Джон Болл - The First Team

Steadily, and without haste, the bow of Magsaysay began to sink lower; the wave changed in contour and crept closer to the base of the sail. Presently the sail itself began breaking the oncoming water; it continued to do so as the flat missile area behind it came awash and then the visible part of the stern. The sail alone was above the water after that, sinking steadily and flooding as it did so. It began to move forward at a slightly faster rate, gradually disappearing until only the top remained. Water came onto the bridge deck, conquered it, and then took possession of the rest of the structure until only the shaft of the periscope remained visible, churning up a tiny wake behind it. Then it too disappeared and the surface of the water returned to a solid pattern of waves and swells untouched by any man-made creation.

Admiral Barney Haymarket sat all but motionless, a cup of coffee set before him, watching the message board and the face of the clock beside it. The last message to be received was still displayed: Magsaysay had been seen to disappear into the fogbank which lay a short distance off the coastline. Some transport aircraft had been observed, but nothing of a combat type had been spotted.

The clock continued to measure off the minutes, an emotionless indicator which supplied data but could not interpret them.

Major Pappas spoke from halfway down the table. “She should be out of the channel now.”

They all knew that, but it helped somewhat to put it into words. Then it fell silent again, the clock now the center of all attention unless the message board chose to come alive once more.

At the end of almost twenty minutes more of waiting the admiral picked up his coffee cup and tasted the now lukewarm brew. It was taken as a signal; in response a little stir of movement began in the room.

The message board flashed: beale ok.That meant that the operational personnel who had been assigned there by Colonel Prichard had made it safely back to their base and were considered out of immediate danger. Better news still was the fact that no other message concerning the submarine itself had come in. When another ten minutes had been measured off and no more signals had been received, the admiral got to his feet. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I believe they pulled it off.”

That broke the tension which had lasted for so long. There were other hazards still ahead, but the most difficult part of the operation appeared to have been concluded satisfactorily. As the admiral turned toward his office he caught the eye of General Gifford and motioned. The general arose and followed him; among the rest only Major Pappas remained where he was, waiting for a possible final confirmation. If anything went wrong at the last minute and the submarine could not dive, he had one more remaining emergency plan to deal with the situation.

In the confines of his office the admiral sat down and faced his second in command. “What do you think?” he asked.

The general took his time about lighting a cigar. “We’re not out of the woods yet, but we can start breathing again. As I see it, it will take them a minimum of twenty-four hours to muster and position any kind of an ASW force and by then they’ll have an eight-hundred-mile radius to attempt to search.”

“It’s possible that they could find her.”

“Possible, yes, Barney, but they don’t know how. Their technology simply isn’t up to it, I’m confident of that. And if they get very very smart about the resupply operation, it still won’t do them very much good unlegs we have terrible luck. And as you know, we’re protected against that.”

The admiral shook his head as though to clear his brain. “I’m going to sack out for a little while, Carl, and I think that you should too. Pass the word that I’m to be notified immediately if anything concrete comes in.”

“Will do. Where do we go from here?”

Admiral Haymarket pressed the base of his palms hard against his skull just above his ears and moved them back and forth. “Let me get six hours’ sleep,” he said. “After that we’ll eat and then start in on the next phase.”

In the quiet of his very modest study the Reverend Mr. Jones addressed himself to the packet of mail which had just been handed to him. He sorted out the junk literature, set aside two or three bills which would have to be attended to, and then explored the rest. On the very bottom of the pile there was an airmail letter with an Israeli stamp. He opened the letter carefully because there was a twelve-year-old girl in his congregation who collected stamps, unfolded it, and began to read:

Dear Rev. Jones:

Although we had planned on settling in England for a while, we have now arrived in Israel, where we have received a cordial welcome if somewhat spartan accommodations. The vast influx from America, as well as many others who are arriving daily from Europe in fear of a pogrom there, has crowded this small country almost to the bursting point. Hazel, Molly and I are living in a tent dormitory with something more than a hundred others. We have been given army-type cots which are necessarily placed as close together as practical in long rows. We take our meals in a chow line which is the most suitable method under the existing circumstances.

As far as doing anything to establish ourselves is concerned, that is entirely out of the picture at the present time. We are refugees pure and simple and all that I have been able to do so far is to work in the labor crews that maintain the camp and add to it whenever we have the materials with which to work. More people are pouring in every day and we count ourselves lucky to have the places that we do in the tent community.

I do not think that we shall ever forget your kindness to us during one of the darkest hours of our lives. The fact that someone cared, someone not of our own people, was tremendously heartening. I must confess that I have never felt too strongly attached to Christians (in the literal sense of the word), largely because of my bringing up; I was always taught that being a Jew was far superior to anything else. You and your family have awakened me to how limited this viewpoint is, surely the brotherhood of man transcends all narrowness and divisions of attitude because of creed. You have demonstrated this and I have learned from it.

Perhaps I should not speak of this, but I and all of the others who benefited from your thoughtful generosity prior to our departure from our homeland, know that you received a grievous insult from one of us who is of orthodox persuasion. I never admired a man more than I did you at that moment; I witnessed the whole thing and it was all that I could do to restrain myself from taking physical action against the man who was so unspeakably inconsiderate. The person in question was persona non grata among us from that moment forward. We were all together for some time and the contempt with which he was treated, had you witnessed it, would have told you how deeply all of us felt for you who had ministered to us. He has ali'eady made himself highly unpopular here and I cannot predict a very bright future for him.

If we are ever so lucky as to return to our homeland, I hope that we may become friends. You are indeed a man of God and may His peace be with you always.

Most sincerely,

Jack Bornstein

The Reverend Mr. Jones reread the letter very carefully. Then he bowed his head. He prayed for the Bornsteins and for all others like them. He gave thanks also for the Great Commandment that had taught him what to do… “that you shall love one another as I have loved you.”

When he had given thanks also for the blessing of his ministry and the grace that had been given to him, he arose once more, picked up the letter, and then opened the door.