Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

As the Main Propulsion Assistant (MPA), Millunzi was responsible for the boat’s main mechanical systems. Tom Holtzmann’s reactor made the steam, but it was Millunzi’s systems that put it to work. Driving not only the main propulsion turbines that turned the screw, but also the ship’s service turbine generators that provided electricity. He was also the next most senior officer in the Engineering Department, after the Engineer himself, and was completely qualified to stand in for him if necessary. Millunzi also had the reputation on the waterfront as being one of the best shiphandlers in the squadron. Hence his pairing with the very inexperienced Jerry Mitchell.

In his late twenties, Millunzi had a big, square face and a nose that could have belonged to Julius Caesar. He had a frame that matched and had to carefully work to fit his way through the many narrow hatches and passageways on Memphis. Although Jerry knew where he stood with many of the ship’s officers, for good or ill, he hadn’t had to deal with Millunzi much during his month and a half aboard. Their respective responsibilities kept them pretty much apart. Fortunately, the MPA was all business, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Jerry, before you give any order, I want you to tell me what you want to do and what you’re going to say. If I agree, I’ll say so, and you can go ahead. If I’ve got a problem, and there’s time, I’ll give you a chance to rethink your plan. If there isn’t, I’ll take the conn and sort things out. I will also ask you questions during our run to the dive point. And they won’t be academic. Is this all clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Jerry answered. In a way, Jerry felt a little relieved. Millunzi wasn’t going to let him make any big mistakes. And Millunzi wouldn’t take over unless Jerry was really messing up; in which case Jerry wanted the MPA to take over. But that wasn’t going to happen, Jerry thought. Not on his watch.

After the brief, both O’Connell and Millunzi quizzed Jerry on the conning orders he would have to give to get Memphis away from the pier, down the Thames River, and out to the Atlantic Ocean. Jerry answered the questions correctly, but he was not always confident of his response. Despite this, the Navigator seemed satisfied that Jerry had a reasonable idea of what to do and how to do it.

“All right, Mr. Mitchell, report to the bridge in fifteen minutes,” said O’Connell looking at his watch. “I want an on-time departure at 1100.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Jerry. But just as he was about to head down to his stateroom, Captain Hardy came bounding up the ladder screaming at Lieutenant Commander Ho, Memphis’ Engineer.

“What the hell are you doing down there, Engineer? Why did the pump fail this time?”

“Captain, the motor controller blew about ten minutes ago when we tried to pump the sanitary tanks in preparation for our departure. It will take several hours to make the repairs,” responded Ho nervously.

“If you haven’t noticed, Engineer, we don’t have several hours! The squadron commander will be here any moment now,” exclaimed Hardy shaking his head in disbelief. Getting a hold of himself Hardy asked, “How full are the sanitary tanks?”

“Sir, sanitary tanks number one and number two are about fifty percent, and sanitary tank number three is about twenty-five percent.”

“Very well, have the duty officer get the drydock connections removed and we’ll blow the tanks once we are at sea.”

“Yes, sir, and we’ll begin working on the sewer discharge pump immediately,” replied Ho.

“That would be very wise, Engineer,” responded Hardy sarcastically. “I also want the maintenance logs for that pump, here, in my stateroom, within the hour. I want to know the idiot who performed the last preventative maintenance check and missed such an obvious problem.” With that, Hardy slammed the stateroom door shut in his Engineer’s face. Ho backed away, his face still a little pale, combed his hand through his hair, and trudged down the ladder to forward compartment middle level.

Jerry watched as the tired-looking man disappeared from view. He wasn’t surprised at the CO’s tirade; he’d seen far too many of those over the past weeks. Millunzi walked up behind Jerry and said in a low voice, “I would not want to be Frank Lopez right now. That’s his gear and the Captain will be all over his butt on account of this latest incident. Not that the Captain will bother to remember that we’ve had nothing but trouble from that particular pump for almost two years now and that our requests for a replacement have been repeatedly denied.” The MPA then looked at Jerry and said, “The shit pump has had a bad habit of eating motor controllers. Now, get a move on and I’ll see you up on the bridge.”

Reaching his stateroom, Jerry found Lenny Berg putting his jacket on. A life jacket and safety harness were on the deck by his feet. “Ahh, our intrepid JOOD arrives to mentally prepare for his first underway. Need any Maalox?”

“Ha, ha, very funny, Lenny. I happen to feel just fine, thank you.” A little lie, Jerry thought, because he was a tad nervous and could feel it in his stomach.

Berg was about to fire another round of witticisms when the squawking of the IMC interrupted their exchange, “COMSUBDEVRON TWELVE, arriving.”

“Well, well, the commodore is finally here. I bet the Captain is having a snit fit over something right now, even as his boss is crossing the gangway,” said Berg seriously.

“Yeah, well, he just chewed out the Engineer over the sewer discharge pump. The motor controller was fried.”

“Hmmm, not like that hasn’t happened before.” Then, in a more light-hearted way, Berg remarked, “Maybe the pump just wants a new job, and frying motor controllers is its way of expressing its frustration. I mean, moving human waste around isn’t all that glamorous, you know.”

Jerry laughed as he put on his jacket and ball cap. He then started digging through his desk, looking for his sunglasses. Finding them, he put them in his pocket and turned to face Berg.

“Lenny, is the Captain always this nervous when getting underway?”

Berg laughed. But the laughter was forced mixture of amusement and irony. “It’s because of Captain Young. As long as the squadron commander is on board, everything has to be perfect.”

Berg picked up the life jacket and harness and then looked at Jerry with a smile and said, “Correction, more than perfect.”

Jerry nodded, understanding his friend’s observation, and asked. “This is Hardy’s first boat, isn’t it? Is he all that eager to get promoted?”

“I don’t really know, Jerry,” Berg answered. “But I don’t think it’s all about ambition. Remember, he is a triple A personality control freak.”

“Hey, Lenny,” Jerry called out to his friend as he was leaving. “You be careful out on deck. I really don’t want to get signed off on the man overboard drill today.”

“Yes, sir! Oh Wise and Benevolent Junior Officer of the Deck, sir,” mocked Berg as he bowed and doffed his cap. “Just don’t go and pull any five-gee turns while you’re up there and we’ll be fine.”

Jerry rolled his eyes at Berg’s last comment and followed him out of the stateroom. As Jerry entered control, he saw the XO getting ready to set the maneuvering watch. A bit early, given the schedule in the plan of the day, but not unexpected, given Hardy’s nervous state. Looking up from the navigation plotting tables, Bair saw Jerry over by the duty petty officer reporting in. As Jerry made his way to the ladder, the XO called over, “Mr. Mitchell, good luck on your first underway.” Winking, he added, “Just keep her between the buoys and you’ll do fine.”