by Robert Lyon
Upon the word from the bridge, “Shift colors. Underway.” the tension of the ship eased we were to be underway for a week
and had set to sea at 2 p.m. We were headed to a certain set of
G.P.S. coordinates to facilitate a communications link. In C.I.C. the captain briefed the enlisted with a more face forward approach, he would no longer expected a sailors uniform to communicate his or her identity or even their role there on the ship…pay grades can be deceiving. Many of the junior enlisted were permanently dissuaded from ever seeking promotion as a result of ‘Dirty Laundry Day’ and they were quite clear about that as some tried to imply there was ground to be made up if they expected to ever get promoted. One more piece of fantasy leverage lost to an entire crew.
The ship was cutting the waters in fair seas, the rolls didn’t pitch the ship more than twelve degrees; the skies had cleared and presented a beautiful shade of blue all the way to the horizon. The social cliques were still askew but they needed a break from each other anyways. Captain Artimus sat in his chair and stood on the bridge wings; for the first time he was in command of a truly cut throat ship, every aspect of that was wrong and something to be ashamed of but at the same time absolutely extraordinary.
On the mess decks the E-4 and below conversed during their meals same as ever, with the E-5’s it was more hit and miss, dependent upon who’s merit they stood upon during the arguments, some had actually stood on their own merit, but far too many had stood upon the merit of their subordinates and all the E-6…the first class petty officers, egged on in the promise of soon becoming chief petty officers, feared for their lives. As the hours rolled on, and all had a chance to sleep at sea again the first classes would test the waters figuratively speaking, and risk testing the waters literally speaking.
Word through the grape vine was we were to position ourselves beneath a satellite belonging to the U.S. geological survey, things had gone awry and its malfunction left no way to contact the satellite without being directly beneath it. We would upload a new program and the satellite would maneuver itself back into position. The X.O. and Ms. Mulner the ships intelligence officer seemed to have somewhere else to be and their absence was conspicuous to the crew.
In C.I.C. the social tension was high enough to break a camel’s back. The watch stations had all been set; the ship was still within one hundred fifty miles from the coast of Oregon in an out chop. The reports throughout the ship regarding the ships condition rendered Combat Information Central irrelevant with the exception of storm tracking. Unloaded and dysfunctional, powered down consoles have a watch stander sitting at them for twelve hours at a time. The games ensued, when times were good it was a science fiction adventure land with a game of dungeons and dragons on the side.
Williams said to Worksen, “Thanks for all your help…or was it just me helping you?” Worksen replied, “You said you didn’t want the chiefs getting in trouble. They ran this scheme.”
CTR3 Larry Linscoe said, “Why, why would they run a scheme like that.” Worksen replied, “They said the history of this boat is that the chiefs have always run the boat…I guess we get bad officers or bad captains.” Linscoe replied, “We were going to kill you guys.” Worksen asked, “and why did it come to that?”
Linscoe took of his ballcap and scratch his head saying, “You guys were saying that we were all fuck ups, that you had done the work that we had actually done and there for you knew what you were talking about.” Worksen said, “Well they convinced us we’re all just working for our superiors and it’s the president of
the United States defending the country.” Williams interjected,
“So…if I do something positive then I didn’t do anything all and am just a fuck up, but if I do something negative then it’s just more proof I’m a fuck up.” Worksen replied, “Get promoted…”
Linscoe added, “Ya, because you guys are tired of doing it all.”
Worksen became enraged and said, “Now you fucking get it!
Now you understand and can’t deny it!” GMM2 Sinks started tapping his fingers and said, “So when I trouble shot the VLS console and found that short…that would be an example what you are tired of having to do all by yourself.” Worksen responded, “Things like that, ya.” Williams asked Worksen,
“When did you ever work on that console?” Worksen replied, “I do what I do, you do what you do.” To which Linscoe responded with a sigh, “Well, dude…to be honest I’m tired of doing everything myself. Those manuals you were putting the ships force revisions into…that made me tired…And when the hell am I going to get some recognition for having done that?”
