Ghosts of Bungo Suido (39 page)

Gar shook his head, aware that his uniform shirt didn’t fit very well at the collar. They apparently didn’t make neck sizes for ex-POWs. “Wish I knew, Admiral. Not my idea of a homecoming.”

“As I told you earlier, Admiral,” Forrester said, “this hairball originated up at Makalapa. The CincPacFleet JAG received an allegation from the 5th Air Force headquarters over on Hickam that Commander Hammond collaborated while a POW. Connie White decided a court of inquiry was in order.”

“Oh, hell,” the admiral said. “Connie White’s an old woman. Older than I am. A court is the only thing he knows. Gar, I’ve read your initial debriefing, the one taken out in Guam. That focused on operational stuff, your last patrol as skipper of
Dragonfish,
up to the point where you ordered the boat down while you were still on the bridge. Now I’d like to hear the whole story, from that moment on, and I’ve got as long as it takes. Just tell me what happened, and then we’ll address legal issues, if any, and for what it’s worth, I don’t think right now that there are any. And if it’s any comfort, I was very glad to see your name on the repat list. I only wish the Dragon were still alive so I could send you back to her. Now, relax, take your damned hat off, and tell your story. Please.”

Gar took a sip of flag mess coffee, put down his cup, sat back in the big upholstered chair, and closed his eyes. “Call me Ishmael,” he began, and heard Uncle Charlie chuckle.

“We thought we were just about home free,” he said. “Ready for Bungo Suido. Didn’t figure on wooden-hulled minesweepers.”

An hour later, he opened his eyes and came back to Lockwood’s office, a part of his mind prepared to find that they’d gone home for the day a few hours ago. They hadn’t. Gar had been back in Japan, of course, remembering things he wanted to forget, while knowing that that would never be possible. He hadn’t told them everything, choosing to skim over some of the details about his interaction with the Jap intel board and Charlie Chan. It took him a moment to focus on the room and the two flag officers sitting there, looking at him. Forrester deferred to his boss.

“That’s a pretty amazing odyssey, Gar,” Lockwood said. “And as to collaboration, it sounds to me more like a case of your screwing with their minds than giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Did you believe that the Priest, as you called him, would keep shooting prisoners until you answered his questions?”

“I certainly did. I think the fact that he had a second one shot
after
I agreed to talk to him proves that.”

“And when you appeared before that board of three intel types, when you told the colonel to call the Kure arsenal and ask if they’d had a good night—do you think they believed the things you were telling them?”

“The colonel did not, clearly, although he did go to make a phone call—or at least that’s what it looked like. One of the others indicated that what they knew about their situation and what they could say out loud were two very different things. I don’t think, on balance, that I was telling them anything they didn’t already know. They just couldn’t admit it.”

“Do you think that’s why the major killed himself there on the dry dock after the bombing raid on Kure?”

“After first trying to kill me?” Gar reminded him. “Yes. He’d just been through what was probably his first real bombing. I have to tell you, being depth-charged was always frightening—you never knew when one was going to bang down onto the forward hatch and then blow you all to kingdom come. The difference between that and a bombing raid is that you
do
know, especially if you’re out in the open. I was nearly flattened by the first bomb, and that one landed a half mile away. Then they came closer. I think he shot himself because he knew in his heart that this was the future, and that everything the top brass in Japan had been putting out was a lie. They were done.
Finished
. So was he. To tell the truth, while those bombs were falling, I just wanted to die. It would have been preferable to what I was going through.”

The admiral sighed, looked at his watch, and got up from his desk. “Lemme think about all this, Gar,” he said. “See if we can find a way to stomp out this little brushfire without causing even bigger problems.”

“Thank you, sir,” Gar said, also rising. “After everything that’s happened, I’m not sure what to do at this stage.”

Gar walked back to his BOQ room wondering if going to see the admiral had been a good idea or a big mistake. Lockwood had been friendly and concerned, but strangely, at the very end, noncommittal. There’d been no protestations of this all being total BS, no “just let me think about it.” Forrester hadn’t said a word, and that worried him. The chief of staff had been friendly enough, but Gar could never be sure where he stood with Forrester. He wanted to call Sharon and get a reading from her, but even she’d been a little standoffish about further contact, unless it came to a court, and even then, there was doubt. He thought about going to get some chow but decided he wasn’t hungry, perhaps for the first time in weeks. He went up to his BOQ room, lay down on the single bed, and tried not to think about what was coming.

