Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders

by Miller, Mitchell R.

  “Do you think ... do you have the temerity to think…”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” he said. “What I think doesn’t mean shit. Getting my job done means keeping this boat from exploding until we get back. And I would damned well appreciate it if you would cooperate, Commander!”

  He stormed out of the compartment and slammed the hatch closed. To his back, when he could no longer hear her, she yelled: “Damn you!”

  An hour later Mollie threw herself into her rack. Then she reached to pull back the blanket. But it wasn’t there. It had already been pulled back to reveal a sheet.

  But the sheet wasn’t the standard-issue one. Instead it featured the back of a full-size male, his bare behind shining up at her.

  She yanked off the sheet, banging her head on the rack above. To herself she said: “Damn, damn, damn them all!”

  **

  Neptune Chiefs’ Mess

  September 15

  2000 hours

  Harris, Perez, Brombard and Connelly had finished their shifts and were playing cards in the chiefs’ mess.

  “What do you think of Sanders now?” Harris asked.

  “She’s a fine-looking woman,” Connelly said. “But she’s an ice-cold bitch. She supervised my quals for chief. She didn’t smile once. And when the time was up, she practically grabbed that exam right out of my hands. No grace period whatsoever.”

  Perez laughed. “As if any grace period was gonna get you passed on that exam.”

  The other men, including Connelly, shared in the laugh.

  “No woman has a place on this boat,” Harris said. “She should be home taking care of babies.”

  Brombard glared at Harris. “Chief, that kind of talk could get you tossed out on a BCD. It’s a new Navy. We better get used to it. Besides, I can’t see her takin’ care of kids.”

  Connelly nodded. “Yea, she’s a mother all right, but not that kind.”

  They all laughed at Connelly’s remark.

  “Hey, we’re here to play cards,” Connelly said, “not jabber about broads. I’m in.”

  He threw a nickel onto the pot. Perez looked at his cards, then threw in a dime.

  “Raising a nickel,” Perez said. “You know, this mothering business ain’t easy. My wife has her hands full. Little Lance is only 15 months and Alice is two months.”

  “Pretty close together, man?”

  “Whaddaya talkin’ about? Two patrols between them!”

  The men laughed at Perez.

  Brombard said to him: “Hey, Perez, since we’re running with no outside communication now, when do you think we’ll surface?”

  “Why do you want to know?’

  Brombard hesitated. “I’m kind of worried about my kid. He just got his driver’s license and he’s a wild one.”

  Connelly grinned at Brombard. “If the Navy had meant for you to have a kid …”

  The other three finish the sentence: “… they would have issued you one!”

  “I’m in,” Brombard said and threw in a nickel. “But I just can’t stand not knowing.”

  Perez patted him on the back. “You want to know your worst nightmare has come true?”

  CHAPTER XIV – FIRST CONTACT

  September 16

  2300 hours

  Mollie woke to the ringing of an alarm and the squawkbox announcing “General Quarters. All hands to General Quarters.”

  She flew out of her bunk, stuffing her arms and legs into her uniform. Then she jumped into her shoes – and squealed at the freezing ice melting inside.

  “Oh, shi…” She broke off swearing, realizing that this was just another test. Could she take it like a man? She shoved her feet all the way into her shoes.

  Then she ran into the control room and up to her console. She tapped Johnson on the shoulder and motioned for him to get up. He hesitated, then gave up his seat.

  She pulled on the headset and watched four screens and several LED readouts going to beat the band. Her hands flickered across her keyboard.

  “We have a possible surface contact, designated Sierra 11, 18,000 yards, bearing 150,” Degama said. “Any identification, people?”

  The sonarman said, “No propeller noises, Captain. Could be a derelict hull.”

  “Or it could be a destroyer trying to be very quiet,” the captain said.

  Now the XO spoke. “Or a Japanese fisherman where he shouldn’t be. We’re in the Canadian environmental zone, Captain.”

  “We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” He turned to Kapstrom. “Where’s the layer?”

