by Larry Bond
“I’m grateful.” He reached out, and Reynolds took his hand and shook it. Jerry said, “Thanks, thanks a lot.”
“Come by after you get off the noon-to-six tonight and we’ll see what you’ve got left in that qual book.”
“Right, COB, I’ll be there and thanks again.”
Jerry left, headed forward with what would be a spring in his step, if he had the headroom.
* * *
Master Chief Reynolds watched him leave, then sighed. He paused for a moment, looked at his watch, and headed up and forward to the chiefs’ quarters. Along the way, he saw FT2 Boswell, one of the men in Jerry’s division. He told Boswell to find Senior Chief Foster and ask him to join Reynolds in the Goat Locker.
Reynolds got there ahead of Foster, and chased out two chiefs sucking on coffee and pretending to do paperwork.
Foster showed up a minute later, to find Reynolds waiting for him. “What’s up, Sam?” he asked, dropping into a chair.
“I want to know when you’re going to let up on Mitchell,” Reynolds said flatly.
Just hearing Jerry’s name changed Foster’s demeanor. Angrily, he answered, “That no-load? I’ll have him begging for mercy by the time we’re back!”
Foster’s statement was no surprise to the COB. He’d heard the Senior Chief say the same thing or worse in the chiefs’ quarters. Foster hated Mitchell and wasn’t quiet about it.
“Everyone else is willing to cut the kid some slack. Why don’t you ease up?” Reynolds made the last sentence a suggestion, not a question.
“Because I’ll be damned if this Navy’s going to be ruined by someone with the political pull to change the rules.”
“Even if you have to ruin your division, or this boat, to do it?” Reynolds voice was hard.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Foster answered.
“I was on the phone circuit during that Otto fuel spill drill during sea trials. I know what you did. And even if I didn’t, your last blowup with Mitchell is all over the boat. You admitted to tanking the drill on purpose.”
“So what? The kid’s worthless. He can’t lead, and now the division knows it.”
“Nobody can lead when his next-in-line is backstabbing him. I don’t see you doing the Navy any favors. I see you taking cheap shots to work off an old grudge.”
Foster took a different tack. “What did he do? Come running to you?”
“Which is exactly what any officer on this boat should do when an enlisted man’s behavior is unsat.”
“But he couldn’t take care of it himself, could he?” Foster sounded smug.
“He did take care of it, by talking to me,” Reynolds explained. “It’s the COB’s business to deal with bad actors.”
Reynolds leaned his massive frame forward, emphasizing his words. “You’ve disobeyed lawful orders from a commissioned officer, as well as being openly insubordinate. You’ve deliberately interfered with ship’s drills and you’ve disrupted discipline in your division. If you were a first class or below, you’d be at Captain’s Mast, minus at least a stripe. But we don’t do that to chiefs, because they’re supposed to be better than that.”
Foster was grim, but not contrite. “You can’t make me kiss up to that…”
Reynolds cut him off. “What I expect is for you to earn your pay and do your work. Nothing less and nothing more.” Foster looked unconvinced, and the Master Chief continued.
“The only reason Hardy hasn’t noticed your private war is that he’s too busy sweating Patterson and the mission. If I do not see a change in your behavior immediately, I’ll bring this to the Captain’s attention myself.”
Foster was still unmoved. “Hardy’s hated Mitchell since he came aboard.”
“I’ll just mention the part about how you want our mission to fail. Remember, you not only told it to Mitchell, but the rest of the torpedo division. Add to that your sabotaging of the drills, insubordination, and failure to obey a lawful order, and I think I could make an excellent case against you. If he heard half of that, Hardy would have your ass off this boat in twenty-four hours and you’d be facing Commodore’s Mast.”
Both of them knew that was no idle threat. Captain’s Mast, or more formally, “nonjudicial punishment,” was used to discipline enlisted members who broke the rules aboard ship. Insubordination, unauthorized absence from the ship, dereliction of duty, or a dozen other offenses could be punished by extra duty, restriction to the ship (when next in port), fines, or in extreme cases, the malefactor would lose a stripe and the associated pay.
