Durant set down the papers and folded his hands over his flat belly. “Have you given any further thought to your career direction? Now that you’ve had some time at sea, some experience?”
“Yes, sir. I think I might be good in training, perhaps in personnel.”
“Why do you say that?”
Jim swirled his coffee, competing with the ship’s motion. “I work well with people, motivate them.”
“Those traits are needed in a line officer too.”
“Yes, but...” He sipped his coffee. How could he put the truth into words?
Durant sat in silence, but his silence never meant he’d forgotten the question.
Jim’s sigh ruffled the surface of the coffee. “I don’t trust my ability to be bold in a crisis. I told you when I first came on board I’ve always floated through life. I’m easygoing. That’s a great trait until Mr. Easygoing has to make a hard decision. Both times in my life I’ve tried to be bold and decisive, someone’s gotten hurt.”
“Ozzie Douglas.”
“Yes, sir.”
Durant’s blue eyes held a strange concoction of compassion and scrutiny. “Could that have been avoided?”
“He would have lost two fingers. That couldn’t be helped. But he didn’t have to lose all four.”
“What if that sound contact had been an actual U-boat? What if they’d attacked?”
Jim’s grip on the cup handle tightened. “I know. I know.”
“You made the right decision.” The pigeonhole cubbies on the captain’s steel desk held envelopes and supplies in perfect order, the sign of an organized mind, a man who knew the right thing to do.
Jim took a sip of lukewarm, bitter coffee. “I know I made the right decision, but I don’t like how I made that decision.”
“Explain.”
He shoved the cup away, disgusted by the contents. “I started that cruise with one intention—to be a bold, competent officer. That’s what drove that decision. I wanted to be seen as bold.” But he hadn’t prayed. That’s what hurt most. Nehemiah always stopped and prayed. Always. That’s what made him such a powerful leader.
Durant scratched his chin. “Did you weigh the consequences of both decisions?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did you consider the needs of Ozzie Douglas? The needs of all the men on theAtwood? The role of theAtwoodin the convoy as a whole?”
Jim closed his eyes and tried to remember. “Yes, but—”
“If you weighed your options, considered the good of all—not just one man, not just your own reputation, but the ship as a whole and our role in the war effort—then you made the right decision and you made it well. You only had one minute to make that choice. Don’t expect too much from yourself.”
Jim scrunched up his nose. One minute was plenty of time to pray.
“Enough of that.” The CO raised a smile, but one without humor. “Remember, that same day I made a decision that doomed three men to death. Do I wish I could have saved them? Absolutely. But I’d make the same decision again, and I won’t beat myself up about it. An officer can’t afford to do that.”
Jim nodded. Not one man on theAtwooddoubted the captain’s decision to abandon those men in the water. And come to think of it, after Marvin Hill’s initial resistance, not one man had criticized Jim’s decision to drop those depth charges.
“Your hands are weakened.”
“What?” Jim spread out his fingers. Looked fine to him.
“Remember our friend Nehemiah? When his enemies spread lies and rumors, Nehemiah said they were trying to weaken his hands so the work wouldn’t be done.”
The scars on Jim’s palms broadcast his ancient fear that if he made waves, people would be hurt. And that fear weakened him and held him back.
