Dangerous Ground

by Larry Bond

  “Now watch as he tests to see that the mask has a good seal with his face,” said Lopez.

  Jerry inhaled and the mask flattened noticeably against his face.

  “See that? If you inhale, the reduced pressure in the mask will cause it to be pushed against your face. That’s how you know the seal is airtight. Okay, Jerry hook up.”

  Jerry took the plug and inserted it into the manifold. There was a momentary hiss as the plug was locked into the connection. Taking a deep breath, there was a brief sound of moving air, identical to that made by Darth Vader.

  “Hear that sound? That is the demand regulator releasing air at the correct pressure when it senses the reduced pressure in the mask. If one hundred-pound air were released directly into the mask, it would burst your lungs. Thanks, Jerry.”

  Jerry removed the mask, unplugged it and wiped the inside of the mask with a cleaner.

  “There isn’t enough air in the mask for you to re-breathe,” cautioned Lopez. “So if you need to move from one manifold to another, be sure to take a deep breath and hold it. Pop the connection and move quickly, but carefully to the next manifold. Any questions?”

  Patterson and Davis both watched carefully. Jerry then handed the mask to Foster, who tested and donned it expertly.

  After several more of the torpedo gang had gone through the procedure, Patterson raised her hand. “I’d like to try it now.” ,

  Jerry was amazed all over again. Patience; politeness? He watched as Lopez handed her the mask.

  “What am I supposed to do first?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to set it up for me?

  Lopez shook his head. “No ma’am. You have to do it all by yourself.”

  Patterson looked puzzled, and the lieutenant continued. “What if you were alone? What if we were unconscious?” His tone changed, becoming more intense. “In an emergency, all our lives depend on each other. You have to know how to do this,” he said flatly.

  Nodding, she took the mask and started to check it. Lopez guided her through the process telling her what to do, but making her handle the mask, test the seal, and make the attachment. In the end, she was wearing the mask and breathing regularly, a huge smile visible through the faceplate.

  She took it off and handed it to Lopez, who turned to Davis. “Your turn, ma’am,” he said, offering her the mask.

  Davis quickly shook her head, “I’d like to watch some more, first.”

  The officer answered, “All right,” and turned to FT3 Larsen. “Then you’re next. Let’s see if you can do it as well as a civilian.”

  Dr. Patterson, arranging her hair, came over to Jerry. “I’ve never done anything quite like this,” she remarked. Then, more softly, “Did those poor men really suffocate on the Bonefish?”

  “Yes, ma’am, they teach us all about it in sub school. That submarine didn’t have this kind of safety equipment, though,” he added encouragingly.

  She shuddered, then changed the subject. “Is Senator James Thorvald from Nebraska, your uncle?”

  “Yes, ma’am, my mother’s oldest brother,” Jerry replied.

  “I’ve met him a few times on the Hill. This is what, his fourth term? He’s got a decent record on the environment—for a Republican,” she said with a smile. “I understand he gave you some help getting this assignment.”

  “Some, ma’am, he didn’t tell me the details.” Jerry was vague, hoping she’d stop talking about it.

  “Oh well, normally it involves making the Pentagon brass do something they don’t want to do. Let’s see, I’m pretty sure he’s on the Senate Armed Services Committee. Which means if the Navy doesn’t give him what he wants, he can make life hard for them when they come before the committee.”

  Jerry was becoming more and more uncomfortable and noticed that several of his men, including Foster, were listening to Patterson.

  “You’re lucky the senator is on Armed Services. If it had been Small Business or Agriculture, you probably would have been out of luck. But in that case, your uncle might have found a friend on one of the committees that handles defense, like Intelligence or Appropriations, and asked for a favor. There’s almost always a way to make the system work for you.”

  “If you’ve got friends in the right places,” someone muttered.

  Jerry ignored the comment and tried to explain. “I just asked if he could help, and he said he’d make a few calls.”

  “And that’s probably all it took.” Patterson explained. Jerry had never seen her this at ease. She was in her element. This was her world, the world of political give-and-take, and she was very comfortable in it.

  “This goes on all the time. For something as simple as this, he probably called the Secretary of the Navy’s office and talked to one of the staffers there. Who made the final decision on your case?”

  “The Chief of Naval Personnel,” Jerry answered quietly.

  “Does he work for the Secretary of the Navy?”

  “No, ma’am, not directly. He reports to the Chief of Naval Operations, who works for the secretary.”

  “Oh, okay, then, the secretary’s staff calls the Chief of Naval whatever and he calls the personnel person.”

  To ordinary officers and sailors, “BUPERS,” the CNO, and “SECNAV” were not people but mighty beings who could be petitioned and who would, for perverse reasons, grant or deny those requests. The idea of Uncle Jim calling and twisting their arms was unsettling. They had bigger things to worry about. They had a Navy to run.

  In spite of the distracting conversation, Lopez had pressed on with the EAB drills. “That’s the last of the torpedo division,” he announced. “Dr. Davis, it’s your turn next. You’ll have to take your glasses off. They aren’t wire rims and they’ll prevent you from getting a good seal.”

