The Submarine Job

by Clifford, Riley

  “The door’s locked,” Ralph called up. His voice sounded far away — as far as one could be while in a cramped room on a submarine.

  But there was another sound. A closer sound. The sound of the ladder, creaking just the slightest bit. But that didn’t make any sense — Ralph was near the door, and Fiske hadn’t moved a hair.

  Someone else had to be in the room.

  Someone else was on the ladder.

  Someone was coming for Fiske.

  “Ralph?” Fiske called. “Ralph, are you still down there?”

  “Stop talking, I’m trying to figure this out,” Ralph called back. Did he sound closer? Was he the one on the ladder? Fiske couldn’t tell, and he couldn’t see. He pressed one hand against his poopy suit; the ring was still there.

  “I hear someone coming,” said Ralph. He began to pound on the door. “In here! It’s locked or jammed or something! Someone come let us out!”

  “Ralph, where are you?” Fiske yelled. The dark was so thick it left him in limbo. Nothing was where it seemed or as it seemed; nothing was safe and everything was a danger. Panic was creeping like spiders all over him. Ralph had cut the lights and locked them in; of course he had. Ralph had sent him up so high, so that when the lights went off, Fiske would what — panic? Yes, it had worked. He was going to fall, or accidentally hit something on one of the missiles, and then they would all blow up. He needed to get down, he needed to get out of the torpedo room!

  He would climb down. He would hide where Ralph couldn’t find him, wouldn’t expect him.

  “Stay where you are, Fiske, I’m looking for the flashlight,” said Ralph. He was close by now; Fiske could tell.

  And then, someone grabbed Fiske’s ankle and pulled.

  Fiske went down, a yelp of surprise tumbling out of him as he landed on top of another body. Fiske flailed and kicked and the person beneath him yelled and flailed and kicked back.

  “Are you in there, Kane?” said someone on the other side of the door. “Is Fiske in there with you?”

  “Lieutenant Oppowitz!” Fiske yelled. His cheek was throbbing from an elbow hitting under his eye. “I’m in here! Help!”

  “Stop kicking! Stop moving!” Ralph yelled back at him. Hands knocked against Fiske, and he could feel someone pulling at his poopy suit. They were feeling for the ring. Whoever was in the dark could see, and they knew where the ring was. Fiske tried to roll away, but someone grabbed his legs and twisted him around.

  “Get off of me! Leave it alone!” Fiske yelled. He gave a kick and scrambled away. The lights flickered on a moment later, and Lieutenant Oppowitz stood in the open door, a ring of keys dangling from his hand.

  “What is going on in here?” asked the lieutenant. Fiske was scrambling away. He could feel his cheek beginning to swell. Ralph stood up and wiped his bleeding nose.

  Fiske. Ralph. And the lieutenant. There was no one else in the room.

  “He tried to attack me!” Fiske yelled.

  “I did not! You jumped on me!” Ralph said.

  “Now, let’s calm down,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. “Mr. King, I don’t believe that Petty Officer Kane would do a thing like that. I don’t believe that for a moment.”

  “He pulled me off the ladder,” said Fiske.

  “I didn’t,” said Ralph. “I didn’t touch him until he fell on me. And then it sure wasn’t intentional.”

  “Are you saying, Petty Officer, that someone else was in the room?” Lieutenant Oppowitz asked.

  Both Fiske and Ralph fell quiet. It wasn’t out of the question. It was one of the larger rooms on the submarine, with plenty of nooks and crannies in which to hide. Fiske looked around, as if expecting someone to pop up from behind a missile and to give them a little wave. But no one did.

  “H-he attacked me,” Fiske said again. “He was the only one here. The others had gone to lunch and he made me stay behind so he could attack me.”

  “That’s a lie!” Ralph roared, tensing. Fiske could tell it was taking every ounce of his military training to keep from lunging.

  “Fiske,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz in a low voice. He took Fiske gently by the shoulder and turned him away from Ralph. “Think about what you’re saying. Do you really believe that Petty Officer Kane would keep you around to attack you in the dark? Why would he want to do that? I know he’s a little rough around the edges, but I picked him to help you because I trust him. Because he’s a good sailor, and that’s the most important thing to him. Does that sound like a person who would attack you?”

