Dangerous Ground

way we can repair it at sea. We can still operate the tubes manually and the emergency preset circuits are intact, but we’ve lost all remote tube functions, including those associated with the fire-control system.”

A collective groan came from the naval officers present. Bair put his head in his hands and simply muttered, “Oh shit!” Hardy remarkably remained silent as Patterson and Davis looked on with puzzlement.

Tapping his fingers on the table again, Hardy motioned for everyone to become silent. “Senior Chief?” Hardy said, demanding his confirmation of Jerry’s report. He simply would not take Jerry’s word that the weapons launching console was kaput. He had to hear it from Foster directly.

“Sir, the console is gone,” replied Foster frankly. “A shipyard would just swap out the whole thing. With a tender’s help, I could replace every circuit board and relay and rebuild the console in a week or two. But out here, we just don’t have the parts, and I can’t scrounge or make them, either.”

Hardy listened with a sour expression, the kind of expression a sub captain would be expected to have when hearing that the two working tubes he’d started with were now crippled. But then it softened, and Jerry thought that for a moment, he’d almost looked pleased.

The XO and the other department heads asked Foster, Jerry, and Cal Richards questions about the torpedoes and their ability to launch them, but the Captain remained silent. It didn’t take long for them to run out of questions. The console was down hard and nothing they could do would bring it back.

Hardy’s announcement filled the eerie silence. “With almost no weapons capability, the ability of this boat to perform its mission has been seriously affected.” Jerry agreed with that statement, but was completely unready for what the Captain said next. “I believe we should abort the mission.”

Dr. Patterson stood up abruptly, her seat tipping back with a crash. “What?” The others in the wardroom looked just as surprised, but remained silent out of deference for Hardy’s rank. Patterson felt no such limitation.

“We can’t go home because of a problem with the other torpedo tubes!” she exclaimed.

“Doctor,” the Captain said carefully, “Memphis is a warship with no teeth. We can’t defend ourselves effectively. You don’t understand how important that console is. In a fast-moving fight. ”

“And what’s the chance of that happening? Are we at war? Are we likely to begin one while we’re at sea?” Jerry could tell that Patterson was afraid as well as angry. If Hardy turned around and went home, she’d never get the evidence she hoped to find, and her boss, the President, wouldn’t get his coup at the conference.

And Hardy had the perfect excuse. A naval vessel that couldn’t fight was a liability.

Hardy stood his ground. “Dr. Patterson, this mission requires that we operate in close proximity to the Russian coast. ”

She interrupted him again “And are we going to shoot our way in?” she demanded. “I’ve read our rules of engagement. You aren’t allowed to shoot at anyone unless they attack you in international waters, and even then, only if you can’t evade or escape. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am. Only in extreme self-defense.”

“And when those admirals approved this mission, they said the threat was low, that the Russian Navy was a basket case, and that this would be a ‘milk run.’”

“Both the CNO and SUBLANT,” Hardy clarified, “would completely understand the risks of proceeding on with the mission with a crippled weapons system.”

“But the CNO and SUBLANT,” Patterson echoed, “work for my boss, the President. And what he’s going to hear is what I put in my report.”

She paused and Hardy didn’t immediately respond. Her threat was obvious and her tone made it more than clear that she would carry it out.

Finally, he said softly, “Doctor, I am ultimately responsible for the safety of this boat and everyone on board.”

She spoke just as softly. “And this submarine can still do the job that we have set out to do. The accident hasn’t affected our engines, the sonar works, we can still deploy the ROVs, and the chances of us actually having to shoot anyone are nil. We will continue.”

Hardy looked at her for a minute, then repeated, “We will continue.” He made it sound like a sigh.

Later that evening, after another tense meal, Patterson was in the head she and Emily shared with Hardy, getting ready to turn in. Exhausted from the day’s events, and yet another confrontation with Lowell Hardy, she just wanted to lie down and get some sleep. As she washed her face, she found herself muttering questions to the image in the mirror, “Why does he have to be so difficult? Why can’t he be more cooperative, like my staff back in D.C.? Why do I always have to fight him over everything?”

As she stewed over Hardy’s constant — and annoying — references to risks, consequences, and warfare, she lost track of where she was and slammed her elbow into the shower stall. Cursing the miniscule accommodations, Patterson’s frustration with Memphis and her commanding officer boiled to the surface and her irritation was enough to make her scream. In defiance to Hardy’s edicts on cleanliness, she threw the towel on the deck, turned off the light, and quietly opened the door to her stateroom. Emily was already asleep, so Patterson couldn’t turn on the light. Even though there was a tiny red light shining by the door, her eyes were not adapted to the dark, so she had to navigate her way to her rack by touch. Wearily, she tumbled into her bunk and was immediately grabbed by someone. She screamed as a large arm wrapped around her waist.

In control, Hardy and Bair were going over the revised fire-control team procedures when they heard Patterson scream. Surprised and afraid, both men raced to her stateroom, each one thinking that a member of the crew had gone off the deep end and was assaulting her. As Hardy burst into the stateroom, Patterson was over by the door to the head, bouncing on both feet and pointing vigorously at her bunk. “There is someone in my bed!” she screamed.

Bair reached over and turned on the light, ready to grab the idiot once he could see him. Davis, huddled up at the far end of the top bunk, her eyes wide with terror. In the bottom bunk was a man-sized, silver-colored suit hanging halfway out of the bunk with its empty arms outstretched toward Patterson. Immediately upon seeing her assailant, Patterson stopped bouncing and yelled indignantly. “What the hell is that thing?”

Hardy looked at Bair and both desperately tried to stifle their amusement; they failed. Within moments, both men were roaring with laughter. This only served to make Patterson angrier, which in turn caused the two to laugh even harder.

“Captain Hardy, this is outrageous!”

With tears welling in his eyes, Hardy could barely reply, “Yes, ma’am. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Bair nearly doubled over with his Captain’s response, and the two laughed until they were gasping for air.

“Are the two of you quite finished enjoying yourselves at my expense?” demanded Patterson, still quite peeved.

“Almost,” answered Hardy honestly. And after a little more chuckling he said, “Oh God! I needed that.”

Bair, finally managing to get a hold of himself, turned toward control, and shouted, “Auxiliaryman of the Watch, report to Dr. Patterson’s stateroom.”

Within a few seconds, a balding petty officer appeared at the door. “Auxiliaryman of the Watch, reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Petty Officer Johnson, please return the training steam suit to his quarters in the crew’s mess,” ordered Bair.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Johnson quickly walked into the stateroom, grabbed the steam suit by the arms, and began to pull it down the passageway. As he made his way to the ladder, they could hear him berating the steam suit. “Bad George! Who said you could leave your locker? Now the DCA will have to confine you to quarters for the rest of this run.”

With the steam suit thumping its way down the ladder, Bair and Hardy returned their attention to Patterson, who was now standing with her fists on her hips, her right foot tapping the deck. Her expression was more of annoyance than anger, but it was clear that she didn’t like being the butt of someone’s joke. “So, Captain, please don’t tell me that this is another example of the sick and twisted kind of humor the Navy condones?” While her expression was indignant, the effect was muted by her flowered pink pajamas.

Hardy paused for a moment and then replied, “Then I won’t tell you. Good night, ladies.”

Surprised by his response, Patterson watched as both Hardy and Bair left, the latter closing the stateroom door. Still annoyed, Patterson let out a growl as she turned out the lights and tumbled into her bunk. After she finally got comfortable, she thought about what had just happened and started to chuckle. Sighing, she turned over