Chapter 60 Chapter 60

The sun rose above the horizon, casting a red glow on the wings of the clipper.Victor Henry was fully awake, and he watched the dazzling sun leave the sea.The seaplane's engine changed its tune, gripping his nerves.Since he and Pamela Tudsbury said goodbye on snowy Red Square, he's been bouncing around on trains, planes, ships, trucks, jeeps, sleighs and even bullock carts.After boarding the California, he thought, his bones might still shake for a month.In another forty-eight hours, two more voyages of 1,500 miles will be made. If there is no accident along the way, this half-circle trip around the earth will be over.

The sun turned sideways.The turn was so steep that he didn't even lean in his seat.A pink light came from the other side of the plane and fell on his lap.Pug left his seat and went into the front kitchen, where the waiter was cracking eggs. "Is Ed Connery free, I want to talk to him." The waiter smiled and gestured to the door marked Cockpit.The naval officer and the captain had dined together and shared a room in a hotel on the island.In the instrument-filled cockpit, the sound of the engine is much louder, and outside the plexiglass windows, there is a vast expanse of purple-red water and a crystal-blue sky.The captain was a stocky man with freckles; he was wearing a shirt and headphones, and he was looking at Pug Henry strangely.

"Good morning, Ed. How did we get back?" Connery handed him a telegram, printed in red ink on yellow paper. Pacific Command Ports Powered Plain Quotation Marks Pearl Harbor Wasn't Attacked It's a drill to Quotation Marks moorings heavy artillery fire I suggest you return to Chick Island to find out what's going on "Is it fresh?" The captain took off the sponge rubber earphones and scratched his curly red hair. "Do you believe it to be true?" "I don't doubt it," Victor Henry said. "Damn it. Honestly, I didn't expect them to do it. Attack on Pearl Harbor! It won't come cheap to them."

"I hope so. But what's the point of flying back, Ed?" "I reckon they'll go and bomb Midway, too." "Ah, then they might go and bomb Wake Island anyway." "Wake Island is calm and peaceful, I have spoken with it." Victor Henry returned to his seat, excited but not surprised.Here it comes, he thought: in the frenzy of the war, look for a sneak attack on Pearl Harbor.These brainless Asians are up to the old Port Arthur tricks!But this time they got their heads in the noose at last.America in 1941 was not Tsarist Russia in 1904.The statement in the Pacific Command cable that it wasn't a drill kept haunting him.Foolish to say that to a fleet on the alert for war.Some low-level operator must have added it.A calm, tanned Marine, wearing only shorts, socks, and leather boots, was waiting for him on the pier in a jeep.The commander of the Marine Corps has ordered the troops to prepare for battle, and he wants to see Colonel Henry.They drove down the beach road in scorching sun and choking coral dust, then turned into a jungle.Hours of preparation did not alter the appearance of Wake Island: three flat, quiet islands of sand forming a horseshoe, surrounded by emerald shallows, surrounded by a vast ocean, teeming with thousands of birds— Because this is a game sanctuary—the trucks and bulldozers of the Civil Construction Corps scurry up and down.The island's grotesque humpbacked mice hopped away from the front of the jeep like wallabies, and flocks of colorful birds soared through the undergrowth, chirping.

The command post was built under a deep coral sand bottom, well camouflaged with tree branches.dimension Confronting the Colonel of the Marine Corps in the deep timber cave, Christopher Henry saw the radio equipment and rough furniture, smelled filter coffee and freshly dug earth, and felt that the war against Japan had become a reality.This underground shelter did not have the cemetery smell of the Russian trenches; instead of being cold and damp, it was baked hot and dry; Instead of bulging Slavs, tanned, almost naked, sweating Americans.However here, Here, where the sound of the Pacific Ocean could be faintly heard, the Americans—like the Russians on the outskirts of Moscow—were burrowing underground, waiting for an attack.America is at war.

The Colonel of the Marine Corps was a thin, good-looking man with whom Pug had dined the night before.He handed Pug a letter asking him to take it to HQ Pacific Fleet. "Colonel, please hand it over to the Admiral of the Navy. This is the list of supplies I need most urgently. We can use it to fight here. If he sends those things, we may be able to hold out until the time of defense change. Wake Island The radar equipment is currently at the pier in Hawaii and has been there for a month. For God's sake, please put him on a destroyer, preferably a bomber, and send it quickly. No radar, I am Blind man. I can't send fighter jets on patrol, there are too few fighter jets. My highest point here is only twenty feet above the sea, and my water tower is only a few feet higher. We probably end up having to eat fish behind barbed wire Went with rice, but at least we can make those bastards work hard to get this place."

Pug was back at the hotel just in time for a storm.The Clipper passengers were sitting down to lunch when the wind rattled the floor, banging dishes and rattling broken glass from the windows onto the tiled floor.Passengers yelled and ran to the windows.Bulky cigar-shaped planes, circled in orange over the garish jungle paint, flashed by in the rain; Pug glimpsed their twin engines and twin tails.Black smoke and fire were already rising from the airfield across the lagoon, followed by another explosion, bigger fires, and thicker black smoke.Pug had seen the bombing often, but this attack, which had destroyed American installations at will, still made him swoon.

