Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

The other officers murmured their assent and slowly filed out of the room. Jerry stayed behind, trying to comprehend the enormity of what Berg had said. The normally jovial Lenny Berg had been cast into the pit of depression by the XO’s three sentences. And while Jerry didn’t understand the exact ramifications of those words, he knew that things on board Memphis had taken a turn for the worse.

Jerry looked up at the clock and realized that he only had about an hour and a half before the ladies returned for the survey. Remembering the thick qualification book and schedule he received from Richards, Jerry decided to go to his stateroom and see just how much work he faced in his quest for the gold dolphins.

As he entered his stateroom, Jerry saw a stack of documents and three-ring binders over a foot tall sitting on his desk. In awe, Jerry investigated the mountain of paper. After looking at a few pages, it soon became apparent that these were the division’s records. Maintenance logs, calibration logs, training and readiness records, various inventories, and more, a lot more. Jerry remembered Moran’s comment about the senior chief “unloading” some paperwork. Well, thought Jerry, I guess Senior Chief Foster has officially turned over the division. He looked around his cramped stateroom. Now where the hell am I going to put all this stuff?

Jerry spent the next hour segregating and organizing the division’s records. He skimmed each packet of paper and placed it in one of four piles— maintenance, personnel, training, or supply — on his bunk. He vowed to look at everything in more detail later, but right now he just wanted to get a handle on his job as a division officer. As daunting as the huge pile looked at first, from what Jerry could tell, the senior chief seemed to have run a pretty tight division. Once again, Jerry was impressed with the man’s abilities. If only we could get along, he thought ruefully.

Looking down by his pillow, Jerry saw his qual book. He picked it up and saw that it was well over an inch thick. He began to wonder if he could finish in time. Flipping through the book, Jerry noticed all the signatures he needed to obtain before he would be awarded his dolphins. There were watches to stand under instruction, tens of system checkouts and practical exercises to perform, and dozens of standard operating and emergency procedures to memorize. Setting it aside, Jerry picked up the schedule that Richards had recommended and started looking at what he should be doing first. The list was oppressively long and the pace demanding.

The more Jerry looked at his qualification requirements, the more apprehensive he became. He then lifted his eyes over the schedule to the four mounds of paper on his bunk and tried to figure out how he was going to juggle his qualification needs with his responsibilities as a division officer.

Then it dawned on him that as the Manta operator, he was probably going to be in the torpedo room manning the UUV control console for a lot of the time once they got on station. As the fear of failure started growing, Jerry recalled the aura of pessimism in the wardroom over lunch and that fear started to give way to panic. “Whoa,” Jerry said to himself. “Don’t try to swallow an elephant whole. Take this one bite at a time.”

It was almost time for the good doctors to return, and the thought of dealing with Patterson again was not particularly a pleasant one. However, this time Jerry wanted to be topside to greet them. Besides, a little fresh air sounded really good right now. Before he grabbed his coat and ball cap, Jerry took out a pen and wrote his name on the cover of the qual book. This is now my book, he thought, and I’ll finish it one signature at a time. He then placed the book on his bunk and headed for the forward escape trunk.

It was windy topside, but the wind was from the south, so it wasn’t bitingly cold. The sun occasionally shone through the streaks of gray clouds. All in all, not a bad March afternoon. Jerry took a few deep breaths, relishing the outside air. There was a momentary flash down at the end of the pier and Jerry saw Dr. Patterson getting out of a car. Emily appeared a few seconds later. Jerry allowed himself a smug moment. Those 20/10 fighter pilot eyes of his were still working to spec. Patterson was now past the pier guard and was moving quickly toward the brow. Emily, with her shorter gait, was struggling to keep up. As Patterson approached, Jerry could swear he heard her stomping on the concrete pier. Okaaay, Jerry thought, she is still pissed off from this morning. This should make for a lovely afternoon — NOT.

“Good afternoon Dr. Patterson, Emily. I trust you had a good lunch,” said Jerry as he pointed to a number of breadcrumbs on Davis’ coat.

“Oh yes,” replied Davis as she brushed the crumbs off. “We had grinders at a very nice restaurant called Spiros.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with it. It’s a popular haunt for submariners.”

“So I noticed,” interrupted Patterson. “Can we skip the unnecessary pleasantries and get this survey over and done? Now, take us to the torpedo room, Lieutenant.”

Patterson’s rude remark caused something inside Jerry to pop.

Jerry walked up and looked Patterson straight in the eye and said, “Dr. Patterson, might I make a slight suggestion? Since it’s obvious that this morning’s meeting with the Captain and the XO didn’t go very well, exercising a little common courtesy might make this afternoon’s evolution less painful.”

Patterson stared at Jerry in utter amazement. Recovering quickly, she gave Jerry a “Who are you to question me, little man?” look, then said, “I don’t have to, Mr. Mitchell, because I work for the President.” And with that, she tried to push Jerry back so she could get to the hatch. But he was ready for her this time, and he held his ground.

“Interesting,” responded Jerry. “So do we.” He then stepped away from the hatch and motioned for Patterson to proceed. She did so in silence.

The survey in the torpedo room began with a strict warning from Hardy that anything heard during the meeting was not to be discussed with anyone outside of the present group. Furthermore, any speculations about the nature of the mission were to be kept strictly to oneself. The Captain spelled out in detail exactly how the restrictions were to be applied, assuming nothing. It was so detailed that Jerry began to get a little insulted. This wasn’t the first security briefing he’d ever attended. He watched the torpedo gang for a similar reaction, but they endured it in patient silence.

Finishing with another stern warning about the penalties facing anyone who disclosed classified information, Hardy then turned over the meeting to the XO, who introduced Dr. Patterson and Dr. Davis. Patterson reemphasized the Captain’s admonition for strict security and explained that the orders for this mission came from the President himself. This drew a low murmur from the TMs and FTs, which the XO quickly silenced.

Emily Davis then took over and started telling Jerry and his men what they needed to do to prepare Memphis for the patrol. They would be loading two ROVs and their support equipment. Everything was loaded on pallets sized to fit through the weapons shipping hatch, the same one used to load torpedoes.

“The ROVs are modified Near Term Mine Reconnaissance System (NMRS) vehicles,” she explained. “They were used as early mine clearance vehicles, but we’ve adapted them for this mission.

“The changes include a different sensor package and a thrust vector axial pump jet for precision navigation. Each vehicle has its own cradle, which is compatible with the torpedo storage rack’s tie-down arrangements. All of the launching and recovery operations, and most of the maintenance work, will be done using Navy-approved NMRS procedures.” Jerry made a quick note to himself to make sure that they obtained a full set of manuals from SUBASE.