Chapter 86 Chapter 85

The wind was strong and the sea rough, and the battleships of the Seventh Squadron were lining up for Ulysses Coral Island, with the Iowa in front and the New Jersey in the rear, flying Halsey's flag.As the battleship cut through the waves and bowed forward, the gray water hit the solid front deck, and the long heavy guns that dropped suddenly disappeared in the spray.The escorting destroyer bumped up and down in the huge black waves created by the tail of the typhoon, appearing and disappearing from time to time.Fragments of blue sky are just beginning to show in the overcast sky after the storm.

Hey Victor.Henry thought to himself—and now, as the warm, damp wind blew the fine spray all the way to the bridge of the Iowa, wet his face—how I love it!Battleships in motion had always excited him like military music, ever since he was a boy watching dreadnoughts cut through the waves on newsreels.These were his ships now, grander and more powerful than any he had ever served on.He was amazed at the accuracy of the radar-controlled main guns during the first firing maneuver he ordered.The covering fire from the anti-aircraft guns lined up on the ship was spectacular, just like the fireworks launched over Moscow to celebrate victory.Halsey's staff, in their carefree fashion, had not issued orders for the Wright Gulf operation, but Pug.Henry was convinced that this landing in the Philippines meant a naval battle for the fleet.Avenging the Northampton with the guns of the Iowa and New Jersey was a welcome and formidable prospect.

At the order of Pug's chief of staff, the signal flag flapped and fluttered on the rope and rose: file into the channel. Corresponding flags were all raised on the USS New Jersey, aircraft carriers and destroyers.The task force changed positions neatly.Pug had only one reservation about his new life: as he told Pamela, he didn't have enough work to do.Routine business kept him as busy as possible, but in fact his staff—almost all reservists, but good soldiers—and the chief of staff kept everything in order.His duties were almost ceremonial, and would continue to be so until Seventh Squadron of the Battleship entered the battle.

He couldn't even look around on the Iowa.At sea he had a deep-seated instinct to be busy; he longed to see the engine-rooms, turrets, ammunition stores, machinery-rooms, even the troop-rooms of this gigantic ship, but that would have seemed The work of the captain and deputy captain of the "Hua".He had lost the chance to command such an engineering marvel, and his two stars had lifted him into the sky, skipping the gratifying dirty work of sailing into the clean, airy command quarters of the flagship. Pug kept an eye on the sub as the Iowa sailed into Mugay Sound. He hadn't seen or heard from Byron in months.The aircraft carriers of the fleet, the new fast battleships, cruisers, destroyers, minesweepers, and auxiliary ships are all arranged in a majestic manner outside this coral island 10,000 miles away from the motherland.Thanks to these warships, the island's palm trees and coral beaches are barely visible.But neither did a single submarine.It's nothing special, Saipan is now a forward base for submarines.So the telegram sent to him by his adjutant when the anchor rattled down was surprisingly disturbing.

Sender: Captain of "Barracuda" Recipient; Commander of Battleship Seventh Squadron, please allow me to come to see you.The telegram was sent over the port circuit.According to the adjutant, the submarines were all moored in the south anchorage, and the groups of tank landing ships were almost invisible. But why the captain?Pug wondered.Byron is the mate.Is he sick?Are you having any trouble?Did you leave the Barracuda?Pug nervously scribbled a reply. From: Commander of the Seventh Squadron of the Battleship To: Captain of the "Barracuda" My motorboat will pick you up at seventeen o'clock for dinner in my cabin.

The onslaught of the typhoon delayed the meeting that Halsey had ordered.At this time, the long black motorboat flying the blue-and-white-star flag carried the admirals through the white-capped waters, and leaped to the side of the "New Jersey" to attend the meeting.Presently the admirals in their starched khakis were seated at either side of the long green table in Halsey's cabin with their necks open.Pug had never seen so many starred collars and faces of admirals gathered in one room.Still no order to act.Halsey's chief of staff holds a pointing stick in front of a huge map of the Pacific Ocean, describing the imminent attack on Luzon, Okinawa and Formosa to suppress the enemy's land-based Air Force interference with MacArthur's landings.Next Halsey spoke, in spite of his weariness and age, of the campaign with enthusiasm and humor.It is unlikely that the Japanese would stand by while MacArthur recaptured the Philippine Islands.They are likely to fight back with all their might.In that way, the opportunity to wipe out the Imperial Japanese Fleet in one fell swoop will come, and it will be Lei.The kind of opportunity Spruance missed in Saipan.