The bombers bombing wantonly, appearing indistinct in the rain, constantly crossed and flew over the small islands and lagoons, their engines roaring deafeningly, only encountering sparse anti-aircraft fire.After a while, a group of bombers rushed straight to the location of Pan Am Airways, which was exactly what Victor Henry had been afraid of.An attack on the Clipper would get him into trouble, and his war career would be over before it even began.He couldn't leave Wake without hitting on that big, striking, silver-white target. All around them there was a ferocious explosion and the crashing of walls and buildings as the planes bombed and strafed the hotel, the Pan Am repair shop, the docks, and the radio tower.A gasoline depot next to it exploded with a terrible bang, and a silvery white fire rose, flying into the sky and lingering for a long time.Passengers ducked under tables or huddled in corners, but Victor Henry remained crouched by the window, beside the driver, watching.They saw the jet of water approaching the seaplane.They saw fragments of the Clipper fly up.The sound of the bomber faded away, and Pug followed the pilot to the jetty.Ed Connelly climbed into the slippery seaplane in the rain like a monkey in clothes, causing the fuselage to shake wildly. "God bless, Pug, I think we can still take off! They didn't pierce the fuel tank and the engine. At least I don't think they did. I'm going to drag the passengers out of this shit right now and fight Hawaii later. lawsuit."

Passengers hurriedly climbed onto the plane.The Clipper took off, and flew.Below, the wreckage of the plane was burning, and all three small islands were smoking.Pug saw tiny people looking up at the passing airliner.Some waved. Nine hours later, despite the darkness, Midway was not difficult to spot.The pilot called Pug into the cockpit and showed him the sparks far ahead on the dark sea. "Damn it, these Japanese did it in one go, didn't they?" he said. "They're shooting everywhere. I heard on the radio that they're in Malaya, Thailand, Hong Kong, they're bombing Singapore—"

"Can we land, Ed?" "We've got to try. I can't get 'em up. The navigation lights are all off. There's a lot of underground gas depots on Midway. Whatever's burning there, we can refuel as soon as we land. Um--landing .” The seaplane descended onto the dark water by the glow of burning hangars and buildings.When it fell into the water with a bang, there was a loud noise, as if it had hit something hard, but then it slowed down and floated on the water safely.They later learned that a Japanese cruiser and destroyer had bombarded the airfield at Midway.A large group of firefighters in high spirits, almost naked, was fighting the fire with water and chemicals, billowing up huge clouds of acrid red smoke.Victor Henry found the headquarters and wanted to inquire about the attack on Pearl Harbor.The captain on duty was attentive but mumbled.He said that the commander had gone out to inspect the air defense facilities on the island, and he had no right to show him top-secret documents, but he could tell the colonel that the navy had shot down many Japanese planes.

"How about the 'California'? I was there to take over as captain." The captain was in awe. "Oh, sir, really? 'California'? I'm sure she's all right, sir. I don't recall a single mention of 'California.'" The news put Victor Henry to sleep for a little while in peace, though he tossed and turned all night, and got up before dawn to pace up and down the cool corridors of the hotel go.The midway albatrosses, birds with large curved beaks he had only heard of but never seen, walked the gray dunes outside in flocks.He watched them fly awkwardly, come down, do somersaults top-heavy.As the sun came up, he saw a pair of mating albatrosses bouncing comically up and down the sand, hopping on all fours like an old drunken peasant couple.Normally speaking, Victor Henry would take this opportunity to check out Midway Island, which is a big base, but today nothing can make him leave this dull, rippling, slamming pier seaplane. Four hours to Hawaii really seemed forty hours.Instead of passing at its usual pace, time froze.Pug asked the waiter for playing cards, and began to play alone, but then forgot the cards.He just sat there like a dentist drilling holes in his teeth, slowly getting the time of the journey through.Finally the waiter came and said to him with a smile: "Captain Connery, please go