Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

Jerry came over. “Commander and above. Lieutenant commander and below are ‘junior officers,’” he explained.

“Oh.” Patterson looked momentarily pleased at her sudden change in status, but then scowled. “What’s wrong with you people? Don’t you know how to relate to someone who doesn’t have stripes on their arm somewhere?”

Jerry quickly replied, “I’m sure the Captain was. ”

“I’ll take this up with the Captain myself,” Patterson interrupted, almost huffing. She headed below.

Jerry turned to Gunther. “It’s okay. You don’t have to salute Dr. Patterson or Dr. Davis. They can’t return your salute anyway.”

Gunther, a little confused and embarrassed, nodded. “Yessir.”

“Please make sure that the ladies’ bags are taken to the XO’s cabin.”

Glad for something constructive to do, Gunther nodded and took off.

Senior Chief Foster suddenly emerged from the forward escape hatch. The sour expression he carried made Jerry think that he’d met Patterson going down while he went up.

Jerry asked, “Are we ready to load?”

“Yes, sir.” Foster seemed irritated by the question, but Jerry ignored it. Foster was always irritated by his questions.

While Jerry reviewed the inventory and signed for the equipment, Emily Davis supervised as Foster and his men unloaded the truck. The procedure was similar to the one used for loading torpedoes, and the cargo was handled just as delicately. Although it couldn’t explode, if any of the equipment was damaged, the mission, whatever it was, might be delayed or even aborted.

After removing the canvas, each pallet had four lifting lines and two guidelines attached and was swung over by crane onto the loading tray. Dr. Davis monitored the loading evolution closely, like a mother hen fussing over her chicks, and made sure they were handled gently. The pallets were all wrapped in dark gray plastic and carried no markings except for a large number made of silver tape. The numbers matched a list Davis had, and she referred to it to make sure the pallets were brought aboard in the correct order.

Number Three happened to be first, and Davis hurried across to the sub’s deck, matching the pallet’s progress as it was swung over. The weapons loading hatch was located on the bow, in front of sail. Unlike the two escape hatches aft of the sail, this hatch was angled and matched up with the holes in the decks below. It allowed a torpedo or missile, twenty-one inches in diameter, to be brought aboard and loaded, tail first, into the torpedo room.

Once placed on the loading tray, the downhaul lines were attached, and the crane on the pier lifted the tray to the proper angle. Then the heavy pallet was slowly lowered down inside the hull.

Yesterday, during torpedo loading, Foster and the division had averaged about thirty minutes per weapon. It took almost an hour and a half just to get the first equipment pallet stowed, mostly because of Davis’ constant checking and her entreaties to move slowly and carefully. The second pallet was going a little faster, but Jerry predicted they would be at it well past dinnertime.

Dr. Patterson did nothing to speed the process. She showed up as the second pallet was being lifted across to the sub, and when she saw the pallet swinging in the air, shouted, “Stop!”

Senior Chief Foster, directing the crane, held both arms up, his hands balled into fists. The crane operator immediately halted, and everyone froze in their places, quickly, almost frantically, searching for a problem. “What’s wrong?” someone asked.

Patterson ignored the question and turned to the nearest sailor, TM1 Moran. He was holding one of the lines that steadied the pallet while it was swung over. “How can you let that pallet swing about like that? Are those cables strong enough to hold the pallet when you let it swing all over the place?” she demanded.

Moran looked at her in puzzlement, then turned toward the Senior Chief, pleading in his expression. Both Foster and Jerry hurried over, while Patterson continued ranting. “Why isn’t the pallet properly supported?”

Foster overheard the last question and quickly asked, “What’s wrong with the rig, ma’am?”

“It’s only suspended by a single cable! What if it breaks?” she demanded. “When we loaded the pallets on the trailer, we used a crane with two cables!”

“Ma’am, that cable’s rated for five tons, and the pallet weighs less than two tons.”

She wasn’t satisfied. “How do you know that one cable won’t break? When was it last inspected?”

“The crane is inspected monthly by SUBASE and I checked it myself this morning, ma’am.”

“And what do you know about cables?” she retorted contemptuously. She turned to toward the topside watch, a short distance away, and called, “Tell the Captain to come up here now. I need to see him immediately!”

She wasn’t facing Jerry, which was good, because his face must have mirrored his surprise. Who did this woman think she was? Only the Captain’s “senior officer” admonition prevented Jerry from countermanding her order. Nobody “tells” the Captain anything. You may inform him of certain facts, but you don’t tell him what to do — especially Captain Hardy.

Jerry also watched Foster, struggling to control his anger. “Dr. Patterson,” Foster began slowly. “This is the exact same crane and rig we used to bring ten torpedoes aboard yesterday, and they weigh thirty-seven hundred pounds each. I’ve been in subs for…”

“Yes, but these pallets are worth millions of dollars each!”

Jerry almost burst out laughing. Mark 48 torpedoes cost about one and a half million each. Submarine sailors and officers handle costly high-tech equipment every day. Hell, they lived inside one of the most complex and expensive machines ever built.

Captain Hardy appeared at the escape trunk, almost running as he climbed onto the deck and crossed the brow. He hurriedly returned the topside watch’s salute as he strode toward the group. Emily Davis followed closely behind.

Patterson was careful to get in the first word. “These men are not handling the equipment pallets carefully enough. It’s unsafe,” she announced with a tone of authority.

“Mr. Mitchell?” Hardy’s question was obvious as he returned Jerry’s salute.

“The rig is the same one. ” Jerry started.

Patterson interrupted again. “Look at the crane! They only have a single cable supporting the pallet! My God,” she realized, “it’s still in the air. Get it down!” she ordered. “Now!” She looked at the Captain.

So did everyone else. Hardy nodded. “Bring it down,” he repeated and walked to one side, allowing the torpedo gang to gently bring it down to the pier. Patterson, Davis, Jerry, and Foster followed, formed a small group away from the others.

“Dr. Patterson,” Hardy began. “I’m sure the rig is correct.”

“I’m not interested in your opinion,” she countered. “Make it safe or these pallets are not going aboard.” Her tone was absolute.

Hardy looked at her, then the torpedo gang. There was a strange twinkle in his eye. “Fine then. We’ll stop loading. I’m sure we can find a mobile crane with your desired overcapacity in a few days.”

“A few days!” screamed Patterson. “We’re supposed to leave tomorrow! This delay is absolutely unacceptable!”

“Excuse me, Captain,” interrupted Davis. “Could I have a word with Dr. Patterson, please?”

Hardy nodded and Davis and Patterson stepped away from the three Memphis crewmembers.

“Emily, what is the meaning of this?” asked Patterson once they were out of earshot. “We have a huge problem here and these clowns aren’t capable of solving it.”