Worksen yelled, “When you get promoted!” Ensign Cardell responded, “Fuck you guys.” and a tense silence fell over the space again.
Mr. Mormus was in his state room reviewing performance records he had to request from the Department of Defense database, looking for the things that don’t go into a service record. Hoping to find no one on board had killed in the line of duty or had any involvement in any top secret operations. Early on in his search he decided not to leave his stateroom until the ship was safely in port.
His phone rang and he answered, “Mormus...” It was captain Artimus calling, “You going to come out and play?” he asked. Mormus replied with a forced laugh, “Ahaha…still looking Captain…” Artimus then asked, “Any good stories?”
Artimus was in his stateroom and threw his left leg up on his desk as he began scratching his groin. Mormus sat pensive at his desk, Looked up and gasped as he considered how he would reply and said again with a forced laugh that nearly sounded like crying, “It seems some of our boys went up against Iraqi intelligence services well after the war…there’s even some arrests of ship board gangs and drug dealers in these.” Artimus rolled his head and his eyes simultaneously and replied, “I like the ship board gang one…let see if we can get any play there.”
In the galley MS3 Scrye was preparing the evening meal.
DKSN Greg Laung was mess cranking helping clean the galley and prepare the food. Laung was tearing lettuce by hand when he asked, “You know anything about this satellite thing were doing?” Scrye replied, “I was up there…they don’t know if we’ll get it, and it’s a three week underway period.” Laung replied, “Three weeks? What are we underway for this time?”
Scrye replied, “We just do it.”
The meal was to be beef stroganoff or chicken patty with massed potatoes and stewed carrots, not a favorite meal of the crew but the reality of having a complaints department but no compliment department has been long understood by this galley staff. It’s said that on one occasion a new recruit had complimented the food and the result was a mess specialist second class petty officer went so delirious realizing no one had complimented the food in three years he had to be rushed to the emergency room and pledged to only serve dog food forever after. During his stay in Balboa medical center in the psyche ward the Hospital corpsman gave him a religious hell for all the bad food they had ever eaten or shipboard case of food poisoning they had treated. He was far worse off upon his return than when he was carried off the ship straight jacketed in the
white sheets the navy uses for its bunks. They say the expression on his face was like a five year old kid hopped up on jolt cola and pop rocks with nothing but free passes to every ride at
Disneyland having just had sex with Minie Mouse; a facial expression far too easy to picture for anyone that’s been down that road.
Mr. Mormus had been searching the ship for Mulner and couldn’t find her setting him into a panic. One of the last persons to see Mulner was MS3 Scrye. The X.O. rushed into the space like a rush of wind asking, “Have you seen Mulner since I was last down here?” Scrye replied, “No sir…is it her birthday?”
Mormus replied, “No scrye…it isn’t her birthday.” Scrye saw how disturbed the X.O. was and said, “I’ll find her sir.” and the
X.O. nodded and gave a quick glance out the door of the galley and then disappe
ared with a breeze behind him that actually blow down a piece of paper on top of the cabinet next to the door. Scrye walked to the phone and called the bridge. Moments later over the 1MC was passed the word. “Ensign Mulner, contact the bridge.”
Several minutes later there had been no response from
Mulner. Mulner had gone to the disbursing office and walked past the ladder to forward pump room, there was the sound of rushing water and a gush of air as she passed. In disbelief and shock she had descended the ladder to reassure herself that all was well. But once she reached the bottom she could only see one thing that her eyes had fixed on, a gush of water spraying up and being deflected by the overhead back down to the forward bulkhead, the arc of the water traversed the space from forward to aft. She stood there stunned, she glanced around and realized this is not a normally manned space, but a machinery space. She read the bulls-eye on the bulkhead giving the frame number,
deck, division responsible, and space designation. Once she had noted the bulls-eye, she attempted to gauge the rate of flooding, then looked for a phone. Mulner said, “phone..phone…where the hell is the phone.” She panicked and cried out, “Hello! hello!
