by Larry Bond
Looking at the positions of the stern and fairwater planes, Jerry deduced that the boat was heavy overall and heavy forward. “Chief of the Watch, when was the last time that a compensation for potable water was done?” asked Jerry.
“About an hour and a half ago, sir.”
“Very well. Chief of the Watch, please compensate for one and a half hours of potable water,” ordered Jerry.
“Compensate for one and a half hours of potable water, aye, sir,” replied MM1 Anderson. Jerry watched as Anderson positioned switches on the ballast control panel that remotely opened valves and created a clear path from the variable ballast tanks inside the submarine, through the trim pump, out to sea. “Pumping, from auxiliaries to sea,” reported Anderson. Jerry acknowledged the report.
It took a few minutes for Anderson to complete the compensation. As he was repositioning the valves, he said, “Diving Officer, thirty-eight hundred pounds from auxiliaries and twelve hundred pounds from forward trim have been pumped to sea.”
“Very well, Chief of the Watch,” responded Jerry. After another ten minutes and another four thousand pounds pumped overboard, Jerry was about to announce that he had a satisfactory one-third trim when he noticed something odd. The stern planesman was holding his planes steady at five degrees down. This indicated that the boat was heavy aft and that the planes were trying to hold the stern up. Glancing at the fairwater planes, he saw that they were in the rise position and that the boat was maintaining the ordered depth of two hundred feet. I must have screwed up somewhere, Jerry thought. I’ve made her too heavy aft.
“Chief of the Watch,” Jerry said. “Shift four thousand pounds from after trim to forward trim.”
“Shift four thousand pounds from after trim to forward trim, aye, sir.”
“Something wrong, Dive?” inquired Berg.
“Yes, sir, I think I messed up the fore and aft trim a little,” replied Jerry, somewhat embarrassed.
“Very well, fix it so we can get going again.”
“Aye, sir.” He glanced over at the COB, but Reynolds’ face was a mask.
After Anderson had moved the four thousand pounds of water from the aftermost part of the ship to the forward-most part, Jerry looked at the indications to see if he had corrected the problem. At first, it looked like it had indeed done the trick. But within minutes, the stern planes were now holding steady in the rise position and the fairwater planes in the dive position. All this told Jerry that he was now heavy forward, that he must have moved too much water. However, the plane positions were suggesting that he had to move almost as much water back aft as he had just shifted forward. “I don’t understand why this isn’t working,” muttered Jerry to himself as he scratched his head.
“Chief of the Watch, shift three thousand pounds from forward trim to after trim.”
“Shift three thousand pounds from forward trim to after trim, aye, sir.”
“Diiiive, would you please explain what the hell is going on?” Berg demanded, clearly annoyed.
“Uh, sir, I seemed to have overcompensated. I’m working on it now. Please bear with me.”
“Grrrr,” growled Berg.
Jerry felt more and more uncomfortable and stressed. He completely understood Lenny’s irritation, but what bugged Jerry more was his apparent inability to balance the boat. And why was the COB standing back there like a damn statue when he really needed the man’s help?
With Anderson’s report that the pumping was completed, Jerry stood up, leaned forward, and stared at the fairwater and stern planes indications. Standing there, he willed the indicators to zero out, but once again the stern planes went to a modest dive angle, while the fairwater planes drifted upward on the rise side.
“Son of a bitch!” hissed an exasperated Jerry. “What is wrong?” Turning around, Jerry was finally going to ask the COB for help, but he was gone! He was nowhere to be seen! On top of that, Berg was on the periscope stand, arms folded across his chest, glowering at him. Jerry felt helpless and was now uncertain as to what needed to be done to remedy the boat’s trim. He was thinking about being relieved when he heard the noise of people moving.
At first, it was rather subdued, similar to what one would expect at watch changeover, but it grew in volume. Then a long string of men emerged from the navigation equipment space behind him. One by one they walked past him on their way down the ladder to forward compartment middle level. Some of the men waved as they went by. Seaman Jobin said, “Hey, sir!” All were smiling. At that moment, Jerry knew he had been tricked. He had fallen victim to one of the oldest pranks in the submarine force: the Trim Party.