  “About 400 feet, Captain.”

  “Take us below.”

  Mollie felt the tension throughout her body. The real thing.

  She glanced over at the XO. He was checking a large map on one of the LCD screens.

  “Sir, with the layer at or below 400 feet, we don’t have much room for the boat,” the XO said. “As little as 100 feet in some places.”

  She could see the grin on Degama’s face. “A good hideout for a sub hunter, don’t you think? Right at the end of the icepack, where all good little submarines come to play. And not much room to maneuver. Take her to 450 feet.”

  “Down angle 5 degrees,” the XO said. “Helm, make your depth 450 feet. Quartermaster, give me a reading on the bottom every 10 seconds.”

  The helmsman said, “Sir, my angle is 5 degrees down. My depth is 300 feet.”

  The quartermaster said, “Bottom is 50 fathoms beneath us, sir.”

  “XO,” Degama said, “what is your approach?”

  “Sir, if he is a Russian, he’ll be looking for us south of him. I’d loop around him, come down from the north.”

  Degama shook his head. “Not very subtle, Richard. He would expect that.”

  The XO nodded. “What if we come around Prince Patrick Island to his west?”

  “Much better, Richard. I like that.” Degama smiled at the XO.

  And Mollie was impressed. Maybe the XO did study Russian chess moves.

  “Make your course 140,” the XO said.

  “140 degrees, aye, sir,” the helmsman said.

  “Sir, bottom is 43 fathoms,” the quartermaster said.

  “Aye, bottom is 43 fathoms below. Sonar, range to target?” the XO asked.

  “Range to Sierra 11 – 16,000 yards,” the sonarman said.

  The quartermaster said, “Bottom is 25 fathoms, sir.”

  The XO asked, “Range to target?”

  “10,000 feet, sir.”

  Now the XO turned to Degama. “Captain, there’s been no sign he has detected us. Let’s take a look.”

  “Very well,” Degama said. “Commander Sanders, up periscope.”

  “Periscope going up, sir,” Mollie said.

  Her hands flickered over the controls. A large flat-panel screen came to life, displaying a translucent blue with a school of fish swimming by.

  She knew that a pile of what looked like ordinary ocean flotsam and jetsam was ascending on a fiber-optic wire no thicker than a human hair. Concealed inside the pile of junk were television, ultraviolet, infrared, and radar sensors as well as GPS and satellite antennas. A small swivel-mounted water jet and its 10,000-meter cable insured that the periscope would surface a long way from the Neptune’s position.

  The screen now showed the blue getting lighter and lighter. Then the periscope broke the surface.

  The captain walked over to the screen and rotated a trackball to its side. The picture changed as the cameras electronically panned.

  “DSO?” the XO said.

  “No infrared, sir,” Mollie said. “No emissions.”

  The crew sputtered and laughed.

  “No what, Commander Sanders?” the captain asked her.

  “No radio-frequency emissions, sir,” she replied.

  “Phew,” the captain said. “I was worried you were talking about some other kind of emissions. I didn’t know whether your equipment could detect those.”

  The control room crew a
gain laughed.

  Mollie stared straight at the captain. “This equipment detects infrared, ultraviolet and radio frequency emissions, sir. Any other kind I would suggest checking the laundry, sir.”

  Mollie saw the crew members near her smiling – and she heard someone mutter “All right.” Yes! She had held her own.

  On the periscope screen the camera continued to pan. Finally it stopped on an object on the horizon. The captain centered the object, pressing another button.

  The object magnified. A Japanese whaling vessel! And a whale was being hauled up the open stern!

  “No wonder he’s keeping so quiet,” the Officer of the Deck said.

  “Let’s sink the son-of-a-bitch, Captain,” a crewman said.

  “Much as I know you’d love me to, I don’t do that, boys,” the captain said.

  Degama picked up the telephone. “Sparks, this is the captain. Prepare a SLOT buoy and set it to the Canadian Coast Guard frequency. Let them know there’s an illegal Japanese whaling vessel.”