A little help here!”
DCFN Hyple was on the sounding and security watch a roving watch that checks the spaces bilge levels and temperatures to ensure there are no fires or flooding. He was just descending that same ladder when he heard a female voice call out, “Hello! Hello! Where the fucking hell is the god damn phone!!!” Once Hyple reached the bottom of the ladder he saw a growing wall of water and whirlpools forming in the raising bilge water as well as a screaming lost and delirious ensign, he instantly went into shock and with a flash of rage he looked at her and yelled, “What the hell did you do!!!??” Mulner looked at him shocked with no idea how long he had been standing there and cried out in a raspy hoarse voice, “What did I do!!?” Hypole tried to regain his composure and with his masculinity in full force held out his hand as if to say calm yourself and asked,
“Who else is down here!” his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of the rushing water. Mulner looked at him and back to the rushing water doing a triple take that made her dizzy and she asked, “Are you going to do…anything!!?” her voice just as raspy as before. Hyple again flashed with rage he yelled back at her throwing down his clip board and sounding tape, “What the hell are you even down here for!!” Mulner noticed the sounding tape as it hit the deck and she yelled, “Oh, your sounding and security…were flooding!” using the gesture he had used just before her and pointing with her other hand at the water coming from the aft end of the space. Hyple replied in an angry yell,
“What the hell did you do!!” Mulner responded in a full panic
realizing he suspected her of sabotage and might strike out in violence. She yelled back at him, “No…No…It’s coming from back there!” Hyple clenched his right fist just below his hip and grimaced. Mulner said, “No…god no! Your being disrespectful!” and with that Hyple struck her in the her left temple. She with stood the blow and cried as she said, “Will you just report it…will you just report it.” Hyple couldn’t hear her over the sound of the water and with an astonished look on his face he asked, “Are you saying… you just want to die, you just want to die!!??” Mulner yelled back wide eyed, dizzy and blurred from the blow she sustained, “No! No!...I’ll go report it...I didn’t do it…I’ll go report it!”
Hyple unzipped his coveralls to waist level and tied the sleeves around his waist, then took of his dungaree shirt and waded in the water looking for a rupture in the hull. He resigned himself to stopping the flooding or dying in the attempt. In spite of his shock and hypothermia he was beginning to think more clearly, a voice in his head was saying, “repeat it…repeat it.” He voiced out loud, “Repeat what!” and in a moment of clarity it struck him… “Report it!” He yelled. He made his way back to the 2JV mic which was wrapped around a threaded stud on the sewage treatment plant and keyed the mic, “Hey guys, this is hyple forward pump room is flooding pretty bad…it’s up to my waist.” Central Control replied, “Is it the S.T.P. Hyple?” Hyple replied sounding as though he were crying, “No…I, think it’s the hull.”
In central chief Pete announced, “That guy is a DC- men…maybe he couldn’t get laid in a whore house, maybe performance anxiety with a woman that has been with a hell of a lot of men would prevent him from being able to get it up…but he’s a DC-men and I believe him.” Orbly said, “Let’s not have a
repeat of Aux one, send someone up there.” Chief Pete responded in irritation, “How about I just call it away! Don’t you have the watch?” Orbly ran over and keyed the 1MC,
“Flooding, Flooding…Flooding in space five tac one four eight tac one…forward pump room.” The ship didn’t set general quarters dealing with flooding was becoming a sport or perhaps as physical readiness training it was just a workout routine.
