by M L Maki
Houlihan sits with Liz and Hunt with John. They sort out their orders and John asks, “How do you three know each other?”
Sam, “We share a p-way and a head.”
“Okay. Liz was telling me about you.”
Sam looks at Liz, then back to John, “Okay?”
Liz, “I used you as an example that women can fight. I just dodge zoomies.”
Sam smiles, “I want the nukes and airedales to get along. I know it’s like solving the middle east, but it’s still an aspiration.”
John, “I’m career submarines. I’ve heard of black and brown rivalries, but kind of assumed it had reached a détente years ago.”
Gloria laughs, “Oh no, the battle continues.”
John, “Are you both with the same squadron?”
Gloria, “Black Knights.”
“Do you fly together?”
Sam, “We’re both pilots.”
“Oh. So, who’s the Goose to your Mav?”
“My RIO is Eric Hawke.”
Gloria, “Mine is Byron Standley. His call sign is GQ.”
John raises an eyebrow, “Call signs? That’s real?”
Sam, “It is.”
“Okay, can I ask, or is that rude.”
Gloria rolls her eyes, “No one likes their call sign. I was hung with Hot Pants. Sam is Spike.”
John, “Liz, is this just an aviation thing?”
Liz, “It is. Nukes don’t have official nicknames. I thing Rickover would roll over in his grave if we started that.”
John chuckles, “You know he’s alive and a lieutenant commander right now.”
Sam asks, “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”
John, “Yes. He created the program, but he was also an eccentric ass.”
Liz, “Was your interview with him?”
“Yeah. I thought he hated me.”
Gloria, “Why?”
“My dad retired as a non-nuke admiral. My grandfather retired as a non-nuke admiral. Rickover hated the regular navy.”
Sam, “What did he do?”
“He hit me with a barrage question. ‘You’re in the middle of the Atlantic at 600 feet with frozen air lines and a scrammed reactor. What are you going to do, Ensign?’ It’s kind of what happened to the Thresher.”
Sam, “What did you say?”
“I looked him in the eye and said, ‘If I’m in that situation with the training I have right now, what I’m going to do is die. I’m here so you can teach me how to keep the crew and myself alive.’ He actually smiled, then we talked. I didn’t try to bullshit him or convince him I knew anything. My major was physics, but that only meant I knew enough to be stupid.”
Gloria, “I haven’t heard the stories. I mean, I’ve heard of him. He was like Grandpa Nuke, right?”
Liz, “Yeah, he was way eccentric. But his eccentricities were vital for making the program to what it is.”
Gloria, “Liz, did you get interviewed by him?”
“No, he died in 1986. My interview was with Admiral DeMars. He was a demanding guy, but his expectations were more straight forward. I did get the vagina monologue.”
John, “What’s that?”
Liz, “He lectured me about being one of the guys and not letting my wiles or period get the best of me.”
John, “Oh, my God!”
Gloria, “You think we don’t put up with stuff like that?”
John, “Actually, I hadn’t thought about it. Not really. There are only guys on a sub.”
Liz, “But there were women in SUBRON-14. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a co-ed command.”
Sam smiles.
John, “I’ve been in a co-ed command. I just considered it to be a hazard to navigation. You treat everyone with the same respect and move along. Looking back, I think I was a little blind.”
Liz, “Yes, you were.”
Sam’s smile gets bigger, “Guys, he isn’t the enemy. He’s just discovered a form of empathy he was blind to before. Let’s give the poor man a chance to adjust.”
Their food arrives.
John, “Thank you, Spike.”
Sam, “I know, it sounds like the name of a bull dog.”
“It does, but I guess it could be worse.”
Gloria, “You mean like Hot Pants? You know, one of the helo pilots call sign is Cargo Britches. Then there’s Revlon and Lipstick, it goes on and on.”
John, “Geeze.”
Gloria, “At least my call sign implies I have them on. I can live with it.”
John, “Why do call signs exist?”
Sam, “So, no one shouts, ‘Hey, John Morrison!’ on the radio.”
“Oh. On the radio we just use the ship’s call sign.”
Gloria, “When a missile is closing at Mach 4, you don’t have time for long-winded formalities.”
“Good point.”
Sam, “We’re going to Queen Victoria’s Market. What are you up to?”
John looks at Liz. Liz is looking at the door. He follows her gaze and sees Cumberland staring at him. Cumberland rumbles his way to the table. Quietly, he says, “Commander Morrison, I thought you were madly in love with that rock star. Now, I find you slutting around with three women.”