  Fiske glanced between Lieutenant Oppowitz and Ralph, who was so angry he was practically burning with it. Of course the lieutenant couldn’t see it; he didn’t know what Fiske knew.

  “Excuse me,” said Fiske.

  He left the torpedo room in a hurry, blowing past Ralph and Lieutenant Oppowitz without a glance back. There was no denying it now, no passing anything off as coincidence. Ralph had to be the Vesper.

  George was coming out of the head when Fiske grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him into the cold storage room.

  “What? What?!” George cried.

  “Quiet!” Fiske hissed at him. “I need your help. I need to trust someone and you’ve been voluntarily nice to me down here, you know? An-and so I need to ask for your help.”

  “You do?” said George, his eyebrows lifting. “I mean, you do? What? What can I do?”

  “I’m — I’m not who everyone thinks I am,” Fiske said. “I can’t really — I can’t really talk about it. But there’s someone here who knows who I am an-and I think — I know — he wants to kill me. I think, m-maybe, you can guess who?”

  “What do you need?” asked George. “Do you need me to send a message to someone? Hide something for you? What can I do?”

  “I need — ” Fiske started. But then Ralph came around the corner.

  It was like slow motion, the way he walked down the submarine’s hallway, his iron eyes boring into Fiske and grinding him down into sand. And then, in moments, he was gone again. But Fiske felt like that one encounter had taken years off of his life.

  George’s eyes flicked back and forth between Fiske and the door that Ralph had gone through, as if any minute he expected armed guards to come bursting in.

  “I can’t talk now,” said Fiske. “But later. We’ll talk later. I have to go.” He had to get away from everything. He had to go somewhere safe. But he didn’t think that space existed on this boat.

  “Sure,” said George. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Fiske nodded and then slipped away. George watched him go and exhaled. And then he smiled.

  Fiske took his lunch with the officers that day. Lieutenant Oppowitz, who was too congenial to let the tiff from earlier keep him in a poor mood for long, was more than happy to have Fiske around, as it meant someone else to show off his pictures to.

  “That there is Lucy,” he was saying, pointing at a very fat baby with very fat blond curls. “She’s just barely two now, and quite the little spitfire. And that, that’s Peter.” Peter was the opposite of Lucy, being stick-skinny with a shock of unruly hair. “He’s six. I don’t get to see them much, you know. But they send down familygrams whenever they can. My wife, Beth, she writes them, I mean. But the kids send messages. Lucy’s started talking. You know what Beth says she said the other day? She said ‘Dada.’ She did! I’m not even there and she’s got me on the brain. What a good little girl, am I right? What a daddy’s girl.”

  “Come on, Herman. The kid doesn’t want to hear about your family back in Saint Louis,” said one of the officers. He passed the gravy boat. “Tell him about the time you blew something up.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Fiske, taking the picture for a closer look. “It must be hard to be away from them for so long.” Fiske could sympathize with that. His only family that mattered was never around very often. Fiske thought Grace must be like a shark — if she stopped moving, she would die.

  Before, he’d said it as a joke. But now, it was all
too great a possibility. Something shook inside of him and he was seized with the need to talk to her. Just for a moment. Just to check and see if she was okay, to hear her voice say that she was fine. He knew that she wanted him to be safe, but it suddenly wasn’t fair that being on the submarine meant being completely cut off from her. He handed the picture back to the lieutenant.

  “Ah, you know it is,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. He took his picture back and tucked it into the pocket of his poopy suit. “But it’s a good job I have. And Beth, I think she likes the quiet. I’m a bit of a chatterbox myself — must be where Lucy gets it, you know.”

  The chief medical officer, Lieutenant Robinson, came in then. He looked grim. “Oppowitz, might I steal your boy Mr. King there?”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Fiske.

  “One of the men,” said Lieutenant Robinson, “has been attacked. He’s asking to see you. Said you might know something about it?”

  “Attacked?” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. He looked at Fiske. “And you’re involved again?”

