Charles Taylor - Boomer

But why call Dick in here? He just might be in the next compartment. With that, he rose from his desk and stuck his head around the corner. There was a recessed light illuminating neat stacks of paperwork on Makin’s desk. And there was the picture of his family. How long had it been since the XO left that out for everyone to see? Newell took another step so that he could look directly in. His executive officer was stretched out on his bunk with the light shining over his shoulder on a single sheet of paper — the one that explained the Soviet masking device that allowed their boomers to imitate the sound signature of American boomers.

“Ah, Dick, great minds and all that.” He rarely used the XO’s first name, but this was a time to do so. “You’re thinking about exactly what I’m thinking.” He stepped inside and reached for the single chair, turning it so he could straddle it with his arms across the back, “Mind if I make myself at home?”

“Sure thing …” Makin gestured as he began to swing his feet out.

“No … no, please, Dick. Stretch out. There’s more room if you make yourself at home in your little castle.” Newell waved him back down with a grin. “You’re probably beat to shit like the rest of us.” Newell’s enthusiasm masked any weariness.

“I’m still pretty sharp.” Makin forced a smile. Old quarterbacks never admitted to giving in to anything. “I’ve felt better before, but I can tough it out with the best of them. Hell, Captain, you haven’t had much sleep yourself.”

“The catnap was designed for me, Dick. Five or ten minutes here and there will do wonders, and whenever I can grab an hour undisturbed, it’s just like a good night’s sleep for most others.” He nodded at the sheet of paper in Makin’s hand. “Scared about that?”

The executive officer’s forehead wrinkled in a frown and he shook his head. “No, not scared.” He paused and looked hard at Newell for a moment. “No reason to be that I know of,” he began tentatively, “unless there’s something else I should be aware of.”

“No, not that I know of either, Dick. I was just a little surprised that you were back into it again. I know some of the men have been concerned … and I sure as hell can sympathize if they don’t have a full understanding of that explanation.” He indicated the sheet of paper. “What do you hear?”

“I don’t quite know how to put it into words…. I’ve never been at war before, or.…” He shrugged, searching for the right words. “I guess I don’t know how men should react at a time like this. The shrinks covered a lot in prospective XO school in New London before I came out here, but I don’t think anyone could imagine a situation like the one we’re in.” He glanced over at the photo on his desk and held his lower lip between his teeth for a second. “There’s tension. Hell, we all feel that. And Wally’s talked to me about—”

“Wally?” Newell interrupted. “What in the world could possibly be bothering him? I’ve already discussed everything with him,” he added irritably.

“I know that, Captain. I know. But I promised I’d talk with you when there was an opportunity. He’s kind of a sensitive kid, you know, and he worries when everything doesn’t seem to be absolutely kosher—”

“I thought I’d explained everything as clearly as necessary,” Newell interrupted again. “I don’t give a shit who’s sensitive—”

“My fault.” Makin had developed a way of placing himself between the officers and the captain’s rare streaks of irritability, just as he normally sheltered Newell from the everyday wardroom problems. “I didn’t realize you’d already talked with him about that special communications check he brought up.”

Newell raised an eyebrow. “Special communications check? I don’t remember that I did. What’s that all about?”

“Very simple, he claims. If a comm officer is worried about his equipment at all — and he seems to be bothered by the fact that most of the messages we’re receiving are addressed to us, no other boats, no general addressees or information — you send a simple code on a burst transmission and the response comes back the same way. If there’s no answer, then you know you’ve got a problem. Wally says it’s designed for conditions like these, I guess to ensure security.”

“No.” The captain folded his arms across the top of the chair and rested his chin on them with a faraway took in his eyes. “No, I don’t want to take any chances breaking communications security at a time like this. Maybe after we complete this next mission … yes. But not now, definitely not.” His eyes focused on his XO’s. “Want me to go over that with Wally directly?” It was almost a challenge, a rarity in their relationship.

“No. I’ll handle him.”

Newell glanced over at the photo. He’d already forgotten what Dick’s wife looked like. She was an attractive woman, and he couldn’t imagine why he’d forgotten that. Two kids, too. A boy and a girl. Perfect. Just like the Newells, except for….

“Fine,” Newell said. “Now, what I really wanted to talk about was the tension problem. We talked about it a few hours back and decided we’d chew on it first and come up with a team approach. And that’s what we need, Dick, a team approach, a united front to ease that tension.” He leaned forward enthusiastically, balancing the chair on two legs. “If we don’t go after it right now, Dick, there could be problems later. I don’t want to be counseling crewmen at the same time we’re coming up with a firing solution to take out a Russian boomer.” He shook his head defiantly and the chair banged down on all four legs. “That’s the way to get yourself sunk.”

Makin rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. Wayne Newell’s attitude was contagious. “I really have thought about it a lot, Captain, and there only seems to be one answer. I guess we’ve got to take the old-boy approach, sit down in each compartment and lay it all out again. Hell, we both have families. There’s no better way than to tell them how we feel about our own — explain that we’re all in the same fix.…”

“You’re right, you know, Dick. You always seem to have the right answer.” Newell nodded sagely. “Just like politicians, we’ll take our case to the people.” His blue eyes brightened. “There’s plenty of time, more than thirty hours, I’d say. What we need to do is get them mad, get them keyed up to get revenge for what’s happening on the surface.”

“They’re tired, too, Captain.”

“Understood. Work out a revised watch schedule for the next twenty-four hours so that everyone has a chance to rest. Better yet, have the chiefs take care of their own men and report back to you.”

“That’s the other thing I was going to talk with you about, Captain.” The executive officer rubbed his hands together again until he eventually lowered his chin to rest on his thumbs. “I thought you might be resting when I stuck my head in a while back, and I didn’t want to upset you then.” He pursed his lips and chewed on his lower lip again before he looked up. “Tommy Lott … he really seems to be near the edge. Chief Sanford came to me about it. It seems our chief of the boat is very upset … trying to get other people to listen to the tapes of that last Soviet boomer we sunk … says you can’t imitate a boat’s personality and he knew Nevada’ s signature like he knew his own heartbeat. He served aboard her before he came to us, you know. He’s convinced we — somebody — made a mistake.”

“Well … that’s ridiculous!” Newell’s enthusiasm vanished as rapidly as it had appeared. His tone turned suddenly ugly. “You know that as well as I do.”

“I’m just passing it on for what it’s worth, Captain. Next to you, Tommy Lott is the one the troops listen to the most. His shit doesn’t stink, as far as they’re concerned. They respect whatever he says, and he’s right at the edge….”