Sam, “Excuse me.”
Cumberland ignores her, “Get your ass back to the boat. We’ll discuss this there.”
Sam stands, “Who are you to impugn the honor of a fellow officer?”
Cumberland waves her off.
Morrison, “I’ll deal with it, Commander.”
Sam stays put, so he can’t get out of the booth. “No, I will deal with it. Who are you, Commander? I need a name and command when I report this to my captain.”
Cumberland finally looks at her, “Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hunt, CO of VF-154.”
Morrison, “Hunt.”
Cumberland, “Oh well, you couldn’t have known his behavior was inappropriate.”
Sam, “You’ve insulted the honor of three officers. Your conduct here is completely out of line.”
Cumberland, “Um. I didn’t mean to impugn the honor of any of you three. It’s his conduct I find inappropriate.”
Sam, “Why?”
Cumberland, “Well, um…he was just married, and…”
Sam, “And what?”
Cumberland, “He should not be cavorting…”
Sam, “Cavorting with whom? Do you see, Commander? You cannot impugn his honor, without smearing ours. Now, your name, position, and command, sir.”
Cumberland, “That won’t be necessary. I think this was a simple, ah, misunderstanding.”
“I think so as well. It seems to me a commanding officer should have better judgement. Do you think the admiral would agree with my assessment?”
Cumberland pales, “Um. Will you excuse me?” He turns on a heel and leaves.
Morrison, under his breath, “Jesus Christ.” Louder, “I’m sorry guys. I’m sorry.”
They all stand and Morrison hands a ten to the waitress, “I’m sorry.”
The waitress, “It’s a dollar seventy-five.”
Gloria, “How much for all of us?”
“A dollar seventy-five. Who was that man?”
Gloria hands the waitress two dollars, “Thank you.”
Morrison, “Commander George Cumberland. My captain.” He sighs, “Commander Hunt, I could have handled it.”
They leave the café. Sam, “Yes. But that would have diminished us in his eyes and done nothing to help you. He needs to be relieved.”
“I know. But nuclear trained officers aren’t thick on the ground. Are you going to report him?”
Sam looks John in the eyes, “I don’t bluff. Not ever.”
“Okay, I better get back.”
Liz, “Spike, do you have room for a third?”
“We do.”
John, “I’m sorry, Liz.”
“Don’t be. He was the ass hole.”
John gets in the car and drives back
to the boat alone. When he gets to the submarine, Cumberland isn’t there. He changes clothes and gets to work taking care of the stack of paperwork on his desk.
CHAPTER 13
USS CARL VINSON
1630, 06 February, 1942
Hunt knocks on the CAG’s door and walks in with her statement. Holtz meets her eyes, “You okay?”
She sighs, “Yes, I had a liberty incident.” She hands him the statement.
“No one is dead, in jail, or in the hospital, right?”
She smiles, “No, nothing like that.”
He reads through her statement, “What an ass hole. For clarity’s sake, you didn’t put him in the hospital, right?”
Sam chuckles, “No. I admit, a Swede solution crossed my mind. I said I would report it, so now I have to.”
“What do you want done?”
“Could you put the fear of you in him?”
“Sure. That’s easy enough. Seems like a reasonable solution. If he treats his XO this way, he must be an absolute tyrant to his crew.”
“Liz assured me that Morrison said as much.”
“She’s with reactor, right?”
“Yeah. They both lost their spouses. It wasn’t a date, just two grieving people commiserating with each other. That said, they are both single, equal rank, and in different commands. There would be nothing wrong if they were dating.”
“I agree. Okay, I’ll talk to him. By the way, you have CDO under instruction tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I know. Thank you, Papa.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
Morrison stays on the boat for the rest of the day working on paperwork. At dinner, Miller, the CDO, asks, “Sir, why aren’t you out having a beer?”
“Have you seen the captain?”
“He told the watch he was staying at a hotel tonight.”
“Thank you.”
COMMANDER’S STATEROOM, USS SAN FRANCISCO
0730, 07 February, 1942
Cumberland arrives back at the boat and goes to his stateroom. There’s a message on his desk.
Commander Cumberland
Report to Commander Air Group no later than 1000, 02/07/1942.
Captain James Holtz
In near silence, “Mother fucking, cock sucking, whore, bitch, cunt.” He checks himself and walks out. On his way off the boat, he tells the watch, “I’ll be on the carrier.”
