Sheppard Of The Argonne Read online

  A short man with neatly cut but rather long brown hair and mustache, Rupert was sitting behind his desk in his headquarters at RAF Pembroke Dock when the telephone rang, interrupting his thoughts of a quiet evening with his wife.

  “Hello, Wythe-Jones here.”

  “Rupert, ol’ boy, I thought I would ring you up with some good news.”

  Rupert grimaced. It was Air Commodore Andrew Blackstone, Commander of 19 Group, and a call from him was never good news.

  “Sir,” Rupert said, “I am working on my overdues as we speak and should have them posted in a day or two.”

  “Not to worry; I am sure you will get them done forthwith. I really called to give you the news that we are sending down some maintainers to install a new piece of kit in your Sunderlands. It should take less than a week and will give you a much better capability in bad weather. Until it is complete and your squadron trained in its use, you will be standing down. Two-Two-Eight Squadron will fill in for you out of Harnworthy. Any questions?”

  Rupert said nothing, so the commodore quickly gave a “Cheerio!” and hung up. Rupert stared at the telephone receiver and wondered if the “kit” could be the new centimetric ASV III radar he had heard of. If so, his squadron would soon have an incredible advantage, not only in bad weather but also after dark. The U-boats crossing the Bay of Biscay would no longer be able to safely transit at night. They would be easy prey. Dream on, he thought. At least I’ll have these bloody reports done.

  “Argonne’s coming into view, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Cruz.”

  Sheppard stood, steadying himself against the gig’s motion in the light chop, accepting Cruz’s offering of binoculars with a beautifully knotted white line lanyard.

  Sheppard had met Cruz at captain’s mast shortly after taking command of Shenandoah. While trying to decide on an appropriate punishment for a relatively minor offense under the “Articles for the Government of the United States Navy 1930”, Sheppard had noticed something in Cruz’s eyes: native intelligence, curiosity, defiance of authority … Sheppard wasn’t sure, but he decided to spend more time than the routine formality of mast dictated.

  It turned out that Raymondo DeJesus Cruz had grown up in a West Texas border town, where he had learned to use his fists, teeth, and a knife before his sixteenth birthday. His brother’s death in a gang fight clarified his bleak future within a year. A judge had given him a choice between the service and reform school. Cruz had chosen the Navy only because he did not know anything about it.

  From the day of mast forward, Sheppard had watched as Cruz developed into an exceptional petty officer. His street smarts stood him well when it came to understanding and motivating other troubled kids. As a boatswain’s mate, more than a few of these kids could be found in the “deck gang” where Cruz served.

  That was when the chiefs and other officers of the Shenandoah began to notice Cruz. As opportunities presented themselves, Cruz had taken them, never looking back. Sheppard suspected that Cruz looked at him as the loving father he’d never had and that he would do anything to please Sheppard. When the position became available, Sheppard requested that Cruz be his gig coxswain. On December 7th, it had been Cruz who dragged Sheppard out of the wreckage of Shenandoah’s bridge and carried him to the battle dressing station, saving both Sheppard’s life and his shattered leg.

  Sheppard stared, anxiously watching each new detail of his command slowly unmasked as the gig rounded the Sabine’s bow. There was no need for the binoculars. He took a seat lest his leg betray his emotions as he surveyed the battle cruiser before him.

  She had to be a quarter of a mile in length, with a mountain of superstructure amidships. The two towering, massive funnels, spread far apart, were the visible indicators of an enormous machinery complex contained within her engineering spaces.

  Sheppard knew she was part of the new concept for battle cruisers created by the US Navy’s General Board. She was not a scout for the fleet but a long-range striking component with the ability to slow an enemy fleet by creating cripples. She was fast enough to control the battle range with any enemy or run down the fleetest cruiser. Tough armor shielded her vitals from opposing long-range gunfire, and she had an antiaircraft armament strong enough to destroy any aerial assault; these attributes created a ship that would give a good account in any fight, regardless of the odds. This he already knew intellectually, but the reality of wood and steel before him was greater than he had ever imagined.