Officers and chiefs could not be disciplined by Captain’s Mast. They went before the squadron commander, which was similar, but it wasn’t a “family matter” any longer. It made the ship look bad, which made the Captain of that ship look bad. Hardy would not be pleased at all. People who wore khaki weren’t supposed to need this kind of disciplinary action, so anyone who appeared before the squadron commander could expect no mercy.
Considering the charges Reynolds had listed, Foster would expect a reduction in rate, and to be permanently beached. The financial loss would be accompanied by a succession of crappy duty assignments until he eventually retired.
The two chiefs studied each other. Foster tried to gauge how serious Reynolds really was, and Reynolds watched the wheels turn as Foster processed the Master Chief’s threat.
Foster finally said, “I won’t stand for him being in my Navy.”
“It’s not your Navy, and it’s not your place to make that decision,” Reynolds reminded him. “The only one I see breaking the rules here is you. And I won’t let you wreck my boat.”
“I won’t help him.”
“No, I’ll do your job,” said Reynolds harshly. “Your new job is to stop tripping him up. And you will follow the lawful orders of any commissioned officer aboard this vessel.” The COB stood up suddenly. “I’ve told you what’s wrong, what needs to be to fixed, and what will happen if it doesn’t get fixed. Consider yourself counseled, Senior Chief.”
He left Foster alone in the chiefs’ quarters, considering.
* * *
After his meeting with Reynolds, Jerry felt better, although he was still unsure about how to deal with Foster and his division. Finally he decided he would just go to the torpedo room and muddle through as best he could. So far, the torpedo gang had done their jobs as if nothing had happened. They were smart enough to know that Foster was wrong. Jerry had to stay focused on the division, and trust his men to follow him in spite of Foster.
The XO found Mitchell as he passed through the control room. “Jerry, I’m going to put Dr. Patterson with your division for the training session. You’ve already got Emily Davis, so the ladies can stay together.”
“Broomhilda?” Bair’s order had caught him off guard. “I mean, ah, where has Dr. Patterson been for the other emergency drills, sir?”
“In her stateroom pretending to work. She’s come up with one excuse after another for avoiding them, but I think I’ve impressed on her the value of learning how to use an EAB mask.”
“How did you manage that?” Jerry was astonished, and more than a bit curious. Patterson wasn’t easy to convince.
“I scared her out of her wits by telling her about Bonefish,” said the XO with a devilish smile on his face. Bonefish was one of the few diesel-electric submarines in the U.S. Navy’s inventory back in the ‘80s. She suffered a hideous battery well fire in the spring of 1988. Three men were killed and twenty-three were injured by the blaze.
“They taught us about her at sub school.” Jerry shivered as he recalled the pictures they showed him of the Bonefish on the surface, with brownish smoke billowing from her sail. “That was one nasty fire.”
“Well, Patterson never went to sub school, but when I described how those men suffocated, she became a believer. I’ll make it worth your while and send Lopez to you first.”
“Aye, aye, XO. She’s more than welcome to join us, of course.”
Bair grinned. “That’s
nice. I could never lie that well.”
* * *
Foster was not in the torpedo room when Jerry came down the ladder. Emily Davis had TM1 Moran, FT1 Bearden, and FT2 Boswell going over the weapons launching console with her. Jerry called TM1 Moran over and told him about Patterson joining them for the drill.
“Broomhilda? Ah, sir, does she have to be here?” Moran almost pleaded with the lieutenant. “Marcie’s okay,” he said, indicating Emily Davis, “but Broomhilda’s just going to make a fuss.”
“Not our call, TM1.” Then, doing a double take, he asked, “Marcie?”
Moran nodded toward Davis, as she quizzed the two FTs about the panel. “Short, straight dark hair, big glasses, kinda quiet, and hangs around with a dominating Patty, of a sort. And she called me ‘sir,’ sir.”
Jerry closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as he thought about the allusion Moran had made concerning the mousy Peanuts character and Emily. The image of Marcie following Peppermint Patty around was way too accurate a comparison. He had to admit that Moran had her pegged. Puffing out a sigh, Jerry said, “Whatever works, Petty Officer Moran, just expect one more for the training. And pleeease, don’t call her Broomhilda — at least while she’s here.”
