Dangerous Ground jm-1

by Larry Bond

  Jerry felt a little vindicated. So he did have a “need to know.” He glanced over at Patterson, who was frowning.

  As Jerry answered, “Yes, sir,” his brain processed the implications of losing the starboard tubes. “So we will have only two operational tubes for the upcoming patrol?”

  “That is exactly what it means,” Hardy replied. He didn’t look happy with either Jerry’s question or the situation.

  The Captain continued. “Dr. Davis is here to survey the torpedo room before the actual installation. There is also some special analytical equipment that Dr. Patterson will be in charge of, but that will be installed elsewhere on the boat.”

  Jerry asked, “What will the equipment be used for?”

  Both Hardy and Patterson started to answer, but Hardy paused, letting the woman speak. “That is classified — for the moment, at least.”

  After she stopped, Hardy amplified her comment. “Its presence on this boat is classified. If you draw any conclusions or speculate about the use of the ROVs, keep it to yourself, and tell your men the same thing. You are not to discuss the presence or function of any of the equipment, except as necessary for installation and testing.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Stop any work on the starboard tube nest and have your people stand by to assist Dr. Davis this afternoon with the survey. That is all.”

  Jerry left and headed down one deck to the torpedo room. Senior Chief Foster was there, along with several sailors from torpedo division. “Senior Chief, there’s been a change in plans. What’s scheduled for this afternoon?”

  “Moran and I and some of the others have to work on the weapons launching console, we’re getting some incorrect signals from the fire-control system.”

  “Well, as of now, that’s off. There’s a visitor aboard that we have to…”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think we can do that. Mr. Richards was pretty clear about getting this problem fixed.”

  Mitchell felt his anger building. Foster’s resistance to even a simple order was unbelievable. “Senior Chief, this takes priority. I just came from a meeting with the CO, XO, and the WEPS.” Working on keeping calm, he repeated, “Plans have changed.”

  “They didn’t tell me about it.” Foster remarked.

  That did it. Mitchell looked at the other torpedo gang sailors and said, “Give us a minute, please.”

  The others left, quickly. Senior Chief Foster watched them go with a small smile, as if he knew what was coming and enjoyed the idea.

  “Senior Chief, I want to know what your problem is.”

  “Sir, I don’t understand what you mean.” Jerry felt his irritation grow and fought to control it. Foster had donned an “innocent” expression so classic that under other circumstances it might have made Jerry laugh. Now it only emphasized how much Foster was playing with him.

  “I want it perfectly clear that I am. ” Jerry stopped himself, and took a breath. Asserting his authority was pointless. Not only was the senior chief already ignoring his rank, he seemed to take pleasure in frustrating him. And what was he supposed to do? Take him up to captain’s mast? Right.

  Jerry could see Foster watching him as he thought, studying him.

  Jerry started again. “Senior Chief, if you don’t want to talk about this, that’s your choice, but I’m just trying to get the job done. If you don’t like me, I think I can live with that. But whether you like it or not, I am the Torpedo Officer and if I give you an order, I expect you to follow it.”

  Foster’s face became a mask. “Yes, sir.”

  Mitchell pressed his point. “As the division officer, it’s my job to deal with the WEPS. If I say something needs to be done, you do not have to check with Mr. Richards. I will have already done that.”

  “If you say so, sir.” Foster pronounced the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “All right, then. Stop any maintenance on the starboard tube nest and have the division ready this afternoon to assist with a pre-installation survey. This is for some special equipment that we’ll be loading later for the patrol. We probably won’t need everyone, but it will be easier to have the men return to their work if they aren’t necessary than to try and bring them in at the last minute. Any questions?” Mitchell saw a flash of curiosity pass over Foster’s face, but he knew the man would not give Jerry the satisfaction of asking for more information. Foster just shook his head.

  “Very well, then, Senior Chief, carry on.” Jerry left, with bridges burning behind him. He was unhappy, almost despairing, about his confrontation with Foster. He’d hoped to resolve whatever conflict there was, but instead had formalized it. On the other hand, Foster now knew where Jerry stood.

