Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

“If you’ll look at the remnant of the failed gasket, sir, you’ll note that rubber is hard and brittle, similar to the replacement part that Senior Chief Foster just gave you. We found that gasket assembly in the spare parts we were issued.” Hardy briefly examined the two parts and quietly handed them over to Bair as Jerry continued his explanation.

“We believe that the colder water made the old rubber in the gasket assembly more susceptible to cracking, and after it had chewed through the cable, it blew apart and allowed seawater to leak into the torpedo room. And Captain, all modifications to tube three, including the installation of the gasket, were performed by SUBASE maintenance personnel.” Jerry forced himself not to sound triumphant as he drove the last part home.

Hardy’s jaw was firmly clenched and Jerry swore he could hear his captain’s teeth grinding at the other end of the table. Jerry knew Hardy was angry and embarrassed, particularly given his tirade in the torpedo room in front of Patterson and Davis. But he had little sympathy for the man. Hardy just wanted a body to make an example of, and he naturally assumed the culprit had to be a member of his crew. Well, now he would have to carry his little witch-hunt back to New London.

Bair cleared his throat, diverting everyone’s attention from Hardy, and asked a crucial question. “Jerry, you’ve explained how the leak started, but why did it result in a fire?”

“The short answer XO is, we don’t know,” stated Jerry bluntly. “After over nine hours of investigating, Senior Chief Foster and Petty Officer Bearden were unable to find out how the water got inside the weapons launching console. All they were able to find was that the fire started very low in the console, near the deck, and that it was devastatingly hot.”

“How bad is the damage?” questioned Bair hesitantly.

Taking a deep breath, Jerry looked squarely at Hardy and said, “The console is totaled, sir. And there is no way we can repair it at sea. We can still operate the tubes manually and the emergency preset circuits are intact, but we’ve lost all remote tube functions, including those associated with the fire-control system.”

A collective groan came from the naval officers present. Bair put his head in his hands and simply muttered, “Oh shit!” Hardy remarkably remained silent as Patterson and Davis looked on with puzzlement.

Tapping his fingers on the table again, Hardy motioned for everyone to become silent. “Senior Chief?” Hardy said, demanding his confirmation of Jerry’s report. He simply would not take Jerry’s word that the weapons launching console was kaput. He had to hear it from Foster directly.

“Sir, the console is gone,” replied Foster frankly. “A shipyard would just swap out the whole thing. With a tender’s help, I could replace every circuit board and relay and rebuild the console in a week or two. But out here, we just don’t have the parts, and I can’t scrounge or make them, either.”

Hardy listened with a sour expression, the kind of expression a sub captain would be expected to have when hearing that the two working tubes he’d started with were now crippled. But then it softened, and Jerry thought that for a moment, he’d almost looked pleased.

The XO and the other department heads asked Foster, Jerry, and Cal Richards questions about the torpedoes and their ability to launch them, but the Captain remained silent. It didn’t take long for them to run out of questions. The console was down hard and nothing they could do would bring it back.

Hardy’s announcement filled the eerie silence. “With almost no weapons capability, the ability of this boat to perform its mission has been seriously affected.” Jerry agreed with that statement, but was completely unready for what the Captain said next. “I believe we should abort the mission.”

Dr. Patterson stood up abruptly, her seat tipping back with a crash. “What?” The others in the wardroom looked just as surprised, but remained silent out of deference for Hardy’s rank. Patterson felt no such limitation.

“We can’t go home because of a problem with the other torpedo tubes!” she exclaimed.

“Doctor,” the Captain said carefully, “ Memphis is a warship with no teeth. We can’t defend ourselves effectively. You don’t understand how important that console is. In a fast-moving fight. ”

“And what’s the chance of that happening? Are we at war? Are we likely to begin one while we’re at sea?” Jerry could tell that Patterson was afraid as well as angry. If Hardy turned around and went home, she’d never get the evidence she hoped to find, and her boss, the President, wouldn’t get his coup at the conference.

And Hardy had the perfect excuse. A naval vessel that couldn’t fight was a liability.

Hardy stood his ground. “Dr. Patterson, this mission requires that we operate in close proximity to the Russian coast. ”

She interrupted him again “And are we going to shoot our way in?” she demanded. “I’ve read our rules of engagement. You aren’t allowed to shoot at anyone unless they attack you in international waters, and even then, only if you can’t evade or escape. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am. Only in extreme self-defense.”

“And when those admirals approved this mission, they said the threat was low, that the Russian Navy was a basket case, and that this would be a ‘milk run.’”

“Both the CNO and SUBLANT,” Hardy clarified, “would completely understand the risks of proceeding on with the mission with a crippled weapons system.”

“But the CNO and SUBLANT,” Patterson echoed, “work for my boss, the President. And what he’s going to hear is what I put in my report.”

She paused and Hardy didn’t immediately respond. Her threat was obvious and her tone made it more than clear that she would carry it out.

Finally, he said softly, “Doctor, I am ultimately responsible for the safety of this boat and everyone on board.”

She spoke just as softly. “And this submarine can still do the job that we have set out to do. The accident hasn’t affected our engines, the sonar works, we can still deploy the ROVs, and the chances of us actually having to shoot anyone are nil. We will continue.”

Hardy looked at her for a minute, then repeated, “We will continue.” He made it sound like a sigh.

Later that evening, after another tense meal, Patterson was in the head she and Emily shared with Hardy, getting ready to turn in. Exhausted from the day’s events, and yet another confrontation with Lowell Hardy, she just wanted to lie down and get some sleep. As she washed her face, she found herself muttering questions to the image in the mirror, “Why does he have to be so difficult? Why can’t he be more cooperative, like my staff back in D.C.? Why do I always have to fight him over everything?”

As she stewed over Hardy’s constant — and annoying — references to risks, consequences, and warfare, she lost track of where she was and slammed her elbow into the shower stall. Cursing the miniscule accommodations, Patterson’s frustration with Memphis and her commanding officer boiled to the surface and her irritation was enough to make her scream. In defiance to Hardy’s edicts on cleanliness, she threw the towel on the deck, turned off the light, and quietly opened the door to her stateroom. Emily was already asleep, so Patterson couldn’t turn on the light. Even though there was a tiny red light shining by the door, her eyes were not adapted to the dark, so she had to navigate her way to her rack by touch. Wearily, she tumbled into her bunk and was immediately grabbed by someone. She screamed as a large arm wrapped around her waist.

In control, Hardy and Bair were going over the revised fire-control team procedures when they heard Patterson scream. Surprised and afraid, both men raced to her stateroom, each one thinking that a member of the crew had gone off the deep end and was assaulting her. As Hardy burst into the stateroom, Patterson was over by the door to the head, bouncing on both feet and pointing vigorously at her bunk. “There is someone in my bed!” she screamed.