Scorpion in the Sea

FIFTY-FIVE

Mike sat at his desk in the cabin and rubbed his eyes. It was nearly twenty three hundred, and the day was not quite over yet. He had to call the Commodore at home one more time and give him an update on the main plant repairs. As he reached for the phone, however, it rang. He hesitated for a second, and then picked up.

“Captain,” he announced.

“Captain, indeed,” said a throaty voice. “I might have known you’d be on the damn ship.”

“Diane. Jesus, did I forget—”

“No, silly. I made an escape tonight. I’m on the boat. Max told me you hadn’t been home since Sunday. I got him to let me in so I could check on Hooker; your poor bird is not happy. He said some awful things to Max.”

“Max is used to it; he usually says awful things back. Damn, I’m sorry I missed you. I’m missing you right now.”

“A likely story. You haven’t even called.”

“We’ve been pretty wrapped up getting ready for, well, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, her tone more serious. “You’re really going to go forward with this crazy scheme? Alone?”

Mike took a deep breath and let it out, a sigh of fatigue tinged with frustration.

“No way around it. We even have another indication that it might be true, but the Commodore is still keeping the whole thing under wraps. The way he sees it — but we’ve been through this. Right now I’ve got my hands full getting ready. Some of the crew is getting wise, I’m afraid. I just want to get her out of Mayport before somebody runs his mouth.”

“No chance of your coming back to the boat tonight?” she asked.

“Well, hell, yes; the engineers are about done with preparations for light-off; I’ve just got to sign the light-off orders for tomorrow morning. I was going to hit the sack here, but, if there’s a future in it …”

“There’s a future in it, sailor.”

“Uh, what about—”

“J.W.? Didn’t you know? He flew down to San Juan Monday afternoon to oversee the final report of the collision investigation. And, here’s the interesting bit: he’s going to ride back in the Coral Sea.”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah, I thought you might find that an ironic note. Think of how proud you’ll be if the submarine shows up after all. You can write I-told-you-so in the water with depth charges.”

Mike laughed weakly. It made a pretty image, as long as the good guys had something to crow about.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I really want to see you.”

“Getting cold feet?”

“Cold pit in my stomach is more like it. I’m beginning to think I know what the knights felt like, suiting up in their tents before dawn. Just a little bit scared.”

“You probably should be,” she said softly. “You should also be going out there with some support.”

“Too many people have painted themselves into a corner, Diane. We squawk now, and you can come visit me in the rubber room at NAS Jax hospital. And then Coral Sea might drive directly into an ambush.”

She was silent on the phone for a long moment. “Hurry out here,” she said finally.

Mike went down to the wardroom where the Engineers were preparing the main plant light-off orders. The Executive Officer handed him a cup of coffee, which Mike dutifully carried to his seat. Mike was glad he had decided to let them spend all day getting the plant ready and everything picked up in the main spaces after all the repairs, some of which had required around the clock work. The engineering people were tired. He wanted everyone to get a good night’s sleep, breakfast, and then proceed with light-off with all hands rested and alert. With the final status report in hand, he made a call to the Commodore and reported in. Then he called for the light-off orders.

The light-off orders were a formality carried over from the nuclear navy. They specified which boiler would be lit off first, the main and support machinery that would be placed on the line to bring up half the ship’s propulsion power, and named the supervisors who would be in charge of the main spaces for the light-off. The conventional surface engineers took a dim view of the procedures, but Captains appreciated the discipline the procedure brought to major engineering evolutions. Many of the navy’s worst boiler fires and explosions had taken place after a long siege of repairs, when tired people made mistakes. He read through the orders book carefully, asked a few questions, signed off on the approval line, and went over a few last minute details with the senior engineering people. When he was through, the senior boiler tender asked if he could ask a question. Mike shot the Exec a look before answering.

“Yeah, Chief, what is it?”

“Scuttlebutt is that there’s more than a sea trial going down tomorrow night, that maybe there’s some real business to be done.”

The senior BT was a leather tough old man of thirty six, who had almost eighteen years in steam plant firerooms. He was well known in the ship for going directly to the point in any conversation.

Mike stood up, and looked at his watch. “I never shit the troops I march with,” he announced. “I’ll be back aboard at 0700. Good night.”

As everyone stood up in some confusion, he left the wardroom without looking at anyone, and headed aft for the quarterdeck. After the wardroom door banged behind him, there was an awkward moment of silence. The Chief BT looked across the table at the Exec.

“Was that an answer, XO?”

The other engineers watched and listened carefully.

“Just get her lit off safely, Chief,” said the Exec, his face set in a blank mask. The Chief Sonarman had obviously been talking.

“But we really do have to get out to sea tomorrow night. Take it from me — that’s a no-shitter.”

The Exec’s mind was on the Captain as he walked aft to his own cabin. The Captain had said he’d be staying aboard tonight, but now he was headed for the beach. The bells rang four times announcing his departure over the 1MC. Going to see her, no doubt. Talk about playing with fire. He felt a flash of male admiration, and then felt it subside when he wondered how he would feel if it was his wife waiting at the Marina. The Chief of Staff’s wife, for Chrissakes!