*   *   *

Two days later, Gar found himself once again waiting in Admiral Lockwood’s outer office. His appointment was with Admiral Forrester, who made him wait fifteen minutes while he dealt with a small parade of staff officers coming in and out of his office.

“Commander?” a yeoman said, indicating he could go in.

When he went into the office, he found Forrester seated behind his desk and another officer, a lieutenant junior grade, standing to one side. The jay-gee was tall and thin and looked to Gar like he was maybe sixteen years old. There were no dolphins on his shirt, either.

“Come in, Commander,” Forrester said. “Take a seat. This is Lieutenant Falcone, from the CincPacFleet JAG office. Mister Falcone, this is Commander Hammond.”

They shook hands, and then both sat down. The fact that Forrester was calling him Commander and not Gar did not bode well.

“Commander Hammond, the court of inquiry is going to proceed. I know that’s not what you wanted, and, frankly, not what we wanted, either.”

“This is Admiral Lockwood’s decision?” Gar asked.

Forrester frowned, clearly not liking Gar’s insinuation that only Lockwood could make that decision.

“The admiral has considered the matter,” he said. “And he spoke to Vice Admiral Rennsalear, who’s moved up to chief of staff at PacFleet. The thinking is that you would be better served going before the court than if ComSubPac were to be seen interfering and perhaps papering over these allegations. Admiral Lockwood feels that you have more than a good case to refute the allegations, and that being cleared by the court is a much better outcome.”

“Not going before a court of inquiry would be an even better outcome,” Gar said. “Besides, I did ask for an admiral’s mast. He can certainly make a decision at mast, can’t he?”

“Yes, he could, but as I said, the thinking is—”

“The thinking is that if the submarine force’s reputation as the all-powerful Silent Service is to be impugned, better it come from some court of inquiry than from Uncle Charlie.”

Forrester stared at him. “Commander, watch yourself,” he said. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but there are limits to the amount of insolence I’ll tolerate, sir.”

“Especially now that the war’s over, right, Admiral?” Gar asked, standing up and picking up his hat. “Peacetime is back with a vengeance, isn’t it. Okay, why not? I’m glad to finally know who my real friends are.”

With that he strode out of the office before Forrester could say anything. When he reached the headquarters parking lot, he heard someone calling his name. He turned around to see the young lieutenant hurrying after him. That’s when it penetrated that Falcone was a JAG officer.

“Commander,” Falcone said, “I’m supposed to be your counsel, sir.”

“Lucky you,” Gar said.

“Sir, may I have a word? Or better yet, can I buy you a beer?”

“Do I look like I need a drink at eleven in the morning, Lieutenant?”

Falcone blinked. “Yes, sir.”

Gar laughed. “Sold,” he said. “Assuming the sub base O-club is still in business. The rest of the submarine establishment seems to have folded its tents.”

They found a corner table and ordered sandwiches and a beer each. Gar asked Falcone when he had been appointed.

“This morning, sir,” Falcone said. “They told me to get down here to the sub base for a meeting with the chief of staff.”

“So there’s definitely going to be a court of inquiry.”

“Oh, yes, sir. Monday, starting at 0900, at the 14th Naval District headquarters building.”

“That gives us, what, three days to prepare my defense?”

Falcone hesitated. “Sir, defense is the wrong word here.”

“Not from where I’m sitting, Lieutenant.”

“I know, sir. You’ve been accused of a serious infraction, collaboration with the enemy in time of war. But you’ve not been charged. There’s a big difference.”

“Sounds like lawyer talk.”

“It is. Lawyers have to be specific, sir. If you were
charged,
then by now you’d have been arrested and confined. We’d be looking at a general court-martial, with a prosecutor, who’s called the trial counsel, a defense attorney, who’s called the defense counsel, and the members of the court, who are the jury. The prosecutor would be presenting evidence against you, and I’d be trying to poke holes in that or present some kind of evidence to the contrary.”