For operational and safety reasons, a submarine’s trim must be finely balanced. Moving a significant amount of weight from one end of the submarine to another will have noticeable affect on the boat’s fore and aft balance. In a trim party, a large number of men cram themselves into a space as far aft or forward as they can get; in this case, in the extreme after end of the engine room or the torpedo room. When the Diving Officer compensates for the extra weight by moving water to the other end, the men start moving to the other end as well. This causes the boat to “see-saw” back and forth, apparently without reason, much to the annoyance of the Diving Officer.
A seasoned Diving Officer would have recognized what was going on and simply used the planes to maintain an even keel and waited for the individuals involved to get bored and quit. But rookie Diving Officers are easier to deceive and so often became the prey of a merry band of mischievous submariners. As the long procession continued, Jerry felt his cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. Sitting down, he watched as the steady stream of men seemed to go on forever. Finally, as the last man walked past, Jerry heard the sound of clapping from behind him.
“Outstanding trim party, Jerry,” Lenny chortled, barely able to contain himself. “That has got to be one of the biggest, longest parties I’ve ever seen. What do you say, COB?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Berg, easily in the top three,” replied Reynolds. The huge grin on his face made it clear to everyone present that he had thoroughly enjoyed Jerry’s initiation.
Getting into the spirit of things, Jerry stood up and bowed. “Thank you, thank you, very much. For my next trick, I’ll go down to the torpedo room and have myself impulsed out of a tube and swim to Keflavik!”
“Nah, that won’t be necessary. We’re getting plenty of entertainment value out of just giving you grief,” responded Berg.
“Heaven forbid that I should deny you your diversion, sir,” Jerry replied sarcastically.
“Quite so,” said Lenny. “Now, why don’t you finish fixing up the trim, huh?”
“Yes, sir, at once, sir.” Before he turned back to the ship’s control panel, Jerry looked at Reynolds and waved an accusing finger at him. Feigning a shocked expression, the COB merely shrugged his shoulders and tried to look innocent. The merry twinkle in his eyes, however, spoke loudly of his guilt.
Without the malicious interference of half the crew, Jerry was able to quickly get a satisfactory trim and Memphis increased speed to sixteen knots. Except for a single fire drill, the remainder of the watch was quiet and Jerry and Reynolds went over a number of the finer points of being a good Diving Officer.
After a quick dinner, Jerry stopped by the ship’s office. He had some paperwork to drop off, but he also had an important question for YN1 Glover.
The yeoman had “Abbey Road” playing when Jerry knocked on the door. It was open, but the ship’s office was Glover’s domain, and Jerry had seen the XO knock before he stepped inside.
Glover thanked him for the paperwork, and then Jerry asked his question. “How many of us will have to go through the Bluenose ceremony?”
The yeoman smiled. “Thirty-one. We’ve actually got forty who haven’t made the trip with us, but nine have entries in their service records. That’s not counting the two ladies, of course.”
“You knew, just like that?” Jerry asked.
“The XO asked for the numbers
yesterday.” Glover explained.
Jerry felt relieved. “That’s a quarter of the crew,” he observed.
“Well, we’ve stayed pretty close to home in the past year or so, mostly doing Manta trials.”
“It’ll be nice to get it over with,” remarked Jerry.
“Oh, you’ll do fine, sir. Although I’ve heard that they’re working on a special procedure for new officers that used to be aviators.” He smiled and Jerry couldn’t be sure if he was serious or not.
As the evening wore on, Jerry started to hear Bluenose stories creep into the crew’s casual conversation. Those who had crossed before shared their experiences, suitably embellished to amaze the recipients. The trick was to exaggerate outrageously, but still make it sound plausible. Even if the listeners knew the story had to be untrue, a good storyteller could create uncertainty in their minds.
He heard the story about Boreas and the admiral and several variations on ways to get ice cubes from one end of the boat to the other before they melted. Jerry was advised to pick one and practice, just in case Boreas wanted to test his skill.