  Degama replaced the phone and turned to the Chief of the Boat.

  “Collect some music, COB. The louder and more obnoxious the better. Loop them around and broadcast them out of our active sonar as loud as you can. That ought to scare off every whale within 100 miles.”

  The sonarman said, “I’m not sure I know how to do that out of this new rig, Captain. I haven’t had time to get to know it like I did the old gear.”

  Mollie spoke up. “I’ll take care of it, Captain.”

  Degama turned to her. “Why would you know how our brand-new sonar could be reprogrammed to do something it’s not designed for, Commander Sanders?”

  “Because I’m the best damn electronics officer in the Navy, sir.”

  Mollie didn’t wait for an answer. She got up from her console and walked over to the sonar console, where she pulled out a panel.

  “Commander, you’re out of uniform!” Degama said.

  Mollie looked down at herself; she had on no shoes.

  “Sir, my shoes are thawing.”

  He stared at her. “Your shoes are thawing?”

  “Yessir.” She indicated her console, under which her shoes could be seen in a small puddle of water.

  Mollie waited for the explosion, but it didn’t come. The captain looked around at the smiling crew.

  “Very well, carry on,” he said. “XO, you have the conn.”

  **

  September 17

  2130 hours

  Mollie opened the hatch to a storage compartment and stepped inside. She ran through a list on her clipboard to check whether the equipment was all strapped down properly.

  Finally she bent at the waist to check if anything were lodged under a bottom shelf.

  A voice behind her said, “Too bad you’re not wearing a skirt. Your ass would be something to see.”

  Mollie whirled and faced Harris.

  “What say to a little roll in the hay?” he said.

  “Chief, turn around and walk out of here now and I’ll forget this ever happened.”

  Harris stared at her, then advanced. Mollie placed the clipboard down on the equipment.

  “Come on, you know you want it,” Harris said.

  “You’re speaking to an officer,” Mollie said.

  “I’m speaking to a broad who shouldn’t be on my boat.”

  She relaxed into the transition to “deflect downward, parry and punch.” Then she said, “You’d probably speak the same way to a male officer you wanted.”

  “You little b…” Harris reached out to grab her and Mollie’s hands moved. The next moment Harris flew across the compartment and slammed into a bulkhead.

  His eyes bulged and he tried to push himself off. Mollie grabbed his arm, twisted it behind him into a half-nelson, and forced him onto his knees, where he gasped for breath.

  “What’s the matter, Chief? Having trouble breathing?”

  With a flick of her leg, Mollie sent him crashing to the deck.

  “If you try something like this again,” she said, “I’ll rip your balls off and stuff them down your throat.”

  Harries tried to get up. Mollie applied her thumb to a pressure point, sending him back down on the deck.

  Sudden the hatch opened. Mollie quickly reversed her grip, pounding Harris on the back.

  “Are you okay, Chief?” she said.

  The XO followed by two sailors entered the compartment. Mollie said to them, “Chief Harris has had an accident. Get him back to his quarters.”

  The sailors assisted Harris, still moaning, through the hatch.

  Mollie picked up her clipboard and exited out the hatch behind them. She could feel the XO’s eyes boring into her back.

  **

  Chiefs’ Quarters

  Harris lay on his bunk groaning. Connelly stood next to his bunk.

  “Christ Almighty, what hit me?” Harris said. “She could’ve killed me. Or turned me in for a court-martial.”

  “You didn’t put your hands on her, did you?” Connelly said. “I said okay to pranks like the shoes, but nothin’ like that. What were you thinking of?”

  “Was I thinking?” Harris said. “Twenty-seven years in the Navy and I came that close to throwing it all away. But that kid is all right. One word from her, she could have finished me right then and there, but she didn’t. She’s all Navy.”

  Chief Walker spoke from the top bunk above Harris. “Of course she’s all Navy, you miserable puke. She’s Jocko Doughtery’s daughter.”