“Yessir.”
It wasn’t until he had left that Jerry realized how normal Moran had acted.
There was a clattering on the forward ladder and Senior Chief Foster came down from the Goat Locker. Jerry decided the only way to deal with this was to act like he was in charge, because he was. “Senior Chief, we’re just about set up for the training session. Dr. Patterson will be joining us, and Lieutenant Lopez will start with us.”
Foster stepped away from the starboard tube nest, started to reply, “I don’t. ” but was interrupted by footsteps behind him. He quickly moved out of the way as Master Chief Reynolds came from the after crew accommodations.
“I heard Dr. Patterson was joining you. I thought I might stand by, in case you needed a hand, sir.” Reynolds started the sentence facing Jerry, but finished it by looking at Foster. Jerry was sure everyone in the room had seen it, including the Senior Chief. Reynolds’ support might not have been necessary, but Jerry welcomed it all the same. He struggled to suppress a smile.
“Senior Chief, would you please double-check the preparations?” Jerry asked as casually as he could.
“Yes, sir,” Foster answered coldly, managing to look daggers at both Jerry and Reynolds.
Patterson then entered the room by the same path the COB had taken. She paused halfway down the small passage between the center and starboard racks and said, “Lieutenant Mitchell? Emily? Since you’re here, this must be the torpedo room,” she said jokingly.
“As if the rack of torpedoes on the port side and the ROVs on the starboard wasn’t a dead giveaway,” muttered Moran under his breath. Jerry hoped she hadn’t heard that.
Patterson walked up to Jerry and seemed to gather herself. “Lieutenant, I’m supposed to learn about the emergency air masks with Dr. Davis and the rest of your division.”
Mitchell was impressed. Patterson was actually being polite. What did the XO tell her?
Lieutenant (j.g.) Frank Lopez appeared, quickly descending the forward ladder.
“The XO says I’m supposed to start in here. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Frank, we’re all set.”
“For the benefit of our guests,” Lopez began, “I’ll go over the basic mechanics of the emergency air breathing system before we discuss the procedures on how to use it.” Lopez picked up a mask and started to go over the various parts. He explained that the mask was made of flexible rubber, with a clear Plexiglas faceplate and that all masks were the same size. There were four straps that pulled the mask tightly against the face and could be made to fit anyone. Lopez then cautioned Dr. Patterson to make sure her long hair was pulled back when she put the mask on. Otherwise the hair would prevent a good seal.
The air, not oxygen, was provided by the ship’s low-pressure air system and there were 169 EAB manifolds located throughout the boat. You could always find a manifold by looking for the red squares with a black triangle on the deck. He pointed to the one below him and asked Emily to run her hand over the triangle. It was noticeably rough, like coarse sandpaper. Lopez explained that this was how you could find the square in the dark with your hands, or even with your shoes.
He then went to the end of the hose and showed them the conical plug. Reaching up to the manifold, he demonstrated how the plug could easily be inserted into the manifold, even though there was one hundred-pound air in it. To release the plug, he pushed on the outer ring on the female connector and the air pushed the plug out.
The air was not allowed to just flow into the mask. That was much too dangerous. Instead, air was passed to an individual only as it was needed by a demand regulator, which was attached to a person’s belt. It was the same type of regulator that scuba divers used and it was very reliable.
Emily was intrigued by the simplicity of the EAB mask, but she also looked nervous. Jerry guessed she was still dealing with being submerged.
Lopez turned to Patterson and Davis. “Ladies, the torpedo gang are all familiar with the mask and the procedure. If you’d like, I’ll put them through it first while you watch, so you can see how it’s done.”
He pointed to Jerry. “You first. You can set a good example.”
Jerry took the mask and placed it over his face. He grabbed the top two straps and pulled on them. He then grabbed the bottom two straps and pulled tightly. He repeated the process again to ensure a good seal.
“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 mo
re, 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.”
