Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

“Torpedo room,” responded the other person on the line. Jerry didn’t recognize the voice.

“This is Mr. Mitchell. Is TM1 Moran there?”

“Yes sir. Wait one.”

After a brief pause, Jerry heard a familiar voice: “Moran here. What can I do for you, sir?”

“Petty Officer Moran, the WEPS has approved the watch bill with minor modifications. You, Jobin, Willis, and Larsen have the duty, the rest may knock off work and go home for the night after they check out with you.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll pass the word to the division. Anything else?”

“Yes, just one question,” said Jerry. “Do you know if Senior Chief Foster and Petty Officer Bearden have returned to the boat yet?”

“I haven’t seen the Senior Chief, but FT1 Bearden is here now. Would you like to speak to him?” replied Moran.

“Yes, please.”

After another brief pause, the lead fire-control technician was on the line, “Bearden, sir.”

“Petty Officer Bearden, do you know where Senior Chief Foster is? I need to get the repair part list he was working on into the WEPS.”

There was absolute silence on the other end. Then, somewhat hesitantly, Bearden answered, “Sir, I believe the Senior Chief went home for the day.”

“Really? Well, that wasn’t very wise now, was it?” responded Jerry in a cynical tone. He wasn’t at all surprised that Foster had not returned. “Petty Officer Bearden, do you know where he normally keeps the division’s laptop?”

“Certainly, sir. Senior Chief Foster usually keeps it in his locker under his bunk in the chiefs’ quarters.”

“Thank you, I’ll take care of the matter. Have a good evening.” And with that Jerry hung up the phone and headed back to the chiefs’ quarters. As Jerry went by the wardroom, he could see that dinner was being served and he realized that he was a bit hungry himself. The COB answered the door again and Jerry apologized profusely for interrupting the chiefs’ meal. He explained that he needed the division’s laptop to answer the WEPS’ requirement and that it was very likely in Senior Chief Foster’s bunk locker. The COB disappeared for a few minutes and then returned with the laptop in hand. Jerry thanked the COB and hurried back to his stateroom.

Fortunately, Foster hadn’t buried the files in some folder that was deeply nested in another. Jerry took a quick look at the list. He didn’t have the time or expertise to know if it was complete and printed out a copy on paper and saved the files to two diskettes. Jerry took one of the diskettes and the paper copy and laid it on top of the WEPS’ desk and proceeded to the wardroom to get something to eat. Since he had arrived very late, Jerry ate, alone, at the second sitting.

Exhausted, Jerry went back to his stateroom and literally fell into his rack. He tried to read some more out of the ship’s information book, but he was mentally and physically spent and he just couldn’t concentrate. Realizing that this was a waste of time, Jerry got ready for bed, crawled back in, and closed the curtain on his rack. After getting comfortable, Jerry thought back on the terrible day he had had. And for the second night in a row he found himself asking the same nagging question: Had he done the right thing in asking for subs?

Jerry remembered the last hurdle he had to clear before the Navy would grant his request. It was an interview with the Director of Naval Reactors. Before that meeting, Jerry and his squadron commander had visited “Uncle Jim” Thorvald in his office. The senator would not, of course, attend the meeting, but wanted to wish Jerry well. And Jerry wanted to thank the senator for his efforts.

Jerry had never been in Washington, D.C. before, or the Russell Senate Office Building, or a senator’s office. Starting with the seal of the Great State of Nebraska on the door, it was filled with symbols of the state, as well as a fair amount of Cornhuskers memorabilia.

They went into the senator’s inner office, and he welcomed the two officers warmly. “Jerry, Commander Casey, please come in. Take a seat.” An aide materialized with juice and rolls, appropriate for the early hour. Jerry sat nervously on the leather couch.

The balding, thin, almost scrawny senator regarded his nephew fondly, but also appraisingly. “I’ve spent some political coin to get you a second chance with the Navy, Jerry. Assuming you pass the Naval Reactors inquisition, are the taxpayers going to get their money back?” Although he smiled and joked a little, Jerry knew the senator was serious.

“You know I’ll do my best. Senator…Uncle Jim.”

“But is that enough, Jerry? We all knew you’d be a good pilot. You’re the type, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted. I can remember you saying it when you were six, and it never changed. Now, suddenly, it’s subs. You know the Navy will make it hard for you. Can you do it?”

Jerry nodded. “Remember when I taught myself Japanese so I could watch all those anime films undubbed? How about when I built that hang glider?”

“You mean the scaring us to death part?” Thorvald asked, smiling.

Jerry laughed, remembering. “No, I mean the part where I met all the FAA safety requirements — and Mom’s. Built it, and paid for it, all by myself, when I was seventeen.”

“Maybe you should have built a minisub,” the senator responded, half-jokingly.

“And I’ve been scuba diving since my senior year in high school.”

Torvald held up his hands in surrender. “All right, Jerry, I remember.”

His voice became firmer. “And I believe you can do anything that’s physically possible.”

So was this physically possible? Jerry felt like the entire crew of Memphis considered him to be either a lightweight or a political hack. He fell asleep wondering if he could win against odds of 134 to 1.

The next morning Jerry felt less like an impostor at Quarters. He belonged there, even if Foster didn’t want him. And while Jerry might not like it, he at least knew where he stood.

And knowing, he could plan. Before Quarters started, Jerry told the senior chief that he would to speak to the division before they were dismissed. He’d felt foolish rehearsing it ahead of time, but it was clear that unless he took the right tone, Foster would roll right over him.

After Jerry went over the plan of the day and read a few announcements, he gave “the speech.” It wasn’t the one he’d planned to give the day before, but that may have been for the good. This one was better tuned to Memphis and the division.

He mentioned his background, giving a little more detail than may have been generally known. He admitted this was his first leadership opportunity and made it clear that he depended on their skills, especially those of Senior Chief Foster. The finish was the most important part.

“My only policy change is that from now on, everyone in the division should check in with their supervisor before leaving the ship, just as Senior Chief Foster will check in with me.” That earned him a few curious looks, because that was supposed to be the policy, but Jerry was looking at Senior Chief Foster as he said it. There’d be less chance for a repeat of yesterday.

He’d planned to continue the turnover with Senior Chief Foster, but the IMC loudspeaker announced, “Lieutenant Mitchell, lay topside.” The senior chief gave a small smile as Jerry left.

He stopped to grab his coat and cover, which slowed him down enough to earn another summons from the loudspeaker. He emerged from the forward escape trunk to find the XO waiting for him, along with two women.

“This is Dr. Patterson and Dr. Davis. They’ll be… er, supervising the installation of some special mission equipment for the patrol.” Jerry noticed that Bair’s correction earned him a scathing look from Dr. Patterson, the older of the two women. She looked to be in her early forties, while Davis seemed to be in her late twenties. Neither looked happy, although Davis just looked uncomfortable. Patterson scowled as if she disapproved of Memphis and everyone around her. Jerry wondered how a Navy tech rep functioned with an attitude like that.