“Lieutenant Palmer would be pleased to answer any questions about underway procedures you wish to ask,” Jerry replied positively.
“Fine. I’ll see both of you right after lunch tomorrow.”
“Day after tomorrow?” Jerry replied hopefully. “They’ll be loading weapons all day today and most of tomorrow.”
Shimko sighed. “All right. Day after tomorrow, then.” He paused, then said, “You can’t carry him forever, Jerry.”
“He’ll find his feet, sir. He just needs a little more time.”
“I hope so, for everyone’s sake,” the XO answered as he left the ward-room.
Peters and Hudson had finished collecting all the charts, and Jerry double-checked them as they left to make sure nothing was left behind. Everyone on a nuclear submarine had some sort of security clearance, but it didn’t pay to get sloppy with sensitive documents. Although he might have more room in a jail cell, the food was worse.
Chandler was not in his stateroom, or in the comms shack. Jerry hadn’t expected the man to be waiting outside the wardroom, but he begrudged the time it would take to find the commo, and he couldn’t trust Chandler to find him.
Matthew Lloyd Chandler III was a good officer. The son of a successful submarine admiral, he’d just made lieutenant and seemed destined for higher rank. But as communications officer and Jerry’s subordinate on the ship’s organizational chart, Chandler seemed to be a drain on his time, not an asset.
He finally found Chandler in the ship’s office. When he saw Jerry, the lieutenant spoke first. “I got those questions answered, sir. I should have looked in the manual,” he said humbly, gesturing to a fat notebook on a rack over the yeoman’s desk.
Chandler’s formality irked Jerry. He did work for Jerry, and it was of course proper to address officers senior to oneself as “sir,” but naval custom allowed officers who worked together and were separated by one pay grade to use first names. The submarine service was even more informal. And any pretext for formality had been removed two months ago, when Chandler had been promoted from lieutenant j.g. to full lieutenant, the same rank as Jerry.
“Petty Officer Wallace helped me find what I needed.” Chandler nodded toward the yeoman, sounding grateful.
Then why didn’t you ask him in the first place? Jerry thought, but suppressed the urge to say it. He simply said, “Good. Then are they ready for me?”
“Yessir.” Chandler handed over the forms.
Jerry reviewed them on the spot, since their next stop was the ship’s office. They were neatly filled out. He took his time, but couldn’t decide if he was pleased or irritated to find everything in order.
As Jerry read, the phone in the ship’s office buzzed, and Wallace answered. He listened for a moment, then replied, “I’ll tell him.” Wallace turned to Jerry. “Chief Hudson’s looking for you. He’s in officers’ country.”
“I’ll meet him there,” Jerry answered. He initialed the forms and handed them to the yeoman.
Chief Hudson was waiting by Jerry’s stateroom with a third-class petty officer Jerry didn’t recognize. The young sailor nervously came to attention when he saw Jerry, and Mitchell let him stay that way for the moment.
“Lieutenant Mitchell, this is Petty Officer Dennis Rountree,” Hudson reported. “He’s just come aboard, fresh from school. Here’s his service jacket.”
Jerry opened the file and skimmed it quickly. Twenty years old, although he looked about fourteen. Good scores, no disciplinary problems. He’d expected that, but it never hurt to check. “At ease, Petty Officer Rountree.” Jerry smiled as he said it, trying to really put the young man at ease. “Welcome aboard. You’re coming to a great boat with a handpicked crew. Since you’ve just been picked as well, you’re allowed a few moments to feel proud, before Chief Hudson starts working your tail off. We’re getting under way in eight days, and we’ll be gone for a while. Are you ready for that? Everything squared away ashore?”
“Yes, sir. I can’t wait,” Rountree replied enthusiastically
Jerry’s smile matched the chief’s. “Keep that attitude, and you’ll do well.” Turning to Hudson, he asked, “Did you phone the XO?”
“Yessir, he said to see him when we’re done.”
It was only a few steps from Jerry’s stateroom to the XO’s. Jerry knocked twice, lightly, and waited to hear “Come” before turning the knob.
Lieutenant Commander Shimko had the neatest stateroom Jerry had ever seen. Of course, when you live in a space the size of a walk-in closet, neatness is more than just a virtue, but the XO’s room was almost pathologically spotless. Shimko’s stateroom had two bunks on one side, separated from the opposite bulkhead by a three-foot- wide patch of linoleum deck. That bulkhead held a sink and mirror. Next to that was a closet, and next to that a fold-down desk. A chair in front of the desk took up about a third of the available floor space.
Any open wall space was covered with clipboards or papers taped to the bulkhead. All the papers were taped in exactly the same way, at exactly the same height. The clipboards all hung at the same height as the papers.
Although the stateroom could accommodate two officers, the XO customarily had the stateroom to himself, unless a guest was aboard. Shimko had converted the upper bunk into additional file space, piles of folders and papers arranged with mathematical precision. Even the in and out baskets, full almost to overflowing, managed to look organized.
“XO, sir, this is Electronics Technician Third Class Rountree.” Jerry offered the XO his file.
Shimko took it and then offered his hand to the sailor. “Welcome, aboard. Any issues or questions so far?”
“No, sir,” Rountree replied quickly.
“Good, let me see if the Captain’s free.” He stepped down the passageway to a door with
Jerry heard the music stop, and then the captain say, “Good. Show him in, XO,” and then the door opened the rest of the way. The XO stepped back and motioned for the young sailor to step forward. Jerry and Chief Hudson remained at ease, but Rountree snapped to attention.
Commander Thomas Rudel looked more like a bank teller than a sea captain. He wasn’t tall, didn’t have a barrel chest, and didn’t even have a bellowing voice. Jerry had seldom ever heard him raise it, or even speak sharply.
He didn’t need to raise it. The crew had learned that Rudel was incredibly smart, eminently practical, and at times very funny. The XO tended toward the more satirical “phortune cookie filosophy,” but Rudel’s humor was subtle and dry — you had to listen for it, but it was worth the effort.
“Welcome aboard, Petty Officer Rountree.” Rudel sounded genuinely glad to have the young man aboard. “You’re joining a great boat with a great crew. ‘Great’ means getting the job done, and it means taking care of each other. You can’t do one without the other. Everyone in the chain of command, which now includes you, watches out above, below, and to either side for his shipmates…”
Jerry didn’t mean to tune out the captain’s welcome-aboard speech, but he’d heard it several times, including on his own arrival aboard. And he couldn’t listen to Rudel’s speech without flashing back to his first boat, and his first captain.
Jerry’s tour aboard USS
Hardy had compensated for his intimidating manner by micromanaging the entire boat. Any good submariner