ahead, sir." Ahead, through the plexiglass, the sun-drenched verdant peaks of the Hawaiian Islands loom on the horizon. "Isn't it beautiful?" said the driver. "It's the most beautiful sight I've seen since my wife had a little girl," said Pug. "Don't go away, we're about to see the fleet." No one on the plane knew what to expect.The rumors on Midway Island are really varied, some say it was a disastrous defeat, some say it was a victory, and both kinds of stories are very vivid.The passenger plane entered the sky above the port from the north, circled around and began to land.When the plane circled back and forth, Victor Henry was disgusted by the sight in front of him and couldn't believe his eyes.Along the entire east coast of Ford Island, the battleships of the Pacific Fleet were dotted, all rickety, broken, and turned upside down, like a child's toy thrown in the bathtub.Hickam Field and the Naval Air Station are piles of blackened aircraft wreckage and collapsed charred hangar racks.There are still bits and pieces of blown-up ships in some dry docks.Pug tried to find the battleship California in the smoky misery.But from this height, those boats with basket masts all look the same.Some of the boats moored inward appeared to be less damaged.If only the "California" was in it! "My God," said Connery, looking back at Pug with a distorted face, "what a mess!" Victor Henry nodded silently and took a seat on one of the folded seats as the seaplane descended, passing a three-pronged battleship.The belly of this battleship was blown to pieces, and it was reclining with its head turned up high, and the sea water submerged the cannons.A curtain of water splashed by the Clipper jet obscured the chilling sight.The journey is over. Several clanging Navy ambulances sped past, and Pug went straight from the customs checkpoint at the Pan Am airport pier to the Pacific Fleet Headquarters building, which was packed with busy officers and sailors.They all had a look of anxiety and lingering fear on their faces, like a group of people who had been hit by a major earthquake.A very handsome ensign in a white uniform sat behind a desk blocking the way to the interior offices of the Commander in Chief Pacific Fleet.He eyed Pug curiously in his linen jacket and wrinkled trousers. "Admiral of the Navy? Sir, you mean the Commander-in-Chief of the Pacific Fleet? Admiral Kimmel?" "Yes," said Pug. "Sir, you don't really expect to see Admiral Kimmel today, do you? May I find you the Deputy Chief of Staff?" "Inform the General, please. I'm Colonel Victor Henry. I've just come here on the Clipper and brought him a letter from the Commander of the Marines at Wake Island." The very handsome ensign gestured lazily to a chair and picked up the phone. "You may have to wait a whole day, or a week, sir. You know what's going on." "I know the general outline." After a minute or two a beautiful woman in a custom-made blue uniform looked out through the double doors. "Colonel Henry? This way, sir." The second lieutenant stared at Victor Henry walking past him, as if the colonel had grown another head.In the corridors, the doors of the offices of the senior officers of Pacific Fleet Command were open, and from inside came the sound of excited conversation and the clatter of typewriters.A marine saluted solemnly before a high door; it was decorated with four gold stars and a naval emblem, inscribed in gold letters "Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Fleet."They entered a paneled reception room.The woman opened a heavy, polished hardwood door. "General, Colonel Henry is here." "Hey, Pug! Good day, how long has it been since we saw each other?" Kimmel waved happily from the window, where he was standing looking out at the parking lot.He wore a neat and clean uniform of snow-white with gold buttons, and his face was tanned, full of vigor, and looking radiant, though his hair had fallen out a great deal and he was much older than ever. "Have I seen you since you served under me on the 'Maryland'?" "I don't think so, sir." "Ah, you don't look old at all! Sit down, sit down. You've made a fortune, haven't you? Ah? You've been to Russia to look around, haven't you?" They shook hands.Jimmel's voice was as sincere and moving as ever.This is a fine officer, thought Pug, showing a life of smooth sailing and rising.Now, after twenty years of military training and maneuvers against us, the fleet he commanded lay out the front