Charles Taylor - Boomer

This didn’t make sense — drug the chief of the boat? The men might just turn against Newell on this one. “Captain, he’s Lott’s best friend and I don’t think—”

“Don’t bother,” Newell interrupted rudely. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” He’d been staring into the light over his bunk as he outlined his plans to Makin. Now, sensing how curt he’d just been to his executive officer, he turned with a smile on his face. “You know I didn’t mean to be sharp, Dick. I’m sorry. I guess the tension can get to any of us. It was stupid of me.” He recognized the set of Makin’s jaw. It signified an innate stubbornness, like waving a red flag. “I really do apologize. Accepted?” He raised his eyebrows as if he expected his XO to accede automatically. It was decided. There was no room for argument.

“Captain, I can see why you want to get Lott out of the way. I’m the first one to admit there’s no room for what he’s saying.” The XO’s jaw remained outthrust, his lips pursed. He was second in command of Pasadena. “But Chief Sanford isn’t going to be happy about leaving his buddy comatose. I’m not so sure I like it either. Perhaps I could still sit down and talk with him.”

Newell waved his hand again to show he’d made up his mind. “No time, Dick. We could pick up our next target any moment now. We’re not out on exercises, remember. We’re fighting a war. Can you imagine trying to coordinate an attack with a man who’s decided he doesn’t like the target we’ve been assigned … not to mention he’s the chief of the boat who’s been insubordinate and is attempting to turn the men against their captain?” Newell shook his head briefly. “Nope, not a chance. I really appreciate your concern and being a sounding board for me, but we don’t have a moment to spare. You tell Chief Crowell what has to be done and send him to me after he’s taken care of Lott.” He folded his arms.

“Yes, sir.” Makin stood up and turned away slowly. Then, looking over his shoulder, knowing he’d feel guilty if he didn’t mention it, he said, “I guess I’d better ask about Wally Snyder. He’s no help right now, talking about phony messages, and I guess he’s even talked with Chief Lott about that.…” If that’s the way the captain felt about the chief of the boat, then it was the XO’s duty to cover all the bases. Less than an hour before, he’d been isolating his captain from Snyder’s bitches. Now it was time to get everything out on the carpet. “I think the situation’s pretty much the same with Wally.”

“Send Wally in to me. I’ll settle this with him directly.” Newell’s blue eyes were piercing, his lips a sharp, gray slash etched on his face when he added, “I’ll complete my mission if I have to sedate every disrespectful son of a bitch on this boat.”

The communications officer looked miserable when he knocked at the captain’s stateroom and stuck his head inside. “The XO said you wanted to see me, Captain.”

Newell glanced up at Wally Snyder with a look of contempt, “Step inside, Mr. Snyder.”

The young officer reached tentatively for the back of the vacant chair.

“No need to sit down. This will be quick. You’ll either have a change of attitude or find yourself wading in deep shit.”

Snyder nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Mr. Snyder?”

“Of course not, Captain.”

“I was a comm officer once. Years ago. Things were different then, but I did a hell of a job. Do you for even a moment think I forgot everything I ever learned?”

“No, sir.” Snyder rocked slightly on his heels as he realized how his captain was setting him up — and how defenseless he was at that moment.

“Is it possible that COMSUBPAC might have made me more aware of the strategic situation and his communications intentions than he did you? After all, I am commanding officer of this submarine.”

“I’m sure he did, sir.”

“Then why do you continue to question my judgment when Pasadena is in a state of war with a foreign nation?”

“It’s not that, sir. I simply feel that—”

“You’re not in a position to make decisions for me, or to question the orders that I give.” Newell’s eyes had narrowed once again, until the pupils were barely visible. “Is it fair to assume you are aware of that, Mr. Snyder?” He pronounced the young officer’s name as if it were a foul taste he needed to clear from his mouth.

“I didn’t intend to—”

“I have no interest in intentions. We are on a mission of grave importance to our nation, and you have not only questioned my decisions, I understand you have also been comparing notes with the chief of the boat Are you aware that Chief Lott has been relieved of his duties and no longer has the run of the boat?”

“Why … no, sir. I had no idea.…”

“Well, now you do. Pasadena has destroyed two Soviet boomers and we’re on the track of a third. Luck had nothing to do with that. Superb intelligence, superb communications, and a superbly trained and closely knit crew accomplished that. I intend to maintain that peak efficiency until we either shoot our last torpedo or are ordered to return to Pearl Harbor. I realize the pressure on the crew of this submarine and I also know that the slightest hint of insubordination can harm our mission. Do you concur, Mr. Snyder?” Newell’s voice dropped until the final words were a bare whisper.

“I do understand, Captain,” the young man answered softly. No one had ever treated him in this manner since he’d earned his commission. His eyes centered on a spot in the middle of the captain’s chest.

“Look at me.” Still a whisper.

Wally Snyder looked up.

“I expect your verbal support among your peers in the coming hours. If you as much as hint at any dissatisfaction with the manner in which I operate this vessel, I promise you will find yourself facing a court-martial. And since I consider us in a state of war, the punishment I would insist on is death.” The last half-dozen words became a hiss that punctuated his threat “Can you think of anything you want to say, Mr. Snyder?”

“No, sir.”

“Then get out of here and do your job … and I’ll do mine.” Newell waved him away with a flick of his wrist. Once Snyder was gone, the captain’s head sank slowly until his chin rested on his chest. His entire body shook with exhaustion.

Why … why the hell do I have to straighten everybody out? Just for once couldn’t people get their own acts together? Christ, it was just like being back home with the family.

Newell actually shuddered when he thought about that confrontation the last time with Kathy and that young punk … whatever his name was. Boys were no different than they were when he was that age. All they wanted to do was get their hand down some girl’s bra, then go tell all the other guys about it. That’s exactly what he’d told Kathy, and she had no right to go off crying to her mother. Myra had no more idea what went through a boy’s mind than the man in the moon.

And, goddamn it, that Snyder kid had no more idea what went on in the enemy’s mind. They were just as devious, except the game out here wasn’t to get a little bare tit. This was the big game. They were going all the way, cover all the bases, then slide into home a winner.

There is just no reason to put up with that kind of crap out here, not while I’m captain of Pasadena.

And there’s no reason to lower standards at home either!

Oh, Christ, I’m tired, he thought as his eyes fell shut and his mind went mercifully blank.

The first missile from SSV-516 exploded in the fuselage of the American intelligence plane. The blast wasn’t powerful enough to bring her down, but one of the electronics technicians was killed and the other badly wounded. The second missile, only seconds behind the first, struck the starboard wing, rupturing one of the fuel tanks. Burning avgas swept back along the fuselage and through the ragged hole made by the first explosion.