  He headed back to the wardroom, intending to get more information from Richards or the two women about what was going to be done. He found the lieutenant in the passageway, but didn’t get a chance to ask about the ROV. Instead, the WEPS called him into his stateroom.

  “How is your qualification program coming, mister?”

  Mentally, Jerry shifted gears, hesitating for a moment before answering. He knew Richards would want to hear something positive. “I’ve been studying the ship’s data book.”

  “Really? Good for you.” Richards’ cold tone did not match the praise. “Have you talked to the qualifications officer yet?”

  “No, sir. I don’t know who that is.”

  “It’s me, and it’s time you got busy.” Richards turned in his chair, reached into a drawer, and pulled out a fat notebook. “Here’s your qualification book. Frankly, I don’t see how you can do this, but it won’t be my fault if you fail. Figuring for the time you’re going to be aboard and the amount of material you’ve got to cover”—he pulled out a sheet of paper—”I’ve made up a schedule.” He handed it to Jerry, shaking his head as he did. “The clock is ticking, Mr. Mitchell. Good luck.” Richards almost sounded like he meant it.

  Jerry dumped the notebook in his stateroom and went looking for Davis. He found her in the wardroom, sitting alone with her coffee, looking bored.

  “Dr. Davis?”

  “Please call me Emily.”

  “And I’m Jerry,” he said automatically. “I was hoping I could get some more information about the gear and what’s going to happen in my torpedo room, if that’s not classified.” He grinned, and Davis smiled back.

  “Well, could we start the survey now? I’ve been trying to work from drawings, and I’m having some trouble visualizing where everything needs to go. And, if you haven’t already noticed, I’ve never been aboard a submarine before.”

  Jerry shook his head, “I’m sorry, Dr… I mean Emily, but my men won’t be ready until this afternoon.”

  Jerry could tell by the look on Davis’ face that she was disappointed. Sighing, Jerry smiled and suggested, “We could go down and have a quick look around. We’ll just have to keep out of the way of my men while they work.”

  Davis’ face quickly transformed from gloomy to beaming. “Oh! That would be great! Thank you.”

  “We’re just one deck up. It’s almost directly below us.” Jerry then looked around for Dr. Patterson.

  “Will your partner want to come with us?”

  Davis’ expression at his use of the word “partner” made him realize that Patterson must be the boss.

  “No.” Davis shook her head sharply. “She’s working with the Captain and the Executive Officer.”

  “Then let’s go for a quick tour.”

  Jerry led Davis out of the wardroom and toward the ladder by the crew’s berthing. Jerry belatedly hoped that the crew had been informed that there were female visitors on board, otherwise this could get interesting. Entering into the torpedo room, Jerry and Davis found it buzzing with activity. A number of the TMs and FTs were huddled around the launching console and several of the access panels were open. TM1 Moran looked up from the panel and saw Jerry and Dr. Davis in the back of the room. Grabbing a rag, he walked over to his division officer
and the visitor.

  “Mr. Mitchell, I thought the survey was this afternoon,” Moran seemed nervous and surprised by Jerry’s arrival with Davis.

  “Not to worry, Petty Officer Moran, I haven’t changed anything. I’m just letting Dr. Davis have a quick look around.” Moran visibly relaxed after Jerry had replied.

  “Dr. Emily Davis, this is Torpedoman’s Mate First Class Moran. Petty Officer Moran, Dr. Davis.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Davis as she extended her hand.

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t shake your hand, ma’am. Mine are covered in grease. I’ve been doing some maintenance on the port tubes and this stuff doesn’t come off very easily.”

  “Have you tried gasoline? I’ve always found that it works pretty well in removing marine grease,” suggested Davis.

  Moran stared at her with amusement.

  “What? What’s wrong with what I said? It does work!” replied Davis defensively.

  Moran looked at Jerry, who motioned to him, as if to tell him to explain. “I’m sure it does work, ma’am,” said Moran. “But you can’t bring gasoline onto a sub. There’s nowhere for the vapors to go. They would collect and become toxic, in addition to being very flammable.”