  He had heard rumors of this new class while he was out in the Pacific, but actually seeing one took his breath away. In addition to creating an image of overwhelming power, Argonne’s designer had achieved a balance and symmetry inadequately described as breathtaking; the only term that would do her justice was the Old Norse term yar.

  Captain Sheppard McCloud surprised himself by whistling and saying, “So you’re Argonne.”

  Lieutenant Hamblen steadied the long glass against the awning stanchion, watching the bow of the Sabine with his bright-blue eyes for any indication of the returning gig. As the small craft came into view, he satisfied himself that he was looking at the correct gig by reading “CC-49,” prominent on both sides of the bow.

  “Messenger of the Watch, send my respects to Commander Grabowski and report that the captain’s gig has just rounded the Sabine’s bow and should be alongside in ten minutes.”

  Replying with a sharp, “Aye, aye, sir,” the messenger saluted and hustled off.

  Hamblen lowered the long glass again, searching the quarterdeck and white canvas awning for anything that was less than perfect. From the first rumors of Captain McCloud’s assignment to Argonne, every man aboard had anticipated this moment, trying their utmost to prepare Argonne for whatever the hero of Pearl Harbor might need them to perform in battle. The war that started in the Pacific had quickly spread to the Atlantic with both Hitler’s and Mussolini’s declarations. The United States now faced not one but three determined enemies and but one ally—a limping, if not demoralized, British Empire.

  Raising the long glass, Hamblen tried to see the man that wardroom table talk credited with saving the West Coast from air attack. A single battle cruiser—the Shenandoah—supported by a lone destroyer had engaged a fleet of eight of the most modern Japanese aircraft carriers and four capital ships with other cruisers and destroyers in company. The fact that the guns of the Shenandoah had damaged several of the carriers before fleeing the escorts had saved some of the service’s honor from the disaster at Pearl. Hamblen and his fellow junior officers were at a loss to explain how Captain McCloud had pulled it off, but they anticipated learning from the Navy’s recent hero.

  Hamblen was shocked out of his rumination by a cough of warning from the Boatswain’s Mate of the Watch.

  Hamblen waited a moment, as if contemplating the timing of his order, and then said, “Boatswain, pipe the side.”

  He tucked the long glass under his left arm just as Commander Grabowski and the captain’s marine orderly arrived.

  Coxswain Bergman keyed the general announcing system, piping Attention: “ss-s-s-sssssss”—followed by “Now, muster four side boys on the quarterdeck.”

  Four designated seamen quickly appeared from the hatch. Chosen for their appearance and uniform height, they would make the first impression of Argonne in their dress blues. Bergman and Cruz had practiced their timing, and now it was Bergman’s turn to pipe the Alongside—“ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss”—a thirty-second call timed to end just as the gig arrived and touched the accommodation ladder.

  Captain McCloud heard the pipe as the gig approached Argonne. Something he hated was about to happen. The formal ceremonies of arrivals and departures had never made much sense to him. Sheppard always felt he was taking sailors away from far more important tasks than just meeting him or seeing him off.

  Cruz pulled the gig alongside the Argonne’s accommodation ladder, backing full to check the gig’s headway. This was not the two-deck climb Sheppard exp
ected from his days on the Shenandoah. Argonne’s side was three decks high, and a moment of panic set in as he contemplated such a climb on his recovering left leg, with God knows how many officers and men of his crew watching him. He gritted his teeth. I have to be the confident, fit leader in front of these men.

  Sheppard stepped to the stage of the accommodation ladder and began the climb. After ten feet, his left leg became dead weight. Just then, the boatswain’s mate of the watch began piping Over the Side, similar to the Alongside, a low-high-low-high shrill of thirty seconds’ duration. The boatswain would be trying to time his pipe to finish just as Sheppard saluted the Officer of the Deck, but that was not going to happen.

  Sheppard managed another five feet before his left leg gave out. Fortunate to keep his knee locked, now he had to lead with his right leg for each step. That thirty-second pipe was going to have to last much longer. As Sheppard’s head came level with the main deck, Bergman’s lungs gave out, and the piping ended. Commander Grabowski and Lieutenant Hamblen glared; all Bergman could do was hold his salute and gasp. At least the side boys sensed what was going on and had the presence of mind to hold their salutes as well.

