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Ninety Days Inside The Empire: A Novel by William Appleman Williams

The Admiral Loses More Than a Few Good Men

Page 115

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Admiral Breckinridge knew nothing of any of these matters. He had isolated himself by his handling of Mitch and The Judge, and had become dependent on his Personnel Officer. That man, who had earned his nickname Up-Tight Timothy long before being assigned to his present duty, was one of those dedicated officers who smiled too much and seldom laughed. He was a middle class northerner whose fear of Negroes made the Admiral, at least in his best moments, seem like a white lawyer filing friend-of-the-court briefs for the NAACP.

The two of them began to have an after-duty drink in the Admiral's office. They talked largely to each other, rather than about issues, and their conversations became steadily more fixated on how to finesse the Presidential integration order, on Taylor's promotion, and what to do with Wye. They had drifted into first name familiarity.

"So how's it with The Order, Tim?"

"I think that's under control. We can't do much about housing -nothing, really- but we've scheduled some special exams to kick a few of them up. I sometimes get a little nervous...."

"Why's that?"

"Well, nobody seems excited either way. The Niggers don't seem to believe us, and the whites who've been dealing with them all along go on as usual."

"What about the other whites?"

"They don't believe us, either."

Breck poured them a booster. He was still nagged by his earlier conversation with Lieutenant Wye.

"Well, Wye's out of it at least for now. But it's not like at sea where a little change can make a big difference."

"No, Sir. The war was easier."

"So what about Wye?"

"He's busy climbing back up the ladder. He finished with the Perils three days ago, and will check out on the intermediates today. He should be back in a Hellcat no later than Monday."

F6F Hellcat
F6F Hellcat
© Squadron Signal Publications

"What's the scuttlebutt?"

"That Chief they call Mr. Hank is always waiting for him and they talk a bit, but that's it. Wye is very quiet. I wonder if he is going to buzz your office one of these days...."

The Admiral laughed, which startled Up-Tight Timothy.

"He's got it in him, I have to admit that; and probably do a slow roll as he went by. He is, at least was, a hell of a flyer...."

"You mean he won't...."

"I have no idea, Tim. He was hurt badly.... We'll just have to wait and see but my guess is that he'll fly again."

Breckinridge had not gone completely to ground. He laughed again, mostly to himself, thinking about that slow roll.

-- Well, that would loosen up this place.

"Now, what about our friend Commander Taylor?"

"He makes me nervous, Breck. He is almost silent, very patient on the line. It's like he knows he's going to be shafted." The Admiral stowed the bottle.

-- Yes, he probably has it figured. But what will he do?

"Thanks, Tim; come back after Wye's flown fighters."

As his respect for Wye suggested, Admiral Breckinridge had not pulled quite every shade on reality. He realized that transferring Taylor, and maybe Wye, at the same time would seriously disrupt operations and maybe even lose him some key men like Blake.

He poured himself another drink. Lit a cigar.

-- If I could hang on to Wye for a spell -stretch it out- and at the same time maneuver Blake up to Warrant Officer...that might solve most of my problems.

But Breckinridge could not fog his mind enough to block the memory of those remarks that had shaken him badly.

-- You losing it, Breck?

-- Bury him and forget him.

-- A lot of people are going to think that you just don't care.

Finally he called Lucy, arranged to meet her for dinner at the Bayview. He finished his drink.

-- My God, that's the first time I can remember that I actually asked her to do something.

She had been aware of that also. Halfway down the hall he stopped, closed his eyes; then very slowly walked back to take the bottle off the desk and lock it in the drawer.