To Hunt and Protect

by M L Maki

  Little, “Wow! Never missed? Back to your earlier statement, what is a nuclear-powered vessel?”

  Simmons, “That will be part of the training, sir. In a nut shell, the sub uses a steam plant somewhat similar to the propulsion plant on this ship. What is different is where the heat comes from. Sir, are you familiar with Madame Curie’s work with the decay of radioactive materials?”

  “Somewhat, yes.”

  “Excellent. There are four ways in which a radioactive material may decay. One is alpha decay, where the material kicks out a helium particle. The second is beta decay, Where the material kicks out an electron. The third is gamma decay, where the material kicks out a gamma. Gamma is our term for a burst of light energy. The fourth, and most relevant, is fission. Fission is where an atom’s nucleus splits into two or more fission product daughters. The atom breaks and becomes two or more smaller atoms. This reaction releases an enormous amount of heat and requires no connection to the surface for it to work. The vessel is a true submarine. The subs you are familiar with are surface ships that occasionally submerge for brief periods of time. Our unit spends nearly all of its time submerged. The limits to its time submerged are food, crew endurance, and maintenance.”

  “And your background?”

  “I’m a nuclear power plant officer off a similar vessel, the cruiser Long Beach.”

  “A cruiser that sinks?”

  “No, sir. A cruiser that is powered by the atom.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO, 150 MILES SE OF NEW YORK

  1613, 8 March, 1942

  “Conn, Sonar. This one sounds different. Still two screws and two diesels.”

  Cumberland rushes sonar, “But, you’re certain it’s a submarine?”

  Brown, “I’m certain it has two, three-bladed screws, and it’s on the surface. Sir, that’s all I know.”

  Cumberland goes back into control, “Load tube 2.”

  Morrison, “Are we going to periscope depth to confirm the target?”

  Cumberland swivels his eyes to Morrison and locks on, “It’s a submarine.”

  “Sir, if we commit friendly fire, they’ll send us to Adak to count trees.”

  “Fine. We’ll go to periscope depth to look at the pretty German submarine.”

  As they approach the surface, Cumberland says, “Skip the circle, just bring us up.”

  Morrison, “Sir, we’re not in the middle of the ocean. New York is busy.”

  “Fine.”

  Backes orders the turn.

  “Conn, Sonar. We’ve a fishing boat, near aboard, off our port side. It’s drifting with engines off.”

  Cumberland, “How do you know it’s there?”

  “Sir, the slap of water against the hull, and the fish struggling in the net.”

  Cumberland, “Okay. Continue north of them, then come to periscope depth.” He looks at Morrison, “Just shooting the fucking torpedo would be easier.”

  “Yes, sir. But it also would be wrong.”

  “Well, I hope our German colleagues don’t machine gun some poor fisherman as we fuck around down here.”

  Backes, “Periscope depth, sir.”

  Cumberland motions for Morrison to take the scope. Morrison, “Up on the attack scope.” He spins a quick 360, “Mark.”

  “198.”

  That’s the fishing boat. Mark.”

  “112.”

  “That’s a patrol boat or a destroyer escort. Our fishermen are safe.”

  “This is New York. Find me a fucking submarine.” Cumberland stampedes out of control.

  Morrison, “Down scope. Make our depth 150 feet. Right standard rudder. New course 090. Ahead 1/3rd.”

  OLAF’S CAFÉ, POULSBO, WASHINGTON

  1734, 9 March, 1942

  Kichiro walks in wearing his winter khaki uniform. People stare, but leave him alone. A young, pretty waitress brings him a menu, “I’m sorry, sir. Most of these people have never seen a negro.”

  “I’m not black. I’m a Chamorro from Guam.”

  “Isn’t Guam in Africa?”

  He laughs, “No. Guam is way out in the Pacific Ocean north of Australia and south of Hawaii.”

  “You speak good English.”

  “Guam belongs to America. It’s a U. S. territory, and has been since the Spanish lost the Spanish American war. May I have the steak and potatoes?”

  “Have the Japanese attacked your island?”

  “Yes. My family is living under occupation right now.”

  A MM2 at a nearby table says, “And they say education was bad in the eighties.” The MM2 is in his working blue uniform, which is really black. He has the ESWS pin above a handful of ribbons on his left chest. The highest is a Navy Achievement Medal. That pin and that medal did not exist in 1942.

  Kichiro, “What’s your name, MM2?”

  “James Maki, engineering on the Long Beach.”

  “You, um, the zoomy kind of engineer?”

  “I am. I’m also native to southwest Washington.”

  “Good. You can answer some questions for me.”

  Maki joins him, “I would be glad to, sir.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO, LONG ISLAND SOUND NEAR NEW LONDON, CONNETICUT

  0400, 10 March, 1942

  Despite the war, the waterfront is lit up as they approach. There’s a great deal of boat traffic, as well. A guide boat comes out and leads them up the Thames River.

