At Pearl Harbor they had learned practically nothing. They had cruised right into the harbour and up to the dock that they had sailed from before the outbreak of the war. Psychologically this was relatively easy for them, because Dwight had ascertained before the cruise commenced that none of the ship’s company had had their homes in Honolulu or had any close ties with the islands. He could have put an officer on shore in a radiation suit as he had done at Santa Maria, and he debated for some days with Peter Holmes before he reached the islands whether he should do so, but they could think of nothing to be gained by such an expedition. When Lieutenant Sunderstrom had had time on his hands at Santa Maria all that he had found to do had been to read the Saturday Evening Post, and they could think of little more useful that an officer on shore could do at Pearl Harbor. The radiation level was much as it had been at Seattle; they noted and listed the many ships in the harbour, the considerable destruction on the shore, and left.
That day, hove-to at the entrance to the Tasman Sea, they were within easy radio communication with Australia. They raised the radio mast and made a signal reporting their position and their estimated time of arrival back at Williamstown. They got a signal in reply asking for their state of health, and Dwight answered in a fairly lengthy message that he worded with some difficulty in regard to Yeoman Swain. A few routine messages came through then, dealing with weather forecasts, fuelling requirements, and engineering work required when they docked, and in the middle of the morning came a more important one.
It bore a dateline three days previous. It read,
FROM: Commanding Officer, U.S. Naval Forces, Brisbane.
TO: Commander Dwight L. Towers, U.S.S. Scorpion.
SUBJECT: Assumption of additional duties.
On the retirement of the present Commanding Officer U.S. Naval Forces at this date you will immediately and henceforth assume the duty of Commanding Officer U.S. Naval Forces in all areas. You will use your discretion as to the disposition of these Forces, and you will terminate or continue their employment under Australian command as you think fit.
Guess this makes you an admiral if you want to be one. Good-bye and good luck. JERRY SHAW.
Copy to First Naval Member, Royal Australian Navy.
Dwight read this in his cabin with an expressionless face. Then, since a copy had already gone to the Australians, he sent for his liaison officer. When Peter came he handed him the signal without a word.
The Lieutenant-Commander read it. “Congratulations, sir,” he said quietly.
“I suppose so …” said the captain. And then he said, “I suppose this means that Brisbane’s out now.”
Brisbane was two hundred and fifty miles in latitude to the north of their position then. Peter nodded, his mind on the radiation figures. “It was pretty bad still yesterday afternoon.”
“I thought he might have left his ship and come down south,” the captain said.
“They couldn’t move at all?”
“No fuel oil,” Dwight said. “They had to stop all services in the ships. The tanks were bone dry.”
“I should have thought that he’d have come to Melbourne. After all, the Supreme Commander of the U.S. Navy …”
Dwight smiled, a little wryly. “That doesn’t mean a thing, not now. No, the real point is that he was captain of his ship and the ship couldn’t move. He wouldn’t want to run out on his ship’s company.”
There was no more to be said, and he dismissed his liaison officer. He drafted a short signal in acknowledgment and gave it to the signals officer for transmission via Melbourne, with a copy for the First Naval Member. Presently the yeoman came to him and laid a signal on his desk.
Your 12/05663.
Regret no communications are now possible with Brisbane.
The captain nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Let it go.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Peter Holmes reported to the Second Naval Member the day after they returned to Williamstown. The Admiral motioned to him to sit down. “I met Commander Towers for a few minutes last night, Lieutenant-Commander,” he said. “You seem to have got on well with him.”
“I’m glad to hear that, sir.”
“Yes. Now I suppose you want to know about a continuation of your appointment.”
Peter said diffidently, “In a way. I take it that the general situation is the same? I mean, there’s only two or three months left to go?”
The Admiral nodded. “That seems to be correct. You told me when I saw you last that you would prefer to be on shore in these last months.”
“I should.” He hesitated. “I’ve got to think a bit about my wife.”
“Of course.” He offered the young man a cigarette, and lit one himself. “Scorpion is going into dry dock for hull reconditioning,” he said. “I suppose you know that.”
“Yes, sir. The captain was anxious to have that done. I saw the Third Naval Member’s office about it this morning.”
“Normally that might take about three weeks. It may take longer under present conditions. Would you like to stay on with her as liaison officer while that work is going on?” He paused. “Commander Towers has asked for you to continue in the appointment for the time being.”
“Could I live at home, down at Falmouth? It takes me about an hour and three quarters to get to the dockyard.”
“You’d better take that up with Commander Towers. I don’t suppose you’ll find that he has any objection. It’s not as if the ship was in commission. I understand he’s giving leave to most of the ship’s company. I don’t suppose your duties would be very arduous, but you would be a help to him in dealing with the dockyard.”
“I’d like to carry on with him, sir, subject to living at home. But if the ship is programmed for another cruise, I’d like you to replace me. I don’t think I could undertake another seagoing appointment.” He hesitated. “I don’t like saying that.”
