Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

Jerry stood up and ripped the EAB mask off his face. He was angry, very angry. He looked around to find Foster when Hardy came stomping into the room with Lieutenant Cal Richards in tow. “That was absolutely deplorable,” screamed Hardy. “If this had been a real fire, we’d be in three-section duty on the bottom with Thresher and Scorpion’ ’—a sarcastic reference to the only U.S. nuclear-powered submarines that had sunk with all hands.

“Mr. Richards,” ranted the Captain, “this team reacted so slowly to the fire that my grandmother with a garden hose could have done better. If you haven’t realized it yet, there were four warshots with six hundred and sixty pounds of high explosive each sitting in the middle of that fire!”

Turning toward Jerry, he continued to lash out. “What excuse do you have for your incompetent communication practices? You were out of touch for nearly two minutes! And in that time you let the fire get so bad, so out of hand, that the weapons in the racks cooked off!”

Shifting back to Richards, Hardy finished his tirade in typical form. “WEPS, I’m holding you personally responsible for this abysmal performance. It’s clear that you have been derelict in your duties as a department head, since these imbeciles are less capable than basic sub school students. I can only assume that you are gundecking your training!” Cal Richards was pasty-white with fright, as Hardy was using words usually reserved for courts-martial offenses.

“XO, you and the WEPS come with me,” Hardy shot out as he turned to leave. “We need to plan remedial drills for the Weapons Department. The rest of you, clean this mess up.” With that, Hardy and the still silent Richards left the torpedo room.

Bair let loose with a heavy sigh, looked at Jerry, and said, “Clean up and stow the DC gear, Mr. Mitchell. We’ll discuss the drill later.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Jerry quietly.

Turning to leave, Bair gave Jerry a friendly slap on the shoulder and then headed off for the CO’s stateroom. As the XO slowly walked out of the torpedo room, Jerry sensed his weariness.

“Okay, folks, let’s clean up,” Jerry said as he reached down and unplugged the two strobe lights. He then peeled off his fire-fighting gear and gave it to TM3 Lee.

As the rest of torpedo division started to secure the phones and the rest of the DC gear, Jerry quietly made the rounds to see how his people were doing. Most were downcast, resigned to the inevitable additional drills. Some made jokes that a three-section watch rotation with Thresher and Scorpion would be easier than what they had right now. Bearden looked just plain mad.

Jerry was furious that the entire department was being forced to suffer because of one man’s bad attitude. While the thought of confronting Foster was not all that appealing, Jerry had to do something before he destroyed what little morale the division had left. Jerry, working hard to keep calm, said, “Senior Chief, can I see you a moment, please?” He held up a clipboard, as if he wanted to speak about some paperwork issue.

Foster followed Jerry forward to an unoccupied corner of the torpedo room. Speaking softly, Jerry said carefully, “You intentionally broke that phone connection, Senior Chief.”

“So?” retorted Foster. “I was just imposing another casualty.”

“After I’d double-checked the connection? And on your own?” He challenged Foster. “The XO decides what drills to run. Did he tell you to impose that particular casualty?”

“No.” The Senior Chief pointedly did not add “sir.”

Jerry was direct. “So why did you do it?”

“To see how you’d handle it. And you didn’t.”

“To make me look bad in front of the Captain seems a better explanation.”

“You can do that all by yourself.”

“But you don’t mind sticking out your foot now and then.”

“This conversation is over,” Foster announced in a voice loud enough to be overheard.

“Not yet it isn’t, Senior Chief! Not until I say it’s over,” countered Jerry forcefully.

“Give me a break.” Foster didn’t even try to speak softly. “You can’t hack it.” He was impatient with the conversation and turned to leave, but Jerry kept talking.

“I’d have a better chance of hacking it if you were working with me — or at least not against me. And we do have a mission to accomplish,” he reminded Foster.

“A junket for Broomhilda? This is one mission I want to fail. And why should you get a second chance? It’s just more politics.” Foster sounded disgusted with the word. “The only mission I’ve got is to make sure that you don’t stay in submarines, and better still, to get you out of the Navy altogether.”

“Well, Senior Chief, my mission is to obey the orders of a duly elected Commander in Chief and the chain of command, even if I think they are politically motivated. And if you do anything like this again, I’ll drag your ass in front of the XO personally. Is that absolutely, positively, crystal clear, Foster?” replied Jerry loudly and sternly.

Momentarily taken aback by the vehemence Jerry displayed, Foster smiled and said, “You don’t have the guts, flyboy.”

Foster threw that last sentence over his shoulder as he walked away from Jerry, past the rest of the division, and out of the room.

After the senior chief’s abrupt departure, the men busied themselves with their assigned duties silently. Jerry remained isolated and tried to understand what had just happened — and why. He had never seen such open insubordination before, and he certainly didn’t know how to handle it — short of officially putting Foster on report, of course. Jerry was pretty sure the XO would back him up, but given Richards’ present state of mind, he would almost certainly support Foster. Regardless, it would be very messy if Jerry tried to bring charges against Foster. And how would Captain Hardy react? Very likely negatively, and that would end his second chance for a naval career for sure. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” muttered Jerry to himself. A sudden movement caught Jerry’s eye, breaking his concentration. It was FT1 Bearden.

“Sir, the guys have finished cleaning up and all the DC gear has been properly stored. May I dismiss the men who are not on watch?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Jerry with a slight smile. “Thank you, FT1.”

Bearden fidgeted about for a moment, reluctant to speak, and then quietly he said, “Mr. Mitchell, I never should have let Senior. ” Jerry sharply raised his hand, silencing the petty officer.

“It’s not your fault, Petty Officer Bearden,” stated Jerry sincerely “It’s not your fault. Understood?”

Bearden nodded stiffly as Jerry clasped his shoulder.

Drained physically and emotionally, Jerry started to make his way back to his stateroom. As he walked, he wondered if he had done the right thing. Well, he thought, that’s behind me now. For good or ill, the conflict between him and Foster was now out in the open. Right now, Jerry could only hope and pray that Foster wouldn’t call his bluff.

The drills continued unrelentingly throughout the next day. Hardy did let the crew have lunch, although he used the time to critique each drill in detail over the IMC. The Captain was unsparing in his remarks.

“…and Petty Officer Gregory didn’t remember to align the valves on the drain pump manifold properly, so the trim pump was unable to dewater the engine room. Progressive flooding drove us below our crush depth, killing everyone aboard. Mr. Lopez, it’s your responsibility to properly train Petty Officer Gregory, so those deaths are on your head, as well as his.