Halsey's bulging eyes glowed as he read Nimitz's order aloud.He was ordered to cover and support MacArthur's troops "in order to assist in the attack and occupation of all targets in the central Philippines." These instructions he read out smoothly in his entire voice.Then, he glanced at the admirals gathered there with an interesting and aggressive look, and slowly raised his voice and said this sentence: "If there is an opportunity to annihilate the main force of the enemy fleet, this annihilation becomes the top priority.” This sentence, he said, is Ray.Not in Spruance's order to attack Saipan.It took a lot of effort to get this line into his own order to attack Wright Bay, but it got in at last.All those present, therefore, now knew what the Third Fleet's mission in Leyte Gulf was;

Voices of eager approval echoed around the table.At the sound, the old soldier grinned wearily and happily.The conversation turned to the day-to-day details of the air strikes.The chief of staff mentioned some journalists sent by the commander-in-chief of the Pacific Fleet by plane, saying that they had come to watch the operations of the Third Fleet, and that they would be arranged to live on the "Iowa" as guests of the Seventh Squadron of the battleship . Interested, all eyes turned to Pug.Henry.He blurted out, "Oh, Christ, it won't do! I'd rather have a bunch of women on board."

Haier raised two thick gray eyebrows. "Ha! Who wouldn't?" Everyone roared with laughter. "General, I mean stooped old women with toothless mouths and diseased skin." "Of course, Pug. We can't be so picky here overseas." The meeting ended with a bawdy banter. When Pug returned to the Iowa, his chief of staff told him that the reporters were already on board and living in the wardrooms. "Just don't let them come to me," growled Pug. "But as a matter of fact," said the Chief of Staff, a jovial, snappy colonel with a bushy head of premature graying from the second or fourth class, "they've asked you to give a press conference."

Pug didn't cuss, but this time he exploded at the Chief of Staff.The chief of staff hurried away. The letters lay in two baskets on the desk: official letters were piled high, as usual;He always looked first for a letter from Pamela.This time there is one, which is quite thick.He pulled the letter out and saw another little pink envelope with an address on the back that still offended him: Harrison.Mrs. Peters 1417 Fox House Avenue, Washington, DC This letter is lightly written.The longer Huck lived at the house in Fox Hall Road, the more he liked it, Rhoda wrote.In fact, he wanted to buy the house.She knew Pug hadn't really liked the place all along.Because the divorce arrangement allowed her to live there rent-free, but the house remained nominally his until she wanted to sell it, so the matter was messed up.If Pugken had written to his lawyers offering a sale price, the "legal hawks" could have gotten to work.Rhoda also said that Janice met regularly with a lecturer at the law school, adding that Vic was doing very well in kindergarten.

