Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

Both of them knew that was no idle threat. Captain’s Mast, or more formally, “nonjudicial punishment,” was used to discipline enlisted members who broke the rules aboard ship. Insubordination, unauthorized absence from the ship, dereliction of duty, or a dozen other offenses could be punished by extra duty, restriction to the ship (when next in port), fines, or in extreme cases, the malefactor would lose a stripe and the associated pay.

Officers and chiefs could not be disciplined by Captain’s Mast. They went before the squadron commander, which was similar, but it wasn’t a “family matter” any longer. It made the ship look bad, which made the Captain of that ship look bad. Hardy would not be pleased at all. People who wore khaki weren’t supposed to need this kind of disciplinary action, so anyone who appeared before the squadron commander could expect no mercy.

Considering the charges Reynolds had listed, Foster would expect a reduction in rate, and to be permanently beached. The financial loss would be accompanied by a succession of crappy duty assignments until he eventually retired.

The two chiefs studied each other. Foster tried to gauge how serious Reynolds really was, and Reynolds watched the wheels turn as Foster processed the Master Chief’s threat.

Foster finally said, “I won’t stand for him being in my Navy.”

“It’s not your Navy, and it’s not your place to make that decision,” Reynolds reminded him. “The only one I see breaking the rules here is you. And I won’t let you wreck my boat.”

“I won’t help him.”

“No, I’ll do your job,” said Reynolds harshly. “Your new job is to stop tripping him up. And you will follow the lawful orders of any commissioned officer aboard this vessel.” The COB stood up suddenly. “I’ve told you what’s wrong, what needs to be to fixed, and what will happen if it doesn’t get fixed. Consider yourself counseled, Senior Chief.”

He left Foster alone in the chiefs’ quarters, considering.

After his meeting with Reynolds, Jerry felt better, although he was still unsure about how to deal with Foster and his division. Finally he decided he would just go to the torpedo room and muddle through as best he could. So far, the torpedo gang had done their jobs as if nothing had happened. They were smart enough to know that Foster was wrong. Jerry had to stay focused on the division, and trust his men to follow him in spite of Foster.

The XO found Mitchell as he passed through the control room. “Jerry, I’m going to put Dr. Patterson with your division for the training session. You’ve already got Emily Davis, so the ladies can stay together.”

“Broomhilda?” Bair’s order had caught him off guard. “I mean, ah, where has Dr. Patterson been for the other emergency drills, sir?”

“In her stateroom pretending to work. She’s come up with one excuse after another for avoiding them, but I think I’ve impressed on her the value of learning how to use an EAB mask.”

“How did you manage that?” Jerry was astonished, and more than a bit curious. Patterson wasn’t easy to convince.

“I scared her out of her wits by telling her about Bonefish ,” said the XO with a devilish smile on his face. Bonefish was one of the few diesel-electric submarines in the U.S. Navy’s inventory back in the ‘80s. She suffered a hideous battery well fire in the spring of 1988. Three men were killed and twenty-three were injured by the blaze.

“They taught us about her at sub school.” Jerry shivered as he recalled the pictures they showed him of the Bonefish on the surface, with brownish smoke billowing from her sail. “That was one nasty fire.”

“Well, Patterson never went to sub school, but when I described how those men suffocated, she became a believer. I’ll make it worth your while and send Lopez to you first.”

“Aye, aye, XO. She’s more than welcome to join us, of course.”

Bair grinned. “That’s nice. I could never lie that well.”

Foster was not in the torpedo room when Jerry came down the ladder. Emily Davis had TM1 Moran, FT1 Bearden, and FT2 Boswell going over the weapons launching console with her. Jerry called TM1 Moran over and told him about Patterson joining them for the drill.

“Broomhilda? Ah, sir, does she have to be here?” Moran almost pleaded with the lieutenant. “Marcie’s okay,” he said, indicating Emily Davis, “but Broomhilda’s just going to make a fuss.”

“Not our call, TM1.” Then, doing a double take, he asked, “Marcie?”

Moran nodded toward Davis, as she quizzed the two FTs about the panel. “Short, straight dark hair, big glasses, kinda quiet, and hangs around with a dominating Patty, of a sort. And she called me ‘sir,’ sir.”

Jerry closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as he thought about the allusion Moran had made concerning the mousy Peanuts character and Emily. The image of Marcie following Peppermint Patty around was way too accurate a comparison. He had to admit that Moran had her pegged. Puffing out a sigh, Jerry said, “Whatever works, Petty Officer Moran, just expect one more for the training. And pleeease, don’t call her Broomhilda — at least while she’s here.”

“Yessir.”

It wasn’t until he had left that Jerry realized how normal Moran had acted.

There was a clattering on the forward ladder and Senior Chief Foster came down from the Goat Locker. Jerry decided the only way to deal with this was to act like he was in charge, because he was. “Senior Chief, we’re just about set up for the training session. Dr. Patterson will be joining us, and Lieutenant Lopez will start with us.”

Foster stepped away from the starboard tube nest, started to reply, “I don’t. ” but was interrupted by footsteps behind him. He quickly moved out of the way as Master Chief Reynolds came from the after crew accommodations.

“I heard Dr. Patterson was joining you. I thought I might stand by, in case you needed a hand, sir.” Reynolds started the sentence facing Jerry, but finished it by looking at Foster. Jerry was sure everyone in the room had seen it, including the Senior Chief. Reynolds’ support might not have been necessary, but Jerry welcomed it all the same. He struggled to suppress a smile.

“Senior Chief, would you please double-check the preparations?” Jerry asked as casually as he could.

“Yes, sir,” Foster answered coldly, managing to look daggers at both Jerry and Reynolds.

Patterson then entered the room by the same path the COB had taken. She paused halfway down the small passage between the center and starboard racks and said, “Lieutenant Mitchell? Emily? Since you’re here, this must be the torpedo room,” she said jokingly.

“As if the rack of torpedoes on the port side and the ROVs on the starboard wasn’t a dead giveaway,” muttered Moran under his breath. Jerry hoped she hadn’t heard that.

Patterson walked up to Jerry and seemed to gather herself. “Lieutenant, I’m supposed to learn about the emergency air masks with Dr. Davis and the rest of your division.”

Mitchell was impressed. Patterson was actually being polite. What did the XO tell her?

Lieutenant (j.g.) Frank Lopez appeared, quickly descending the forward ladder.

“The XO says I’m supposed to start in here. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Frank, we’re all set.”

“For the benefit of our guests,” Lopez began, “I’ll go over the basic mechanics of the emergency air breathing system before we discuss the procedures on how to use it.” Lopez picked up a mask and started to go over the various parts. He explained that the mask was made of flexible rubber, with a clear Plexiglas faceplate and that all masks were the same size. There were four straps that pulled the mask tightly against the face and could be made to fit anyone. Lopez then cautioned Dr. Patterson to make sure her long hair was pulled back when she put the mask on. Otherwise the hair would prevent a good seal.