  When Sheppard reached the top of the ladder, he saluted the Stars and Stripes fluttering at the stern. Turning toward Lieutenant Hamblen and Coxswain Bergman, Sheppard said, “Nice pipe, Boats,” rather than the traditional request to the Officer of the Deck to come aboard. “I’m sorry my leg didn’t cooperate with your timing.”

  An expression of relief washed over Coxswain Bergman. Then he sheepishly flashed Sheppard a grin.

  Sheppard’s face was flushed and sweaty, his hand shaking as he saluted, but he had reached the main deck. The climb was over.

  “Commander Grabowski,” Sheppard said, “I see you’ve assembled the department heads to greet me, and I thank you for that courtesy.”

  Sheppard could see surprise register on Grabowski’s face, but the ship’s executive officer did well to maintain his composure.

  “If you don’t mind,” Sheppard continued, “I’d appreciate a few moments in my stateroom. Lieutenant Hamblen, well done on your quarterdeck ceremonies; you may carry on with the ship’s routine. Mister Furlong, good to see you again! Corporal Pease, please show me to my quarters.”

  With that, Sheppard turned, limping after the departed marine as quickly as his injured leg would allow.

  Sheppard knew he owed Cruz not just his life but now also the impression he had just made on the quarterdeck. It would remain their secret, but the list of the quarterdeck watchstanders and department heads that Cruz had slipped into his pocket when he’d stepped into the gig had given him all the information he needed. “You never get a second chance to make a first impression!” his mother had told Sheppard repeatedly. Her words had guided him many times in the past in the face of his father’s inebriated abuse.

  Recovering from his shock and not knowing what else to do, Lieutenant Hamblen purposefully strode over to the general announcing system microphone and passed the words, “Argonne arriving!”

  Corporal Pease held open the door to Sheppard’s quarters. His in-port stateroom was an odd shape, with the barbette of the Number Six-Three six-inch, three-gun turret imposing a semicircular footprint in the outboard bulkhead. Sheppard located what he needed most and quickly sank into one of four overstuffed brown leather armchairs and rested his leg on a low coffee table, both of which were bolted to the deck. He had not been sitting for more than a minute when a sharp knock came at the door.

  “Enter,” Sheppard barked.

  Corporal Pease opened the door. “Commander Grabowski requests to see the Captain.”

  Sheppard held back a smile at the familiar routine.

  “In the future, Pease, please just knock and enter. It will save time. Please pass that on to all the orderlies.”

  A quick “Aye, aye, sir” and Pease was gone, shutting the door after Commander Grabowski had entered. Sheppard’s executive officer looked to be a serious man; he was impeccably dressed in his blues, with receding reddish-brown hair topping the lean, pale face.

  “Forgive me for not getting up, Ted,” Sheppard said. “Please have a seat.”

  Taken aback, Grabowski walked over and sat in the chair opposite his Captain, obviously trying to keep his composure in the face of this new captain’s unexpected actions.

  “What is the schedule for today, Ted, and how can I help you?”

  “Captain, your luggage is being brought up. As soon as it arrives, your steward will stow your gear. I have the department heads standing by in the wardroom to individually come and brief you on their status. Admiral Hamilton has called a meeting of all commanding officers on board the Sabine for 1400.”

  “I would prefer that you just make a schedule of briefing times for the department heads and inform them to come then. They can carry on with their routines, and we can all be more efficient. I’ll have a working lunch here, with sandwiches for the briefers, so that we don’t lose time. I would also like you to schedule in a meeting with the most senior chief petty officer on board. I shouldn’t need more than five minutes with him, and please ask each department head to bring with him the standard form that he uses for his noon report at sea. Also, ask the chief engineer to bring a copy of the Argonne’s general arrangement plans that I may keep in my stateroom. Finally, does the duty officer know of the meeting with Admiral Hamilton and the need for the gig at 1330?”

