“By whom?” Patterson asked. “We’re not at war.”
“The Russians will still try to detect us, and the higher speed will also put a strain on the engineering plant,” he explained.
“Oh, so this thing really is a nuclear-powered junk pile.” She smiled, almost triumphant.
Hardy bristled. “We were scheduled for decommissioning until they slapped us with this junket. We didn’t ask for this mission.”
“Look, your job is simple,” she countered. “Just drive Dr. Davis and myself north and we’ll do all the work.”
She handed out papers to the Captain and XO. “See, I’ve already set up a survey plan.” She taped one copy of the plan to the bulkhead. It was the same chart of the waste sites, marked with a route between the areas.
Bair stood to study the map, and Hardy turned in his seat to look at Lieutenant Commander O’Connell, the Navigator. “Did you help her with this?” Hardy’s tone and expression were both stern, almost angry. He didn’t like surprises.
O’Connell quickly shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve never seen this.”
Hardy said, “Ma’am, our charts of that area are poor. Normally the Navigator develops a track and the XO and I approve it.”
The XO, who had been studying the track, chimed in. “Sir, she’s got us moving through some pretty shallow water.” Hardy quickly stood up and examined Patterson’s track.
Patterson refused to budge. “This plan will work. It’s perfectly all right.”
Hardy, studying the chart, said, “No, ma’am, it’s not. You’ve just drawn lines connecting these different sites. We pass too close to some known wrecks, over an explosive dumping area, through very shallow water, and in some of these locations it’s almost impossible to get out of if we’re detected. The Navigator will review your plan. He will make sure to show you any changes and get your approval,” he offered.
Patterson agreed reluctantly. “As long as it doesn’t add a lot of time to the mission. We have to be back with the samples by the end of June. The Sao Paulo congress starts on July 8. If we’re too late, then the whole mission will be wasted.”
“I won’t risk the ship’s machinery breaking down in the middle of the Atlantic or running aground on the Russian coast for some political boondoggle.”
“You’ll do whatever’s required to accomplish the mission. Those are the President’s orders.” Her tone was preemptory. Jerry certainly didn’t like Captain Hardy, but he resented her speaking to his captain that way.
Hardy, angry and defensive, started to reply, then stopped himself, fighting for control. Jerry watched emotions play over his face, and then the Captain sighed. “We’ll get back by the end of June.”
Patterson smiled, almost triumphantly, but she tried to make it just a pleasant expression. She picked up her pad and studied it, trying to get the brief back to business. “I just have one more question. How can I send and receive e-mail while I’m aboard? I’m sure there are already several urgent messages waiting for me.”
Hardy, for once surprised, didn’t answer immediately, and Bair spoke up. “Ma’am, we can receive the Fleet broadcast three times a day. Any messages to you will be added to that. The crew receives personal messages the same way.”
“No, no,” she countered. “I asked about this before I left. They said that all Navy ships can send and receive e-mail these days.”
“Navy surface ships, yes, through a commercial satellite system. We can’t transmit while submerged, and even when we come up for the Fleet broadcasts, we usually only receive. Transmitting any radio signal is like waving a big ‘We’re over here’ sign. Our mission orders specifically cite security as having a high priority.”
Patterson became alarmed. “But that means I’ll be out of touch for weeks. You don’t understand. I work for the President. I deal with crises every day. If I can’t communicate…” she paused, as she tried to imagine being incommunicado for months. Finally she faced Hardy and said, “This is simply unacceptable. You have to let me read my e-mail,” she announced.
Hardy had trouble hiding his enjoyment. “I’m sorry, Doctor. It’s impossible.”
“It’s entirely possible. I’m the mission commander and I need to stay in close touch with my office and with the President.”
His expression hardened. “And I’m the captain of this vessel. I will not do anything that so grossly compromises our security. And the mission, I might add.”
“You’re a glorified bus driver who needs to remember who’s in charge!”
“And you need a lesson on the chain of command,” Hardy stormed. He started to say something else, then stopped himself again and quickly left the wardroom.
Patterson, also fuming, followed.
A few moments later, Jerry heard the door to the Captain’s cabin slam shut, and after a pause, open, and slam again. Considering that Hardy’s stateroom was one deck up, Jerry wondered if it was still on its hinges.
Bair, finding himself suddenly in charge of the briefing, looked at the charts for a minute, then turned to the assembled officers and chiefs. “The briefing’s over. I’m sure everyone has duties elsewhere,” he said firmly.
The wardroom quickly emptied. Jerry grabbed his qualification book and headed aft — and almost got caught in the crush of everyone else with the same idea. A small part of Jerry wanted to be a fly on the wall in the Captain’s stateroom, but most of him wanted to be as far away from forward compartment upper level as possible. Nothing good would come of the Captain’s fight with Patterson and Jerry wanted to be long gone when they came out.
And at that moment, Jerry really wanted to be somewhere else, far away from
Dinner that night in the wardroom was silent, tense, and uncomfortable. While Patterson wasn’t at the first sitting, Hardy was, and it was obvious to everyone that he was still in a foul mood. Jerry noticed that Emily was still a little pale and ate sparingly. Whether this was due to her claustrophobia or embarrassment over Patterson’s behavior, he didn’t know. Regardless, she retired to her stateroom immediately after dinner. Jerry did likewise, but he spent most of the evening preparing for his next checkout and turned in late. Sleep came surprisingly easily.
Early the next morning the mood on board had improved somewhat. At least some of the junior officers talked with each other during breakfast. But if Patterson or Hardy entered the wardroom, all conversation immediately ceased and everyone stared intently at their meal, careful to avoid direct eye contact with either of them. Neither seemed to care that their ongoing feud was adversely affecting everyone else on board.
And Jerry’s musings made him lose track of the time. He had to get up to control for his first watch as Diving Officer under instruction. Jerry wolfed down a sticky bun and some cereal, grabbed his qual book, and literally ran up to control. For the next six hours, Jerry started applying some of the basic concepts necessary to keep
Before they went to the wardroom for lunch, both Jerry and Lenny went to the stateroom to grab their notebooks. There would be little time after lunch before Davis would give her presentation on the capabilities of the ROVs and go over the launch and retrieval procedures. Rustling around his disorganized desk, Lenny looked over his shoulder at Jerry and asked, “So, who do you think is going to win round two? Yesterday was a bit of a draw.”
Sighing, Jerry replied, “I’m entertaining the fleeting hope that both will act like civilized human beings this afternoon.”
“Ha! Little chance of that, I’m afraid,” chortled Berg. “But, as much as I hate to admit it, the Captain has every right to be pissed off. Patterson is way out of line.”
“She certainly knows all the right buttons to push, doesn’t she?”
“Well, since they are both control freaks, it doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to see that they have the same buttons,” stated Lenny firmly. “Ah, there’s my notebook. What say we go and enjoy a quiet lunch at Chez
Lunch was indeed quiet, with only four at second sitting. Jerry, Lenny, Al Millunzi, and Jim Porter had all just