Mr. Murmos happened upon Ms. Mulner in his stealthy search through the ship. Mulner jumped with a shake of her head that flipped her hair from on shoulder to the other and she shouted, “Sir, Sir…” Mr. Mormus lunged at her cover her mouth and asked fearfully, “Who’d they kill?” Mulner startled, “Ah- hunh wha..?” Mormus slowly uncovered her mouth and she said,
“I’ll say it calmly then…flooding, forward pump room, flooding. Hyple is a dick.” It was just then that they had passed the word from central regarding the flooding in forward pump room. Mormus said, “Just come with me…many of the problems we are having are indicative of having a ship board gang. Someone in the enlisted ranks does a really good job and as we thank them and give them some recognition that same individual tells us to go fuck ourselves.” Mulner replied, “This may be one of those days, sir.”
I ran to the forward pump room ladder and looked down it looked as though I would be neck deep in water. Forward of where I was standing the Captain stepped through the water tight door and asked, “How long have you been here?” I replied, “I just got here.” The captain said, “someone named Hyple is down there. It looks flooded solid.” I replied, “Yes sir it does.” then I jumped down the ladder. I had stood sounding and security while in port years ago and it is an exhausting marathon anything that makes it easier is something you’ll eventually
figure out. I had descended that ladder many times by just falling until I was half way down, then I would us two fingers thumping the ladder rungs and the toe of my boot slowing myself just enough to stop, but this time there would be a splash.
The water was about two feet from the overhead and Hyple was sitting on the I-beams running along the hull. Hyple called out,
“who is that?” I replied, “Lyon” Hyple asked, “Did we get hit by a torpedo?” He was trembling from the cold. I said, “No dude…it looks like it’s coming from the fire pump, its flex pipe has bubbles in it I told Hefter about, he said he’d handle it.”
Hyple said, “We won’t be able to shut off the pump dude, the controller is in local.” I replied, “Your Hypothermic Hyple just head out I got it.” Hyple replied, “Fa..fa..fuck you.” The last few feet of air in the compartment filled quickly as I swam down and tried to get passed cables, pipes and a spinning coupling I was accustomed to using to ensure I didn’t slip into the bildge. I eventually open my eyes under the water and noticed the permanently mounted damage control lanterns were still on, but
I was swimming into a dark corner with a single green light.
That light was on the controller indicating the pump was running. Hyple was on the other end of the space keeping his head in an air pocket.
Once I reached it I switched it to the off position and noticed the light went out, but I needed air. I swam back to and up the escape trunk and as I surfaced I gasped for air. Captain
Artimus was at the top of the ladder looking down wide eye and yelled, “Is he dead?” I replied, “no he’s in an air pocket, I shut off the pump but needed air I’ll go back and get him.” Just as
Captain Artimus was yelling, “W
ait!” I swam back under over to the air pocket and told Hyple, “The pump is off; we have to swim out!” Hyple replied, “We’ll get electrocuted!!” I said,
“After I switched the pump off I needed air, so I swam to the trunk before I got here, the path I took is safe, you shouldn’t end up as the path of least resistance in any case.” Hyple chattered with a body wide shiver only his neck was above water. We heard a thump, it turned out I had placed the pump controller in remote rather than off. So I asked Hyple where the 2JV mic was at. That particular mic had a long cable and I was concerned I may spend too long pulling the cable to me underwater and run out of air just trying to get the mic. Hyple said, “It’s hooked on the S.T.P.” I swam over briefly under water and grabbed the cable and pulled it to me. I keyed the mic, “Central forward pump room, the space is flooded solid. Stop number one fire pump. I don’t know if the amp is still working but you should be able to hear me…”Just then the fire pump stopped and I continued, “Forward engineroom align to pump forward pump room over the side.” Orbly’s voice came over the amp, “Lyon can you hear me?” I keyed the mic again, “Affirmative.” Orbly called back, “Is the fire pump the source of the flooding?” I replied, “Yes, the flex pipe ruptured, me and Hyple are in an air pocket. Once we start pumping the space I’ll close the valves.”
Orbly replied, “Aye” Gillis and Washam replied simultaneously from different levels in the forward engine room not knowing they were speaking over each other, they had said the valves for pumping out the space were in forward pump room. I replied,