  New London is on the left, and Groton is on the right. Soon, they are steaming past the Electric Boat Yard, where so many submarines are built. The tug boats come along side and nudge them in until they are moored on the south side of pier N. Morrison is focused on mooring the boat and ignores the people on the pier. Finally, he orders the lines heaved and the crew ties her against the pier.

  There is the barest hint of sunrise as the port crew tie up to the barges with the concealing curtains. Cumberland comes up to the bridge, “Do they have the plywood to set the brow on?”

  Morrison, “I’ll make sure of it before it lands, sir.”

  A crane lowers the brow. Tied to the end of it is a four by four piece of plywood. The men pull it and tie it to the slide rail before placing the brow. Cumberland scrambles down the sail, “Morrison, we have an official party.”

  “Of course, sir.” He looks up and the first person he sees is Rickover. He can’t help but smile. He joins Cumberland. The party on the pier come aboard, saluting the flag, then Cumberland.

  Rickover asks, “Commander, do your men have this evolution in order?”

  “Yes, sir. They do.”

  Captain Warren, “I’m John Warren. I suppose you recognize Commander Rickover. The third gentleman with us is Mr. Hughes. He’s NRRO.”

  Cumberland, “I see. Welcome aboard, gentlemen. You’ll find everything in order.”

  Rickover, “We’ll find things as they are. Don’t assume.”

  Cumberland, “Yes, sir. My wardroom is down here.” They wait while three electricians scramble up, salute, and start setting up shore power. They meet Miller in the wardroom. The steward serves coffee and cookies.

  Cumberland, “So, this is a Mobile Training Team inspection?”

  Warren, “It is. We’ll start the admin part here, then shift to drill sets and performance testing at sea. That done, you’ll resupply and receive your orders.”

  Cumberland, “Of course. You have our full cooperation.”

  Warren, “Good. Now, if you would be so good to inform your crew and let them know liberty call will go down at 1600.”

  Morrison, “We won’t be working late?”

  Warren, “We recognize your crew needs some R&R. Shall we begin? We need all the logs for the last month, and Mr. Hughes will start doing walk arounds and interviews. We’ll be interviewing every crew member.”

  Cumberland, “Um, yes, sir.”

  NUCLEAR VALVE REPAIR SPACE, USS BEAVER

  0814, 10 March, 1942

  Lt. Simmons silently walks around touching every surface with a white glove. He looks at the co
ntents of every Vidmar drawer, opening it and pulling out every item not on the label. He carefully does this for every single drawer in the large shop area. He finds a drawer of random bolts and nuts. He scoops every one of them out and throws them in the trash.

  He looks at his glove, dirty from the drawer, and shakes his head. He puts on another pair and continues. He uses a flashlight to see behind the tool lockers. He climbs a ladder to inspect the wireways for more contraband. He tosses three magazines in the trash. He finds contraband parts. Every item he finds gets thrown away.

  The hydro test bench gets special attention. He finds dirt in the hoses. He finds the test gauges are not calibrated. The chief with him writes it all down.

  Finally, he turns to the assembled men, “Every time I come in here, this place best be spotless. You’re not allowed any tool or part not listed. If you need a tool or part, submit it for addition. If an unauthorized part exists here, it will find its way onto a submarine and kill it. You’ll have murdered 120 men.

  “I frankly don’t care of you are slobs in your rack. I don’t care if you cuss a blue streak. What I care about is the work you do, and you will do superb, to standard, to code, to specification work. I require it, and the safety of every man on the submarine requires it. Questions?”

  “Sir, why did you throw away our lucky drawer?”

  “I just explained. Do you not understand?”

  “Sir, all those nuts and bolts are to code. They’re designed for use on submarines.”

  Mike reaches into the trash and pulls out a single nut and hands it to the sailor. “What component does this nut go to? What is it’s torque specification?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What is the approved thread lubricant?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mike takes the nut back and throws it away, “Neither do I. It goes in the trash. Every nut. Every washer. Every valve you have will be designed and rated for the specific component it is used on. Those fasteners are coming. They’ll be stored in supply as kits. When you do a repair, all new fasteners will be used and the old ones will be pitched.”

  “Why, if they’re still good?”

  Simmons, “Every single part you pitch should be good. All these parts are designed with a life cycle. If the life cycle is a thousand heat up and cool down cycles, we’ll be replacing it at nine hundred. If a part is bad, there will be a failure on the submarine. Failures on submarines are often catastrophic.”

  He waits. There are no more questions. “Gentlemen, you’re entering an exclusive club. The rules here are exacting, but once you have mastered those rules, you’ll be one of the top mechanics in the world. This training will set you up for life, if you take it on board. If you understand, and make your own, the concepts I am teaching you. Carry on.”

