A short time later aboard
Denver
, Lieutenant Commander Jack Olsen reported to the captain’s stateroom in response to a summons by Captain Bostwick.
“Jack,” the captain warned, “this is a protected conversation. Understand?”
“Of course, Captain.”
Bostwick lowered his voice and glared at his executive officer. “I believe Danis is overreacting. I hear noises from an officer who’s blown his flag chances and takes reckless long shots to recover them. We’ve got to protect
Denver
from doing something stupid. It’s eight-thirty in Pearl. SUBPAC is still at morning staff. I’ll place a call in half an hour and get this thing straightened out. In the meantime, keep me informed of everything we do to tilt with Danis’ windmills.
“Aye, sir, will do that, Captain.”
“While I’m on the phone, I’ll locate an open billet in the rustiest tub in the force for a certain half-assed lieutenant.”
“Brent?”
Bostwick snarled, “Bingo!”
Jack took a breath to say something in the young officer’s behalf, but sensed Bostwick detected his intention so he remained quiet.
“Anything else?”
As usual, Jack’s courage deserted him. “Nothing, sir.” Then he rose and walked out of the captain’s stateroom.
Ensign Parnell and Brent arrived at the shipyard commander’s office to give testimony before a Civil Service Board convened to investigate
Denver’s
sea trial accident. The near loss of a submarine is
a sensitive matter, so the Board availed itself of privacy in the shipyard commander’s office complex.
Brent had expected to be asked to describe the accident while Woody witnessed the post-event inspection and would be asked to describe the findings.
As he waited to give his statement, Ensign Parnell made good use of the time by engaging an attractive young secretary in conversation. His extra-curricular activity ended when summoned into the hearing room.
Past shipyard commanders looked down
at the proceedings from gold framed oil paintings hung on dark mahogany paneled walls. The portraits dated back to September 1891 when Lieutenant Ambrose Barkley Wyckoff purchased the site and occupied the office as its first commander.
Five senior civil servants ranging in age from mid to late fifties comprised the board. They sat about a large oak conference table, their moods somber. Darby Cameron sat alone at the table’s end.
The chairman swore in Woody and asked the young officer to state his name, rank and affiliation with USS
Denver
.
“Elwood F. Parnell, Ensign, United States Navy, sir, assigned to USS
Denver
as first lieutenant in the Weapons Department.”
After the oath the chairman nodded to Darby then asked, “Do you know Mr. Cameron?”
Woody looked at Cameron who did not raise his eyes. “Yes, sir, I know him.”
“Please understand that your testimony may have an impact on Mr. Cameron’s tenure as a civil servant, therefore I ask you to consider each question and answer it to the best of your knowledge. Please do not speculate. If you have no specific knowledge relating to a question, state that you do not know.”
“I’ll do that, sir,” Woody replied.
The committee produced a stack of inspection reports related to the alleged falsified inspection.
The next series of questions asked by the chairman pertained to the reports. “Have you read the inspection criteria?”
Woody answered, “I have sir.”
“Did you observe any inconsistencies between the criteria and what you observed at the inspection?”
“I’m not experienced enough to comment on that, sir.”
This characterized Woody’s responses to the balance of questions on the alleged
gun decking
of the report. His damning testimony came during questions posed on the post event inspection when he stated, “The inspection plate was
rusted shut and tough to open.”
“In your view, is it possible the plates had been removed within the past two months as shown in these records?”
“Again, sir, I’m too inexperienced to comment, so I must say, I do not know.”
The chairman admired the young officer’s candor. He had almost
lost his life because of Cameron’s flagrant oversight but remained unwilling to make speculative testimony against him.
“You are certain of the difficulty experienced to open the port side inspection plates?”
Woody replied, “I am, sir.”
Turning to Darby the Chairman asked, “Mr. Cameron, do you have any questions for Ensign Parnell?”
Cameron indicated he had none by shaking his head.
“Ensign Parnell, do you have any questions for Mr. Cameron, or statements you’d like to make?”