  Still listening to Patterson, Jerry watched as Davis stepped up, fumbling with the mask as she went through the procedure. He was surprised. Subconsciously, he’d expected her to be more familiar with the gear, being an engineer and all that.

  Patterson was still talking about his uncle. “I’m sure it was a simple thing for your uncle to arrange. I’m dealing with him on an environmental issue. We want him to come over to our side on the Superfund Act this year, but it’s going to cost us. Possibly some farm subsidies or he might hold out for some construction contracts for his state. That gets messier because . . .

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but is that really how business is done?” Senior Chief Foster had come over to join the conversation. Although he looked calm, Jerry knew him well enough to see how agitated he really was. Foster’s face was a little redder than usual, and his movements were small and tightly controlled. “Shouldn’t that kind of thing be decided on its own merits?”

  Foster spoke with a soft intensity Jerry had never heard before. This guy really lived by the book, and he didn’t think much of those who broke the rules. Evidently he took it all very personally.

  Patterson was momentarily surprised by the questions, but seemed to have a ready answer. “Merit matters, of course. But any new law needs friends, powerful friends. Usually there’s a price for that support.”

  “And you don’t think there’s a problem with that?” Foster said disapprovingly.

  “I don’t try to fix the system. I just try to make it work.”

  Foster voice was harsh. “Even if it’s corrupt?”

  Dr. Patterson, obviously offended, started to reply, but was interrupted by a scream. “I can’t breathe! Take it off! There’s no air!”

  They all turned to see Emily Davis on her knees, frantically pulling the mask off her head. Reynolds, as well as several of the torpedo gang, hovered around her, while Lopez checked the connection. “She’s got air!” he announced.

  Davis seemed to have trouble getting the mask off, but her hands weren’t pulling at the right spot. Reynolds reached out and neatly slipped it off, leaving her gasping, her face streaked with tears. She fumbled to put her glasses back on.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t b
reathe. I couldn’t see anything. There was no air coming in.” She was shaking, leaning forward to support herself with her hands as well as her knees.

  Puzzled, Lopez checked the faceplate. It was clear. Reynolds helped her to her feet.

  “I’m sure the mask is all right,” Lopez said reassuringly. “I watched you make the connections and you did just fine.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And what about the others who used it? It worked fine for them.”

  “Maybe it was just funky,” joked Jobin. “Everybody knows Lee’s breath reeks.”

  “Don’t joke about it,” Davis gasped. “I really couldn’t breathe!” She looked menacingly at Jobin, who did his best to shrink behind the others.

  “All right,” said Lopez, “we’ll do it differently. I’ll hook it up first, see?” He plugged the mask into the manifold, pressed it to his face, and breathed deeply. Emily heard the regulator release air into the mask. Pulling the mask away, Lopez handed it to her. “Just hold the mask up to your face and make sure you can breathe first. Then you can adjust the straps.”

  She took the mask as if it was coated with acid and placed it over face. She took a breath and felt her lungs fill with the dry air. After careful consideration, she looked at everyone surrounding her, sighed, took off her glasses, and then pulled the mask on.

  The compartment was absolutely silent, and Reynolds said, “Step back, guys. Give her a little room.”

  As they stepped back, Jerry watched Emily. Her body had that same posture of tight control he’d just seen in Foster. She stood perfectly still, took three deep breaths, then said, “All right! It works this time.” She quickly ripped the mask off the next instant and handed it to Lopez.

  The lieutenant handed the mask to Foster and said, “The Torpedo Division is done. I’ve got the rest of the crew to check, so I’m outta here,” he said resignedly.

  Lopez left, followed by most of the torpedomen and FTs. Reynolds, Patterson, and Jerry remained, along with Emily. Foster was there as well, but did not stand as close. More composed now, she said, “I’m sorry. The mask was working fine the first time. I couldn’t stand to have anything over my face.”

  She turned to Reynolds. “Thank you, Master Chief.” She hugged him, and then left.

  That afternoon Hardy hit them with a battle drill that combined an approach on an escorted boomer with an engineering casualty that almost caused a low-water alarm in one of the steam generators. The crew handled it, although not perfectly.

  True to his word, Washburn’s cooks served battle rations for dinner: ham sandwiches, boiled eggs, and apples. It was still early enough in the voyage that the apples were fresh. Compared to normal submarine fare, this was a real step down, but Hardy didn’t say a word.

  After dinner, he simulated an electrical fire in the sonar room. As the auxiliarymen isolated the circuit at the switchboard forward, the entire sonar system dropped off line, leaving Memphis blind and deaf.

  Hardy was livid until the ship’s sonar officer, Lieutenant (j.g.) Tom Weyer, was able to prove that the auxiliarymen had not caused the failure. The fault lay in the switchboard, which would have been overhauled if they had not been scheduled for decommissioning.

  They repaired the malfunction quickly and then continued with the drill. As they watched the crew simulate isolating and correcting the fault, Bair quietly pressed his case with Hardy. “If we keep on at this pace, we’re going to have real casualties, self-inflicted ones. The crew is not getting the time it needs to take proper care of the gear. And they all need sleep. If we don’t slow down, they’re going to start making more mistakes due to fatigue and the training won’t be worth a damn.”

