Dangerous Ground

generated some questioning looks from virtually everyone present, but no further explanation was forthcoming.

Davis then asked if anyone had previous NMRS experience. No one, not even Foster, raised his hand. She went on to explain that just about everything concerning NMRS vehicle operations was done in the best of Polish traditions. After the laughter died down, Davis went on to explain that a NMRS ROV is loaded into a torpedo tube backward and upside down. When it deploys, the vehicle pulls itself out of the tube and then swings about, righting itself. This will also affect how a ROV is loaded on board, as the orientation of the vehicle will be backward from how torpedoes are loaded.

With the end of the formal presentation by Davis, questions from both sides flew across the room. LTJG Frank Lopez, Memphis’ Damage Control Assistant and the ship’s diving officer, needed the weights of all the equipment for his initial dive compensation calculations. Foster wanted to know what type of batteries the ROVs used and how they were to be recharged. Davis asked about storage space for her equipment. The give-and-take continued for an hour. At this point, Jerry asked a crucial question, one that had been neglected throughout the technical discussions.

“Dr. Davis, none of my people have any experience on the ROV. How much time will we have to train?”

Davis hesitated, glanced at Patterson, and said, “Due to security constraints, Mr. Mitchell, the ROVs and their equipment will only be loaded the day before you depart. Furthermore, there is only time and consumables available for four training launches and recoveries — essentially, two for each ROV as a final system check before performing mission-related work.”

Jerry was dumbstruck by Davis’ reply — and he wasn’t the only one. Everyone from Memphis’ crew, except the Captain and the XO, was just as dumbfounded. Shaking his head vigorously, Jerry said, “Only two checkout runs each? Dr. Davis, that is completely inadequate. There is no way we can become proficient with these vehicles in only four test runs.”

Before Davis could respond, Patterson spoke up, “I understand your concerns Lieutenant Mitchell, but there is nothing that can be done. We have a very tight window for this mission. I’ve discussed this at length with SUBLANT and the CNO’s staff, and they have assured me that this crew can fulfill all mission objectives with minimal training.”

Jerry looked to Richards for support, but his department head only looked at the deck. The Captain and XO were also both silent, but it was clear from the look on their faces that they weren’t happy with this at all.

Then it dawned on Jerry that this was probably what caused this morning’s blowout. Both Hardy and Bair had likely argued vehemently that more training was needed and Patterson simply pulled a “collar check” on them, stating that the submarine admirals had “said” it could be done. Both also understood that the lack of training could very well doom this mission to failure and end both their careers. Hell indeed, thought Jerry, remembering the XO’s words from lunch.

“All right, people, if there are no more questions, let me sum up what needs to be done,” said Bair. “By my count, Dr. Davis will need nine torpedo stows for the two ROVs and the seven supporting pallets, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” responded Foster.

“Very well. Mr. Mitchell, you will coordinate with SUBASE to get us everything we need on the NMRS ROVs. If you have to say anything to justify the request, the cover story is that we are going to AUTEC, the acoustic test range in the Bahamas with a NMRS vehicle in July, and we’ll need the documentation. You’ll also have to get the starboard tubes ready to support ROV operations. I want you to stay on top of this. I don’t want to have any surprises. Mr. Richards, you will put in a request for ten torpedoes with SUBASE. And Mr. Lopez, you need to get the weight information for the compensation calculations from Dr. Davis. Did I miss anything?”

No one spoke.

“All right, then, gentlemen, we’ve got work to do.” Bair then turned to Patterson and Davis and asked, “Will you ladies be joining us for dinner?”

“No, Commander. Emily and I must return to Washington this evening. We also have work to do,” replied Patterson.

“Understood. Mr. Mitchell, please escort our guests off the boat. Goodbye, Dr. Patterson, Dr. Davis.”

Jerry acknowledged the order and took the women back to the wardroom to retrieve their gear. Once topside, Patterson quickly walked onto the pier and headed toward the car. Davis held back, handed Jerry a business card, and said, “If you need any additional information, I’ll do what I can to help.”

Jerry pocketed the card. “Emily, you know that we don’t have sufficient training time for this mission. Is whatever we are about to do so damned critical that we can’t take the time to do it right?”

“I’m sorry, Jerry, but it’s not my decision. For what it’s worth, I raised the same concerns and got the same reply.” She lowered her voice a little. “All I can say is that the timing’s very tight.”

“Okay,” said Jerry with a sigh.

“I’ll see you in about a month, then. When it’s time to load my babies on your sub.”

“Until then,” said Jerry, bowing slightly. Smiling, Davis walked down the gangplank to the pier. Jerry watched her walk all the way down to the car before he went down below.

Dinner was less severe than lunch. Although the crew of the Memphis had a hard task ahead of them, they could at least get started. Even Berg had regained some of his sense of humor and cracked a few jokes during the meal. Jerry actually saw the XO laugh for the first time, although he still looked stressed. The Captain had left the boat for the evening, which might have contributed to the more relaxed atmosphere.

Jerry worked late sorting the division’s unfamiliar paperwork and finding places to put it.

With the passageway lights rigged for red and the IMC loudspeaker stilled, the boat settled in for the night. Jerry thought about sleep. Then he remembered Richards’ schedule and his own qualification process. He’d shoved his qualification book onto the bookrack to make room for the paperwork he’d just managed to put away. His rack looked terribly inviting, but instead of turning in, he grabbed the ship’s data and qualification books and headed for the wardroom.

He spread out his books on the table, got a cup of not-too-stale coffee and a few cookies from the pantry, and settled in. The setting, as well as the subject matter, reminded him of being on the old USS Sam Rayburn, SSBN 635, berthed at Charleston, South Carolina. Formerly a ballistic missile submarine, or SSBN, she had been converted into a moored training ship, or MTS. The old girl was now a floating prototype, where students from Nuclear Power School went and put their theoretical knowledge to work running a real reactor. Sans missile tubes and heavily modified for her training role, the MTS 635 prototype trainer had a nuclear reactor and a complete submarine engineering plant bolted to South Carolina. Everything worked, except that no matter how much steam the plant made, they never went anywhere. Many nuclear submarine officers went through that school, the last step in their nuclear power training.

And Jerry had loved it. He knew exactly what to do, how to study, how to pace himself, how not to be intimidated by what seemed like an overwhelming task. He’d learned to fly that way as well, and he could learn this boat too. It took energy, a steady stream of effort over a long time. It came from his desire to succeed — and his desire to prove the admirals wrong. And it was something he could do. Foster might hate him, the other officers might think he was a lightweight, but this he could do without interference. He wasn’t sure about the rest of his job, but this would be all right.

Jerry was in the process of drawing the boat’s trim system in his notebook when the wardroom door opened and Bair walked in. Seeing Jerry at the table studying, the XO approached and said, “Good evening, Mr. Mitchell. Mind if I join you?”

“No, sir, not at all.”

Bair pulled up a chair next to Jerry and sort of fell into it. The paperwork he had been carrying hit the table with a dull thump. He looked dog-tired.

“I couldn’t help but overhear the Captain’s welcome the other day,” said Bair with a touch of sarcasm. “But I haven’t been much better myself. It’s clear from the mission orders and our meetings today with Patterson that you aren’t to blame for this extra patrol, and I apologize for accusing you of arranging it just to prove yourself.”

“Uh, thank you, sir” was all that Jerry could muster in reply.

“Your record is quite good, for an aviator,” teased Bair. More seriously, he added, “But Memphis isn’t a fighter. She’s an old, worn-out submarine, and she gets cranky from time to time.” The XO then leaned forward a little and pointed at the dolphins on his shirt. “To earn these, you need to