The actual preparations were secret, of course, as were the exact trials that the “warm bodies” would have to endure. Jerry figured it wouldn’t do any good to ask, but Ensign Jim Porter, the Electrical Officer and most junior officer aboard, kept on asking. Either out of fear or just plain curiosity, he grilled his division, then the wardroom, trying to find out exactly what would transpire.
Early the next day, Thursday, Porter spotted Frank Lopez and Master Chief Reynolds in the wardroom. They were working on A division paperwork, spread out on the wardroom table, but had paused, and he sat down. Jerry, on his way to see the XO, knew what was coming and stopped to watch.
“Mr. Lopez, Master Chief, how many Bluenose ceremonies have you seen?”
“More than a few,” the COB said vaguely. Lopez simply replied, “Just one, on this boat’s last northern run.”
Porter pressed his point. “Master Chief, are the ceremonies the same on every boat? Who decides what happens?”
“Why, King Boreas, of course,” said Reynolds, laughing.
“Come on, Master Chief,” pleaded the Ensign, “somebody on Memphis must be in charge of organizing the Bluenose ceremony this evening. Who is it?”
“Son,” growled Reynolds menacingly, “talk like that will get back to Boreas. And if he doesn’t find you pure of heart, he may not let you in, and then you’ll have to swim home.”
Jerry was startled by a harsh voice almost directly behind him. “How much of this foolishness do I have to put up with?” Patterson exclaimed. “ ‘King Boreas,’ my foot.”
Jerry quickly stepped out of the way, almost physically pushed aside by the force of her words.
“We have more important things to worry about than some male bonding ritual. All I hear about is how much work it takes to run one of these things, and if you don’t do everything exactly right, someone — probably all of us — will die.”
As Patterson talked, she poured herself a cup of coffee. When she paused to drink, though, it set her off again. “And the food on this ship! Hasn’t the Navy ever heard of low-fat cooking? And this coffee tastes like it came out of a paint can. In fact, this whole boat smells like the inside of a paint can!”
She was shouting now and didn’t even look at Jerry or Lopez or Reynolds. A few other officers, including the XO, clustered at the door, but didn’t seem eager to come in.
“There’s no space. I’m constantly bumping into people or things I’m not supposed to touch. There’s no privacy and too much noise. I can’t get in touch with my office. I can’t even make a phone call! I cannot imagine why any of you stand for it!”
Master Chief Reynolds, like the others, listened to her tirade. When she paused, he asked, “If you hate being on board so much, why are you here? Why didn’t you send someone else?”
“Because it was my idea. Because I’m the best-qualified person to do the job and to see that it is done properly,” she replied intensely.
“That’s what every sailor on Memphis would say, if you asked them. They volunteered for sub duty, and they had to work hard just to get here.”
When she didn’t answer, Reynolds added, “It’s a much easier life ashore, and the pay’s a lot better too, especially for men this well trained. Each and every crew member chose to be here, in spite of all the discomforts and the separation from their loved ones, because they know it’s a job that needs to be done. And they want to make sure the job is done right. Patriotism isn’t dead in this Navy, Dr. Patterson, of that I can assure you.”
Patterson remained silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the COB. “You should have been in politics.” A slight smile flashed across her face as she softened. “I see your point, Master Chief. And… I admit that I may have misjudged the people on this sub.”
The COB responded, “You can work with these men, if you’ll only give them a chance. And if you’re willing to work with them, then play with them as well. Don’t the people in the White House have a party every once in a while?” asked Reynolds with a grin.
Patterson sighed, steeling herself, then turned to the XO, standing in the doorway. “Commander, is that invitation to the Bluenose ceremony still open?”
”Of course, ma’am,” replied Bair. “We’d be honored if you would join us.”
At 1515 that afternoon Memphis came to a complete stop and Davy Jones was brought aboard. Jerry watched as an elderly man dressed in a white robe and bedecked in seaweed, actually plastic ivy, climbed down from the forward escape trunk. In his hand was a scroll case, encrusted with seashells and starfish. Bair greeted him at the trunk and escorted the King’s herald to the CO’s stateroom to examine the petitions of the neophytes. An hour later, the submarine officially crossed the Arctic Circle.