  Davis suddenly became wide-eyed and momentarily covered her mouth in embarrassment, “That was stupid of me! I guess I’m too used to working in a well-ventilated lab.”

  “That’s okay, ma’am. Most people don’t realize that we can’t use a lot of things on board a submarine for safety reasons. Take deodorant, for example. We can’t use aerosols on board because the propellants are bad for our atmosphere, so we all use stick deodorant,” said Moran.

  “Thank you, Mr. Moran. I’ll try to remember that in the future.”

  “You’re welcome, and ma’am, its ‘Petty Officer Moran’ or ‘TM1.’ That’s a mister,” stated Moran as he pointed at Jerry.

  When Davis looked at Jerry with confusion, he said, “Never mind, I’ll explain later.” Turning back toward Moran, Jerry said, “We’ll try to keep out of your way, Petty Officer Moran. By the way, where’s the Senior Chief?”

  “He went back to the chiefs’ quarters, sir. He, umm, said he had to unload a bunch of paperwork. He should be back soon,” replied Moran, again with some apprehension.

  “Thanks, TM1. We won’t keep you any longer.” Moran nodded and returned to his work.

  “All right, what did I do wrong this time?” asked Davis with a note of frustration.

  “Hmmm? Oh nothing. However, the title ‘mister’ is usually reserved for addressing officers junior to you in rank. While it’s not inappropriate for a civilian to address an enlisted man as ‘mister,’ it’s not customary aboard ship and some enlisted don’t like to be addressed that way. Shall we proceed with the tour?”

  Jerry escorted Davis over to the starboard tube nest and began to discuss the features of the Mk67 torpedo tubes on Memphis while Davis listened with rapt attention. Jerry was beginning to enjoy himself, feeling more confident about his abilities, and it didn’t hurt that this young woman seemed to hang on every word he said.

  But after about twenty minutes, Jerry’s confidence began to waver as he started to run out of things to say, and as Davis’ questions became increasingly more technical. Jerry loathed the idea of calling Moran over to help, particularly since he and the other TMs were still troubleshooting the launching console.

  As if on cue, Senior Chief Foster appeared by the port tube nest. He looked over and saw the two of them by the starboard tubes; this earned Jerry a deep scowl. Jerry ignored the senior chief’s displeasure and motioned for him to come over.

  “Excellent timing, Senior Chief, I’m afraid that I’ve exhausted my limited knowledge of the torpedo tubes, and Dr. Davis here is full of questions. Dr. Davis, this is Senior Chief Foster, my division’s leading chief. Senior Chief, Dr. Davis.”

  As Foster shook Davis’ hand, he looked straight at Jerry and said, “Sir, I thought you said the survey was this afternoon. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get people freed up for that and. ”

  “Whoa, Senior. I haven’t changed a thing, so stand down,” replied Jerry tersely. “Dr. Davis was curious and asked for a quick look around before the survey this afternoon, and seeing as she is a guest on board our boat, I saw no reason not to grant her request. We’ve made every effort to stay clear of the men. And now that you are here, you can help reduce the good doctor’s curiosity.”

  Foster looked pained and embarrassed. Jerry sensed that his mild chastisement of the senior chief in front of a visitor had just blown up the abutments to the bridges he had torched earlier. Oh well, thought Jerry, he’s a big boy. He’ll just have to get over it. For his part, Foster merely nodded stiffly and then turned to address Davis. “What do you want to know, ma’am?”

  “In talking with Mr. Mitchell, I gather that your torpedoes are about 19 feet in length, but what I need to know is how long is the tube itself?”

  “First off, ma’am, with the torpedo mount dispenser attached, the length of a Mk48 Mod 6 is twenty feet six inches. The length of the tube itself is twenty-two feet two inches.”

  Davis jotted down the figure and looked relieved. “Whew, that leaves three inches to spare. They said my babies would fit, but I didn’t think it would be this tight.”

  “Your ‘babies’ ma’am?” asked a perplexed Foster.

