Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

“Thank you, Petty Officer Greer. Maybe he’s in the chiefs’ quarters.”

“You’re welcome, sir. And if I see Senior Chief Foster, I’ll let him know you are looking for him.”

Jerry proceeded back toward the chiefs’ quarters, or Goat Locker, which was immediately outboard of the ship’s office in Forward compartment middle level. He was seasoned enough to know that a junior officer did not just barge into the Goat Locker; one knocked on the door and waited for permission to enter. Only the CO had the right to walk in without knocking, although a smart one did not, out of respect for his chiefs.

The door opened and a huge man poked his upper body through the clearly inadequate opening. The nametag said REYNOLDS and his collar devices had the anchor and two stars of a master chief. This man is the Chief of the Boat, Jerry thought. The Chief of the Boat, or COB, is the senior enlisted man on the submarine and the direct representative of the crew to the CO and XO.

“Yes, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?” asked Reynolds in a voice that was as deep and impressive as his size.

Jerry momentarily hesitated, as all he could think of was the line from the original Star Wars movie: “Let the wookie win!” Quickly recovering his composure, Jerry replied, “Excuse me, Master Chief, I’m Lieutenant (j.g.) Mitchell, the new Torpedo Officer. I’m looking for Senior Chief Foster. Is he here?”

“Senior Chief Foster, aye, wait one,” boomed the COB. Turning toward the interior of the chiefs’ quarters, he called, “Has anyone seen Foster?”

A voice from inside responded, “I saw him and Bearden heading to the torpedo shop on base about fifteen minutes ago.”

The COB turned around and said, “Did you get that, Mr. Mitchell?”

Jerry nodded and asked, “Did they say when they would be back?”

Again, the COB relayed the question. No one knew when they were to return. Now Jerry would have to take his draft watch bill to the WEPS without the most senior man in the division being able to review it and correct any mistakes he had made. As Jerry’s frustration grew, he was certain that the timing of this trip to the SUBASE torpedo shop wasn’t just a coincidence.

“Thank you, Master Chief. I’ll just finish up without him.”

“I prefer ‘COB,’ Mr. Mitchell, and welcome aboard.” Reynolds then extended his massive hand. Jerry gladly accepted the COB’s offer and as they shook hands, Jerry noticed that in addition to the silver dolphins on the COB’s chest, he also wore the helmet with sea horses pin of a master diver.

Jerry started heading toward the WEPS’ stateroom, then thought the better of it and went back to the torpedo room. Since Foster was unavailable, he would at least have TM1 Moran give it a quick look over. Arriving in the torpedo room, Jerry found Moran talking to the rest of the division about a problem they had discovered during the maintenance check that morning. As Jerry came up to the group, he didn’t immediately interrupt as Moran was going over the procedures that would have to be used to troubleshoot the problem. However, Jerry couldn’t help but notice that time was growing short and he raised his hand and made a slashing movement across his throat. Moran nodded his head in acknowledgement of Jerry’s order and sent the other TMs off to do some more cleaning before knocking off for the day. He reminded all of them to come back and see him before hitting the beach as the watch bill hadn’t been finalized yet.

“Yes, sir, you wanted to see me?” said Moran as he walked over to Jerry.

“Petty Officer Moran, I’d like you to take a few minutes and review this draft watch bill before I turn it in to the WEPS.”

“Sir, Senior Chief Foster typically reviews these,” replied Moran nervously.

“I understand that, Petty Officer Moran, but the Senior Chief isn’t on the boat right now and I have to turn this in soon. You’re the senior petty officer aboard right now, and I need a pair of experienced eyes to look it over.” Jerry smiled as he emphasized the last part, hoping to reduce the tension that he felt growing.

“Yes, sir, of course.” Moran took the paper from Jerry’s hand examined at the draft watch bill. Every now and then, Moran would look up at Jerry, clearly uncomfortable with the task. Jerry tried not to let on that he knew just how jittery Moran was; embarrassing him wouldn’t help the situation. Just what I need, Jerry thought, another scared rabbit. Moran soon finished and handed the paper back to his division officer.

“It looks good to me, sir. The only change I’d recommend is that you switch Seaman Jobin to my watch section. I’m his ‘sea daddy,’ his mentor, and I’ve been working with him now for the past two months. I’d like to keep him with me if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Petty Officer Moran. Thank you for informing me. I’ll make the change and turn in the watch bill. I’ll let you know as soon as the WEPS approves it.” Jerry left the torpedo room feeling good about his watch bill, a trivial assignment in the grand scheme of things, but it had passed muster with a senior petty officer and he would be turning it in on time. Returning to his stateroom, Jerry quickly made the change and then took the final version to the WEPS with five minutes to spare.

Richards took the paper without saying anything. As he started reading it, his face became crimson. Then he slammed the watch bill on his desktop and yelled, “What kind of bullshit are you trying to give me, Mitchell!”

“Excuse me, sir?” Jerry replied in a confused tone.

“This watch bill is all hosed up! You have Jobin and Davidson in the same watch section. Jobin isn’t qualified to do anything yet and Davidson will be gone for three weeks. This leaves only two qualified people in the first section.”

“I wasn’t aware that Davidson was going to be gone,” said Jerry as his temper started rising. “He was on the Senior Chief’s port and starboard watch bill and I assumed he would be available. And as for Seaman Jobin, TM1 Moran specifically requested that I put Jobin in his watch section.”

Jerry’s response seemed to irritate Richards even more as he rose from his chair and started speaking through clinched teeth. “Mr. Mitchell, FT2 Davidson has a quota to an advanced maintenance course for the CCS Mk 2 fire-control system. Once it was announced that we were going to a three-section duty rotation, Senior Chief Foster asked me to let Davidson go to the course as originally planned. If you would bother to talk to your leading chief, you would know what the hell is going on in your division.”

Jerry had to fight hard to keep from blowing up on his department head. Senior Chief Foster had intentionally withheld information he needed to know, and on top of that, had left the boat so that he couldn’t be ordered to ensure that the watch bill was correct. Jerry sensed that arguing with Cal Richards about the senior chief’s malicious attempts at sabotage would be a lost cause and would only make things worse. Instead, Jerry took a number of slow, deep breaths and pulled the watch bill from Richards’ desk.

“Sir, given this new information, all we need to do is move Petty Officer Larsen from the third section to the first and each section now has three qualified watch standers.”

Richards seemed to be mollified by Jerry’s calm reply and he sat back down. “Very well, Mr. Mitchell. I accept your recommendation.”

Jerry turned to leave, but Richards called him back. “Where is your repair parts list, mister? Senior Chief Foster said he had finished it and the two-kilos over an hour ago.”

“I don’t know where the list is, sir. Senior Chief Foster never gave it to me,” said Jerry in a non-confrontational, matter-of-fact tone. “But I’ll go find the list and get it to you ASAP.” The puzzled look on Richards’ face told Jerry that perhaps he was starting to get through to the WEPS. Jerry certainly hoped so. Richards said nothing. He simply returned to his mountain of paperwork while Jerry quickly returned to his stateroom. Once there, Jerry picked up the boat’s internal telephone and called down to the torpedo room.