  “What? I — who? Who is asking for me?”

  “Seaman Carmel. George Carmel.”

  Fiske went pale. Ralph had seen them talking.

  “I’ll come right away,” said Fiske, setting his napkin aside and standing up.

  “I’m coming, too,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz, his face grim.

  They followed Lieutenant Robinson out to the medical berths. Fiske could feel Lieutenant Oppowitz’s confusion and anger as he walked. It seeped out of him like water through a sieve.

  “Is it bad?” asked Fiske.

  “A concussion, I think. Someone hit him on the back of the head. Out of the blue, he says. Petty Officer Kane found him in the hallway outside the control room.” Lieutenant Robinson shook his head.

  “Does he know who hit him?” asked Lieutenant Oppowitz.

  “Says he might,” said Robinson. “But wanted to talk to the boy here first.”

  Lieutenant Robinson opened the door to the infirmary. It smelled of rubbing alcohol and antiseptics, like bleach and the chalk of pills. George was lying on one of the beds.

  “Seaman Carmel,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. “What happened? You need only say the word and we’ll take care of this right away.”

  “I don’t know for sure, it happened so fast. But I’m pretty sure . . . I think I know who it was.” He paused. “Petty Officer Kane.” The two lieutenants were visibly stunned by this, but Fiske couldn’t imagine why. It was obvious that Ralph would do something like this!

  “Kane?” said Lieutenant Robinson. “You’re certain?”

  “Very nearly,” said George. “Fiske can tell you — he’s been after me since we set foot on the boat. I don’t know why. I think because I’m doing better on my quals. It’s not an excuse, of course, but Fiske can tell you.”

  “Mr. King?” said Lieutenant Robinson. Fiske opened his mouth to agree, but Lieutenant Oppowitz held up a hand.

  “Now, wait,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. “I’m the kind of man who relies on the facts in front of him, make no mistake about it. And now I’ve got two men who say that Petty Officer Kane attacked them within an hour of each other. Now, I know Petty Officer Kane. I’ve known him since he enrolled in sub school. And the Ralph I know wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  Of course not! Fiske wanted to yell. The Ralph that you know isn’t a Vesper! The Ralph you know is working extra hard to look like a sailor so he doesn’t get found out!

  “I’m going to ask you to think about your story again, Seaman,” said the lieutenant, folding his arms. “Petty Officer Kane is the one who found you in the hall. Are you sure you’re not just getting confused?”

  “No,” said George, his face furrowing in frustration. “It was him! I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that. I’ve got no reason to do that.”

  The two lieutenants looked at each other.

  “I’m telling you, I know Ralph Kane and he wouldn’t do that!” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. Lieutenant Robinson sighed. “Don’t you sit there and act like you don’t know Ralph, either, Jim. He’s a good sailor and a better man. Don’t you act like he’s not.”

  “I’m just looking at the evidence, Herman,” said Lieutenant Robinson.

  Fiske wanted to grab Lieutenant Oppowitz by the shoulders and shake him. How could he not see? How could he be so blind to who Ralph really was?

  “Your evidence is bunk,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. “Listening to a puke and a kid when you know Ralph just as well as I do. This is a man’s life and his job we’re talking about!”

  “We’ll bring Kane to the XO’s office and talk to him,” said Lieutenant Robinson, trying to inject some rationality back into the conversation. “There’s got to be some explanation for this.”

  “You,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz, pointing a finger at Fiske. “You’re sticking with me from now on. You’re not going to be wandering around on your own. And you’re not going to be getting into any more trouble. And whoever is going around attacking my sailors isn’t going to get a hand on you, is that clear?”

  Fiske could feel himself shrink — he could feel all of his bravery and will coil up on itself deep down in his belly. But he nodded. There was nothing else he could do.

  “Well then,” said Lieutenant Robinson. He went to the desk and picked up the intercom phone and buzzed the officers’ mess. “Robinson here. We have a situation. Yes, Seaman Carmel. Send Third Petty Officer Kane to the XO’s office. I’ll be right over.” And then he hung up. “You coming, Herman?”