  “Yes, they are part of the special equipment we’ll load on your submarine in a few weeks. I’m not at liberty to say much more right now,” responded Davis nervously.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Davis,” said Jerry. “But I think you can tell him at least as much as I’ve been told. I’ve only been on Memphis for a couple of days now, and Senior Chief Foster and the others will do most of the work installing your equipment. I believe that puts him in the ‘need to know’ category. Wouldn’t you agree, Senior?”

  Foster was momentarily taken aback by Jerry’s remark and could only utter a halfhearted, “Yes, sir.”

  Sighing, Davis quickly looked around and said, “All right, I guess you have a point. We’ll be loading two ROVs and their support equipment for the upcoming mission. The ROVs are modified Near Term Mine Reconnaissance System vehicles. I had to lengthen them slightly to accommodate some of the modifications and I was concerned that they wouldn’t fit. The survey this afternoon is to go over our space requirements and to work out any possible issues with the loading and installation.”

  “I see,” said Foster only slightly less confused. “Will we be able to look over the technical documentation for these ROVs? I’m assuming we’ll also be maintaining as well as operating the vehicles.”

  “That’s right, Senior Chief,” replied Davis with some caution. “But I can’t let any of you see the documentation until just before we leave. It would reveal the purpose of the mission and, for now, that is only to be known by myself, Dr. Patterson, your Captain and your Executive Officer.”

  Foster was obviously dying of curiosity. He looked at Jerry with an annoyed and questioning expression, but all Jerry could do was shrug his shoulders and shake his head no. “Very well, ma’am. Do you have any other questions?”

  “Yes, I do, several, as a matter of fact.” Her expression brightened. “Is it possible to open the outer doors on both the starboard tubes at the same time? I believe you have an interlock that normally prevents this from happening, but can it be overridden?”

  Foster explained that the nesting interlock used mechanical linkages and that it could be disabled by removing a padlock at one of the connection points. The Weapons Officer held the key, but it required the Captain’s permission, since it was a safety feature.

  Davis nodded and fired the next question, which Foster answered succinctly and quickly. The questions kept coming, well beyond any reasonable definition of “several.” And once again, Jerry was impressed with Foster’s knowledge. It seemed like there was nothing this man didn’t know about the torpedo tubes or the supporting systems. Still, after about f
orty minutes Jerry noticed that Foster was becoming annoyed with Dr. Davis’ unending stream of questions. Before matters could get out of hand, Jerry inserted himself to draw the interrogation to a close.

  “Excuse me Dr. Davis, I hate to interrupt, but the Senior Chief still has a few hundred things to do before the formal survey, and it’s almost lunchtime. I suggest we save the rest of your questions for this afternoon.”

  “But I only have a few more!” exclaimed Davis. “Really, I’m serious. It will take just a little longer.”

  “Later, Dr. Davis, please,” replied Jerry in a firm tone as he gently started turning her back toward the ladder. Reluctantly, Emily began moving— slowly. As they were just about to leave the torpedo room she suddenly spun around and faced Jerry. She looked like a kid who had just lost a prized possession. “The Manta! I forgot all about my questions on the Manta! Do we have time for those now?” Jerry could only roll his eyes. Then, with a very a deliberate motion, he pointed his finger toward the door.

  “Okay, okay. I understand. Later,” said Davis with more than a hint of disappointment, but she also smiled at Jerry’s expression. Jerry softly chuckled as they headed up the ladder to forward compartment middle level. He had known a number of bookish engineer types at the Academy, but this was the first time he had met a young woman who could match them. She was just as passionate and intense about underwater vehicles as he had been about his beloved F-18s. That suited him just fine. She cared deeply about her work and would likely move heaven and earth to make sure everything worked perfectly. This reassured Jerry, since the crew of Memphis would have to use her ROVs to do something, somewhere — something that obviously meant a lot to the CNO and his staff. No, Memphis could certainly do worse than to work with the likes of Dr. Emily Davis.

  By the time Jerry had finished this train of thought, he and Davis walked into the wardroom — and into a full blast from Patterson.

  “Emily! Where the hell have you been? We need to leave now, if we are going to get ready for the survey this afternoon.”