The Admiral smiled. “That’s all right, Lieutenant-Commander. I’ll keep that in mind. Come back and see me if you want to be relieved.” He rose to his feet, terminating the interview. “Everything all right at home?”
“Quite all right. Housekeeping seems to be more difficult than when I went away, and it’s all becoming a bit of a battle for my wife, with the baby to look after.”
“I know it is. And I’m afraid it’s not going to get any easier.”
That morning Moira Davidson rang up Dwight Towers in the aircraft carrier at lunch time. “Morning, Dwight,” she said. “They tell me that I’ve got to congratulate you.”
“Who told you that?” he asked.
“Mary Holmes.”
“You can congratulate me if you like,” he said a little heavily. “But I’d just as soon you didn’t.”
“All right,” she said, “I won’t. Dwight, how are you? Yourself?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “Got a bit of a let-down today, but I’m okay.” In fact, everything that he had done since they had come back to the aircraft carrier had been an effort; he had slept badly and was infinitely tired.
“Are you very busy?”
“I should be,” he said. “But I don’t know—nothing seems to get done and the more nothing gets done the more there is to do.”
This was a different Dwight from the one that she had grown accustomed to. “You sound as if you’re getting ill,” she said severely.
“I’m not getting ill, honey,” he said a little irritably. “It’s just that there’s some things to do and everybody off on leave. We’ve been away so long at sea we’ve just forgotten what work is.”
“I think you ought to take some leave yourself,” she said. “Could you come out to Harkaway for a bit?”
He thought for a moment. “That’s mighty nice of you. I couldn’t do that for a while. We’re putting Scorpion into the dry dock tomorrow.”
“Let Peter Holmes do that for you.”
“I couldn’t do that, honey. Uncle Sam wouldn’t like it.”
She forbore to say th
at Uncle Sam would never know. “After you’ve done that, the ship’ll be in dockyard hands, won’t she?”
“Say, you know a lot about the navy.”
“I know I do. I’m a beautiful spy, Mata Hari, fatale, worming secrets out of innocent naval officers over a double brandy. She will be in dockyard hands, won’t she?”
“You’re very right.”
“Well then, you can chuck everything else on Peter Holmes and get away on leave. What time are you putting her in dock?”
“Ten o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll probably be through by midday.”
“Come out and spend a little time at Harkaway with us, tomorrow afternoon. It’s perishing cold up there. The wind just whistles round the house. It rains most of the time, and you can’t go out without gum boots. Walking beside the bullock and the pasture harrows is the coldest job known to man—to woman, anyway. Come out and try it. After a few days with us you’ll be just longing to get back and fug it in your submarine.”
He laughed. “Say, you’re making it sound really attractive.”
“I know I am. Will you come out tomorrow afternoon?”
It would be a relief to relax, to forget his burdens for a day or two. “I think I could,” he said. “I’ll have to shuffle things around a little, but I think I could.”
She arranged to meet him the next afternoon at four o’clock in the Australia Hotel. When she did so she was concerned at his appearance; he greeted her cheerfully and seemed glad to see her, but he had gone a yellowish colour beneath his tan, and in unguarded moments he was depressed. She frowned at the sight of him. “You’re looking like something that the cat brought in and didn’t want,” she told him. “Are you all right?” She took his hand and felt it. “You’re hot. You’ve got a temperature!”
He withdrew his hand. “I’m okay,” he said. “What’ll you have to drink?”
“You’ll have a double whisky and about twenty grains of quinine,” she said. “A double whisky, anyway. I’ll see about the quinine when we get home. You ought to be in bed!”
It was pleasant to be fussed over, and relax. “Double brandy for you?” he asked.
“Small one for me, double for you,” she said. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, going about like this. You’re probably spreading germs all over the place. Have you seen a doctor?”
He ordered the drinks. “There’s no doctor in the dockyard now. Scorpion is the only ship that’s operational, and she’s in dockyard hands. They took the last naval surgeon away while we were on the cruise.”
“You have got a temperature, haven’t you?”
“I might have just a little one,” he said, “perhaps I might have a cold coming on.”
“I’d say perhaps you might. Drink up that whisky while I telephone Daddy.”
“What for?”
“To meet us with the buggy at the station. I told them we’d walk up the hill, but I’m not going to have you doing that. You might die on my hands, and then I’d have a job explaining to the coroner. It might even make a diplomatic incident.”
“Who with, honey?”
“The United States. It’s not so good to kill the Supreme Commander of the U.S. Naval Forces.”
He said wearily, “I guess the United States is me, right now. I’m thinking of running for President.”
“Well, think about it while I go and telephone Mummy.”
In the little telephone booth, she said, “I think he’s got ’flu, Mummy. He’s frightfully tired, for one thing. He’ll have to go to bed directly we get home. Could you light a fire in his room, and put a hot water bag in the bed? And, Mummy, ring up Dr. Fletcher and ask if he could possibly come round this evening. I shouldn’t think it’s anything but ’flu, but he has been in the radioactive area for over a month, and he hasn’t seen a doctor since he got back. Tell Dr. Fletcher who he is. He’s rather an important person now, you know.”
