12. The Casualty
Jerry stood at the sink in the officer’s head, fiercely scrubbing his nose. And yet despite his efforts of the past two days, it was still a very noticeable shade of blue. Only now it was sore as well.
“Hey, Jerry, go easy on that weather vane of yours,” quipped Berg as he stepped into the head. “You might as well get used to it. Your nose is going to be blue for a while.”
“How long?” asked Jerry testily. “And what the hell kind of paint did you guys use, anyway?”
“No, no, nooo, Jerry, my man. We didn’t use paint at all.” Berg dramatically paused as he started shaving.
“And!?!” said Jerry. He was in no mood for Lenny’s usual riddles this morning. His nose hurt, he was tired, and he had to hurry up if he wanted to eat breakfast before the second ROV test prebrief.
“Huh? Oh yes. Let me see now,” Berg’s facade of temporary forgetfulness only annoyed Jerry further. “We used tried-and-true Prussian blue dye on the noses of the warm bodies. You know, the dye we use for checking valve bodies and stems.”
Jerry vaguely recalled the maintenance procedure, but he didn’t initially catch Berg’s key word: dye. When he finally did, his eyes opened wide and he gasped, “You used a permanent dye? How long will the color last?”
“It’s not just any dye,” protested Berg. “Prussian blue is one of the first synthetic colors ever made. It has a very honorable history in the textile industry and art since the early 1700s. Its name is derived from one of its earliest uses: the dyeing of Prussian military uniforms.”
“How long?” growled Jerry
“Don’t worry, it’ll fade.” Berg hesitated as he applied his aftershave and then added, “Eventually.”
“Eventually. Could you be a wee bit more precise than that?”
“Sure. How about a couple of weeks?”
“Arrgh!” snarled Jerry as he marched back to his stateroom.
“Hey, shipmate, chill,” admonished Berg as Jerry left.
Jerry regretted snapping at Lenny. He knew he shouldn’t take his frustration out on him. Lenny had played only a minor role in his Bluenose initiation, as did Washburn. But what bothered Jerry more was the way the COB went after him. Between the trim party and the extra attention during the ceremony, he felt like Reynolds was doing everything in his power to make him look like an idiot. On the other hand, the COB had certainly made good on his promise to help him with his qualifications. Jerry had already completed his Diving Officer requirements and was ready for his qual board. Reynolds’ mentoring had gone a long way toward speeding up the process. That and the extra watches he stood didn’t hurt, either. Still, Jerry was getting mixed signals and he no longer understood just what Reynolds was doing, or why.
Jerry scarfed down breakfast like a tornado going through a trailer park. And just in time, too. As soon as his dishes had been cleared away, the wardroom door opened and Emily, Patterson, Foster, and others started pouring in. Hardy and Bair brought up the rear, and they squeezed into their places.
Jerry was relieved to see that several others had the same shade of blue nose as he did. Until he’d seen them, his nose had seemed as big as the bow array. Emily’s and Patterson’s appeared more subdued, but he suspected they may have used makeup.
Emily’s briefing was much shorter than the previous one, as it was mostly a review of the procedures. There were a few questions on ROV limitations and handling issues, but Davis dealt with them quickly. After less than half an hour, when everything had been covered, the XO spoke up.
“All right, everyone, that last piece of business to go over is the watch rotation for the two test runs. Mr. Richards, do you have your teams lined up?”
“Yes, sir,” responded the Weapons Officer. “Team one will handle the first test run and will switch with team two as soon as the first ROV is recovered and secured. Also, each team will be assigned to the same ROV for the duration of the patrol.”
Jerry saw that both Emily and Patterson looked confused, and it didn’t take long for Patterson to interrupt. “Excuse me, Commander, I don’t understand why we need teams. During our first two test runs, Mr. Mitchell employed all of his people and they handled the tests very well. Why do we have to split them up into two teams?”
“It’s a simple matter of logistics, Doctor,” replied Bair matter-of-factly. “After reviewing the plan of operations that you and the Navigator submitted, it became clear that we’d have to go to port and starboard sections just to conduct all the ROV missions you want. If we stood the whole torpedo division up for each run, they’d be exhausted in only a few days. Tired men make too many mistakes.”
Hardy nodded his head in agreement and added, “Dr. Patterson, you’ve planned a very aggressive schedule with over two dozen missions within a three-week period. If we’re going to be successful, we must pace ourselves. Even so, this will be a hard rate to maintain.”
Jerry watched and listened as Hardy and Patterson went back and forth over the mission details. It was remarkable to see them being so civil, when only a week ago they were screaming at each other. There was still some tension, to be sure, but it seemed to be held in check. Patterson was very goal-oriented, and as long as she believed that Hardy was helping her toward her goal, things went smoothly. But if she felt he was being obstructive, she could become a holy terror in a heartbeat.
It struck Jerry that Dr. Patterson was one of those people who was good at visualizing what needed to be done. But for all her knowledge and political savvy, she wasn’t very good at figuring out how to do it. One might say that she was process-impaired. This was, however, Hardy’s forte. Give him an objective and he’d get you there. Just don’t tell him how to do it.
Jerry’s amateur psychoanalysis came to an abrupt end when the XO addressed a question to him. “Mr. Mitchell, how are the maintenance arrangements coming along?”
“Huh? Oh, excuse me, sir. I’ve discussed our maintenance support needs with all of the department heads and they have specialists in sonar, navigation, and electric propulsion ready to assist my division as necessary.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Ahh, yes, sir. I have one concern,” said Jerry hesitantly.
“And what is that?” said Hardy and Patterson in unison. Both momentarily looked at each other, more surprised than annoyed, and then they returned their attention to Jerry.
“Well, Captain, ma’am, my guys can perform the routine maintenance between the runs — that shouldn’t be a problem — but I don’t know if we’ll be able to do much if something major breaks. I mean, we’ve only had a week to study the plans and there has been no formal training on these vehicles. And what little we do have on emergency repair procedures is not exactly up to Navy standards. No offense, Dr. Davis.”
“None taken, Mr. Mitchell,” replied Emily politely. “But if something does break down, then it’s my job to fix it. I designed and supervised the modification of the ROVs, and I’m responsible for their health and well-being; with your division’s help, of course.”
“I appreciate your candor, Mr. Mitchell,” said Patterson firmly, “but Emily has gone over the mission requirements and determined that the probability of a mission critical failure is quite low.”
This pronouncement caught all the Navy people off guard, and Jerry had to resist the urge to sigh. Assuming the odds of a major failure was low based on calculations with little or no operating history was risky business. He had seen an early draft of the mission plan, and the proposed ROV operations tempo was harsh. With little time for maintenance between each run, the whole concept of operations begged for a major problem to occur. By the look of several other crew members, it was clear that they shared his skepticism.
“Final item,” Bair declared suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. “During the second ROV test, Mr. Mitchell will observe the evolution from the control room.”
“Sir?” asked Jerry, slightly perplexed.
“It’s important that you see what goes on in control during a ROV deployment. It will give you an