”All warm bodies are to muster in the crew’s mess,” squawked the IMC. “The honor guard is to muster by the forward escape trunk, to welcome His or Majesty aboard.”
Jerry, Emily, Patterson, and the other warm bodies were herded into the crew’s mess. Most of them looked nervous, some were afraid. Emily was also a bit apprehensive, but Patterson looked calm and collected.
Everyone, as ordered, wore swim trunks, and the ladies were attractively but modestly attired in one-piece suits and a pair of shorts. Patterson’s was blue, Emily’s green with stripes. Both were new, obviously purchased for she this special occasion.
Jerry couldn’t help but notice that Joanna Patterson was rather attractive in a one-piece bathing suit. With her ash-blonde hair in a ponytail, she looked far more feminine than usual. At that thought, Jerry looked away, as he didn’t want to get caught staring at her. She would probably grow fangs and bite his head off.
Emily, on the other hand, was striking. Although she was smaller than Patterson, she had one hell of a figure. Remembering that these two ladies were the only females on board and that he hadn’t seen any other members of the fair sex for some time, he tried to be objective in his appraisal. Sidelong study of both confirmed that they were lookers. Jerry caught some of the others studying their guests as well and hoped this wasn’t going to complicate things.
Unexpectedly, Emily turned and her eyes met Jerry’s. For a brief moment, they simply looked at each other, and then Emily suddenly blushed and turned away. Jerry was also embarrassed and wondered if she had read his thoughts — or if they were written all over his face. He didn’t have long to think about it, for a loud voice announced: “ALL STAND FOR HIS MAJESTY, BOREAS REX, RULER OF THE NORTH WIND AND SOVEREIGN OF ALL THE FROZEN REACHES.”
From the back of the crew’s mess, King Boreas walked in wearing a very regal-looking red and gold cape; a seashell crown rested on his noble brow. His Majesty sported a huge white beard, which must have required a master engineer to construct, since it was made from cotton balls. It didn’t take Jerry very long to see that Master Chief Reynolds had the honor of playing Boreas on this run. Jerry felt a little relieved that
the COB would be in charge, but that would soon change.
Following Boreas was his Royal Consort, the Queen of the Snows. Jerry had no idea who was playing the role of the Queen, but whoever it was, they did a pretty good job. The white wig with sparkling garland, matching boa and handbag, and a pair of pink fish sunglasses made whoever it was look more like a cheap movie actress. In tow behind the Queen was the Royal Baby. This kid was a real whiner and acted more like a chimpanzee than a baby. As the royal offspring got closer, Jerry saw that it was Lenny Berg. Behind him were Bill Washburn as the Prime Minister, dressed in a simple toga and carrying a satchel of scrolls, and Senior Chief Foster as the Captain of the Guard. Foster was in some sort of brown leather biker outfit, complete with a real-enough-looking short sword and scabbard. It made him look quite menacing, as it was intended to.
With his two roommates, his division chief, and the COB making up most of the royal entourage, Jerry suspected a conspiracy against him. He then remembered Glover’s earlier comment about a special procedure for new officers who used to be aviators. I’m toast, Jerry thought ruefully.
As Boreas walked haughtily down the small aisle in the crew’s mess, he carefully gauged the hot-blooded neophytes. As he passed Jerry and the two women, he paused a moment to examine the three more closely. A deep frown appeared on his face. As the rest of the Royal Court went by, each looked directly at Jerry. The Queen also stared intently at the two ladies, flicking her boa around in an agitated manner. Foster had the most wicked expression Jerry had ever seen, a devious cross between a sinister sneer and a gloating grin. All this confirmed Jerry’s growing fear that he was going to be the special guest at today’s festivities. Right now, he thought, it sucks to be me.
Hardy was waiting up at the front of the mess, and as Boreas approached, he bowed and announced, “Welcome, Your Majesty, to my ship. My crew and I are honored that you have consented, once again, to grace us with your presence.”