“What train will you be catching, dear?”
She glanced at her wrist. “We’ll catch the four-forty. Look, Mummy, it’s going to be perishing cold in the buggy. Ask Daddy to bring down a couple of rugs.”
She went back to the bar. “Drink up and come along,” she said. “We’ve got to catch the four-forty.”
He went with her obediently. A couple of hours later he was in a bedroom with a blazing log fire, creeping into a warm bed as he shook with a light fever. He lay there infinitely grateful while the shakes subsided, glad to relax and lie staring at the ceiling, listening to the patter of the rain outside. Presently his grazier host brought him a hot whisky and lemon and asked what he wanted to eat, which was nothing.
At about eight o’clock there was the sound of a horse outside, and voices in the rain. Presently the doctor came to him; he had discarded his wet coat, but his jodhpurs and riding boots were dark with rain and steamed a little as he stood by the fire. He was a man of about thirty-five or forty, cheerful and competent.
“Say, Doctor,” said the patient, “I’m really sorry they brought you out here on a night like this. There’s not a thing wrong with me that a day or two in bed won’t cure.”
The doctor smiled. “I’m glad to come out to meet you,” he said. He took the American’s wrist and felt the pulse. “I understand you’ve been up in the radioactive area.”
“Why, yes. But we didn’t get exposed.”
“You were inside the hull of the submarine all the time?”
“All the time. We had a guy from the C.S.I.R.O. poking Geiger counters at us every day. It’s not that, Doctor.”
“Have you had any vomiting, or diarrhoea?”
“None at all. Nor did any of the ship’s company.”
The doctor put a thermometer into his mouth, and stood feeling his pulse. Presently he withdrew the thermometer. “A hundred and two,” he said. “You’d better stay in bed for a bit. How long were you at sea?”
“Fifty-three days.”
“And how long submerged?”
“More than half of it.”
“Are you very tired?”
The captain thought for a moment. “I might be,” he admitted.
“I should say you might. You’d better stay in bed till that temperature goes down, and one full day after that. I’ll look in and see you again in a couple of days’ time. I think you’ve only got a dose of ’flu—there’s quite a lot of it about. You’d better not go back to work for at least a week after you get up, and then you ought to take some leave. Can you do that?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
They talked a little of the cruise and of conditions at Seattle and in Queensland. Finally the doctor said, “I’ll probably look in tomorrow afternoon with one or two things you’d better take. I’ve got to go to Dandenong; my partner’s operating at the hospital and I’m giving the anaesthetic for him. I’ll pick up the stuff there and look in on my way home.”
“Is it a serious operation?”
“Not too bad. Woman with a growth upon the stomach. She’ll be better with it out. Give her a few more years of useful life, anyway.”
He went away, and outside the window Dwight heard the backing and curvetting of the horse as the rider got into the saddle, and heard the doctor swear. Then he listened to the diminuendo of the hoofs as they trotted away down the drive in the rain. Presently his door opened, and the girl came in.
“Well,” she said, “you’ve got to stay in bed tomorrow, anyway.” She moved to the fire and threw a couple of logs on. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”
“He’s nuts,” said the Commander.
“Why? Because he’s making you stay in bed?”
“Not that. He’s operating on a woman at the hospital tomorrow so that she’ll have some years of useful life ahead of her.”
She laughed. “He would. I’ve never met anyone so conscientious.” She paused. “Daddy’s going to make another dam next summer. He’s been talking about it for some time, but now he says he’s really going to do it. He rang up a chap who has a bulldo
zer today and booked him to come in as soon as the ground gets hard.”
“When will that be?”
“About Christmas time. It really hurts him to see all this rain running away to waste. This place gets pretty dry in the summer.”
She took his empty glass from the table by his bed. “Like another hot drink?”
He shook his head. “Not now, honey. I’m fine.”
“Like anything to eat?”
He shook his head.
“Like another hot water bag?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
She went away, but in a few minutes she was back again, and this time she carried a long paper parcel in her hand, a parcel with a bulge at the bottom. “I’ll leave this with you, and you can look at it all night.”
She put it in a corner of the room, but he raised himself on one elbow. “What’s that?” he asked.
She laughed. “I’ll give you three guesses and you can see which one’s right in the morning.”
“I want to see now.”
“Tomorrow.”
“No—now.”
She took the parcel and brought it to him in the bed, and stood watching as he tore off the paper. The Supreme Commander of the U.S. Naval Forces was really just a little boy, she thought.
The Pogo stick lay on the bedclothes in his hands, shining and new. The wooden handle was brightly varnished, the metal step gleaming in red enamel. On the wooden handle was painted in neat red lettering the words HELEN TOWERS.
“Say,” he said huskily, “that’s a dandy. I never saw one with the name on it and all. She’s going to love that.” He raised his eyes. “Where did you get it, honey?”
“I found the place that makes them, out at Elsternwick,” she said. “They aren’t making any more, but they made one for me.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he muttered. “Now I’ve got something for everyone.”