Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

As the crew mustered for Quarters, Jerry’s division stood in its normal place on the pier. The weather was kind, a beautiful spring morning, with only an occasional breeze moving the cool morning air. Jerry tried to enjoy it, but weeks of furious activity made it hard for him to stand still. Where the hell is Hardy? he thought. It was already ten minutes past eight o’clock.

Bair kept watching the forward escape trunk, and as Hardy emerged, the XO called, “Attention on deck!” The ship’s company snapped into immobility, then waited as the Captain crossed the brow, walked to where the XO waited in front of the assembled crew, then returned Bair’s salute.

Bair stepped to one side, and Hardy stood for a moment, looking up and down the line of sailors. Along with the rest of them, Jerry waited as patiently as he could. Rumor had it Hardy would give them more details about the mission, and beyond normal curiosity, Jerry would like to know just what he was going to be doing for the next few months.

It might also put to rest some of the rumors flying around the boat. “Guess the mission” had become Memphis’ most popular game. The special equipment was rumored to be a new weapon, a new propulsion system, or remote controls that would turn the sub into a giant UUV. Their destination was Greenland, South Africa, or possibly Havana harbor in Cuba. To their credit, Jerry’s division had been as silent as stones. Foster would have dealt harshly with any leak — and the division knew it.

Hardy seemed reluctant to start, or at least, in no hurry to speak. Jerry noticed Bair to one side, fidgeting. The Captain’s expression was grimmer than usual.

“Our orders send us far north,” Hardy finally announced. Jerry knew that meant north of the Arctic Circle, into Russia’s backyard. “We will be gone for several months, which should be no surprise to anyone here. Due to security concerns, I won’t be able to tell you exactly where and exactly what we’ll be doing until after we’re under way.”

“You all know that we will be loading some special equipment today. The civilian tech reps who install it will also be accompanying us.” That started a low buzz of conversation. “That’s right. The two ladies, Dr. Patterson and Dr. Davis, will ride the boat on this next patrol.”

Jerry tried to absorb the news. Women on the sub? Although females routinely served on surface ships and on aircraft, they’d never been part of any submarine’s crew. Space was too tight. There was no privacy. No wonder the President’s name kept coming up. He was the only one with the clout to overrule Navy policy.

And those two women? Emily Davis was all right; he could deal with her, but Dr. “I work for the President” Patterson? Jerry’s heart sank to his shoes. She hated the Navy. Why was she going along? Not willingly, Jerry assumed. Had the President ordered her to go? Mitchell was suddenly glad he’d voted for the other guy.

Hardy’s voice hardened as he continued. “I want it thoroughly understood that our two guests will be treated not only as ladies, but as senior officers while they are aboard. Any disrespect or any attempt at fraternization will make the offender wish he’d never been born.” He paused for a moment and added a theatrical glare that included the entire ship’s company.

Adopting a more matter-of-fact tone, he explained, “The ladies will berth in the XO’s cabin and eat in the wardroom. The ship will be rigged for female visitors throughout the entire deployment. I don’t want to see one piece of inappropriate literature out in the open. The speech and decorum of the entire crew, including the officers, will also be under the closest scrutiny during this patrol.”

Thanks for that ringing vote of confidence, Jerry mused. From the sour expressions on the faces of some of the crew, they felt the same way, either about having women aboard the sub, about Patterson, or about the CO’s lack of trust. Jerry wondered how many of the other sailors were just better at hiding their feelings.

Hardy left and the XO dismissed the crew from Quarters. Jerry immediately hurried down to the torpedo room, to make sure it was ready for the special equipment’s arrival. It had been last night, when he made his rounds, but double-checking never hurt.

His division had just finished loading torpedoes yesterday. The torpedo room looked incomplete with only eight weapons stowed instead of twenty-two, but the empty racks would be filled today with the ROVs and support gear and who knew what else.

The torpedo division, under Foster’s direction, had already started to set up the loading tray and rig the downhauls. Most of the loading gear had to be stowed after loading the torpedoes yesterday, especially since some of the parts were deck plates from in front of the Captain’s stateroom and by the crew berthing. The Captain and the crew would have missed those sections last night.

Looking up from between the torpedo tubes, Jerry saw that the plates from the two decks above had already been removed. The loading tray itself was being hoisted out the weapons shipping hatch and guide rails from the torpedo room deck were being put in place. Once done, there would be a complete path from the hatch to the centerline stowage rack in the torpedo room. Everything seemed to be moving along just fine. The only things missing now were the equipment and the tech reps. Unfortunately for Jerry and his division, they stayed missing for several hours.

It was well past lunch before the women and their gear arrived. Both Hardy and Foster were seething over the delay, not that Jerry wasn’t irritated as well. In the age of cellular phones and wireless capable PDA’s, it was absolutely incomprehensible that they hadn’t heard from them. Finally the IMC called, “Mr. Mitchell, lay topside.” Jerry hurried to the forward escape hatch and got up on deck in time to see a semi-tractor truck with a canvas-covered flatbed trailer rumble to a stop on the pier. A base security car was in front, and a van labeled CHARLES STARK DRAPER LABORATORY completed the convoy. Patterson and Davis got out of the van and started to pull their luggage from the back.

Jerry told the topside watchstander, “Pass the word to the Captain that they’ve arrived and ask Senior Chief Foster to come topside.”

Hurrying onto the pier, Jerry greeted the two women as they stepped away from the van, but only Dr. Davis returned his “hello.” Patterson simply announced, “There are my bags,” as she passed Jerry and strode toward the brow.

Jerry smiled cynically as he turned back to Davis and asked, “What kept you? You guys are over three hours late.”

“Sorry about that. The traffic out of Boston was hideous.”

“You should’ve called to let us know that you were going to be delayed,” teased Jerry. “It would have been the polite thing to do.”

“You’re right, of course. But simple courtesy is not high on Dr. Patterson’s list of things to do today.”

“So I’ve noticed. She seems to be in her normal foul mood.”

Davis didn’t respond to Jerry’s little quip, but simply looked down at the ground, slightly biting her lower lip. Jerry gathered that the trip down from Boston was more unpleasant then she cared to talk about. Motioning toward the brow, he said, “Come on, Emily, I’ll have someone get your personal gear on board.” The two of them headed toward the submarine.

As Dr. Patterson approached the brow, the messenger of the watch, Seaman Gunther, came to attention and saluted her.

“What the hell is this all about?” she demanded.

“Captain Hardy said that you should be treated as senior officers while you’re aboard, ma’am.”

Patterson still looked puzzled. “Senior?” she asked.