  He changes gloves and leaves for the next shop.

  AL’S WATER HOLE, GROTON, CONNETICUT

  1710, 10 March, 1942

  Mallory walks into the bar with Gustaf and Jackson. All three are in their working blue uniform, known by sailors as Johnny Cashes. It’s a dingy place with trestle tables. Mallory holds up three fingers and the bartender pours out three beers. Mallory, “Do you have food?”

  “We got spaghetti Bolognese.”

  Mallory, “That’ll work.”

  Gustaf, “Was this here before?”

  Mallory, “Nope. Americans have no love of history. We put up a plaque, save some little piece for a museum, then demolish the whole place to put up soulless minimarts.

  Jackson, “Why are you in a funk, Gary?”

  “Amy is in Australia.”

  Gustaf, “So. There are no doubt plenty of hotties here.”

  Mallory, “Dude, I’m married. There is only one woman who exists for me. I don’t cheat and I don’t respect people who do.”

  The only woman in the bar is wiping tables. There’s no shortage of sailors, but there’s more male yard workers from Electric Boat. A third class in dungarees asks, “What’s the special occasion?”

  Mallory looks at him, “What boat are you on?”

  “Albacore, how about you.”

  “San Francisco.”

  “What the hell is the San Francisco? It isn’t a submarine.”

  A second class says, “It’s a heavy cruiser. My cousin serves on her.”

  Mallory, “Ours isn’t the cruiser. Ours is an anti-submarine vessel.”

  “Why does it share the name of the cruiser?”

  Mallory, “Because the heavy cruiser didn’t exist when our boat was commissioned in 1981.”

  “Oh, you all are time travelers.”

  One of the yard workers jerks his head up and looks at Mallory.

  Mallory, “We are. We’re part of the carrier group.”

  Jackson watches the yard bird get up and come over. He’s a stout red-haired man with a scruff of beard and wearing bib overalls. “I’m Ian Houlihan. I got a letter from the Navy that says I got a grand-daughter who flies jets. Do you know her?”

  “What’s her name, sir?”

  “Lieutenant Gloria Houlihan. Her unit is the Black Knights and she’s shot down a passel of Japs.”

  Mallory, “VF-154. They fly off the Carl Vinson, sir. That’s our aircraft carrier. I’ve seen her at a distance, sir. But I’ve never met her. She was singing for the crew at a party.”

  “Is she a pilot or some singing floozy?”

  “Sir, she is not a floozy. She’s an officer.”

  “What kind of woman would take a billet meant for a man?”

  Mallory, “Sir, I haven’t met her. From what little I know, she kicks ass. Also, sir, the leading American ace is a woman.”

  “So, you think a woman can fight better than a man?”

  Mallory, “What are we doing here, sir? Are you trying to goad me into a fight?”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “She’s beautiful, with an amazing singing voice. If she’s in VF-154, she flies F-14 Tomcats. They’re a kick ass fighter. I think, in 1990, the Tomcat was the best fighter in the world. She must be an athlete just to fly. I think our XO has met her. He met some of the pilots in Australia. That’s all I know.”

  “She sings and is a sailor. Fuck. Why has one of my seed gone so wrong?”

  Mallory stands up to his full six foot four, “Sir, please do not disrespect an officer you do not know. We are here for a meal and a quiet beer. It would be best if you left us alone.”

  Ian look up at him and walks back to his table.

  Gustaf, “Wow. What an asshole.”

  Mallory signals the bartender with three raised fingers. “Yeah, it’s 1942. That guy remembers when women got the vote. He probably celebrates the occasion each year with a week of mourning.”

  Gustaf, “I though women could always vote?”

  Mallory, “Women got the right to vote in 1920. That’s only twenty-two years ago.”

  The other sailors have all moved closer to Mallory’s table. One asks, “Do you have women on your boat?”

  Mallory, “No, we’re too small to support coed showers and berthing.”

  “Is yours a submarine?”

  “It’s an anti-submarine vessel. That’s all we’re allowed to say.”

  “Think we could get a tour?”

  Mallory, “No, guys. No way.”

  “Have you been out?”

  Gustaf, “Yeah, we just went around the Cape of Good Hope.”

  “Have you any kills?”

  The three friends go silent. After a moment, Mallory says, “Only a sick mother fucker brags about kills. You don’t just kill boats. You kill men. It’s something that must be done, but it isn’t something to brag about.”

  Ian Houlihan leaves a paper with his address on the table in front of Mallory, “I’d like to meet your XO.”

  CHAPTER 25

  OFFICER’S CLUB, NSB, NEW LONDON

  1823, 10 March, 1942

  Morrison and Backes sit at a table with beer and steaks. Backes, “
Why do they want to speak with all my guys?”

  “The inspector works for Admiral Klindt. I’m assuming he wants to measure our morale.”