you say?" Morris demanded. He was sobbing, near tears, Jerry saw. Good.
"They don't put that in the book," O'Malley agreed. You think they would have learned by now.
"Pretty little girl. What do you tell the kids?" The tears started. It had taken nearly two hours.
"You tell the little girl that her daddy was a good man and he did his best, and you did your best, 'cause that's all we can do, Ed. You did everything right, but sometimes it just doesn't matter." It wasn't the first time O'Malley had had men cry on his shoulder. He remembered doing it himself. What a miserable life this can be, he thought, that it can bring good men to this.
Morris recovered a few minutes later, and by the time they finished the bottle both men were as drunk as either ever got. O'Malley helped his captain up and walked him to the door.
"What's the matter, Navy, can't take it?" He was a merchant seaman standing alone at the bar. It was the wrong thing to say.
It was hard to tell from the baggy flight suit that O'Malley was a man of considerable strength. His left arm was wrapped around Morris. His right hand grabbed the other man by the throat and dragged him away from the bar.
"You got anything else to say about my friend, Dickweed?" O'Malley tightened his grip.
The reply came in a whisper. "All I meant was he has trouble with his liquor."
The pilot released him. "Good night."
Maneuvering the captain back to the ship was difficult, partly because O'Malley was also drunk but mainly because Morris was on the point of passing out. That had been part of the plan, too, but the Hammer had cut his timing a little close. The brow looked awfully steep from the pier.
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Good evening, Master Chief."
"Good evening, Commander. You got the captain with you?"
"Sure could use a hand, too."
"You're not kidding." The chief came down the gangway. Together they got the captain aboard. The really hard part was the ladder up to his stateroom. For this another sailor was summoned.
"Damn," the youngster observed. "The old man really knows how to tie one on!"
"Takes a real sailorman to know how to get blasted," the master chief agreed. The three of them got him up the ladder. O'Malley took it from there and landed Morris on his bunk. The captain was sleeping soundly, and the flyer hoped the nightmare wouldn't come back. His still did.
NORTHWOOD, ENGLAND
"Well, Commander?"
"Yes, sir. I think it'll work. I see most of the assets are nearly in place."
"The original plan had a lesser chance of success. I'm sure it would have got their attention, of course, but this way we just might be able to damage the force severely."
Toland looked up at the map. "The timing is still tricky, but not very different from that attack we made on the tankers. I like it, sir. Sure would solve a few problems. What's the convoy situation?"
"There are eighty ships assembled in New York harbor. They sail in twenty-four hours. Heavy escort, carriers in support, even a new Aegis cruiser with the merchants. And the next step after that, of course--" Beattie went on.
"Yes, sir. And Doolittle is the key."
"Exactly. I want you back at Stornoway. I'll also be sending one of my air operations types to work with your chaps. We'll keep you informed of all developments. Remember that distribution for this is to be strictly limited to the personnel involved."
"Understood, sir."
"Off with you, then."
34
Feelers
USS REUBEN JAMES
0700 hours came rather early for Jerry O'Malley. He had the lower bunk in a two-man stateroom--his copilot had the upper--and his first considered move was to take three aspirins and sit back down. It was almost funny, he thought. "The Hammer." He felt it inside his head. No, he corrected himself, he had his dipping sonar in there, on automatic ping. Still and all, he had performed something remembered from his youth as a corporal work of mercy, and that helped give purpose to his suffering. He gave the aspirins ten minutes to get into his bloodstream, then went forward to the shower. First cold, then hot water cleared his head.
The wardroom was full but quiet, the officers assembled according to age into little knots of whispered conversation. These young officers hadn't faced combat before, and the bravado they might have felt on leaving San Diego some weeks before had been replaced with the sober reality of the task at hand.