Madeline was also a great comfort.In fact, every month or so she wrote me a letter, which made me very happy.She seems to love New Mexico.At last I have received a comforting letter from Byron.Previously, I had been wondering what he would think of it.To be honest, I was kind of scared.He didn't understand it at all, just like me, but he wished Huck and me happiness.He said I was always mom to him, no matter what the situation was.I can't say it makes me happier.Sooner or later you will see him overseas.Don't be too hard on me when you explain.The whole thing was already very uncomfortable.But right now I am very happy. Dear Roperg rings for coffee to be brought.He told his Filipino orderly that he was going to dine with a guest in the stateroom.Then he wrote a concise reply to Rhoda and sealed it.Throw it in the letter basket of the post.Perhaps, because Rhoda's letter was such a disappointment, Pam's thick envelope seemed ominous at this time.He sat down in an armchair with his coffee and read the letter. Indeed, it was a depressing letter.It began by saying, "My dear, I'm sorry, but I'm going to write some mourning." In two weeks, she was hit three times, the first being the most severe, and the other two were also hard blows, Because she was in a sad mood.Burner-Walker died, succumbed to a sudden bout of pneumonia.She had left Storford a few months ago and she hadn't been notified by his family, so she first found out at the Air Ministry and missed his funeral.She felt overwhelmed with guilt.Would he fall ill if she stayed with him and nursed him and said nothing about the future until the war was over?Had the emotional trauma and loneliness made him physically weaker?She had absolutely no way of knowing now, but she was very upset about it. This September, everything went wrong.The weather in autumn is damp and bleak.Those buzzing bombs were scary enough, but these new weapons of terror—silently fired, falling giant rockets—would have us terrified.After so many unfortunate years of war, after the great D-Day landings and the raids in France, we are back to the days of heavy bombing when victory seemed imminent!It was unbearable--alarms, fires all night, terrible explosions, roped-off streets, patches of smoking rubble, civilian death lists, all back again--horrible, terrible ,too terrifying! After Montgomery invested a large number of airborne troops, he suffered another big defeat in Holland.This probably killed any hope of ending the war in the first half of 1945.Worst of all, Monty kept telling the press that it was a "limited victory." Phil.Ruhr was killed by a rocket, wretch!The rocket had blown the newsman's tavern he frequented to rubble, leaving nothing but a large crater in all directions between the three side streets.Many days passed without even a reliable list of the dead.Phil simply disappeared.Of course he was killed.Me to Philip.Ruhr has no feelings left, you know that, but a good part of my youth was wasted on him, and his death is always sad. As for Leslie, it was conceivable, but unlikely, that he was still alive.The French dentist from the action team managed to get to the Bradley Corps.I read his report.The operation was tipped off and betrayed in Saint-Nazaire.They hid in large wine barrels and entered the city mixed with a large cart of wine sent to the German garrison.They managed to get exact information on the enemy's fortifications and to deliver it.In trying to organize an insurrection, they were not cautious enough to recruit the French; the Germans set a trap for them.They were ambushed in a house.The dentist saw Leslie shot and fell before he escaped from the house.Another pointless sacrifice!Because you know, the ports in Brittany don't mean much anymore.Eisenhower just left the German defenders there to fend for themselves.Leslie's sacrifice--if he did die--was for nothing. Leslie.Sloter, Phil.Ruhr, and Natalie.Jastrow!Pug, you dear honest soldier, you can't imagine what it must have been like for me to be in Paris with these three when I was a young man in the mid-thirties.By God, what happened to poor Natalie?Is she dead too? What was the cause of this terrible war?Can you tell me?Poor Duncan was convinced--and I believe he was right--that as soon as the war was over, and we had left India, the Hindus and Mohammedans would kill each other.He also predicted that a civil war in China "will turn the Yellow River red."Of course the British Empire was over.You see Russia as a ransacked slaughterhouse all the way down to the Volga.What have we achieved?We have almost succeeded in massacring many Germans and Japanese to make them see the situation and give up the idea of ​​plundering the world.That's all.After five long years, we're not done with the dirty work. Duncan said--in fact, on our last night together at Stafford, he was of course depressed, but as usual, always affable--he said the worst times of the century were not the years of war , but the postwar years.He said that after this stupid world carnage, the youth would have come to such absolute contempt for their elders that religion, morality, social norms, politics, etc. would all collapse. "Hitler is going to get his Last of the Gods," Duncan said. "He made that happen. The West is finished. The Americans seem to be okay for a while, but they will end up in a bang, and probably a sudden, racial explosion." I don't know what you'll say about that insight!For complicated reasons, Duncan had an aversion to Americans—you and I were not entirely excluded.He