window, destroyed in port by a real swift attack by Team Orange.He looked rather handsome, except that his eyes were red and he was a little distracted. "I know you're busy, sir." Pug drew the letter from Wake Island from his breast pocket. "Never mind. It's nice to see someone I know. You were a good gunnery officer back then, Pug. You've always been a good officer. Do you smoke?" Jimmel handed him a pack of cigarettes, and lit one. branch. "Let me see, don't you have two kids serving in the military now?" "Yes, sir. One flew a Dreadnought dive bomber on the USS Enterprise, and the other—" "Great! They didn't bomb the Enterprise or any of the other carriers, Pug, because those carriers at least followed my orders and were on 100 percent alert. Where's the other kid?" "He's on the 'Squid' submarine in Manila." "Manila, have they? They haven't bombed the Manila fleet yet, though I know the airfield has been bombed. Tom Hart has learned his lesson, he can't make excuses anymore. I just hope the Manila Army's Air Force don't sleep as much as they do here! The security of these islands and this mooring has been and is the sole responsibility of the Army, Pug, and explicitly includes air patrolling and radar observation duties. Island Defense Order reads To be clear, I couldn't find any clearer anywhere. Fortunately the papers leave no holes in the matter. Oh—you brought something from Wake, didn't you? Let's see. Were you there when they bombed?" "There, sir." "How bad? Is it as bad as here?" "Well, I reckon there were about twenty planes that bombed us. They mostly bombed planes and airfield facilities, General. No ships were bombed there." The commander-in-chief glanced at Victor Henry, as if he suspected that there was some sarcasm in his words. "Hey, are you here to replace Chip Wallace East on the 'California'?" "Yes, sir." Kimmel shook his head and began to read the letter.Pug asked abruptly, "General, how is the 'California' doing?" "Ah, don't you know?" "I don't know, sir. I came straight up here in a clipper." Without looking up, Gemmel said in a blunt reporting tone: "Two torpedoes hit her port side, and several bombs, and several near misses. One bomb exploded through the deck, causing a big fire. .It's sinking bow first, Pug, and it's still sinking. They're still draining it so it doesn't sink. It's electric, presumably—" He pulls a piece of paper on the table and looks at it— —"One and a half years, maybe two years, no combat. Of course, this is top secret. We don't publish news of losses." The commander-in-chief read the letter from Wake Island in silence, and threw it on the table. Victor Henry's voice trembled, and he swallowed halfway through his words. "General, if I make everyone work hard, including myself—well, is there any chance I'll get him back into action in six months?" "Go and see for yourself. There's no hope, Pug. A salvage officer is going to replace Chip." The Commander-in-Chief sounded sympathetic, but it seemed to Pug that breaking the bad news seemed to make the Commander-in-Chief nervous. be more comfortable. "Well, that's the way it is, I suppose." "You'll have another appointment." "But, General, the problem is that there aren't many battleships available. None." Another quick, suspicious glance.In this matter, it is not easy to say something that is not too irritating to the Commander-in-Chief of the Pacific Fleet.Jimmel pointed contemptuously at the letter Pug had brought. "Here's a question for you. Are we going to rescue Wake Island? That means exposing an aircraft carrier. We can't go without air cover. He's asking for a bunch of stuff I can't give him, simple as hell Very well, the Russians and the British have taken these things away. Mr. Roosevelt was a great admiral until the troubles in Europe, Pug, but since then he has taken his eyes off the subject Yes. Our real enemy has always been right here, right here in the Pacific Ocean. This ocean is our nation's number one security issue. And he just forgot about that. We've never had the strength to conduct proper patrols. God knows, I don't want to rely on the Army However, the life of the equipment is limited. If we use all the planes for patrol and wear them out, what will we use for war? Washington has been crying wolf for a year when he sees the Japanese devils. We have done so many times Full alert, air-raid drills, raid drills, etc., etc., etc., can't be counted, but—in the end, it's a waste of effort. I