The Horne’s driver gives him a lift.
He goes aboard the Vinson, finds the CAG’s office and knocks.
“Enter.”
Holtz points at a chair and continues reading the report in his hand. Cumberland sits down. Holtz keeps reading. He picks up the phone, “Yes, this is the CAG. Did you receive the list I sent down? Good. Thank you.” He hangs up and puts a notation on the report. He makes another call, “CAG, did we get our twenty mike? Good. Thank you.” He hangs up and looks at Cumberland, “Explain yourself.”
“Why did you wish to see me, sir?”
“Cumberland, don’t start that shit. You know why you’re here.”
“Sir, the conversation was between my XO and myself. Your flyer had no business interfering. She was out of line.”
Holtz, calm and measured, “You accused three officers, two under my command, of being sluts and you want me to ignore your behavior?”
“My comment was aimed at my XO.”
“You are aware Hunt is a squadron commander?”
“She said, but really? I didn’t believe it.”
“You best believe it. She’s the finest fighter pilot on this ship and she has the kills to prove it.”
“As I said, my comments were aimed at my XO, not at her or the other women.”
“You said. So, what kind of boat do you run where it’s okay to publicly humiliate your XO?”
“His actions were unseemly, and Captain, as long as I’m the commanding officer of my submarine, how I run it is my business.”
“Do you have a plan B?”
Cumberland, “What?”
“What are you going to do with your life when you are dismissed from the service?”
“The Navy needs me.”
Holtz, “The Navy needs effective leaders. Do you know who is going to sign your FITREP, Commander?”
“Halsey?”
Holtz smiles, “Halsey is heading back to the Pacific. It’s his war. You are staying in the Atlantic. Admiral King has made it clear that your sub is to be kept a secret for as long as possible.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They will be leaving a naval captain to manage the fighter squadron, and you. That naval captain is me. Cumberland, I will write your FITREP. I expect a commander to take care of his people.”
“Sir, you don’t know anything about submarines, sir.”
“I know a hell of a lot more than you think I do, and I expect you to take care of your crew, including your XO. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You may go.”
OUTSIDE AMY’S HOUSE
0850, 07 February, 1942
Mallory gets out of the taxi and pays. Carrying his duffle and flowers, he knocks on the door. An older copy of Amy answers, “Petty Officer Mallory, please come in. Amy is getting ready. I’m her mother, Judy.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He swallows, “I didn’t know she lived with her folks.”
“I understand. The last time you were together you no doubt had other things to talk about. Would you like tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please.”
A man, about five and a half feet tall, walks out of a back room. His face is set and his gaze burns into Mallory’s eyes. Gary stands, towering over the older man. “I’m Andrew Randolph, Amy’s father.” He gives Gary a crushing hand shake.
Gary doesn’t flinch. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.
Judy brings in the tea and coffee services, “Dear, your crushing the lad’s hand. He’ll need it to fight the Japs.”
Andrew lets go of Gary’s hand. They all sit. Judy serves, watching her husband with amusement in her eyes.
Andrew asks, “What do you do for the yank navy?”
“I’m the LPO, the foreman, of the mechanics in our engine room. I serve on the San Francisco.”
“What is that? The heavy cruiser?”
“No, sir. We’re an anti-submarine vessel. We came back in time.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about that. I thought it was rubbish.”
Mallory pulls out his driver’s license from Minnesota that shows his date of birth. The issue date is 1973 and the expiration just says ‘active’.
Andrew studies it carefully, “You were born July seventh of 1954?”
“Yes, sir. My dad is a kid right now.”
“How old are you then?”
“Technically speaking, I’m negative twelve.”
Andrew laughs, “Okay.”
“I’m thirty-five, sir.”
“You know my daughter is twenty-three, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Amy walks into the living room in a pretty floral print dress and carrying a bag. “Dad, are you interrogating my date?”
Andrew looks up at his daughter, “I was. Where are you going?”
“Uncle Danny is taking us out.”
“Separate beds.”
“Dad.”
Gary, stands up and hands her the flowers. She smiles, “They’re lovely.”
Judy, “I’ll take care of them, dear. Go have fun.”
She gives her mom a kiss on the cheek and hugs her dad. Andrew gives Gary his license back and shakes his hand again, this time leaving the hydraulic crushers off. “Take care of my girl.”
“Yes, sir.”