Woody paused a second then said, “Mr. Chairman, I was scared out of my wits when we almost sank. But Mr. Cameron would have gone down with us too so I think that should count for something, sir.”
The chairman’s stern expression softened. “Ensign Parnell, you’ve shown a great sense of justice and compassion for one so young. In the twilight of my career, I find it refreshing to see this quality among those at the beginning of theirs. You are dismissed, Ensign Parnell, and we thank you very much.”
The chairman called for Brent and repeated the oath administered to Woody. The questions to Brent centered mainly on the accident and explored possible mitigating circumstances.
“Lieutenant Maddock,” the chairman opened, “earlier testimony by Lieutenant Patrick alleges that following the first operation of the port eject pump, and you wished to delay the second. Is this correct?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“Can you explain?”
“Actually, it’s unexplainable.”
“Unexplainable? Did you have a reason for requesting the delay?”
“It’s … it’s a sort of sixth sense. I can’t say for sure. Maybe something I heard, how the ship shuddered
in response to the impulse … an additional delay between the time we hit the firing key and bottoming of the ram or maybe a combination of all three.”
“You believed this to be
a problem?”
“No, sir. Not a problem but something different. The absence of anything specific prevented delaying the event and we had a tight schedule.”
Members of the board had transcripts of all the pertinent records, including readings taken before and after the casualty and descriptions of the procedures followed.
Brent said, “We
conducted the test in compliance with established directions and there were no cockpit errors.”
The chairman replied, “We’re aware of that, Lieutenant. When we interrogated
Denver
’s weapons department personnel, we found them knowledgeable and well trained. This reflects credit
upon you and our findings will so state.”
Brent nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Invited to make a closing statement, Brent said, “Gentlemen, I have only six years experience at sea. In that time, I’ve learned the ocean is unforgiving and relentless. If there is any way for it to get into a submarine, it will. Mistakes by people are a concern and corrective action must follow immediately. Deliberate omissions on the other hand are intolerable. Those found responsible forfeit their right to be part of submarine service.”
Darby Cameron buried his face in his hands.
Continuing his commentary, Brent said, “Whatever your findings, Mr. Cameron has burned his bridge with submariners. We are a small lot and already know his name. I recommend that he be barred from ever working on submarines again.”
Pausing for a moment as if making up his mind about something Brent went on, “There’s another side to this coin, however. Six months before the overhaul, we very nearly made Mr. Cameron’s mistake for him.”
Darby Cameron raised his eyes.
Interested expressions accompanied the repositioning of board members’ bodies around the table.
Brent knew this would put him deeper into hot water with the captain, but his sense of justice required he speak out. “The overhaul work package had the usual problems. Too much needed to be done, not enough time and never enough money. The eject pump inspections fell initially among the
cuts, but reinstated in exchange for having my troops pick up other items approved earlier. The inspections, dropped a second time as salve for an engineering problem, got back into the work package as a result of arguments by Lieutenant Commander Meyer, Squadron Three weapons officer.
“In fairness to Mr. Cameron, this must be considered. Experienced submariners shared his view on the low priority attributed to eject pump inspections; however, I stand firm in my recommendation he never again be permitted to work on submarines.”
Brent responded to a barrage of questions on his statements with answers that presented Captain Bostwick in an unfavorable light.
“Thank you for your testimony, Lieutenant. You are dismissed from these proceedings.”
Brent recognized he had blown the whistle on his captain and understood the consequences. He abhorred being disloyal but believed his testimony
essential for a fair judgment of Darby Cameron.
After deliberations, the Chairman of the Board read the findings and recommendations to Darby. “As to the charge, ‘falsification of an inspection record incident to the overhaul work on USS
Denver
,’ the verdict is guilty. We have reached a unanimous recommendation
that you be discharged from the Civil Service, effective this date. We further recommend that rights and benefits accumulated by you shall remain in force.”
The chairman added, “Testimony from
Denver
officers had a great bearing on the latter recommendation. The findings of this board will be forwarded to the shipyard commander for his final disposition.”
