Dangerous Ground

8. UNDERWAY

May 13, 2005

SUBASE, New London

The shutting of a locker door brought Jerry to consciousness a few minutes before his alarm went off. It was just before six, with Quarters an hour away but from the sounds in the passageway, half the crew must already be up. Jerry took a deep breath and stretched as much as the confines of his rack would allow. He could smell the enticing scents of breakfast from the wardroom next door, and that ended any further thoughts of lounging in his bunk. Getting up, Jerry dressed. Both Washburn and Berg were already gone and likely in the wardroom. Remembering that there were now ladies aboard, Jerry made sure he was respectable before stepping into the passageway.

The wardroom was crowded, with most of the junior officers either eating breakfast, or waiting their turn to sit down. Sitting on the couch was Emily Davis. Even in a beige-colored shirt and Dockers, Emily stood out among the khaki-clad officers. Dr. Patterson was nowhere in sight.

“Good morning, Emily. Is our boss sleeping in?” Jerry asked her, half-joking. Both of them knew he wasn’t asking about Hardy.

“Dr. Patterson said she wasn’t getting up until it stopped being so crowded,” Davis replied seriously.

Almost everyone, including Jerry, laughed and Tom Holtzmann immediately remarked, “That won’t be for quite a while.” Lenny Berg then asked, “Is that a promise?”

The laughter died suddenly and Jerry turned to see Patterson at the door, scowling at Berg. Silently, she moved toward the coffeepot as several officers scrambled out of her path. She poured a cup, added two sugars, and left, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind.

Berg looked at Jerry and shrugged. “What can she do, send me to sea?”

Lenny’s quip failed to revive the wardroom’s atmosphere and they ate silently, the mood clinging to the wardroom as officers ate their breakfast, left, and others took their place at the table. Jerry was glad to finish and headed for the torpedo room. The unfamiliar equipment they installed last night seemed to be in order, but Jerry couldn’t shake his discomfort.

It wasn’t the technology. As a pilot, Jerry had lived with complex equipment, had depended on it for his life. It was one characteristic that aviators and submariners had in common. Both trusted machines because they thoroughly understood them — how they worked, what their limits were, and exactly what to do if any of a hundred things went wrong. That kind of competence didn’t come without long hours of drills, study, and more drills. It took time to obtain that level of competence — time that they didn’t have.

Tomorrow, on a politician’s say-so, they would get one chance with each ROV, and if they didn’t work, that was it: the patrol would be scrubbed, and possibly, Jerry’s new career along with it. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe in third chances. Jerry knew he should care more about the mission than his career, but he still didn’t have a clue what they were going to do with all this stuff.

Quarters on the pier were mostly for show. Families were allowed to watch and the crew was given a few minutes for good-byes before the maneuvering watch was set. Jerry watched from the bridge, already at his station, as fathers and husbands hugged, waved, and promised their wives and children things they couldn’t control. The single guys, like Jerry, had fewer connections. He’d remembered to send a letter to his sister Clarice in Minnesota, asking her to make sure Mom didn’t worry too much. The cold drizzle that started to fall mirrored the somber mood of the families and crew.

Jerry felt eager to get underway, in spite of all the obstacles he faced. Now he’d finally get the chance to prove himself. And when they returned, it would be resolved, one way or another.

He spotted Emily Davis on deck as she stumbled on a fitting and almost fell into the water. The contrast between her and Patterson was never more apparent. Davis was down among the men, asking questions and finding out everything she could. She was interested in what they did and how they did it, which came across to the crew as a professional compliment. The last time he’d seen Patterson, she’d been in the wardroom, typing on her laptop, doing her best to shut out everything and everybody.

By 0730, all stations were manned, the tug was secured alongside, and Jerry gave the order to single up all lines. The wind helped this time, setting Memphis off the pier, and Jerry almost felt at home as he conned the sub away from the base.

Jerry was kept busy throughout the surface transit, but even with a patch, Jerry’s unhappy stomach constantly threatened to betray him. It took almost three hours to reach the gap between Block Island and Montauk Point and another three before they could submerge.

The diving alarm was a welcome sound. He could feel the boat’s side-to-side motion fade as their depth increased. It also got him off the exposed bridge, which was cold and wet. Although he’d only been aboard a relatively short time, the sounds and sensations of Memphis submerging were familiar now. This was where she was supposed to be.

He’d just changed into dry clothes and stepped into the passageway when he saw Emily Davis leaving the wardroom. She looked nervous and tense, clearly upset.

“Emily, are you all right?”

She noticed Jerry and nodded hesitantly. “I’m fine. I’m just being foolish.”

Jerry’s face must have shown his confusion. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been aboard a submerged submarine,” she explained. She looked around, then stepped back into the wardroom, motioning for Jerry to follow. As soon as he stepped in, she closed the door. Jerry was suddenly — and acutely— conscious of the CO’s orders against “fraternization” and how little slack Hardy would give if he were found alone with Emily.

