Charles Taylor - Boomer

Steel considered everything he had learned over the years — tactics and strategy, all the special schooling, strategy and tactics, everything learned by intuition, tactics and strategy — and he came to the conclusion that there was very little he could apply to his current situation, for he had no idea what to expect. Only intuition could come to his aid on this mission. Some referred to it as imagination, others as luck. He maintained that it was intuition and hoped his own remained as expeditious as it had been in the trainers.

And was the selection of Manchester for this mission just luck?

“I believe it’s a matter of being in the right place at the right time, Captain.” The SEAL, Lieutenant Commander Burch, had been very matter of fact. Being dropped in the middle of the Pacific apparently hadn’t fazed him any more than being asked to run down to the store for a six-pack. After a few hours’ sleep he seemed to be as good as new. “They did seem to have a great deal of confidence in you, but I think it was mostly because Manchester was closest.”

“Who briefed you on this mission?” Steel inquired curiously.

“Admiral Bennett did most of the talking.”

Steel had known Mark Bennett since they’d been together on Stonewall Jackson in Charleston — a solid officer still capable of using his imagination.

“Admiral Larsen mostly listened.…”

Nice to know the Chief of Naval Operations knew who Ben Steel was.

“… and Admiral Arrow and Admiral Newman had a couple of things to say.…”

Ah, yes, the boss of all Pacific submariners — and “the man who would be Rickover,” as they all jokingly referred to Robbie Newman behind his back

“… but essentially the orders were Admiral Bennett’s.”

Burch, Steel remembered with amusement, had sat back with a bored expression on his face and asked, “What could I do to help out here, sir? I really can’t go back where I came from, and I’m not the type to stand still.” The unique challenges of this mission didn’t seem to affect him. SEALs seemed unconcerned with their environment.

Steel remembered that those had been the first words to amuse him that day — I really can’t go back where I came from — and knew why he instinctively liked the SEALs. “Okay, Commander, I don’t know if we’ll have enough time to qualify you for a set of dolphins, but you can do a couple of things. I really was serious when I mentioned over the IMC that the men could talk with you if there was something bothering them about this whole mess. Your first job is to circulate around the boat. Spend time with the enlisted men. Have a cup of coffee with them. Get down to chiefs’ quarters. Talk with my officers, especially some of the younger ones, and tell them exactly who was present when you received our orders and what they expect of us. That makes you the morale officer,” Steel concluded.

“Then,” he continued with a grin, knowing there was so little time, “since you’re a SEAL and a man of action, I want you to get hold of my weapons officer and learn everything you can about those torpedoes we shoot and how we go about it. Don’t take more than a few hours.” Steel laughed. “After that, we ought to be at battle stations, maybe even using some of those torpedoes.”

“I guess you’re right, Captain. There’s not a hell of a lot of time. So it’s a morale officer you’ve won for now.…”

That had been five hours ago. Steel knew from talking to the XO since then that Burch had done a good job as morale officer because a lot of the men did talk to him. And the weapons officer mentioned in passing that the SEAL had already learned enough to shoot a torpedo if they were forced to go to local control during a firing sequence.

Ben Steel glanced at his watch and realized that his musings had taken less than half an hour, but every minute was critical. He had yet to determine a fixed approach pattern, or an attack plan, or whatever it might be called when you were sailing a submarine into harm’s way and you had no idea what that harm might be. He settled once again on intuition as his most reliable guideline. If he found Florida first, he might be able to communicate their mutual problem. On the other hand, he was just as likely to come upon the enemy — if, in fact, there was an enemy submarine — and then it came down to whose ability —

There was a rap of knuckles on the bulkhead outside his stateroom. When it all comes down to the short and curlies, Steel thought as he settled back into reality, you have to depend on your intuition more than anything else. “What can I do for you?” he called to the individual outside.

“Four hours to the limits of Florida’ s sector, sir.” The navigator stuck his head through the curtain hanging across the door.

“Thanks. Tell the XO I’ll be out in a few moments and we can all play games with the chart — figure out how we’ll roll the dice,” he added more loudly as the navigator headed back toward the control room.

Steel closed his eyes and imagined he was back at Pearl. It was an exercise — more a mind game, if he allowed his imagination to run — that relaxed his mind whenever sleep wasn’t in the cards. He pictured a trip up to Makaha with his family to watch the surfing championships.

There was Connie handing the picnic lunch to the two girls, who were already in the back of their station wagon. It was a hot, sunny, late-January day, and they would take H1 out past Makakilo City, then head north on the coast highway. The Steel family always started early on those hot days so they could stop for a swim at some of the beaches they hadn’t enjoyed in the past, or browse in out-of-the-way shops that always appealed to Connie and two teenage girls.

He never went in the stores. It was more fun to lounge outside and watch the people, especially the girls in bikinis when they were near a beach. Sometimes he would stop at a fruit stand. Steel had a passion for fresh fruit, and that was always an important part of his trip. If his three females could wander the stores, then the only male in the family was allowed to indulge himself when the opportunity arose.

When they arrived at Makaha, the girls would go off by themselves since they intended to stroll the beach in their bikinis like all the others their age and they were sure their stern father wouldn’t approve. What they failed to understand was that their father only disapproved of their trolling for boys like that. Ben Steel’s favorite pastime at Makaha was no different than his daughters’, except that he was doing the looking. If ever he happened to see his girls out of the corner of his eye, he always pretended to be looking the other way. Connie would hold onto his arm as they meandered across the hot sand repeating every so often what a dirty old man she married.

Makaha was a wonderful way to spend a day. International surfers were the reason everyone gathered there, and it was all good-natured fun. The police made sure that the beer drinkers stayed under control, and the girls consistently went home with new phone numbers. It was always a superb day.

Steel opened his eyes and stared at the neutral-green bulkhead of the confining stateroom that surrounded him. It had been a lovely daydream for a few moments — he looked at his watch and noticed that this particular trip to Makaha had taken less than ten minutes. But now he was relaxed. There were times he often wondered if he really slept. Was it possible to order up a dream like that? Could it be so vivid if he were asleep?

Ben Steel stood up and stretched, then went over to the metal sink and splashed some cool water in his face. The figure that stared back from the mirror needed a fresh shirt, Why not indulge yourself, Steel? You may never need another.