believes that maybe after half a century of terror and poverty, the world will finally turn to Buddhism.I was never able to follow him into the world of "Song of the Great God", but that night he was terribly persuasive, poor good man. It is a rainy morning. Can you guess, I was a little dazed last night as I babbled down those pages?Now I am wondering whether I should send you such a depressing and crying letter. You are far away in the Pacific Ocean, and you are still engaged in combat work, so you have to believe in the meaning of this war.Well, I sent it to you.This is what I feel, and some news.In a day or two, I promise to write you a happier letter.I figured I'd probably not hit a V-2 right on the head; if it did, it would be a painless shortcut out of this crazy world.I just want to live and love you.Everything else is over, but as far as I am concerned, loving you is enough for me to rely on.I promise to have a good time in my next letter, especially if my resignation to the Air Women's Auxiliary is approved, so I can start planning how to stay with you.It's going on; very unconventional, almost unpatriotic, but maybe I can do it.I know some people. Sincerely love you, Pamela Pug put away Pamela's photo because of the typhoon.Only then did he take out the old silver mirror frame from the drawer and put it on the desk.For nearly three decades, Rhoda's picture has been smiling looking out of this frame.This one of Pamela is a full body photo, in military uniform, frowning.It was cut from a news photograph and blurredly enlarged, so it was not pretty at all, but it was quite real, unlike the old soft-lit bust of Rhoda's studio, which The photos are out of date many years ago.Pug then set to work on the correspondence. The Barracuda's porter knocked on Byron's cabin door. "Captain, the Admiral's launch is approaching." "Thank you, Carson." Byron was glistening with sweat in his riding shorts.He took down the photo of Natalie and Louis that the Red Cross had transferred from one of the bulkheads. "Tell Mr. Philby to meet me on deck." He went out on the deck, buttoning a faded gray shirt.The new mate was at the port.He was a cadet school, a fox-faced captain, not quite happy to serve under a reserve captain (Byron had guessed it). The Barracuda was moored to the port of an ammunition ship.A work team at the stern was yelling and cursing around a mine that was wobbled down by a crane. "Tom, when all the fish are in the boat, we'll weigh anchor and go alongside the Bridge for provisions. I'll be back at nineteen." "Yes, captain." The long motorboat of the Commander of the Seventh Squadron of the battleships was shining brightly. The ropes on the boat were all white, and the cushions inside the boat were all white leather.At this moment, it sailed away from the submarine.Byron was indescribably pleased at the luxury of the motorboat, which revealed his father's new identity, but his mind was mainly on the divorce of his parents. Madeleine had written to him that she had "early Saw it before". Byron couldn't understand her words. Until his long, sad, sweet letter from Rhoda, he thought his parents' marriage was a rock-solid fact, and it was. The so-called "one body" in the Bible. It is possible that the mother is frivolous by nature, and there is something wrong with it, but there is a passage in a letter written by my father from London that still puzzles him: "I hope your mother is happy.There have been occasional changes in my life, and it's better to wait for the opportunity to talk about them face-to-face than to write them down. " Now, they will face to face.As far as Father was concerned, it would have been embarrassing, perhaps painful, but at least he should have been surprised and pleased to be captain of the Barracuda. "Iowa? It is recorded in the duty officer's duty book: at 17:30, the major general's guests will arrive. The adjutant will accompany him to the command room. But at 17:20, the major general came in person. Squeezing Looking towards the mooring place in the south with eyes closed. In the gorgeous weather after the typhoon passed, the setting sun reflected a ball of red light, and the coral island was dazzlingly brilliant. It was rare for the duty officer to see Major General Henry approaching so close. This is called a battleship The pale figure of authority of the Commander of the Seventh Squadron, a squat, well-groomed, grizzled man. He stood icily aside and said nothing. The launch drew close; a man in wrinkled and dirty gray The tall officer in uniform trotted up the gangway, clanging the chains. "Please allow me to board the ship." "permit." "Hello, Major General." The officer in the gray uniform saluted neatly without smiling. "Hello." The commander of the battleship Seventh Squadron casually returned a salute, and said to the duty officer, "Please register my guests in the ship's logbook. Submarine No. 204' Barracuda USS' Captain, U.S. Naval Reserve Lieutenant Commander Byron Henry." The officer on duty glanced at his father, then at his son, and grinned boldly.The major general also smiled back faintly. "When did you get promoted to captain?" Pug asked as they left the quarterdeck. "Actually, it was only three days ago." Father's right hand squeezed Byron's shoulder briefly and firmly.They ran up the escalator inside the gunhouse. "You're in good health," the son said breathlessly. "I'm doing this job and I'm going to go down any minute," gasped Pug. "But I'll be the healthiest man ever to go to the bottom of the