think it's clear that the President is wrong about the wrong enemy, the wrong ocean, the wrong There's too much interest in war." Having been to Berlin, London, and Moscow, and after the disappointment that was distraught at the moment, Victor Henry had a strange feeling when he listened to Admiral Kimmel's constant naval rhetoric about the importance of the Pacific. Feel. "Well, Admiral, I know you're busy," he said, despite the fact that he was taken aback by the calm at the heart of the disaster, and by Kimmel's willingness to chat with an ordinary captain he didn't know very well. .The commander-in-chief's demeanor was almost as lonely as Kip Tolliver's. "Ah, well, I did think of a thing or two to do, and you have your own things to do. Nice to see you, Pug." Admiral Kimmel said suddenly in a dismissive tone. Janice answered Pug's call, urging him to come and live with her.Pug was looking for a place to put his luggage and change his uniform so he could go aboard the California.He arrives in a Navy car; briefly and appropriately teases his grandson; Janice says something reassuring about what happened to his warship, and he just snorts.She told him to bring out his white uniform and have the maid iron it quickly.In the guest room he opened his suitcase and pulled out his crumpled uniform, followed by his letter to Pamela Tudsbury on the floor. In his pajamas he went through the letter, which he had written on the long flight from Guam to Wake Island.Like the love letters he had written to Rhoda in the past, the letter made him uneasy.There wasn't much love in the letter, it was mostly an intelligent and precise account of the life he had been leading.After sojourns between Manila and Guam, his whole relationship with the English girl - flirting, flirting, lovemaking, whatever - seemed so distant and outdated , so strange, so illusory and vague!Pamela was a beautiful young woman, but a little eccentric.The best proof of her eccentricity was her mad love for him, a grizzled veteran of the U.S. Navy.They ran into each other several times.In spite of his solemnity, in those last tumultuous hours in Moscow, she ignited a spark of love in him, so that in the complacency of his appointment on the California, he looked forward to a new life with all his might. , simply took it for real.And now—everything, everything is over! The California, Pamela, the Pacific Fleet, the honor of America, and—God only knows—whether there was any hope for civilization.There was a knock at the door; the voice of the Chinese maid: "Your uniform, Colonel." "Thank you, ah, that's great ironing. I'm very satisfied." He didn't tear up the letter.He felt he could write no better letter than this.The situation of a man in his fifties refusing the love of a young woman is as embarrassing and ridiculous as it is useless to say otherwise.He stuffed the letter into his pocket.in to the navy He passed a mailbox on the way to the base, and he stopped to drop the letter in.The "dang" of the mailbox was, for Colonel Victor Henry, the sad sound of a dreary day. Even more miserable was the journey to the California.The foul-smelling water was so covered with black oil that the launch could not even stir the water, but chug slimy through the smoke, crashing like an icebreaker through the black, ragged pile of rubbish floating on the water. .The launch passed in front of the entire line of battleships, for the California was moored close to the entrance to the channel.One by one, Pug watched silently the huge gray ships he knew so well—he had served on several of them—all smoldering, blown to bits, or bow-sinking. , or the stern was flooded, some sank to the bottom, some crooked, and some turned upside down.He was devastated.He's a Battleship faction.Long, long ago, he turned down aviation school.In his view, naval aviation was fine for reconnaissance, bombing support, and torpedo attack, but not as a primary strike force.He once argued with those pilots that once a war broke out, the thin-skinned aircraft carriers would only be far away from the battlefield, busy bombing each other and fighting among the fleets, while the battleships equipped with cannons could fight fiercely for sea control.Those pilots asserted that a single aerial bomb or torpedo could sink a battleship.He retorted that the sixteen-inch armor was absolutely different from porcelain, and with a hundred cannons firing at the same time, it would be difficult for the