  “Yes, sir. As soon as I have the schedule typed, I’ll give your orderly a copy for you. I am a little shorthanded in the ship’s office, but it should only take about fifteen minutes.”

  “That reminds me: Admiral Ingraham’s driver is a yeoman second class who wishes to return to sea duty on board Argonne. Please get me the details of Argonne’s manning shortfalls, and I’ll see what I can do to help.”

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Yes, Ted, please give yourself the last appointment and provide me with a list of all officers and chief petty officers assigned. I’ll be discussing your impressions of their performance and qualifications with you. Do I have a yeoman assigned to me now?”

  “Captain, I have assigned Yeoman Spence to be your writer from the ship’s office.”

  “Good. I’ll be returning him to you shortly, if I can get Petty Officer Brewster assigned. I’ll take Brewster as the captain’s yeoman. That will save you the trouble of having to train him into your routine, as I am sure you already have with Spence.”

  “Thank you, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  “No. Thank you, XO.”

  After Grabowski had left, Sheppard got up, leg throbbing, and limped across the stateroom to his desk.

  I have to stay busy.

  As he rummaged through the desk looking for personal stationery with “USS Argonne (CC-49)” engraved on it, he was thankful that Ted had removed all of Bill Leland’s belongings and mementos. When he found what he was looking for, Sheppard took out his fountain pen and wrote, thanking Admiral Ingraham and the staff for all their kindnesses and requesting Brewster’s assignment to Argonne if convenient.

  Corporal Pease knocked again, and another familiar face appeared in the door. Petty Officer George Washington Carver Jefferson, Commissary Steward First Class, entered with two other sailors in tow, carrying Sheppard’s baggage. Nearly six feet tall and strong as an ox, Jefferson had grown up in the cotton fields of Alabama before escaping a life of poverty by lying about his age to join the service.

  “Jefferson, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Don’t tell me Captain Baer shanghaied you, too,” Sheppard said.

  “No, sir, I ask’d to come to Argonne. I knews you would needs taken care of, but when Captain Baer said we’s were shorthanded, I done wrote to your missus, ’cause I knews she was friends with Admiral Trotter’s wife, and I figures if anyone could undo the cap’n’s decision, it was her. I asked her to keeps it secret on account of I wanted to surprise you. When the admiral calls Captain Baer to send
me, he yelled something fierce, but then he smiles and tells me to get out of there and takes good care of you.”

  Sheppard could only smile at the political acumen of his steward. “Well, I am delighted to see you, regardless of how you got here.”

  “Cap’n, when I’s gets your things stowed, I’d be happy to makes you some of those toasted cheese and ham sandwiches you’s love.”

  “That would be great, Jefferson, but you’re going to have to make enough for several guests. It will be a working lunch.”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  He had just finished speaking when Corporal Pease knocked and entered, announcing Commander Blankenship, Argonne’s medical department head. Sheppard gave the corporal the sealed envelope with instructions to have Petty Officer Spence deliver it to Captain Oldendorf at Scouting Force Headquarters.

  “Captain, I am Hugh Blankenship. The XO thought I should see you first. If you don’t mind, I would like to take a look at that leg of yours. I also took the liberty of bringing a bottle of aspirin for you. I am reluctant to prescribe anything stronger until I get a look at your medical record and read the surgeon’s report on your leg.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Doctor, but thank you for the aspirin.”

  With that, the briefings began. Sheppard felt that trying to take in all the information inundating him was like trying to take a drink from a fire hose.

  At 1330, Corporal Westbrook knocked, entered, and stated, “Sir, the gig is standing by to take the Captain to the Sabine.”

  Sheppard’s leg was feeling better, and he managed the walk down the starboard main deck limping less than his earlier trip; the aspirin, no doubt, was helping. That walk past the numerous twin-gun mounts and five-inch ammunition handling rooms took longer than he had anticipated. Lieutenant (junior grade) Hughes was now the Officer of the Deck and clearly as determined as Lieutenant Hamblen had been to have a flawless quarterdeck ceremony. Sheppard decided that for the sake of tradition he was going to have to subject himself to these rituals aboard Argonne for the moment, even at the expense of time.