ocean. Come and watch from my bridge." "Ah!" Byron put on the awning and looked around. "You don't see that from a submarine." "God, that's out of sight. Doesn't it go beyond just any scene in history?" "Eisenhower crossed the sea to attack Normandy, and his fleet was bigger than that. But in terms of striking power, you are right, the world has never had such a powerful force before" "Besides, look at the size of the 'Iowa'!" Byron looked to the stern. "What a magnificent sight!" "Hey, Braney, this boat is so well built, it's like a Swiss watch. Maybe we'll go out and look around a little while." Pug was still taking in the significance of this astonishing event.The captain of a submarine!Byron grew more and more like the dead Warren, but his face was a little too pale and his movements a little nervous. "I'm pretty tight on time, Dad." "Then let's go in and have dinner." "It's all beautifully arranged," Byron said as they entered the command room.The sunlight came in directly from the portholes, making the stately cabin outside very spacious. "That's what this position brings. Better than having a job in Washington." "I have to say—" Byron paused, staring wide-eyed at the photo in the silver frame on his desk. "Who is that?" Before Pug could answer, he had already turned to face his father. "Christ, isn't that Pamela Tudsbury?" "Yes. It's a long story." Pug hadn't intended to reveal it like this, but Byron knew it now. "I'll tell you the details while we eat." Byron raised his right hand upwards, his palm and fingers stretched out stiffly. "This is your life." He pulled the snapshot of Natalie and Louis from one of his breast pockets with difficulty. "I have probably mentioned this to you in my letter." "Sniff! A photo from the Red Cross. Pag looked at it eagerly." They both looked fine, Byron.How big is this kid! " "It was taken in June. God knows what happened after June." "They're in a playground, aren't they? Those kids in the back look good, too." "Yeah, it's exciting as it stands. But the Red Cross has been ignoring several of my letters. The State Department still doesn't do anything." "Pug hand me the picture." Thank you .Seeing this picture does a lot to my mood.you sit down. " "Dad, I might have to go back for a cup of coffee. We sortie at five. I've got a new mate and—" "Byron, it only takes fifteen minutes to eat." Pug waved his hand towards the conference table.Two places were already set at one end of the table: crisp white napkins, silver cutlery, china cups and saucers, and a vase with the school's frangipani flowers. "You must eat." "Well, if it only takes fifteen minutes, I'll eat and go." "I'll take care of it." Pug strode out of the cabin.Byron sat down in the chair at his desk and gazed suspiciously at the picture in the old silver frame.In the past, as long as he could remember, there had been a picture of his mother in this frame. Sons always feel uncomfortable when exposed to the realities of their father's sex life.Psychologists can never analyze such reasons; they want to, but this is clearly human.Had the framed picture been of a woman of his mother's age, Byron might have been able to bear the shock.But it turned out to be Pamela in the frame.Tudsbury, a girl who used to have fun with Natalie in Paris!Before, Byron used to think she was very nice because of the way she took care of his father.Even so, he had been skeptical, especially in Gibraltar, of such a passionate and pretty girl—on that high summer day in the Mediterranean.Pamela was wearing very thin clothes, only a white gauze top without sleeves—how could she follow an elderly person wholeheartedly.She must have had one lover, he thought then, if not several. Her picture was on Father's desk, in the frame, and it conjured hideous visions of naked sex, unsuitable sex, bed-sharing, sex in wartime London.Now, she was staring wide-eyed from the picture, showing Pug.Henry's weakness explained the reason for this divorce.How embarrassing it was, when he and Natalie had been separated by the war, to think that the father he had always admired should be wheezing and romping in a couch in London with a girl about Natalie's age!Byron decided to keep silent, and left the battleship as soon as he could. "Eat quickly," said the father. They sat down at the table; the grinning Filipino orderly brought in two bowls of delicious fish soup.Because it was a rare moment as far as Pug was concerned—himself a general officer and Byron a submarine captain, meeting for the first time in their new identities—he bowed his head and did A heartfelt, long prayer of thanksgiving.Byron said "Amen" and said nothing more as he gulped down the soup. It's nothing special.Pug always had a hard time talking to Byron.It was satisfying to have him in front of him.Pug didn't realize that Pamela's picture caused a violent shock in his son's heart.He knew it was an unexpected event, an embarrassing event; he intended to explain it.To resume the conversation, he said: "Well, by the way, are you the first reserve captain in the entire submarine fleet?" No, there are three of them so far. The man in charge of commanding a submarine; Moose.Holloway just took over the Butterflyfish.He was the first to be put in charge of a fleet ship.He was, of course, a former member of Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps at Yale University, and he came from a naval family.I guess the layer of being your son doesn't do me any harm. " "You have to make a difference." "Well, Qatar. Este thought I was qualified