“Isn’t that what’s going to happen Monday?”

“No, sir. Captain White, our senior JAG, will introduce the allegations made against you, and, if they can find him, they’ll get Major Franklin to testify as to what he heard you say.”

“And if they can’t find him?”

“Then they’ll just read the allegations out in the courtroom. Couldn’t do that in a court-martial, but this is an inquiry into the facts, not a trial.”

“I’ve been told all this, Lieutenant,” Gar said. “But from my perspective, it sure looks like a trial. Lawyers on both sides. Senior member equals judge and jury, assisted by two more line officers. Evidence against me and for me. If the court of inquiry finds that there’s sufficient reason to go to court-martial, that’s as good as a conviction. And after that I go to the brig.”

Falcone looked uncomfortable.

“What?” Gar asked.

“After that, sir, I regret to inform you that you could go to a firing squad,” Falcone said. “Collaboration with the enemy in time of war is a capital offense.”

Gar sat back in his chair. Welcome the fuck home, sailor. First a Navy Cross and now a firing squad? He should have taken his chances with that damned hatch. All those ghosts down in Bungo Suido would have been more sympathetic than any of these CYA staffies back here in Pearl. A capital offense. No wonder Lockwood and Forrester had run for cover. That wasn’t like Lockwood, so Gar figured this was Forrester’s recommendation.

“So what do we do now, Mister Falcone?”

“We begin by you telling me your side of this story, Commander, but not here. In my office conference room up at PacFleet, where I can record it, and then transcribe it.”

“How long have you been out of law school?” Gar asked.

“Harvard, ’43,” Falcone said.

“Well, that’s a good start,” Gar said. “I think.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

They did the transcription that afternoon. It took longer than it had in front of Lockwood because Lieutenant Falcone asked questions. A bulky RCA tape recorder went through two reels of tape in the process, while a stenographer sat in one corner typing silently into a desk-sized Ireland stenotype device that produced a continuous roll of paper. Gar was tired by the time they quit at five, both from the telling and the remembering. Lieutenant Falcone was obviously aware of this. He suggested that Gar go get some rest, and that they’d meet again Saturday afternoon to discuss strategy.

The following afternoon, Falcone surprised Gar with his first suggestion.

“We’ll ask for an immediate recess,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes, sir. I’m going to ask for an immediate recess so that the members of the court can read the record of what you’ve been through. I’ll suggest to them that this will better prepare them to ask questions. It will also spare you the emotional labor of reliving your experiences by having to give three hours of testimony.”

“You think they’ll do that?”

“I certainly would. The only risk is that they will be much better prepared to ask questions, but from what I’ve heard and read, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“A group of senior line officers might think differently,” Gar said. “I wish I could get a POW or two on this board. By the way, do we know who
is
going to be on the board?”

“Court, not board, sir. And no, we don’t. Probably won’t even be submariners. This isn’t about your conduct as the CO of a boat. This is about your conduct as a POW. I expect they’ll be captains, with a really senior captain in charge. If it’s any consolation, they won’t know what this is about until it convenes.”

Gar smiled. “You may have gone to Harvard, Lieutenant, but I guarantee they’ll all know exactly what this is about by opening day. Pearl’s a small place, really, and there’s not much a captain, USN,
doesn’t
know about what’s happening in the harbor.”

“That was probably true during the war, sir, but these days most of the faces around Makalapa are brand-new. I’m actually one of the few JAG officers who was here in early ’44 and who’s still here.”

“You know Sharon DeVeers?” Gar asked.

“Yes, sir, and she’s leaving soon, too. All the WAVES are going back to civilian life, from what I hear.”

“I wanted her as my attorney for this thing,” Gar said, “but Captain White said no. Said she had a problem, and that I’d be better off with someone else.”

Falcone stared down at the conference table and said nothing.

“Do you know what that problem might be?” Gar asked.

“Lieutenant Commander DeVeers is a pretty sharp lawyer,” Falcone said. “She was a state court judge back in ’41.”