Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

Getting into the spirit of things, Jerry stood up and bowed. “Thank you, thank you, very much. For my next trick, I’ll go down to the torpedo room and have myself impulsed out of a tube and swim to Keflavik!”

“Nah, that won’t be necessary. We’re getting plenty of entertainment value out of just giving you grief,” responded Berg.

“Heaven forbid that I should deny you your diversion, sir,” Jerry replied sarcastically.

“Quite so,” said Lenny. “Now, why don’t you finish fixing up the trim, huh?”

“Yes, sir, at once, sir.” Before he turned back to the ship’s control panel, Jerry looked at Reynolds and waved an accusing finger at him. Feigning a shocked expression, the COB merely shrugged his shoulders and tried to look innocent. The merry twinkle in his eyes, however, spoke loudly of his guilt.

Without the malicious interference of half the crew, Jerry was able to quickly get a satisfactory trim and Memphis increased speed to sixteen knots. Except for a single fire drill, the remainder of the watch was quiet and Jerry and Reynolds went over a number of the finer points of being a good Diving Officer.

After a quick dinner, Jerry stopped by the ship’s office. He had some paperwork to drop off, but he also had an important question for YN1 Glover.

The yeoman had “Abbey Road” playing when Jerry knocked on the door. It was open, but the ship’s office was Glover’s domain, and Jerry had seen the XO knock before he stepped inside.

Glover thanked him for the paperwork, and then Jerry asked his question. “How many of us will have to go through the Bluenose ceremony?”

The yeoman smiled. “Thirty-one. We’ve actually got forty who haven’t made the trip with us, but nine have entries in their service records. That’s not counting the two ladies, of course.”

“You knew, just like that?” Jerry asked.

“The XO asked for the numbers yesterday.” Glover explained.

Jerry felt relieved. “That’s a quarter of the crew,” he observed.

“Well, we’ve stayed pretty close to home in the past year or so, mostly doing Manta trials.”

“It’ll be nice to get it over with,” remarked Jerry.

“Oh, you’ll do fine, sir. Although I’ve heard that they’re working on a special procedure for new officers that used to be aviators.” He smiled and Jerry couldn’t be sure if he was serious or not.

As the evening wore on, Jerry started to hear Bluenose stories creep into the crew’s casual conversation. Those who had crossed before shared their experiences, suitably embellished to amaze the recipients. The trick was to exaggerate outrageously, but still make it sound plausible. Even if the listeners knew the story had to be untrue, a good storyteller could create uncertainty in their minds.

He heard the story about Boreas and the admiral and several variations on ways to get ice cubes from one end of the boat to the other before they melted. Jerry was advised to pick one and practice, just in case Boreas wanted to test his skill.

The actual preparations were secret, of course, as were the exact trials that the “warm bodies” would have to endure. Jerry figured it wouldn’t do any good to ask, but Ensign Jim Porter, the Electrical Officer and most junior officer aboard, kept on asking. Either out of fear or just plain curiosity, he grilled his division, then the wardroom, trying to find out exactly what would transpire.

Early the next day, Thursday, Porter spotted Frank Lopez and Master Chief Reynolds in the wardroom. They were working on A division paperwork, spread out on the wardroom table, but had paused, and he sat down. Jerry, on his way to see the XO, knew what was coming and stopped to watch.

“Mr. Lopez, Master Chief, how many Bluenose ceremonies have you seen?”

“More than a few,” the COB said vaguely. Lopez simply replied, “Just one, on this boat’s last northern run.”

Porter pressed his point. “Master Chief, are the ceremonies the same on every boat? Who decides what happens?”

“Why, King Boreas, of course,” said Reynolds, laughing.

“Come on, Master Chief,” pleaded the Ensign, “somebody on Memphis must be in charge of organizing the Bluenose ceremony this evening. Who is it?”

“Son,” growled Reynolds menacingly, “talk like that will get back to Boreas. And if he doesn’t find you pure of heart, he may not let you in, and then you’ll have to swim home.”

Jerry was startled by a harsh voice almost directly behind him. “How much of this foolishness do I have to put up with?” Patterson exclaimed. “ ‘King Boreas,’ my foot.”

Jerry quickly stepped out of the way, almost physically pushed aside by the force of her words.

“We have more important things to worry about than some male bonding ritual. All I hear about is how much work it takes to run one of these things, and if you don’t do everything exactly right, someone — probably all of us — will die.”

As Patterson talked, she poured herself a cup of coffee. When she paused to drink, though, it set her off again. “And the food on this ship! Hasn’t the Navy ever heard of low-fat cooking? And this coffee tastes like it came out of a paint can. In fact, this whole boat smells like the inside of a paint can!”

She was shouting now and didn’t even look at Jerry or Lopez or Reynolds. A few other officers, including the XO, clustered at the door, but didn’t seem eager to come in.

“There’s no space. I’m constantly bumping into people or things I’m not supposed to touch. There’s no privacy and too much noise. I can’t get in touch with my office. I can’t even make a phone call! I cannot imagine why any of you stand for it!”

Master Chief Reynolds, like the others, listened to her tirade. When she paused, he asked, “If you hate being on board so much, why are you here? Why didn’t you send someone else?”

“Because it was my idea. Because I’m the best-qualified person to do the job and to see that it is done properly,” she replied intensely.

“That’s what every sailor on Memphis would say, if you asked them. They volunteered for sub duty, and they had to work hard just to get here.”

When she didn’t answer, Reynolds added, “It’s a much easier life ashore, and the pay’s a lot better too, especially for men this well trained. Each and every crew member chose to be here, in spite of all the discomforts and the separation from their loved ones, because they know it’s a job that needs to be done. And they want to make sure the job is done right. Patriotism isn’t dead in this Navy, Dr. Patterson, of that I can assure you.”

Patterson remained silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the COB. “You should have been in politics.” A slight smile flashed across her face as she softened. “I see your point, Master Chief. And… I admit that I may have misjudged the people on this sub.”

The COB responded, “You can work with these men, if you’ll only give them a chance. And if you’re willing to work with them, then play with them as well. Don’t the people in the White House have a party every once in a while?” asked Reynolds with a grin.

Patterson sighed, steeling herself, then turned to the XO, standing in the doorway. “Commander, is that invitation to the Bluenose ceremony still open?”

”Of course, ma’am,” replied Bair. “We’d be honored if you would join us.”

At 1515 that afternoon Memphis came to a complete stop and Davy Jones was brought aboard. Jerry watched as an elderly man dressed in a white robe and bedecked in seaweed, actually plastic ivy, climbed down from the forward escape trunk. In his hand was a scroll case, encrusted with seashells and starfish. Bair greeted him at the trunk and escorted the King’s herald to the CO’s stateroom to examine the petitions of the neophytes. An hour later, the submarine officially crossed the Arctic Circle.