for a long time, but I haven't become a midship captain of a cruiser, and--it happened that my captain was sick at the anchorage outside Sibutu. Fuck." Byron was happy to talk about things that had nothing to do with his father's private life during this time. "Woke up one morning with a fever and couldn't move and it hurt like hell. He fought on for a week and took some aspirin, but then he managed to attack a cargo ship and didn't do the job right. At this time Well, he was obviously very ill, so we sailed straight up here and didn't make it back to Saipan. They were still drawing blood for him aboard the Comfort. He was half paralyzed. I thought the Pacific Submarine Command would have flown in a new captain, but they only sent a mate. I was taken by surprise when I got the order." "Speaking of surprises," said Pug, directing the conversation to Pamela, "Leslie. That fellow Sloter is probably dead. Do you remember him?" "Slote? Of course I do. Is he dead?" "This is the news from Pam." Pug recounted in detail the airborne mission that Sloter had sacrificed. "How about that? Do you think he'd volunteer for an extraordinarily dangerous mission?" "Do you still have a picture of Mom?" Byron said, looking at his watch, pushing away his half-eaten food. "If you have it, I'll take it." "I have, but not here. Let me tell you about Pamela." "If it's a long story, don't tell it, papa. I've got to go. What's the matter with you and Ma?" "Boy, blame this war." "Did Mom ask for a divorce so that she could marry Peters? Or do you want a divorce for her?" Byron pointed vigorously at the photo with his thumb. "Byron, don't find a single person to blame." Pug could not tell his son the truth.After hearing the truth, Byron would probably forgive him for looking down on his mother.This serious-looking young submarine officer is a moralist, just like he was before the war.But Pug didn't blame Rhoda for what happened to Kirby anymore, he only felt bad for her.This kind of subtle difference gradually came into being as he got older, his mood became more depressed, and he saw himself more clearly, so this is something that Byron is currently unable to do.Pug was disturbed by his son's silence and his frozen face.He then added: "I know Pamela is young. It doesn't feel right to me, and the whole thing might not work out." "Father, I don't know if I'm suitable to be a commander." This sudden remark dealt a heavy blow to Pug. "The Submarine Commander Pacific thinks you are suitable." "The Submarine Commander Pacific can't see my heart." "What's your problem?" "Maybe not emotionally stable enough in the tension of combat." "You have a natural calmness in the most tense of situations. I know that." "Perhaps it is. But I am in a very abnormal state. Natalie and Louise are always on my mind. Warren's dead; I'm your remaining son. Besides, I'm a reserve captain." , was one of the first batch, and that's not to be tolerated. I've been following your example, papa, or rather trying to be like you. I'm here today, and I was going to ask you to call me Cheers. But instead—" He pointed his thumb again at the picture of Pamela. "I'm sorry you're looking at it like this because—" "There have never been many courageous commanders," Byron continued, ignoring his father's words, something he had never done before. "I'm worth seeing just because I'm daring, I know that. Trouble is, my interest in the whole thing is fading. This picture"—he touches his breast pocket— —"It just drives me crazy. If Natalie had listened to me and risked a few hours on a train in France, she'd be back in the country by now. Keeping that in mind won't help. Neither will your divorce. I'm not in the best shape, Dad. I can take the Barracuda back to Saipan and ask for a replacement. Otherwise, I can go out of Formosa, as ordered. Air strikes are lifeguards. What do you think I should do?" "Only you can make the decision." "Why? Didn't you use to decide my life for me? If you hadn't pushed me to go to submarine school--if you hadn't flown to Miami the day I proposed to Natalie, while she sat listening Force me to make a decision while I'm dying—then she wouldn't be going back to Europe. She and my kids wouldn't be there now, if they were in fact alive." "I regret what I did. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do." This sentence made Byron's eyes turn red. "Yes, yes. Let me tell you, I'm babbling at you, and that's a bad symptom of my emotional instability." "Byron, when I was not well myself, I asked to go aboard the Northampton. I found command at sea to be a little more pleasant, because it gave one's full attention." "I'm not like you. I'm not a professional soldier. Besides, a submarine is a great responsibility." "If you sailed back to Saipan, some of the pilots you could have saved might have drowned outside Formosa." After a moment's silence Byron said: "I'd better go back to my ship." They walked to the warm and clear after-deck where the setting sun shone outside the cabin, and leaned side by side on the railing.The father and son never spoke again.Only then Byron said, as if talking to himself, "One more thing. My first officer is a graduate of the NCO. He is very angry at following my orders." "Judge him by his service at sea. Never mind what he thinks." 从船尾下面传来汽艇的隆隆声。拜伦立正，敬礼。帕格盯视着儿子的冷漠的眼睛，心里感到很难受。“祝你幸运、丰收，拜伦。”他回了一个礼，他们握了握手，拜伦走下舷梯去了。 汽艇噗噗地驶走了。帕格回到自己的舱房里，发现攻击福摩萨的行动命令刚送来，放在他的办公桌上。要把思想集中在那厚厚一叠发着油墨气味的油印公文上几乎是办不到的。这时候，帕格不断地想到，万一失去拜伦，自己就决不能再当一个发号施令的人了。 这样，父子俩这么勉强地分别以后，就各自出发，投身到有史以来世界上最大的海战中去了。