When invited to comment, Darby Cameron shook his head. “No. I expected it would be a lot worse. I’m grateful to the
Denver
officers.”
The chairman adjourned the inquiry.
Returning to the waterfront, Brent found Woody had the weapons load-out well in hand. The number five Tomahawk Land Attack Missile (TLAM), out of the dozen delivered, made its way into the vertical launcher in the
Denver’s
forward deck. Chief Cunningham’s presence reassured Brent despite growing confidence in his young first lieutenant. The COB had amassed enough experience to supervise the job on his own, but had an unwritten assignment to prop up any new junior officer’s self-confidence. Woody believed he ran the show, but Cunningham hovered about to protect the young officer from rookie mistakes.
Navy yard weapons load-out deviated
from the normal procedure of conducting this at an ammunition facility because Commodore Danis rearranged the process to expedite
Denver’s
departure. Weapons,
barged from the Naval Weapons Station Seal Beach, Detachment Port Hadlock,
Washington in upper Puget Sound, made their way into
Denver’s
vertical launchers at the Bremerton facility.
Brent dropped by the
Denver
wardroom for a short break and discovered Bea had called.
He dialed her number. “Hi, Den Mother. How’s life among the clerical types of Shipyard Planning?”
She replied in a mock annoyed tone, “Administrative assistant, you macho, male egotist.”
“Guilty on the two adjectives, but I’m too humble to have an ego.”
“And I’m too beautiful to be stuck in a shipyard, but here we are. Now tell me. The whole place is buzzing about Commodore Danis’s speech. What’s going on?”
“Sorry, Bea, but one thing is not going on. Our weekend on the peninsula is history. We’re like a convention of one-legged men at an ass-kicking contest.”
“Oh, damn. You’re kidding?”
“Wish I were. Things we need to do to get out of here on Monday have all but quadrupled.”
Bea asked, “Lunch maybe?”
“It’s a madhouse here, Bea. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“Okay, give me a call when things settle down, either here or at home.”
“Sorry, Babe. See ya soon,” Brent said then hung up the phone and went topside to check on Woody’s loading operations.
The Zane family
loved
retreating to the modest but cozy house on the Olympic Peninsula Pacific Coast. It was also a favorite escape for Bea and Brent. Dave Zane often
joined them, but knew when to turn his daughter a blind eye.
They all planned to spend
Denver
’s final weekend at Bremerton by staying at the
Digs
, as Dave termed his favorite haunt. Though Dave had not mentioned it, he also invited Eric Danis to join them.
Day wore into night before Woody and the COB Cunningham completed the load-out, but not too late for a farewell drink at the Helmsman with Brent, Dan and Bea Zane.
At the Helmsman, loud blaring disco music made it impossible to communicate below a shout. Woody spotted the young secretary he met at the shipyard commander’s office that morning. He excused himself and made his way to her across the tavern. A short time later, a commotion erupted. Another young man had staked an earlier claim on the target of Woody’s interest.
Brent picked up on the dialogue as he approached the scene.
Denver
’s baby-faced ensign said, “She looks old enough to decide by herself whether she wants to dance.”
The man snapped “What the hell? You goddamn Navy guys come in here like you own the place. Hit the road you bastard, or I’m gonna pulverize that dumb face of yours.”
Woody softly cautioned, “You don’t want to fight with me.”
“Wrong, you yellow bastard. It’s you that doesn’t wanna fight with me. You got no choice, buster.”
The young man made a wild swing
at Woody’s head.
While a midshipman at the Naval Academy, Ensign Elwood Parnell learned to fight by instinct and his automatic reactions helped him to become a four-time middleweight boxing champion. His feet skimmed skillfully, right foot back on toe, left forward, flat in line ninety degrees to his opponent. His jaw took cover behind a raised left shoulder, while the attempted blow whizzed
overhead. Woody waited for the expected left to follow and avoided it with ease. He straightened, anticipating the forward movement the attacker’s effort would give to his head.