Dangerous Ground

and Senior Chief Foster. Jerry started to speak. “I’ve got a few things I want to say. ”

Foster interrupted. “Sir, I don’t think we’ve got time for that right now. I’ve got to get these men to work.”

Nonplussed, Jerry nodded. “All right, Senior Chief.” Disappointed, he tried to look at each of the men now under his command, to memorize their names and faces. “I’ll talk to you all at another time.” He added, “Carry on,” unnecessarily, as Foster had already started leading the division back aboard.

Jerry hung back as the crew slowly filed on to Memphis. He’d been all primed for “the talk,” his first speech to the men under his command. They’d drummed it into him at the Academy that this was his best, maybe his only chance to make a good first impression, to tell the men what he expected of them, and to start building his own personal command style. All junior officers entertained grandiose hopes of inspiring their men, but would usually settle for not looking like an idiot.

And Foster had taken that opportunity away by interrupting him, and in general, treating him as irrelevant. Jerry had backed down, automatically avoiding a confrontation with his leading chief in front of the division, but on reflection, he realized that might not have been the best choice.

As Jerry walked back on to the sub, he tried to put himself in Foster’s place. The senior chief had been the acting division officer and had expected to fulfill that role until Memphis was decommissioned. Now he’d have to step down. It was part of the service’s tradition, but still, it had to grate, at least a little.

And what kind of a man was Foster? Jerry hadn’t had time to study any of the men’s service records, but he resolved to do it as soon as he could.

Back aboard, Jerry headed for the torpedo room. It was time to get started in his new job. He found Senior Chief Foster already at work, filling out what appeared to be a new duty schedule. One of the torpedoman’s mates, a second class named Greer, was leaving and nodded politely to his new division officer.

Foster looked up wordlessly as Jerry maneuvered into the cramped corner in the forward and starboard side of the torpedo room that functioned as the division’s administrative office.

“Well, Senior Chief, let’s get started on the turnover. What do you recommend we should do first?” Normally, when a new officer arrived, his predecessor would “turn over” materials like paperwork and keys that the new officer would need to do his job. There were classified pubs to inventory, maintenance records to review, and a host of other administrative issues.

“I don’t think I can do anything with you right now, sir.” Foster’s tone was hurried again, almost dismissive. “The Weapons Officer wants the new duty section done in half an hour, and then I’ve got to supervise a test of the fire-control circuit.” He paused, and looked almost kindly at Jerry. “I’d ask you to do the duty section, but you don’t know any of the men yet.”

Jerry tried to be positive. “You sound overloaded, Senior. You’re wearing too many hats, and I’m supposed to be wearing one of them. The quicker you turn over the division officer responsibilities to me, the sooner you’ll be able to slow down.”

“Nobody slows down on Memphis, sir,” Foster responded coldly. “This job has to be done properly, and I can’t take the time to teach you how right now.” He paused, as if thinking, and said, “Perhaps you should get the service records for the TMs and FTs and review them, sir. I’ll try and make some time this afternoon to start the turnover.” Foster said it the way a grown-up might promise to play ball with a small child.

Reluctantly, Jerry agreed and headed for the ship’s office. Yeoman Glover quickly retrieved an armful of dark brown folders from the filing cabinets, and after signing a form, Jerry took them back to his stateroom. Berg and Washburn were elsewhere, so he had what little space there was to himself, but he felt useless. Studying records wasn’t going to help get Memphis ready.

An hour and a half later, his head full of names and facts, Jerry threw the pile of folders down in frustration on his bunk. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to work. There’d be time to look over this stuff later. He’d learn more about his division by working with the men, not by hiding in his stateroom.

Senior Chief Foster was doing his level best to keep Jerry from taking over as division officer. Jerry could see that now, although he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. It wasn’t logical. This certainly wasn’t the way it was supposed to work.

It was universally acknowledged that chief petty officers actually ran the Navy. The chiefs largely tolerated officers because they were willing to do paperwork. Like a shop foreman and a factory manager, each had important tasks.

Junior officers, fresh out of school and new to everything, needed a lot of guidance. It was no accident that the Navy teamed up a green division officer with a much more experienced chief. On the books, the officer had the authority, but only a fool would act without listening to what his chief had to say.

The division officer had to interpret the orders that came down from his department head and to get his division what it needed, whether it was repair parts, nominations for a school, or annual personnel ratings. If the division officer was good, he could resolve the inevitable conflicts between orders from above and reality impinging from below. Even the mediocre ones did their best to screen their men from the bovine byproducts that often accompanied guidance from above.

The chief was usually the best technical man in the division. He knew his equipment, his troops, and what they were able to do. That knowledge took at least ten years to acquire, and many chief petty officers served more than twenty.

So why was Foster refusing to even deal with Jerry? Confused and in need of some guidance, Mitchell left his stateroom and took a few steps forward to Lieutenant Richards’ stateroom. The Weapons Officer was inside, searching through a stack of papers. He looked up when Jerry knocked on the doorjamb. “Yes?”

“Sir, I’d like to talk to you about Senior Chief Foster.”

“What about him?”

Jerry wished he’d thought this though a little bit more, but plunged ahead anyway. “He seems reluctant to turn over his division officer duties to me, and I was wondering if you. ”

“What?” Richards’ tone was unbelieving, as if he couldn’t understand what Mitchell had told him.

“I went to see Foster about turning over the division as you instructed, and he said he was too busy, that we’d have to do it later. Sir, he’s deliberately stalling.”

Richards absorbed Jerry’s statement and sat motionless for a few moments.

“And why do you need me?” Richards asked curtly. Jerry started to reply, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the lieutenant cut him off.

“No, wait, I don’t want to know,” the weapons boss told him. “Mister, I’ve got twenty urgent things to do right now. And one of them is not holding your hand while you deal with your senior chief!”

“Yessir,” Jerry replied quickly.

“If you’ve got a problem with your leading chief, work it out. I suspect the problem may not be with the Senior Chief, either. I’ve known Foster a lot longer than I’ve known you, and he’s good. In fact, he’s very good at his job. We still don’t know about you.”

Richards dismissed him. “Now, go make yourself useful. I’m still waiting for that new duty schedule from the Senior Chief, and I want a list of all repair parts the Torpedo and FT division needs on my desk by 1700.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

* * *

Jerry half-fled Richards’ stateroom, thinking, Stupid, Jerry, just plain stupid! Originally, he intended to go back to his cabin and think, but decided instead to go looking for Foster. He ran into the senior chief by the galley, heading forward with some papers in his hand.

“Senior Chief, is that the new duty schedule for the division?”

“Yes, sir.” Foster moved as if to pass him and head forward, but Jerry held out his hand. “I’d like to see it, please.”

Foster seemed reluctant to hand it over, almost as if it held secret information. “The WEPS wanted to see it right away, sir.”

“Don’t you think the division officer should see it first?”

Sensing defeat, Foster wordlessly handed it over. Jerry studied the unfamiliar form for a minute. To his credit, Jerry recognized most of the names from his recent study of the personnel records. It wasn’t terribly complex. Half