pilot of a small tin plane to hit the target. His football experience reinforced this naturally conservative element.In his opinion, the aircraft carrier is like the kind of showy team, with a group of tricky dribblers and bluffing passers; while the battleship is the kind of solid offensive team. For the sex team, a dense group of people rushed through the defense line at once.These tenacious fighters often win.All his life he had held this wrong idea.He made an irreparable mistake in the critical judgment of his line of work. For these huge butchered dinosaurs that passed by the steamboat, other battleship factions might be able to find some excuses.But with Pug Henry, the facts cannot be disputed.Each warship was a colossal mechanical marvel, a floating behemoth as finely crafted as a woman's watch, capable of blowing a city to dust.It's all true, it's all true.But if they're caught off guard, those little tin planes can pick them up.The evidence was right in front of his eyes.The twenty-year debate is over. The setting sun cast a rosy light on the leaning USS California's superstructure.It was listed about seven degrees to port, and the water pump was beeping rhythmically, spewing out streams of thick and smelly sewage.As the motorboat approached the gangway, the steel walls covered with streaks of smoke and oil bubbled by the fire leaned over Pug's head in the air, giving him a dizzy feeling of imminent death.He also felt dizzy as he climbed the sloping, partly submerged gangway. We've arrived!In Kuibyshev's difficult time, on the Trans-Siberian train, in the streets of Tokyo, in the clubs of Manila, Pug was thrilled by the memory of his inauguration: the parade of sailors in white uniforms, the acceptance of The guard of honor reviewing, the bosun's trilling whistle, the commanders shaking hands on the gangway, and the triumphant parade on the majestic warship dressed in colorful costumes to welcome the new captain.In the past he had often played an insignificant part in such ceremonies.But as the protagonist, as the central figure, as the newly appointed "captain", that is another matter!Even if it takes a lifetime of suffering, it is worth it!But it turned out like this before my eyes! As Victor Henry stepped onto the sloping quarterdeck of the USS California, he was greeted by a stench of decay.He said, "Permission to board the ship, sir." "Please, sir." The officer on duty saluted handsomely, his red, childish face was very touching.He wore a greasy khaki uniform, gloves, and a binoculars.Five corpses lay on the rear deck, covered with water-stained and oil-stained sheets, soaked black leather shoes sticking out, their noses arched the sheets, and a thin stream of water flowed from them along the sloping deck to the value. The place where the Japanese military officer was stationed came over.Part of this smell is theirs, but there are many other smells mixed together-a huge machine for human habitation is broken, crumbling, giving off all kinds of smells: smoke coming out, water pumps. Gasoline, burnt paint, wood and paper, burnt meat, rotting food, tattered ends of rope.Unshaven sailors and officers wandered about in dirty clothes.On the main deck, amidst the filth, rubbish, jumbled water pipes, scattered shell casings and ammunition boxes, the huge but clean, intact superstructure towered against the dusk sky.Long sixteen-inch cannon, spic and span, freshly painted with a glossy gray paint, with bungs in the muzzles and undamaged turrets.Anti-aircraft guns were set up everywhere on the ship.The battleship was half dead and afloat, majestic and majestic despite her injuries. "I am Colonel Victor Henry." "Really, sir? Oh! Yes, sir! Captain Wallace East has been waiting for you for a long time." He slapped a signalman in a white uniform, smiled admirably, and said, "It's too bad." Sir, I want you to see the ship in this state. Benson, report the captain, Colonel Henry, to come." "Wait a minute, where is your captain?" "Sir, he's down in the forward engine room with the salvage officers." "I know the way." The decks and passages sloped with an uncanny immobility.Victor Henry walked through these familiar places and climbed down the steep ladder, choking on the smell of smoke, gasoline, paint and a terrible smell of rotten meat.Descending deeper in the gloom and stench, he realized that these smelly spaces were torpedo bomb holes.Victor Henry went down to the front engine room, where four