Charles Taylor - Boomer

After rubbing his face with a rough towel, he pulled night goggles over his eyes to accustom them to the dimmer light in the control room and sonar. Peering in the mirror, he decided to run a comb through his thin hair, then smoothed his mustache with his fingers. A clean shirt and freshly pressed trousers helped to give him a more commanding appearance, but he knew it was the captain’s eagles on his collar and not a rough and ready appearance that made the difference. What the hell, Captain, he said to himself, looks don’t make the man. Then he smiled at his image — but silver eagles sure do!

There was a comforting sensation, almost one of self-satisfaction, as Nelson moved toward the control room. He knew innately that he was perceiving the entirety of Florida — they were a part of each other — as she continued her tedious mission.

It was equally important that he sense Florida’ s position in her sector, just as he understood his own within the giant vessel. The picture formed in his mind was similar to holographic imagery. Now he could withdraw to a position where he could see Florida in relation to her sector, yet he was also an integral part of that picture. A complete grasp of everything was critical to relating to this unidentified sound that sonar had isolated.

“Good morning, Jeffrey … or good evening, or whatever the hell it is,” Nelson said to the OOD as he entered control. “I never looked at my watch,” he added, glancing at his wrist. It was easy to lose the sensation of day and night after an extended period under the surface. When one’s existence was based on six-hour watch sections separated in time by sleep or paperwork, light and dark had no bearing on the system.

“Morning, Captain. Still dark on the surface, but they tell me the sun’s going to take another turn shortly,” Lieutenant Sones answered pleasantly.

“Where are we this fine morning, Jeff?” Nelson moved around the periscopes to the chart table toward the rear of the control room. “Someplace new and exciting?”

“Well … we are going to change course soon. And we’ve varied our depth a few times this watch. That was exciting,” he added without expression. Sones’s calm, easy nature matched his captain’s. Nelson would prefer him in control in any sort of emergency.

Nelson glanced casually at the X’s on the chart identifying Florida’ s track since he last was in control. They displayed precise geographical positions, but there was nothing on the chart noting the normal variations of course and speed and depth that were a standard part of each watch. Those subtle changes would be in the ship’s log, to confirm that Florida was making every effort required to randomize her movements, if there were anything out there capable of detecting her. This class of SSBN’s was by far the quietest afloat, and it would be a freak of nature for an unfriendly submarine to hear her before they had already been identified. The only ones that had ever gotten close were their own 688’s.

“You’d prefer a roller-coaster ride if you had the chance, wouldn’t you, Jeff?”

“It would be a nice change of scenery, Captain. If you decide on something like that, I hope you’ll let me do the driving.” A man with a dry sense of humor.

Nelson ambled over beside his OOD with a grin. Both of them paused in their conversation to pay silent homage to a habit that likely originated with the first modern submarine. They studied the gauges and dials on the panels above the planesmen and the diving officer. It was customary, a practice engaged in by everyone who passed through the control room. In addition to the diving officer there were always two men on watch who controlled the submarine’s course and depth by means of simple-appearing steering wheels which could also be pushed forward or pulled back. One of these controlled the rudder and the fairwater planes mounted on the sail, and the other the stern planes. Although each man passing through the control room paused to study those gauges, none of them would have dared to say a word to the planesmen. That was up to the diving officer on watch.

Nelson watched those dials, too, but said nothing to the men. “Anything else from sonar?” he asked Sones.

“Not really. Still intermittent. Dan Mundy just wandered in there grumbling about being woken up in the middle of the night. He had the last watch, so he was probably figuring on catching an uninterrupted six. Chief Delaney can’t figure it out, so he told me it’s something from another world — par for the course, I guess.”

“Okay. I suppose the last thing they need is another body in there, so I might as well add to the crowd just to keep Delaney on his toes. Don’t run into anything,” he grunted as he headed for sonar.

The normal watch in sonar, four men, was more than adequate for the size of the space. Along with Chief Delaney, the current watch section had been joined by the executive officer, Jimmy Cross, and the sonar officer, Dan Mundy. Buck Nelson now made it seven. The room was designed primarily to house complex sonar equipment and the associated gear to allow Florida an advantage over an approaching enemy. Any people other than the normal watch section created a traffic hazard.

“Morning, Captain,” Jimmy Cross murmured. People in sonar always seemed to talk in hushed tones. The XO had just removed a set of spare headphones and handed them to Dan Mundy.

“What do you hear, XO?”

“Not a damn thing … at least nothing but a few horny fish somewhere out there crying for a little action.”

“No one setting up an attack on us?”

“Hell, no.” Cross was a southerner, and he drew out phrases like “hellnoooo” so that they ran together. “I haven’t got the vaguest idea what these guys with fancy ears have picked up this time. Since I’ve been in here, they haven’t heard a thing that sounds like what they woke us up for, Captain. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was one of Delaney’s stunts.” He winked at the chief. “He’s got spies, you see, who let him know whenever we fall asleep.”

Nelson winked at Delaney, too. “You must have had a hell of a good reason to time it so well with me, Chief.”

“You mean I let you sleep too long, Captain?” He had a hand extended so that one of the sonarmen would hand him a set of headphones.

“No, Chief, you timed it perfectly. I was just about in dreamland when that goddamn phone buzzed. Mr. Sones tells me you’ve found something from outer space.”

Delaney smiled at his own humor. “Might as well be, Captain. The way it’s playing with my watch section, you’d think so.” A headset was placed in his hands and he hung it around his neck like a towel. “One of the men picked it up about half an hour ago. It’s about as faint as it can get without being nothing. I suppose since there’s nothing else out here, that’s why he picked it up. Just something barely audible on broad band.”

“You’re sure it’s manmade?”

“Listened to it myself.” He shrugged. “Then fed the recording through the computer.”

“Could be a surface ship.”

“No … no, I don’t think so. We probably would have picked up some screw noises or surface effect with it if it was.” Delaney turned away and placed the headphones over his ears as one of the sonarmen waved a hand at him. “Just a second, Captain. I think we’ve got something again.”

Nelson glanced over at Dan Mundy, who was staring vacantly at the deck while he concentrated on the sound coming through his own headphones. He began to nod to himself as if the space were empty. Then he flipped the recording switch on the panel behind him before beckoning to Nelson. “Here, Captain, try these,” he said, lifting the headset off and offering it in his direction. “Something there again.”