Dangerous Ground

not only understand her individual systems, but you need to learn about her mood swings as well. And the only way you can do that is to throw yourself into learning absolutely everything about her.”

Jerry was surprised to hear Bair speak in such a reverent tone as he talked about Memphis. This boat meant something to him. While it seemed a little weird, Jerry knew that he had to have a similar relationship with this “cranky” old sub if he was to make the grade.

“Now, the Navy and the Captain are demanding a very aggressive qualification schedule from you,” Bair continued. “And I agree. You need to catch up with your peers if you are going to make a career in submarines. I also agree that there can be no special dispensation. You must earn your dolphins,” the XO placed extra emphasis on the word “earn.”

“However, one of my responsibilities is to make sure that junior officers assigned to this boat are properly trained. And in that regard, I will do everything I can to see that you have the opportunity to complete your qualifications. The rest is up to you, Jerry.”

For the first time since coming on board, Jerry actually felt welcomed, and sensed that the XO was sincere in his offer. “Sir, I appreciate your advice and I will work my tail off to not disappoint you.”

“The only one who will be truly disappointed, Jerry, should you fail, is you,” said Bair. “However, Mr. Mitchell, judging by your past performance as a fighter pilot and the dogged pursuit of your transfer to submarines, I have a feeling that it won’t happen.” The XO stifled a yawn and looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. Jerry, why don’t you hit the rack and get some sleep? You can start off fresh on your qualifications in the morning.”

“Aye, aye, sir! And thank you, XO,” Jerry said. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Jerry.” And with that the XO stuck the load of paperwork under his arm and headed toward his stateroom.

Jerry made his way back to his stateroom and leaned against the bunks. He didn’t realize just how tired he really was, until he started undressing. As Jerry settled into bed, he paused to reflect on the events of the day and was confident that tomorrow would be better. Yes, tomorrow would see him start the process of becoming a dolphin-wearing submariner. And with that pleasant thought, Jerry fell asleep.

5. First Underway

April 18, 2005

SUBASE, New London

Jerry climbed out of the bridge access trunk into the cockpit atop Memphis’ sail. He was greeted by dazzling sunlight and it took his eyes a minute to adjust to the brightness. It was a glorious spring day, not a cloud in the sky, warm, and with a moderate breeze. It was a perfect day to go to sea. And Jerry was excited. Excited and nervous, because the XO had suggested to the Navigator that Jerry conn the boat out as Junior Officer of the Deck. Being the senior watch officer, as well as the ship’s Navigator, Lieutenant Commander Harry O’Connell assigned officers to their watch stations and oversaw their qualifications and “professional development.” Training junior officers in the fine art of shiphandling definitely fell into both categories, and he completely concurred with the XO’s suggestion. Even though the scheduled departure was still a couple of hours away, Jerry already had a good case of the butterflies. Smiling, he fondly remembered that the last time he felt this way was just before his first training flight in an F-18.

Looking out over the sail, Jerry could see members of the crew working to finish the preparations for going to sea. Some were loading the last of the provisions, removing the lifelines, and disconnecting the shore power cables. While everyone was busy, Jerry knew that most of the work was done. Thinking back, Jerry wondered where the past month and a half had gone. It seemed to have passed by him in a blink of an eye. On the other hand, there were moments when he felt as if he were in suspended animation.

He had made excellent progress on his qualifications, having completed most of the system checkouts and a number of the procedural ones as well. But that progress had come at a price: Jerry didn’t have a life outside of Memphis. While his shipmates got off as often as they could, Jerry stayed aboard almost every night studying for the next signature in his qual book. After about five straight days, the XO would track him down and order him to go home.

Jerry remembered the first time the XO threw him off the boat. He came into the wardroom after Jerry had remained onboard for the entire first week. Grabbing the ship’s data book that Jerry was trying to study, the XO slammed it shut as hard as he could. The loud thud made Jerry jump, the effect enhanced considerably by his semiconscious state. The XO then sat down, looked Jerry straight in the eye, and said, “Mr. Mitchell, go home.”

“Sir?” Jerry stammered as his eyes tried to focus. “I, uh, can’t. XO. I really need to study for my ventilation system checkout.”

“I don’t recall giving you a choice in the matter, mister,” replied Bair sternly. Then, in a less severe tone, he said, “Jerry, your dedication is commendable and you’ve made a good start on your quals. But after many days of very long hours and very little sleep, your brain WILL turn into tomato paste and you WILL be worthless.” Bair covered the closed book with his hand. “I’ve been peeking in on you over the past hour and you have been staring at the same page the whole time. I bet you don’t even know what ventilation lineup you were looking at.”

Jerry smiled weakly and looked down at the closed book in front of him. “No bet, sir.”

“All right, then. I want you to go home, take a long hot shower, and then get some sleep in a bed that is larger than a coffin. You’ll feel a lot better and you’ll be more alert in the morning.”

Of course, the XO was right — again. Even though Jerry felt like he had to be working virtually every hour of every day, it just wasn’t practical. Jerry then came to the realization that the race he was running was a marathon, not the hundred-yard dash. He had to learn to pace himself if he was going to complete all that he had set out to do. Once Jerry had accepted that idea, it was a little easier to take some personal time off, but every now and then he still needed a gentle reminder from the XO to hit the beach. Jerry also realized an unexpected benefit from Bair’s nagging. Some of the other officers and chiefs noticed the considerable effort that Jerry applied to all his duties, including his qualifications, and that the XO often had to tell him to get off the boat.

Word also started to get around from those who gave Jerry his checkouts that he came prepared and usually did very well. Hard work and competence is a winning combination in the submarine force and it often earns respect. It took some time, but the chill in the wardroom toward him started to thaw. And while things were still strained between him and Cal Richards, at least the WEPS wasn’t quite so cutting with the sarcasm now. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Senior Chief Foster.

If anything, Foster had become harder to deal with. When they were alone, Foster was borderline insubordinate and only a little more civilized when they were in the company of others. Jerry just couldn’t figure out what was wrong between them.

He tried hard to iron things out, but Jerry’s attempts at reconciling their problems only made things worse. Jerry found that he could work with Foster only by being extremely specific in his orders and following up to make sure that Foster hadn’t left him hanging with the job half-done. It took a lot of energy, attention, and time he didn’t have.

It wasn’t the best way of doing business, and Jerry certainly wasn’t happy with the situation, but he’d have to make it work for now. Thinking about the dysfunctional relationship with his leading chief only made Jerry tense, and he took a couple of deep breaths to ease his stress. As he let out a big sigh, a voice from below broke his moment of silent reflection.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the voice. “We need to rig the bridge for the surface transit and it’s going to be tight with you up here. Would you mind going below until we’re finished? It should only take about twenty minutes.”

Jerry looked down as a petty officer emerged from the shadows of the bridge access trunk. There were hints of another man below, along with the sounds of gear being hauled up. Jerry watched as the sailor climbed up into the cockpit, squinting hard as he emerged into the sunlight.

“Bright enough for you, Petty Officer Stewart?” asked Jerry.

“Certainly is, sir,” said Stewart as he stood there blinking. “Please disregard the dull klunks, sir. It’s only my pupils slamming shut.”

Jerry grinned and maneuvered out of the way as a Plexiglas windscreen appeared from below. Stewart