch like you on the working party!" By now Foster was laughing so hard, he had to put down the box he was holding, while Monahans tried to keep a serious face on, looking pained as he turned with his fresh mug of coffee and headed aft,
"I may have faults, but by God I know when I'm not wanted." Monahans was laughing as he stepped through the watertight door into the Forward Engine Room. The engines were running and the third class on watch, in charge of the battery charge, leaned to within one inch of the chief's ear and asked what was so funny. Enginemen were completely comfortable somehow able to communicate while standing between two running 1800 horsepower Fairbanks-Morse diesels set five feet apart. Only enginemen knew how they did it. They were a whole breed apart on the subs, going on liberty and sticking together. Tex once told Shorty that he went on liberty with four enginemen one time and he'd never do it again. He said, "Next time I have that urge, I'll just walk out the main gate and go straight to the Shore Patrol offices and just turn myself in. I'll save a lot of time and money that way."
Pierce watched as the last box of stores went down the hatch and scampered down after it. He finally found Foster who was only six feet away hidden by boxes.
"You going to be OK Tuck?"
"Yeah COB, we'll be fine. It will take all night though, and breakfast may be a little hairy but we'll get it done. I like doing this part myself so I know where the catsup is if you know what I mean." Tucker smiled when he said this
"How the hell do you remember where everything is anyway?" Both he and the COB knew the answer to that one - Foster was just one smart son-of-a-bitch.
It was 2300 hrs. when Tex and Shorty stepped back on the brow and waved at the watch. They had about all the beer, pickled hardboiled eggs, Frank Sinatra and Glenn Miller they could stand. They knew when to get back aboard because they took getting underway seriously, particularly during wartime.
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