  Fiske could see the conflict in Lieutenant Oppowitz’s face. Yes, he very much wanted to go, Fiske could tell. But he wasn’t about to leave Fiske alone. And he certainly wasn’t going to take Fiske into the room with Ralph.

  “All right, you’re sticking with me after this. You go back to your bunk and you don’t move a muscle until I’m done with this, you understand me? And from then on, you don’t leave my side unless you’re in the head or asleep, you got that? We’ve got twelve hours left on this boat and so help me . . . you understand me?”

  “I do,” said Fiske.

  Fiske stayed with Lieutenant Oppowitz for the rest of the day, until it was time for bed. And the only reason they parted then was that there were no free bunks in the officers’ quarters.

  By the next morning, the news about Ralph and George had spread through the ranks. It was on everyone’s mind at breakfast. Fiske had waited for Lieutenant Oppowitz to meet him in the officers’ mess, but when he didn’t, Fiske went to the crew’s tables on his own.

  “Well, if it was going to be anyone,” said one of the other seamen, a mechanic named Dale, “you knew it was going to be Ralph. You have to wonder how he even got onto the submarine in the first place. If you hadn’t noticed, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.”

  Fiske poked at his eggs.

  “I heard he had to go to sub school twice,” said another mechanic. “First time he failed out. He had to beg to be allowed to get back in.”

  “You think you’ll go join the Navy, go to sub school after this adventure?” Dale asked Fiske.

  Fiske shrugged. He wouldn’t really have to, obviously. If he wanted to, he could just ask the secretary of the Navy to let him stay around.

  “Going to sub school twice,” said the other mechanic with a laugh. “He had to really want it, I guess.”

  Something pricked in the back of Fiske’s brain — something that wasn’t right about this whole situation. But he couldn’t put his finger directly on what it was.

  “Where is he now?” asked Fiske, poking at a pile of scrambled eggs. The other sailors were quiet, so Fiske glanced up. “I mean, is he — is he in trouble, or . . .”

  “Yeah,” said Dale. “They made him step off the boat. Play nice or play with the fishes.” The other sailors laughed.

  “They — they wouldn’t really do that?” Fiske asked, glancing around. He knew the answer when the sailors laughed even louder.

  “I don’t know,
he’s probably been moved somewhere,” said Dale, shoveling a pile of egg and bacon into his mouth. “Might have moved him into the torpedo room. Some of the taller guys would bunk in there if they couldn’t fit in their toaster slots of beds.”

  So he wasn’t in custody or a brig or anything like that. Fiske frowned and pushed back his plate — he hadn’t eaten anything at all — and excused himself.

  The conversation at breakfast had left him feeling exposed for some reason — like he was standing in the middle of a field with no chance of seeing what might come for him out of the trees. He went to find Lieutenant Oppowitz.

  He pressed his hand against his chest. Yes, the ring was still there. Funny — it didn’t seem like something that would be very important. It wasn’t covered in diamonds or precious stones; rings like his were generally only worth their sentimental value. And yet, it was the most important thing in the world.

  He would go find Lieutenant Oppowitz, and his last few hours on the submarine would be quick and safe.

  That thought snagged him. He ducked into the control room and checked the clocks and the maps. He wasn’t an expert at reading them, of course, but even Fiske could tell that they were nearly there.

  They were almost to Puerto Rico. He was almost off of the submarine. He’d done it. Well, almost. But he was almost there!

  “Quite a trip, isn’t it?” said Lieutenant Robinson.

  “Oh, um, yes,” said Fiske. “Aren’t — I mean, should you be in the sick bay?”

  “No patients,” said Robinson. “My only one checked out this morning. Your friend was fine — nothing too serious at all. It looked worse than it really was. I can’t believe we’ll be making it to Puerto Rico all underwater. The whole way, Mr. King. We’re breaking records.”

  “Yeah,” said Fiske. “Say, have you seen Lieutenant Oppowitz? He wanted me to stick by him and — and I haven’t seen him.”

  “Not since last night,” said Robinson. “Have you tried the officers’ bunks? He likes to steal a few minutes when he can to write to Beth and the kids.”