officers were huddled on a very high elevated aisle, looking at an oil slick with a bright flashlight.Due to the illusion caused by the eyes, it seems that the water that is half-flooding the engine is tilted, not this watertight compartment. Victor Henry joined the technical discussion on rescuing the warship without even exchanging a few pleasantries.The water pump was too late to discharge the water poured in from the hole pierced by the torpedo, so the hull was slowly sinking.It's as simple as that.Pug asked if there were still pumps, and if a tugboat or auxiliary ship could be used to drain the water.Yet the whole mooring yard is clamoring for a water pump.Without more pumping equipment, it will be impossible to prevent the sinking of this battleship in time.Captain Wallenston, with a haggard face and greasy khaki overalls, looked about sixty years old, and gave one after another pessimistic answers to Pug's other methods.Make up for those underwater operations that have been holed for months.They are distributed in more than a dozen parts of the hull.It was impossible to send divers to seal the damaged parts and close them one by one in time.In a word, although the "California" has not sunk to the bottom, it is already finished.It was all about compartmentalization, about glued repairs, about sending it home for a complete overhaul, about returning to service in 1943 or 1944, and so on. ①The gap between compartments on a ship to prevent liquid from flowing from one compartment to another. Wallens took Victor Henry to the captain's cabin above.It was refreshing to breathe again the fresh air blowing in through the windward portholes, and to see Venus shining brightly in an apple-green night sky.On this irretrievably sunk battleship, the commander's cabin was intact, spacious, handsome and charming.A Filipino waiter brought them coffee, which they had to rest on their laps because the cups would slide off the sloping table.The captain sadly told Pug about the Japanese bombing.Pug had never met the officer before, but Wallenston seemed to know him well.He asked Victor Henry what President Roosevelt really looked like, and whether he thought the Russians could hold out against the Germans longer. "Oh, by the way," he added as he was about to accompany Pug out, "here's a lot of your letters. I don't know—" He opened and closed some desk drawers, "ah , here, all here." Victor Henry tucked the bulging envelope under his arm, and together with the captain picked their way across the cluttered, smelly main deck in the deep twilight. "You can't believe what this warship looked like two days ago." The captain shook his head miserably, raising his voice to overwhelm the sound of "boom-chi-boom-chi" pumps and metal knocking all around. “我们从马尼拉得到了你要来的消息。星期六我亲自进行检查。检查了五个小时。那个活儿干得才漂亮呢！你简直可以在轮机舱甲板上吃饭。都闪闪发亮！它要算总司令的舰队里最漂亮的了，亨利，而且配备着最优秀的官兵——唉，有什么用呢？有什么用呢？”后甲板的那些尸体都已经挪走了。舰长四处望望，说：“啊，他们把那些可怜鬼弄走了。真是不幸极了。上次点名还有四十七个找不着。他们是在底舱里，亨利，全淹死啦。啊，上帝！那些打捞的家伙说，总有一天这艘军舰要回来作战的，可是天晓得！天晓得那时候我在什么地方！谁料到这些狗崽子们竟能神不知鬼不觉地一路溜进夏威夷来？谁会料到他们竟疯狂到敢来试一试？我们的空中掩护到哪儿去了呢？” “那是'企业号'吗？”帕格指着一个熄灯灭火的黑压压的长方形东西，它正顺着水道往外驶。 华伦斯东凝视着那个黑影。“是它。谢谢上帝，星期天早上它没在港里。” “我儿子是那上面的飞行员。或许我该去看看他。有好久没见到他了。” “我说，那该叫你高兴高兴啦。只要叫你高兴，什么都成。我知道你的心情。我只能说实在抱歉，亨利，真是对不起得很。”华伦斯东舰长伸出手。维克多•亨利犹豫了一下。 在这一瞬间，他想，这个人当初要是比别人聪明点儿，使这艘军舰处于z级，或者即使是y级戒备——不管怎样说，连他也收到了备战警告——下令进行拂晓防空戒备，“加利福尼亚号”现在也许成为海军里最出名的战舰，雄踞水面，随时准备战斗了。而华伦斯东也就会成为民族英雄，在他的面前就是直通海军作战部长办公室的升官道路，他移交给下一任的就会是一个战斗的指挥部。可是眼下呢，他不过是那八位正和打捞军官磋商的战列舰舰长之一，嘴里叨念着这一切是多么不幸，伸出手给那个永远也不会接替他的人，因为他已经让敌人把军舰击沉了。 然而如果是他，帕格•亨利，情况可能好一些吗？One 战列舰舰长命令他的部下起床在港里进行拂晓全体作战准备，而其它六艘战列舰却都在睡大觉，这简直成了可笑的荒唐鬼了。整个舰队，从太平洋舰队总司令以下，都在做梦。这是主要的永远不能改变的历史事实。“加利福尼亚号”的沉没只是一个谁也不会去注意的小小的脚注而已。 他握了握华伦斯东的手，向军旗行了个礼，顺着斜倚水面的令人眩晕的舷梯走下去，乘上值日军官调来的完好无损的豪华的舰长专用汽艇。汽艇驶到码头已经天黑了。帕格借着汽车仪表板朦胧的亮光，把那堆积存信件的信封大致看了看；大部分是公文，有两封是罗达的，一封是梅德琳的。他一封也没拆开。 “爸！”华伦不但在家，而且已经换上了便服裤子和一件宽松的花衬衫。他冲进客厅，用一只胳膊搂着他父亲，另一只胳膊僵直地垂在身边，一边耳朵上贴着胶布。“哎呀呀，您到底完成了任务啦！从莫斯科捞了一笔！您好吧！爸？” “我刚上'加利福尼亚号'看了看。” “哦，老天爷。来点搀水的威士忌酒好吗？” “水别太多，多点儿威士忌。你胳膊怎么啦？” “我冲上日本鬼子了，琴没跟你说这事吗？” “她没告诉我你受了伤。” “不过缝了几针。我照样飞，这才是主要的。来，爸爸，外面这儿凉快点儿。” 在阴凉的有遮阳的走廊里，帕格沉痛地描述着“加利福尼亚号”的情景。华伦一脸瞧不起的样儿。他说，海军的战舰就象一群睡着了的肥猫，等着吃败仗；他们光想着晋升和比分数，对天空的情况一无所知，训练了多少日子，一心要跟日本鬼子打一场日德兰战役①那样的仗。可是日本鬼子抓了海军航空兵，而且一出手就打得很漂亮。“我们会打败他们的，”他说，“不过这将是一场持久的硬仗，海军航空兵会来干的。可不是舰艇，爸。” ①指一九一六年英德两国海军在丹麦西部海上进行的一场大海战。 “我看有些飞机好象在地面上就给收拾掉了，”帕格不服气地说，觉得威士忌酒喝下去很舒服，在身体里发散开来。 “不错，这我承认。整个基地都毫无防备。爸，我告诉您一件事，要是海尔赛是太平洋舰队总司令，就出不了这种事。他一直憋着劲儿准备作战，早就心急火燎了。他会让这该死的舰队保持z级戒备，整年从早到晚进入全部战斗准备；他会让巡逻机飞个没完，直到飞得散了架；他会成为夏威夷最叫人痛恨的家伙。可是老天爷，他们一来，他早已等着他们了！