  Harris felt as if someone had socked him in the solar plexus. Connelly stared at him.

  “Jocko Doughtery’s daughter?” Connelly said. “You’ve been trying to get us to – you tried to mess with the daughter of the Chief of Naval Operations!”

  Harris turned his face to the pillow. How the hell was he supposed to know that?

  **

  Engine Room

  September 18

  0930 hours

  Men sat at their consoles, including the nuclear reactor panel and the electrical panel. Suddenly a horrendous roar of incoming water drowned out the other sub noises.

  Alarms sounded and Chief Walker grabbed the microphone. “Flooding! Flooding! Lower-level, engine room!”

  Walker turned to his men. “Isolate the leak!”

  A sailor answered him: “Losing vacuum in the starboard condenser.”

  Half the lights in the engine room shut off and more alarms sounded.

  **

  Control Room

  0935 hours

  “No power for the defensive systems,” Mollie said to the captain. “Engine room hasn’t reestablished electricity. Switch to battery.”

  “Give ‘em a moment,” the XO told her.

  “No moment to give them in combat, XO. I’m reactivating from here.”

  Mollie’s hands flew over the console and, in response, more lights went out.

  “We’re losing emergency backup power,” the XO said.

  “Sanders, what did you do?” Degama said.

  “My job, sir,” she said.

  “That is not your job!”

  “Captain, we’re losing buoyancy,” the XO said. “At this rate we’ll be below the crush depth in two minutes.”

  Degama spun around to the helmsman.

  “Emergency surface, emergency surface, surface!” Then he whirled back to her. “Sanders, shut that board down now!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  She did as ordered while the klaxon sounded.

  The Neptune rose at a steep angle and the men and Mollie grabbed for support.

  Finally the boat leveled off. Degama reached for the microphone.

  “Secure from flooding drill.” Then to her: “Sanders, my cabin.”

  Mollie watched him leave after telling the XO he had the conn. Then she forced herself out of her seat and followed the captain.

  Two minutes later, having received the one word command “Enter,” Mollie entered the captain’s cabin and stood at at
tention before Degama.

  “Sir,” she said.

  “What you did was incredibly stupid. If the flooding had been for real, we would now be on the ocean bottom – below the boat’s crush depth – dead.”

  “I …”

  “There is no excuse. Your arrogance could have cost the lives of the entire crew. It is not your decision as to what systems get put online. It is your commanding officer’s decision.”

  “Yessir.”

  Degama glared at her. “Obviously you don’t remember what I told you about individualism when you first came on board.”

  “No, sir. I mean, yessir. Yes, I do remember, sir.”

  “Not enough to act on it.”

  Mollie knew better than to say anything. Degama picked up the ball on his desk and squeezed it.

  “I allow everybody one mistake. You’ve made yours. Dismissed.”

  Mollie left his cabin and walked to the workout compartment. She peered in – nobody there. Then she entered and strode up to the heavy bag and pounded it furiously.

  After a few punches she laughed. At least he couldn’t kick her off the sub right now. Nowhere to go.

  Half an hour later, she left the workout compartment.

  The XO stood outside in the corridor. He said nothing as she passed him.

  **

  Degama’s Cabin

  September 20

  1100 hours

  Richard entered, expecting Degama had requested Richard’s presence to discuss Sanders’ actions during the flooding drill. The captain waved him to sit down.

  Instead of talking about Sanders, the captain said, “We’re going to do a disappearing act. Actually an appearing act. But the effect’s the same.”

  “Sir?”

  “We are to proceed under the pole and surface at a Russian ice station near the edge of the Arctic icecap.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Richard said. Why would they do that he wondered?

  “When we surface, I’ll pay a courtesy call on the Russian ice station. Bring them a bottle of booze. You know, the U.S.-Russian friendship.”

  “Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?”

  The captain squeezed his ball before going on. “Has Sanders recovered from her colossal mistake?”

  “She seems to have.”

  Degama hesitated, then said, “How is she getting along with the crew?”