concentration. It was FT1 Bearden.
“Sir, the guys have finished cleaning up and all the DC gear has been properly stored. May I dismiss the men who are not on watch?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Jerry with a slight smile. “Thank you, FT1.”
Bearden fidgeted about for a moment, reluctant to speak, and then quietly he said, “Mr. Mitchell, I never should have let Senior. ” Jerry sharply raised his hand, silencing the petty officer.
“It’s not your fault, Petty Officer Bearden,” stated Jerry sincerely “It’s not your fault. Understood?”
Bearden nodded stiffly as Jerry clasped his shoulder.
Drained physically and emotionally, Jerry started to make his way back to his stateroom. As he walked, he wondered if he had done the right thing. Well, he thought, that’s behind me now. For good or ill, the conflict between him and Foster was now out in the open. Right now, Jerry could only hope and pray that Foster wouldn’t call his bluff.
10. Using the System
The drills continued unrelentingly throughout the next day. Hardy did let the crew have lunch, although he used the time to critique each drill in detail over the IMC. The Captain was unsparing in his remarks.
“.. and Petty Officer Gregory didn’t remember to align the valves on the drain pump manifold properly, so the trim pump was unable to dewater the engine room. Progressive flooding drove us below our crush depth, killing everyone aboard. Mr. Lopez, it’s your responsibility to properly train Petty Officer Gregory, so those deaths are on your head, as well as his.
“Also, Mr. Lopez, there were serious training deficiencies noted during the fire drill we held this morning. As the Damage Control Assistant, you are to ensure that every member of this crew has adequate knowledge of the DC gear on this boat — and that includes the EAB system. During the fire drill, several of the crew didn’t properly seal their EAB masks after hooking them up. Toxic gas leaked in and they all died.”
Hardy paused for a moment. “In the four drills we held since breakfast, everyone aboard this boat has died at least twice. You are supposed to be professional submariners and I’m not going to throw softballs at you. We will continue to conduct emergency drills until you get it right. That is all.”
Jerry sat in the wardroom and half-listened to Hardy’s lecture as he tried to eat. He felt really bad for Frank Lopez as Hardy went on and on about his lack of professionalism. Looking down the table at Lopez, with his shoulders slumped over his meal, Jerry could empathize with him. He himself had earned similar treatments from Hardy — as had every officer present. But right now, Jerry had a bigger problem than the Captain.
Foster’s animosity and insubordination would be a crisis on any ship, but right now, on this boat, it was an unmitigated disaster. Bringing it into the open hadn’t clarified the problem or given him anything that would help him solve the conflict.
The rest of the wardroom looked upset, worried, or just plain scared. Hardy’s leadership style got results, but at a very high price. He ruled
Of course, Jerry had heard about “screamers” in the aviation community and throughout the Navy at the Academy. As long as their units produced, the higher-ups didn’t intervene. Their view was that a captain had the right to run his command as he saw fit. But it was awfully hard on the help.
After he finished his harangue, Hardy came into the wardroom, followed closely by Bair, who looked torn. The junior officers started to rise, but Hardy stopped them with a curt “As you were.” Hardy and Bair took their seats at the table, and it seemed to Jerry that the wardroom was even quieter than before. As he was served lunch, Hardy cast an icy gaze over the officers. Some actually hunkered down farther as he looked at them.
When he finally broke the silence, Hardy spoke calmly, but his voice seemed deafening, and although calm, his tone was harsh. “Since we’ve got people dying when they use damage control equipment, after lunch I want all departments and divisions to review EAB mask procedures. Mr. Lopez, you will personally conduct the training with each man aboard. That may take a while, but I’m sure all of you have other casualty procedures you may want to practice.”
He got up suddenly and left the wardroom without eating a bite. A few moments passed, then everyone let out their breath all at once. Jerry started eating again, although quietly. Like him, the other officers seemed to be preoccupied.
Finally Bill Washburn, the Supply Officer, spoke. Tentatively, he asked, “XO, sir, do you think you could ask the Captain to guarantee us a few drill-free hours? My people need to be able to work and right now…”
“I’m sorry, Bill, I’ve already brought that up with the Captain. He is insistent that the crew be ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice, at any time, day or night.”
“But at sea, we don’t face nonstop emergencies. And I’m not talking about missing sleep. My people need to move stores, to cook. I can’t plan menus because I don’t know when my people will be called away. If this goes on for much longer, I’ll have to start feeding the crew battle rations.”
“Then that’s what you’d better do,” Bair replied bluntly.
“It’s not just the cooks, sir.” Jeff Ho, the Engineer, was more forceful. “I’ve got a lot of cranky machinery to take care of. My men could work full-time just keeping the plant from flying apart.”
“Are there any big problems?” Bair asked.
“No, sir, nothing major yet.”
“This isn’t our first deployment,” the XO reminded them. “We always have drills our first few days at sea.” He waved down a few who started to protest. “I know they’ve never been this frequent or this difficult, but that is his call. If you want the drills to stop, give him what he wants.”
Bair pushed his plate away. “Let’s get organized for that shipwide training session. Muster everyone in their spaces as soon as the meal is finished, and I don’t want to hear that Mr. Lopez is kept waiting. He’s got a lot of ground to cover, and this cannot take all afternoon.”
A chorus of “Aye, ayes” followed him out of the wardroom as the XO left and Jerry automatically started to head for the torpedo room. He had to make sure.
He paused. Of what? That Foster would still follow his orders? That the torpedomen and fire-control technicians would? They’d all seen Foster tell him off. It was impossible to go about business as usual when his own division chief had said he wanted the mission to fail, that he wanted Jerry to fail.
This conflict was way out of control. Jerry needed help, desperately, but from whom he couldn’t say. Not from the Captain, certainly, and even the XO couldn’t do much to adjust Foster’s attitude.
The chief petty officer, is, by tradition, “the backbone of the fleet.” The typical CPO had a ton of experience and was often the most competent technician in his field onboard. But chiefs also wore the khaki uniform, making them a critical part of the leadership structure. It was the chiefs who made things work. Pairing a junior officer with an experienced chief was a good system; practical, effective, and enshrined in naval tradition.
Which folded like wet Kleenex when the chief in question didn’t go along with the plan. None of the officers could help, and he couldn’t go to his division. They looked to him to fix this problem. He couldn’t possibly ask another chief for help — or could he?
Master Chief Reynolds was the Chief of the Boat, the senior enlisted man aboard. As the COB, he was the official, sanctioned, box-in-the-org chart link between the officers and the crew. In sub school, they told him that a junior officer couldn’t go wrong if he asked the COB for help. It was worth a try.
Reynolds worked for the XO, but he often helped the nonnuclear machinist mates, or auxiliarymen, under Lopez, and Jerry was pretty sure he’d be in their spaces. As he hoped, Jerry found Reynolds in the auxiliary machinery room in forward compartment lower level, aft of the torpedo room. He was reviewing the maintenance records on the emergency diesel generator.
“Master Chief, do you have a few minutes?”
Reynolds straightened up. He was a huge man, seeming to fill the space, although he, Jerry, and the watchstander were the only ones in it. In spite of his size, he was not intimidating, and Reynolds’ weather-beaten
