Foster’s careful eye.
They’d broken for dinner, with Lieutenant Washburn, the Supply Officer, checking with Jerry when his men would be able to stop and eat. It was well after the normal mealtime, but Washburn had kept the mess cooks standing by until the torpedo gang could be fed. He’d laid on a good meal for the crew’s last night in port, with roast chicken and mashed potatoes and two kinds of pie for dessert. Jerry was starving by the time they all sat down, and even Emily Davis was ready to stop for a decent meal.
For convenience, they all ate together in the crew’s mess, with Jerry and Davis seated at their own table and the rest of the torpedo division filling two others. Foster sat at the head of the enlisted group.
The men ate quietly, so quietly that Jerry noticed the silence. No grumbling, but no joking either. Jerry was tired and was sure his men were as well, but he wasn’t so exhausted he couldn’t talk. Emily kept up her customary stream of questions, about the boat, the living and eating arrangements for the enlisted men, what the food would be like after they’d been at sea for a month.
Jerry couldn’t answer all of her questions completely, so Emily moved over to the enlisted table and asked to join them. The conversation picked up, and with a feminine audience, the torpedomen shared some of their stories about “life on a boat.”
After dinner, they headed back to the torpedo room. It took two more hours for the torpedomen to finish their tasks, and they were almost as quiet as they were at dinner. In other circumstances, Jerry would have taken the Senior Chief aside and asked him what was wrong, but that wouldn’t work with Foster.
So instead, Jerry listened and watched, and practiced making himself as invisible as circumstances allowed. As the torpedomen became involved in their tasks, Jerry eventually heard TM2 Boyd and TM3 Lee talking as they worked on a cable connection from the control pallet to a switch box for tube one. Boyd complimented Davis. “She’s a pretty good tech. And she’s got a good attitude.” Jerry recalled that Boyd had been answering a lot of Emily’s questions about life aboard a sub.
“She’s okay, but that other one!” Lee shuddered. “I just re-upped so I could get a boat on the West Coast. Right now I wish I’d just gotten out.”
“You and the rest of this division,” Boyd agreed. “If everyone shows up for Quarters tomorrow morning, it’ll be a miracle.”
8. Underway
The shutting of a locker door brought Jerry to consciousness a few minutes before his alarm went off. It was just before six, with Quarters an hour away but from the sounds in the passageway, half the crew must already be up. Jerry took a deep breath and stretched as much as the confines of his rack would allow. He could smell the enticing scents of breakfast from the wardroom next door, and that ended any further thoughts of lounging in his bunk. Getting up, Jerry dressed. Both Washburn and Berg were already gone and likely in the wardroom. Remembering that there were now ladies aboard, Jerry made sure he was respectable before stepping into the passageway.
The wardroom was crowded, with most of the junior officers either eating breakfast, or waiting their turn to sit down. Sitting on the couch was Emily Davis. Even in a beige-colored shirt and Dockers, Emily stood out among the khaki-clad officers. Dr. Patterson was nowhere in sight.
“Good morning, Emily. Is our boss sleeping in?” Jerry asked her, half-joking. Both of them knew he wasn’t asking about Hardy.
“Dr. Patterson said she wasn’t getting up until it stopped being so crowded,” Davis replied seriously.
Almost everyone, including Jerry, laughed and Tom Holtzmann immediately remarked, “That won’t be for quite a while.” Lenny Berg then asked, “Is that a promise?”
The laughter died suddenly and Jerry turned to see Patterson at the door, scowling at Berg. Silently, she moved toward the coffeepot as several officers scrambled out of her path. She poured a cup, added two sugars, and left, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind.
Berg looked at Jerry and shrugged. “What can she do, send me to sea?”
Lenny’s quip failed to revive the wardroom’s atmosphere and they ate silently, the mood clinging to the wardroom as officers ate their breakfast, left, and others took their place at the table. Jerry was glad to finish and headed for the torpedo room. The unfamiliar equipment they installed last night seemed to be in order, but Jerry couldn’t shake his discomfort.
It wasn’t the technology. As a pilot, Jerry had lived with complex equipment, had depended on it for his life. It was one characteristic that aviators and submariners had in common. Both trusted machines because they thoroughly understood them — how they worked, what their limits were, and exactly what to do if any of a hundred things went wrong. That kind of competence didn’t come without long hours of drills, study, and more drills. It took time to obtain that level of competence — time that they didn’t have.
Tomorrow, on a politician’s say-so, they would get one chance with each ROV, and if they didn’t work, that was it: the patrol would be scrubbed, and possibly, Jerry’s new career along with it. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe in third chances. Jerry knew he should care more about the mission than his career, but he still didn’t have a clue what they were going to do with all this stuff.
Quarters on the pier were mostly for show. Families were allowed to watch and the crew was given a few minutes for good-byes before the maneuvering watch was set. Jerry watched from the bridge, already at his station, as fathers and husbands hugged, waved, and promised their wives and children things they couldn’t control. The single guys, like Jerry, had fewer connections. He’d remembered to send a letter to his sister Clarice in Minnesota, asking her to make sure Mom didn’t worry too much. The cold drizzle that started to fall mirrored the somber mood of the families and crew.
Jerry felt eager to get underway, in spite of all the obstacles he faced. Now he’d finally get the chance to prove himself. And when they returned, it would be resolved, one way or another.
He spotted Emily Davis on deck as she stumbled on a fitting and almost fell into the water. The contrast between her and Patterson was never more apparent. Davis was down among the men, asking questions and finding out everything she could. She was interested in what they did and how they did it, which came across to the crew as a professional compliment. The last time he’d seen Patterson, she’d been in the wardroom, typing on her laptop, doing her best to shut out everything and everybody.
By 0730, all stations were manned, the tug was secured alongside, and Jerry gave the order to single up all lines. The wind helped this time, setting
Jerry was kept busy throughout the surface transit, but even with a patch, Jerry’s unhappy stomach constantly threatened to betray him. It took almost three hours to reach the gap between Block Island and Montauk Point and another three before they could submerge.
The diving alarm was a welcome sound. He could feel the boat’s side-to-side motion fade as their depth increased. It also got him off the exposed bridge, which was cold and wet. Although he’d only been aboard a relatively short time, the sounds and sensations of
He’d just changed into dry clothes and stepped into the passageway when he saw Emily Davis leaving the wardroom. She looked nervous and tense, clearly upset.
“Emily, are you all right?”
She noticed Jerry and nodded hesitantly. “I’m fine. I’m just being foolish.”
Jerry’s face must have shown his confusion. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been aboard a submerged submarine,” she explained. She looked around, then stepped back into the wardroom, motioning for Jerry to follow. As soon as he stepped in, she closed the door. Jerry was suddenly — and acutely— conscious of the CO’s orders against “fraternization” and how little slack Hardy would give if he were found alone with Emily.
