Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

“Everything,” replied Reynolds matter-of-factly. “There aren’t any secrets on a submarine. Well, not for more than thirty seconds anyway. And Senior Chief Foster hasn’t been secretive.”

“Master Chief, I’ve tried talking to him in private, and he blows me off. He sabotages my work, and now the division’s work. He has intentionally caused us to fail in two drills, and he’s destroying what little is left of my division’s morale. He says he wants the boat’s mission to fail and he wants to make sure I don’t get my dolphins.”

“So I’ve heard,” Reynolds remarked. He sat quietly, letting Jerry talk.

“I’ve got my qualification to work on, we don’t know half of what we should about those ROVs, I’m still learning my regular duties, and I’ve got to keep at least one eye on Foster to make sure he doesn’t blindside me.” Jerry was frustrated and angry. “The blowup this morning is the worst yet. I don’t know what to do about him.”

“How can I help?” Reynolds asked.

“What’s his problem? Why is he doing this?” Jerry asked, almost pleading.

“He thinks you’re a lightweight,” Reynolds answered, “someone who was assigned to this sub because of his political pull.”

Jerry shrugged. “I guess that’s true, to a certain extent. I wanted subs, and I used my uncle’s influence to get the Navy to listen. But I’ve pulled my weight since I got here. Others aboard were unsure of me too, some were even hostile, but they’ve changed their minds. Why not Foster?”

“A long time ago, Foster applied for a direct commission program. He was turned down because he didn’t have a college degree. When he tried to apply for a college program that would give him a commission, they told him he was too old. He applied for a waiver and was denied.”

Jerry listened, then thought for a moment before replying. “So why should I get a second chance when he didn’t get any at all?”

“That’s pretty much it,” agreed Reynolds.

“What do I do about it?” demanded Jerry, almost angry, but really just frustrated.

“You can’t shoot him,” remarked Reynolds, smiling.

“I was considering it,” Jerry confessed. “But seriously, I can’t take him to mast, and I don’t want to. And I can’t think of any other punishment or any way to force him to change his attitude.”

“You’re right. There isn’t any,” Reynolds confirmed. “You can’t just change a man’s feelings. He’s got to do that. You’re going to have to convince him that you’re more than a political hack. Then he may fall into line.”

“I’d just settle for him leaving me alone. He’s supposed to be working with me, but at this point I’d be happy if he’d just stopped working against me.”

“Could you use some help?” Reynolds suggested.

“I’d love any help, from anywhere. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, Senior Chief Foster is supposed to be helping you become a good division officer — and that includes your qualifications. Since he’s not willing, maybe I can fill in.”

Jerry’s spirits soared. “Master Chief, there’s no ‘maybe’ involved. I know I’ll qualify with you helping me.”

“It’s not enough, Mr. Mitchell. Qualifying isn’t going to make Senior Chief Foster respect you. You need to demonstrate to Foster that you are a good officer. One that looks after his men, goes to the mat for them when he needs to, and puts their best interests before his own. Except for the XO, and maybe one or two others, there aren’t many good officers on this boat. But if you don’t qualify, you won’t get very far in the submarine force. So, we’ll start there.”

“I’m grateful.” He reached out, and Reynolds took his hand and shook it. Jerry said, “Thanks, thanks a lot.”

“Come by after you get off the noon-to-six tonight and we’ll see what you’ve got left in that qual book.”

“Right, COB, I’ll be there and thanks again.”

Jerry left, headed forward with what would be a spring in his step, if he had the headroom.

Master Chief Reynolds watched him leave, then sighed. He paused for a moment, looked at his watch, and headed up and forward to the chiefs’ quarters. Along the way, he saw FT2 Boswell, one of the men in Jerry’s division. He told Boswell to find Senior Chief Foster and ask him to join Reynolds in the Goat Locker.

Reynolds got there ahead of Foster, and chased out two chiefs sucking on coffee and pretending to do paperwork.

Foster showed up a minute later, to find Reynolds waiting for him. “What’s up, Sam?” he asked, dropping into a chair.

“I want to know when you’re going to let up on Mitchell,” Reynolds said flatly.

Just hearing Jerry’s name changed Foster’s demeanor. Angrily, he answered, “That no-load? I’ll have him begging for mercy by the time we’re back!”

Foster’s statement was no surprise to the COB. He’d heard the Senior Chief say the same thing or worse in the chiefs’ quarters. Foster hated Mitchell and wasn’t quiet about it.

“Everyone else is willing to cut the kid some slack. Why don’t you ease up?” Reynolds made the last sentence a suggestion, not a question.

“Because I’ll be damned if this Navy’s going to be ruined by someone with the political pull to change the rules.”

“Even if you have to ruin your division, or this boat, to do it?” Reynolds voice was hard.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Foster answered.

“I was on the phone circuit during that Otto fuel spill drill during sea trials. I know what you did. And even if I didn’t, your last blowup with Mitchell is all over the boat. You admitted to tanking the drill on purpose.”

“So what? The kid’s worthless. He can’t lead, and now the division knows it.”

“Nobody can lead when his next-in-line is backstabbing him. I don’t see you doing the Navy any favors. I see you taking cheap shots to work off an old grudge.”

Foster took a different tack. “What did he do? Come running to you?”

“Which is exactly what any officer on this boat should do when an enlisted man’s behavior is unsat.”

“But he couldn’t take care of it himself, could he?” Foster sounded smug.

“He did take care of it, by talking to me,” Reynolds explained. “It’s the COB’s business to deal with bad actors.”

Reynolds leaned his massive frame forward, emphasizing his words. “You’ve disobeyed lawful orders from a commissioned officer, as well as being openly insubordinate. You’ve deliberately interfered with ship’s drills and you’ve disrupted discipline in your division. If you were a first class or below, you’d be at Captain’s Mast, minus at least a stripe. But we don’t do that to chiefs, because they’re supposed to be better than that.”

Foster was grim, but not contrite. “You can’t make me kiss up to that…”

Reynolds cut him off. “What I expect is for you to earn your pay and do your work. Nothing less and nothing more.” Foster looked unconvinced, and the Master Chief continued.

“The only reason Hardy hasn’t noticed your private war is that he’s too busy sweating Patterson and the mission. If I do not see a change in your behavior immediately, I’ll bring this to the Captain’s attention myself.”

Foster was still unmoved. “Hardy’s hated Mitchell since he came aboard.”

“I’ll just mention the part about how you want our mission to fail. Remember, you not only told it to Mitchell, but the rest of the torpedo division. Add to that your sabotaging of the drills, insubordination, and failure to obey a lawful order, and I think I could make an excellent case against you. If he heard half of that, Hardy would have your ass off this boat in twenty-four hours and you’d be facing Commodore’s Mast.”