“I want it perfectly clear that I am. ” Jerry stopped himself, and took a breath. Asserting his authority was pointless. Not only was the senior chief already ignoring his rank, he seemed to take pleasure in frustrating him. And what was he supposed to do? Take him up to captain’s mast? Right.
Jerry could see Foster watching him as he thought, studying him.
Jerry started again. “Senior Chief, if you don’t want to talk about this, that’s your choice, but I’m just trying to get the job done. If you don’t like me, I think I can live with that. But whether you like it or not, I am the Torpedo Officer and if I give you an order, I expect you to follow it.”
Foster’s face became a mask. “Yes, sir.”
Mitchell pressed his point. “As the division officer, it’s my job to deal with the WEPS. If I say something needs to be done, you do not have to check with Mr. Richards. I will have already done that.”
“If you say so, sir.” Foster pronounced the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“All right, then. Stop any maintenance on the starboard tube nest and have the division ready this afternoon to assist with a pre-installation survey. This is for some special equipment that we’ll be loading later for the patrol. We probably won’t need everyone, but it will be easier to have the men return to their work if they aren’t necessary than to try and bring them in at the last minute. Any questions?” Mitchell saw a flash of curiosity pass over Foster’s face, but he knew the man would not give Jerry the satisfaction of asking for more information. Foster just shook his head.
“Very well, then, Senior Chief, carry on.” Jerry left, with bridges burning behind him. He was unhappy, almost despairing, about his confrontation with Foster. He’d hoped to resolve whatever conflict there was, but instead had formalized it. On the other hand, Foster now knew where Jerry stood.
He headed back to the wardroom, intending to get more information from Richards or the two women about what was going to be done. He found the lieutenant in the passageway, but didn’t get a chance to ask about the ROV. Instead, the WEPS called him into his stateroom.
“How is your qualification program coming, mister?”
Mentally, Jerry shifted gears, hesitating for a moment before answering. He knew Richards would want to hear something positive. “I’ve been studying the ship’s data book.”
“Really? Good for you.” Richards’ cold tone did not match the praise. “Have you talked to the qualifications officer yet?”
“No, sir. I don’t know who that is.”
“It’s me, and it’s time you got busy.” Richards turned in his chair, reached into a drawer, and pulled out a fat notebook. “Here’s your qualification book. Frankly, I don’t see how you can do this, but it won’t be my fault if you fail. Figuring for the time you’re going to be aboard and the amount of material you’ve got to cover”—he pulled out a sheet of paper—”I’ve made up a schedule.” He handed it to Jerry, shaking his head as he did. “The clock is ticking, Mr. Mitchell. Good luck.” Richards almost sounded like he meant it.
Jerry dumped the notebook in his stateroom and went looking for Davis. He found her in the wardroom, sitting alone with her coffee, looking bored.
“Dr. Davis?”
“Please call me Emily.”
“And I’m Jerry,” he said automatically. “I was hoping I could get some more information about the gear and what’s going to happen in my torpedo room, if that’s not classified.” He grinned, and Davis smiled back.
“Well, could we start the survey now? I’ve been trying to work from drawings, and I’m having some trouble visualizing where everything needs to go. And, if you haven’t already noticed, I’ve never been aboard a submarine before.”
Jerry shook his head, “I’m sorry, Dr….. I mean Emily, but my men won’t be ready until this afternoon.”
Jerry could tell by the look on Davis’ face that she was disappointed. Sighing, Jerry smiled and suggested, “We could go down and have a quick look around. We’ll just have to keep out of the way of my men while they work.”
Davis’ face quickly transformed from gloomy to beaming. “Oh! That would be great! Thank you.”
“We’re just one deck up. It’s almost directly below us.” Jerry then looked around for Dr. Patterson.
“Will your partner want to come with us?”
Davis’ expression at his use of the word “partner” made him realize that Patterson must be the boss.
“No.” Davis shook her head sharply. “She’s working with the Captain and the Executive Officer.”
“Then let’s go for a quick tour.”
Jerry led Davis out of the wardroom and toward the ladder by the crew’s berthing. Jerry belatedly hoped that the crew had been informed that there were female visitors on board, otherwise this could get interesting. Entering into the torpedo room, Jerry and Davis found it buzzing with activity. A number of the TMs and FTs were huddled around the launching console and several of the access panels were open. TM1 Moran looked up from the panel and saw Jerry and Dr. Davis in the back of the room. Grabbing a rag, he walked over to his division officer and the visitor.
“Mr. Mitchell, I thought the survey was this afternoon,” Moran seemed nervous and surprised by Jerry’s arrival with Davis.
“Not to worry, Petty Officer Moran, I haven’t changed anything. I’m just letting Dr. Davis have a quick look around.” Moran visibly relaxed after Jerry had replied.
“Dr. Emily Davis, this is Torpedoman’s Mate First Class Moran. Petty Officer Moran, Dr. Davis.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Davis as she extended her hand.
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t shake your hand, ma’am. Mine are covered in grease. I’ve been doing some maintenance on the port tubes and this stuff doesn’t come off very easily.”
“Have you tried gasoline? I’ve always found that it works pretty well in removing marine grease,” suggested Davis.
Moran stared at her with amusement.
“What? What’s wrong with what I said? It does work!” replied Davis defensively.
Moran looked at Jerry, who motioned to him, as if to tell him to explain. “I’m sure it does work, ma’am,” said Moran. “But you can’t bring gasoline onto a sub. There’s nowhere for the vapors to go. They would collect and become toxic, in addition to being very flammable.”
Davis suddenly became wide-eyed and momentarily covered her mouth in embarrassment, “That was stupid of me! I guess I’m too used to working in a well-ventilated lab.”
“That’s okay, ma’am. Most people don’t realize that we can’t use a lot of things on board a submarine for safety reasons. Take deodorant, for example. We can’t use aerosols on board because the propellants are bad for our atmosphere, so we all use stick deodorant,” said Moran.
“Thank you, Mr. Moran. I’ll try to remember that in the future.”
“You’re welcome, and ma’am, its ‘Petty Officer Moran’ or ‘TM1.’ That’s a mister,” stated Moran as he pointed at Jerry.
When Davis looked at Jerry with confusion, he said, “Never mind, I’ll explain later.” Turning back toward Moran, Jerry said, “We’ll try to keep out of your way, Petty Officer Moran. By the way, where’s the Senior Chief?”
“He went back to the chiefs’ quarters, sir. He, umm, said he had to unload a bunch of paperwork. He should be back soon,” replied Moran, again with some apprehension.
“Thanks, TM1. We won’t keep you any longer.” Moran nodded and returned to his work.
“All right, what did I do wrong this time?” asked Davis with a note of frustration.
“Hmmm? Oh nothing. However, the title ‘mister’ is usually reserved for addressing officers junior to you in rank. While it’s not inappropriate for a civilian to address an enlisted man as ‘mister,’ it’s not customary aboard ship and some enlisted don’t like to be addressed that way. Shall we proceed with the tour?”
Jerry escorted Davis over to the starboard tube nest and began to discuss the features of the Mk67 torpedo tubes on
But after about twenty minutes, Jerry’s confidence began to waver as he started to run out of things to say, and as Davis’ questions became increasingly more technical. Jerry loathed the idea of calling Moran over to help, particularly since he and the other TMs were still troubleshooting the launching console.