可不是嘛，我们在十一月就把航空母舰轻装了，从那以后，我们天天飞到天黑，鱼雷装上弹头，飞机上装上炸弹，深水炸弹也准备好了。他就象个屁股上叮了个马蝇子的老骡子一样猛跑，这可一点不假。” 华伦描述了海尔赛为了寻找日本人的航空母舰而冲到欧胡岛南边去的那趟徒劳无功的奔袭。华伦•亨利和其他飞行员都觉得方向根本不对头。日本鬼子潜伏的地带只能在北边，从那儿他们袭击完了可以一直返回本土。可是海尔赛——这是事后才知道的——收到了南部发现大量无线电信号的测向报告，于是他出动了全部鱼雷攻击机和俯冲轰炸机，轰轰隆隆地往南飞去。机群在空荡荡的海面上搜索了几个小时，直到“企业号”难以为情地把它们召了回去。这个报告是最常见的测向错误，是相对方位。日本鬼子正好是在相反的方向——北方。当然，那时候已经没希望追上他们了。 他父亲怀疑地咕哝道：“原来这样？万能的上帝，这简直跟战舰干得一样蠢。” “嗐，是够蠢的，那么大的参谋部里应该有人会想到相对方位的。可是谁的头脑都没有这么清楚，我闹不明白——不管怎么说，这可是一艘航空母舰对付四、五艘呵。这也许还算是最好的呢。他起码是试图寻找战斗的机会。您听我说，爸，我们自己的高射炮把自己的飞机打掉了好多，我肯定就是给他们打中的。所有这些都不过是历史上的一场混乱。告诉我，拜伦怎么样？您在马尼拉看见他了吗？” 威士忌酒缓和了维克多•亨利难受的心情，不过和华伦聊一聊却是一剂更好的药。客厅里斜射过来的光落在他儿子身上，显出他已经变了：老了一些，比较自在，然而有点倔强，不管什么时候总叼着烟卷。他跟敌人较量过，仍旧活着。他锋芒毕露，尽管他小心翼翼地顺随着帕格。 “我跟您说吧，爸，”他说，从另一间房间里又给他端来一杯，“我不否认这是失败。这是我们历史上败得最惨的一次。海军要在这种耻辱中过一百年。可是，上帝，国会今天投票宣战，只有一票反对！仅仅一票！想想吧——还有什么别的能造成这种局面？日本鬼子是蠢货，他们本应往南移动，看罗斯福敢不敢动手。他们真要那么干了，罗斯福才麻烦呢。”华伦喝了一大口威士忌酒。“再说，在军事行动上讲，他们把这次攻击弄糟了。头一轮轰炸，他们就把我们打倒在地上，等到第二轮，只不过是在军舰上找补了几下，炸沉了一些小船。那有什么好处呢？我们的油库就在潜艇基地的后面，一点掩蔽都没有。几十个装满油的矮胖胖的靶子，拿帽子都能扣着。是啊，要是他们把这些油搞掉了——没有任何东西妨碍他们这么干——我们这会儿就得从夏威夷撤退了。舰队就不能从这里进行活动。我们现在就得横跨二千五百海里的海洋，演一出敦刻尔克的撤退了。这还不算，他们没炸潜艇。他们会后悔的！他们也没碰我们的修配厂——” “我相信，”帕格说，“日本鬼子的海军上将因为他的可耻失败，现在正在剖腹自杀呢。” “爸，我说那确实是一个失败，”华伦并不觉得受了打击，尖锐而又愉快地反驳说，“我说，他们突袭成功，是付了很高政治代价的，后来又没能加以利用。我说，还有一刻钟才吃晚饭，再喝一小杯怎么样？” 帕格想看看他的信件，可是华伦的聪明伶俐使他的忧郁心情愉快起来，烈性的酒也见了奇效。“好吧，少来一点。” 他告诉华伦，他见到了海军司令吉美尔。这位年轻的飞行员听说吉美尔抱怨运给欧洲的作战物资太多时，摆了一下手。“天哪，他也抱怨吗？只是一个软弱无力的借口罢了。一定要赔上几百万条人命才能挡住德国人。谁的生命呢？可能是我们的！俄国人已经跟希特勒做过一次交易，他们还能再做一次。您知道，一九一七年共产党单独签订过和约。列宁取得政权后，首先做的就是这个。我们的全部策略就是叫苏联继续打下去。那是非常明显的！” “你知道，华伦，你应该抽空到总司令那儿去，把问题解决了。” “我倒愿意那么干，不过我得赶快行动，趁他在职的时候抓住他。” “呃？你有内部消息？” “爸爸，总统不会辞职，总得有人来动脑筋。” “大家吃晚饭吧，”杰妮丝的声音喊道。 “唯一的问题是，”他们走进屋去时华伦说，“有一天，那些俄国人会为了那些人命勒索报酬的。他们一定会吞并波兰，或者捷克，或者别的什么地方。也许那是够公平合理的。每隔五十年左右，俄国总是把波兰吞下去，随后又吐出来。爸，莫斯科到底什么样儿？俄国人又是什么样儿？您看见了多少？” 在吃晚饭的时候，帕格一直谈着他在俄国的冒险故事。杰妮丝准备了好多瓶红酒。酒并不太好，他也不怎么会喝酒。可是那天晚上，他一杯接一杯地喝下去，觉得那红酒实在了不起。不停的谈话是他身上另一件不寻常的事儿，也使他的心情舒畅了。 杰妮丝问起了帕姆•塔茨伯利，这个话题又引他讲起在英国的经验和在柏林上空的飞行。华伦要求他爸爸讲讲炸弹架和投弹装置的细节，可是帕格却什么都不懂。华伦打断了帕格的话头，谈起他和军械局关于他的飞机的投弹装置的争论，以及关于他在船舶修配厂里制造的改良弹架，现在局里正在勉勉强强地审查他的设计，以便考虑在所有的飞机上使用。帕格极力克制住他的惊讶和高兴，不在脸上流露出来。他说：“孩子，谁都不会感谢你的，要是成功的话，尤其是那样！你只会得到捣蛋鬼的名声罢了。” “我会达到我的目的，让炸弹笔直投下和命中。” 帕格回到有遮阳的黑暗走廊上，这时他差不多快醉了。他一面喝着白兰地，一面问他的儿子，指挥“加利福尼亚号”的差事既然没有了，他认为应该怎么办呢。这可是个真心诚意的问题。他的儿子给了他深刻的印象，他想华伦也许会给他很好的建议。华伦笑着说：“爸爸，学学飞行吧。” “别以为我没有想到过。” “哼，说真的，您明天最好再到太平洋舰队总司令部的参谋部去，大拍桌子，直到您搞到一个指挥官的差事为止。他们大概以为您和总统很有交情。您会得到您要求的东西的。不过您得赶快行动。如果罗斯福先生想起您又无事可做，他会派您去执行什么别的使命的。尽管我不了解，那准是十分有趣的工作吧。” “华伦，我希望你相信我的话——谢谢，谢谢，孩子，只要一点点，这种白兰地好极了——过去两年中，几乎我做的每件事都使我苦恼。我不知道那位明智的罗斯福先生为什么把我挑选做他的高级听差。我跟大人物当面谈过话，那的确是一种特权。要是我打算写一本书，或者进政界，或者干那一类的事，那倒非常好。但是好景不长。对于那些人，你只是个零啊。那是他们的态度明摆着的。你必须留神你说的每句话；你必须睁开你的眼睛，竖起你的耳朵，注意某一位著名人物的每一个行动、每一句话、每一种腔调。这个人也许会名垂青史，但是基本上也不过是另一个普通的人，甚至也许是个大罪犯，象斯大林和希特勒。我以为，你必须有结交大人物的爱好。有些人真是那样，天晓得，他们渴求那种爱好，可是我不是那种人。我永远不愿再离开军舰和海洋一步，我也永远不愿再走进另外一个大使馆。” “爸，您的差事怎么开始的呢？来，再喝点。” “不喝啦，不喝啦，华伦，现在我一点儿也不觉得苦恼啦。好吧，行啦，只要酒杯底里一点儿，谢谢，孩子，你知道怎么开始的吗？是这样——” 帕格详细叙述了他对德苏条约的预测，他跟总统的几次会见，他为英国调集的飞机，他从柏林打的报告。他觉得自己的话越来越多。“哼，就是这么个情况。这些事情，华伦，我从来没有跟任何人谈过，甚至连你妈也都没跟她说过。你现在使我觉得，你已经是个十足的职业军官了。我感到安慰，并且高兴跟你谈点心事。还有，我已经醉得够呛了。” 华伦咧着嘴嘻嘻一笑。“嗨！您一件事都没告诉过我。向英国输送飞机的故事是两三个月前在《时代》上突然发表的。” “那个我也注意到了，”他爸爸说，“不过泄露机密的人可不是我。在那个故事里，你没看到我的名字吧？” “我确实没看到。爸，您知道总统为什么欢喜您吗？您有一个灵敏的头脑，您会办事，您的嘴紧。这几种品质结合在一起是十分少见的。另外再加上一条，您不想做官。总统的四周，少不了象您所形容的，争先恐后想接近他的那种人。他准觉得您为人爽朗，而且有用。在华盛顿，爱国的人不会很多。” “噢，那倒是个有趣的想法。我不知道你为什么要奉承我，不过你管我叫头脑灵敏的爱国者，我得谢谢你。华伦，我的确想努力做到跟别人同样灵敏。可能我在航空母舰对战列舰的那个小小的争论上，犯了点错误。如果命令我去指挥'企业号'航空母舰，比如说，而不是去指挥'加利福尼亚号'战列舰——这是可能的，要是我学过飞行——那么我目前就会是一名指挥官，而不是一个醉醺醺的酒鬼了。谢谢你，华伦。在一切方面谢谢你，但愿上帝保佑你。我罗罗嗦嗦说了这么多话，很抱歉。明天，我想听听你和那些零式飞机打的一切交道。现在要是我还能走得了路的话，我想，我要去睡觉了。” 直到中午，他才起床。杰妮丝在后面草地的毯子上跟孩子逗着玩，这时她公公穿一件白绸和服，手里拿着一个马尼拉信袋，打着哈欠，出现在带遮阳的走廊上。 “嗨，爸，”她喊。“弄点早饭吃，怎么样？”他在一张柳条椅里坐下。“你是说中饭吧。不用了，谢谢。旅行弄得我晕头转向，到现在还不能按时间办事。你们的女仆正给我煮咖啡，我要看看我的信件，然后上总司令部去一趟。” 几分钟以后，杰妮丝听见当的一响。维克多•亨利坐得笔直，瞪着膝头上的一封信。他的手仍旧搁在那只被他重重地放下的杯子上。 “怎么啦，爸？” “嗯？什么？没什么。” “家里有什么坏消息吗？” “咖啡太烫啦，烫了我的舌头。没什么。顺便问一声，华伦哪里去了？” “到舰上去了。他想回来吃晚饭。不过我恐怕今后对任何事都不能有把握了。” "Not bad." 她想，他的声音、他的态度既紧张又古怪。她偷偷地看他把那两封手写的信念了又念，一会儿望望这封，一会儿望望那封，撇下一堆公文拆都不拆。 “喂，琴。”他站起来，把信装回大封袋里。 “嗳，爸。你真不想吃点东西吗？” “不想，不想。我不想吃。我觉得我比自己料想的还要疲乏些。我想还是上床去再躺一会儿。” 天黑了，他的卧室门还关着。七点以后，华伦回家了。杰妮丝把经过的事儿都跟他讲了。他小心地敲敲他爸爸的房门。 “爸爸？” 他敲得更响一点，试着拧了一下门把手，走进了乌黑的房间。一会儿，他拿了一个白兰地空瓶子走出来，手掌里托着瓶塞和封口的锡箔。“这是新开的一瓶，杰妮丝，他把它打开，全喝光了。” “他没有什么不舒服吧？” “就是醉了。醉得不省人事。” “也许你应该看看他的信。”华伦冷冷地盯她一眼，点起一支香烟。 “听我说，”她说，声音里又胆怯又焦躁，“不管里面写些什么，反正是那些信搅得他心烦意乱，你最好弄清楚出了什么问题。” “要是他想叫我知道，他会告诉我的。” “那你怎么办呢？” “吃我的晚饭。” 直到吃完饭，华伦都没再说话。饭桌收拾开以后，他还默默地坐在那儿，望着前面发楞。最后他说：“爸爸把'加利福尼亚号'的事看得太严重了。问题全出在那上面。” “嗯，我希望没别的事儿。”他说：“你听了晚上的新闻广播吗？” "No." “马尼拉遭到大轰炸。他们把甲美地海军基地炸得一塌糊涂。华盛顿发出的消息就是这些。可是'企业号'上的报务员告诉我，有两艘潜艇挨了炸，一艘沉没了。是'乌贼号'。” “噢，上帝，不会吧！” “有没有人得救，一个字儿没提。”