  “I’m not convinced they can handle themselves. I can’t trust them to deal with every possibility yet. If there’s a casualty and they drop the ball, it’s a black mark against me, not them.”

  “From who? Patterson?” Bair was dismissive. “She doesn’t care. She doesn’t even understand. We have to drill them to our standards, not hers. And sir, with all due respect, it seems like you’ve raised your standards a little.”

  Hardy sighed. “What’s your recommendation?”

  “Give them the night off. No drills until after breakfast tomorrow.”

  The Captain thought about it for almost a minute, but finally said, “All right, pass the word.”

  * * * *

  Blue Noses

  May 18, 2005

  Denmark Strait, Near the Arctic Circle

  Memphis’ crew arose the next day transformed. Jerry was amazed at the effect one night of uninterrupted sleep had on everyone’s temperament. They even had time for breakfast and some administrative matters in the morning before Hardy started the next round of drills. The first was a slow leak from one of the primary valves that “contaminated” the area around the reactor coolant sample sink in engine room middle level. Any piping or valve that comes in direct contact with the cooling water that circulates around the reactor’s core is considered a primary system component. Thus, any leak from any part of that system is as much a radiological problem as it is a mechanical one.

  Millunzi’s engineering laboratory technicians, or ELTs, quickly isolated the area and began their search for the offending valve. Not only did they have to find and fix the problem, but simulate decontaminating the sample sink area and the affected crewmen. Bair had sneakily written LVS or “leaky valve seat” in small print on the back of one of the harder to reach valves and he expected it would take the ELTs some time to find it. Clad in their yellow anti-contamination suits, or anti-C’s, the ELTs worked methodically and found the valve in short order. And once located, they simulated torquing the valve down and then cleaning the space, all within the allotted time. The Red Baron was pleased.

  Hardy didn’t praise their performance, but made only a few desultory criticisms. Jerry noticed the crew smiling, almost as if he had complimented them.

  There were no further drills that morning, and Jerry spent the time trying to catch up on several days of paperwork and qualifications. He kept waiting for the general alarm to sound, but after an hour or two had passed, he started to believe that Hardy might be easing up.

  Because he had the twelve to six Diving Officer watch in control, Jerry ate lunch at the first sitting. The atmosphere was more relaxed than it had been for days, and he even thought the food tasted better. The talk at the table was still muted, but things had definitely improved.

  Lieutenant Commander O’Connell, the Navigator, broke the relaxed quiet. “XO, sir, I’ve refined my figures, and it appears we’ll be crossing sixty-six degrees thirty-two minutes North latitude around 1600 tomorrow.”

  The sixty-six degrees thirty-two minutes North latitude marked the Arctic Circle, a milestone on the way to their destination, but O’Connell said it with a formality that implied something more. . . .

  Then Jerry remembered—the Bluenose ceremony. He immediately looked at the two ladies, both seated to the left of the Captain. The XO was studying them as well, and after a few moments of silence, said, “Ladies, as Mr. O’Connell indicated, we will be crossing the Arctic Circle tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure you’ve heard of the ritual that occurs when you cross the Equator.”

  He waited for moment and both of them nodded. He continued, “There is a similar ceremony when a vessel crosses the Arctic Circle. We ask permission of Boreas Rex, Ruler of the North Wind and Sovereign of All the Frozen Reaches, to enter his realm, and if we are judged worthy . . .”

  “Sounds like a silly initiation, like some seagoing fraternity.” Patterson’s critical tone was even harsher than her words.

  “Calling us a ‘seagoing fraternity’ is not an insult, if that was your intention,” Captain Hardy replied tersely. “These traditions have a long history, and we respect them, even if you do not.” He looked over to the XO, prompting him to continue.

  “By tradition,” the XO put emphasis on the word, “anyone who crosses the Arctic Circle has the option of participating or not,
as they choose. Although you’ve made your feelings clear, Doctor, we did want to invite both you and Dr. Davis to join in the festivities.”

  Patterson met the XO’s statement with a stony glare, but Emily Davis asked, “What’s involved in this ceremony?” Her tone implied that she expected it to be unpleasant.

  Bair smiled. “His Majesty’s representative, Davy Jones, will board us tomorrow and receive the petitions of those who have not entered the frozen realm before. Then King Boreas arrives with his court after we cross the Arctic Circle . . .”

  “Guess who was Boreas the last time we went north?” interrupted Frank Lopez.

  Bair shot him a hard look, but then smiled. He continued and his smile widened. “The exact details of the ceremony are a deep secret, known only to those trusted members of the Royal Court. But essentially, the hot-blooded neophytes will petition His Majesty to enter his domain. They will then be brought before King Boreas, who will stand in judgment over them before the Royal Court and the Captain of the Royal Guard. If they are found pure of heart, they will be baptized and then admitted to his realm. All in a politically correct and tasteful way, of course,” he added reassuringly.