Dust on the Sea by Edward L. Beach Page A

he at last managed to get his fingers under the rapidly tightening heaving line, pull it free. It was murder pushing himself clear of the huge cleat digging into his abdomen .
    Reliving it, Richardson could remember the pain all over again. For a few minutes he thought the heavy rounded cleat had emasculated him. He passed out, must have bobbed to the surface practically under the rubber boats. The flier caught his arm, undoubtedly saved his life .
    The Japanese aviators were playing the cat-and-mouse game, hoping to entice Keith to surface. When their plane came close, he would dunk the ’scope and not raise it again until they were back on their way to the horizon. Richardson timed the plane’s movements, motioned Keith to bring Eel as close as he could, snagged the periscope as it went by, signaled for Eel to surface as soon as the plane went out of sight. Keith neatly brought the boat up directly beneath the two rubber boats, landed the three wounded fliers and the painfully bruised Richardson on deck. The bang of the hatch opening, men racing down on deck, recklessly gathering up the four temporary castaways, pitching them down the open hatch, slamming the lid, opening the vents, getting her back under. Haste. Haste. The plane coming back . Take her down! Take her deep fast! Lean into those diving control wheels! All ahead emergency! For God’s sake, get some down angle on her!
    Blunt was still talking. The tone of his voice was the one he used when he was displeased. “Why didn’t you radio the task force to provide air cover? You should not have made Leone surface your boat right under that Jap Betty to pick you up!”
    The direct accusation caught Richardson unprepared. This, of all matters, he had not thought would be brought under unfriendly scrutiny.
    â€œBut I was in the rubber boat, Commodore! There was no way I could tell Keith to send a message! He couldn’t have sent one submerged anyway. Maybe we should have sent one before, but we were occupied with getting those men aboard. There just wasn’t time to setup and send a message!” Lamely, Rich added the word “sir” to the sentence.
    â€œWell, maybe not,” said Blunt. “But you should have had a message ready beforehand. That’s the way it’s got to be in submarines, Rich. You’ve got to think of everything, all the time. Trouble with you young skippers is that you don’t look ahead. You could have lost your boat, or been lost yourself, along with the three fliers you were trying to help!”
    Years ago, Blunt had used that same tone of voice to upbraid Rich for a poorly executed dive in the Octopus . Afterward he had praised him for quickly diagnosing and remedying the trouble, improper compensation of the after trim tank. Richardson felt the sudden return to the attitudes of eight years ago, when he had been the inexperienced new arrival to Blunt’s brand-new submarine. He sat uncomfortably in his chair. Blunt was being a little hard. It was almost contrary to tradition to rake a newly returned skipper, especially on the day following return from a successful patrol.
    Apparently Blunt had come to the end of his chastisement. “Anyway, it came out all right,” he said. “You were lucky and got away with it. So let’s forget about it.”
    But Rich could not forget about it. There was something behind Blunt’s words. Was there a hint of vindictiveness in his manner? Could he have been reasserting himself, his superiority, after the night in his quarters and the conversation in the jeep? And what about Blunt’s reaction to his personal risk in casting loose the rubber boats—that, at least, had brought him the most peace and contentment of the entire patrol. So far as leaving Keith in command for a time, that had been an incident of combat. Keith had long since qualified for command; else he could not have been exec. Richardson would have trusted him