“I feel like an idiot,” Emily confessed. Her tone was measured, almost controlled, but she was visibly shaking. “I’m an engineer, and I know what pressure this boat can stand, but as soon as we submerged, I could sense all the water above us, tons of it. Hundreds of feet of it.” She paused as fear flashed on her face. “How deep are we right now?”

“Two hundred and fifty feet.” Jerry answered, pointing to the depth gauge on the bulkhead. He tried to keep his voice calm and steady, but knowing the exact number only increased her distress. Emily was on the verge of panicking. Great, thought Jerry, just great. She’s claustrophobic. “Don’t you work with submarines all the time?”

“Yes, but I specialized in ROVs. And being a woman, as well as a junior employee at the lab, I was never picked for any of the at sea trials. I’ve only been to sea once before and that was on the research ship Knorr back in ‘98.” She paused, then almost started crying. “And I had no idea I’d feel like this! It never crossed my mind that I’d be so afraid! I should know better.”

“You do know better, Emily, but this isn’t a rational thing. It’s pure emotion.”

“So what do I do about it?” At this point, with her anxiety out in the open, facing her new fear, she was trembling and pale.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. He was too new to submarines himself to have ever dealt with anything like this. Besides, the Navy’s psychological screening process weeded out any applicants for subs who showed even the slightest signs of claustrophobia. “Does Dr. Patterson know?”

“No!” She shook her head violently.

Ill-equipped to handle the situation, Jerry tried to think of whom he should hand over this delicate problem to. There weren’t too many sympathetic ears on this boat. In the end, Jerry went with his training. “Would you like to talk to the XO?”

“All right,” said Emily. The idea seemed to calm her a bit, and Jerry realized that talking about her fear might be the best therapy.

“Okay, then, why don’t you go to your stateroom and I’ll go find the XO and ask him to come and see you,” replied Jerry. Emily nodded and wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve.

Hoping nobody was watching, the two ducked out of the wardroom and Jerry headed to control in search of the XO. He found him near the plotting tables talking to one of the quartermasters. Jerry waited until Bair had finished his conversation before approaching. “Sir, Dr. Davis would like to talk to you.”

Bair nodded and said, “Fine. Where is she?” he asked, looking around.

“In your, I mean her, stateroom.”

“And why is she there instead of here?” Bair asked.

“She needs to speak to you privately,” Jerry answered softy.

“This can’t be good.” Bair observed and left, heading forward to his old stateroom. Relieved, Jerry felt absolutely no guilt about passing the buck to the XO.

It was a late lunch, scheduled after Memphis had submerged. Apparently, Jerry wasn’t the only one aboard with a queasy stomach. He ate in the second sitting, which was fine with him. Not only did it give him a few more minutes for his appetite to return, but he could also pick out a good spot for the mission brief. All the junior officers ate quickly, so that the mess stewards could clean up by 1500. That’s when the Captain and Patterson had promised to finally brief the crew on their destination and what they would do when they got there.

The chiefs started showing up before the JOs had even finished eating, and by 1500, the tiny wardroom was jammed with all the officers not on watch and most of the chiefs.

Hardy entered, followed by the two ladies, and everyone did their best in the cramped space to come to attention. The Captain let them stand for a moment, then said, “Seats.” Emily Davis looked nervous, but that could have been for several reasons. Neither Hardy nor Patterson looked pleased.

The XO spread out a nautical chart and taped it to the bulkhead. A thick, dark black line stood out against the light blue and gray contours. It showed their track from New London, past Newfoundland, through the Denmark Strait between Iceland and Greenland, then past Jan Mayen Island and Spitsbergen, and finally across the Barents Sea. It almost touched Novaya Zemlaya, a barren finger of land that reached up from the far northern coast of Russia. The Barents Sea lay on its western side, the smaller Kara Sea to the east. Novaya Zemlaya was part of the Russian Federation.

Hardy let everyone study the chart for a few moments, then stood.

“At the direction of the President, this boat has been assigned a special mission.” He pointed to the chart. “This is our route for the next twelve days. We will approach the eastern coast of Novaya Zemlaya, survey several environmentally sensitive sites, collect water and sediment samples, as well as other information, then return.”

Jerry heard a buzz of conversation, with the word “environmental” repeated several times, always with a questioning tone. Mitchell was more puzzled at the general reaction than Hardy’s announcement. He guessed this was not a typical mission.

“Dr. Patterson will now explain exactly what we’re going to do.” Hardy motioned to Patterson, who was sitting to his right. She stood up quickly and glanced at a pad of paper.

“President Huber has been a champion of the environment since his days as governor of Arizona. Even before that, as a state senator, he had led the drive for the cleanup of the San Sebastian waste site, as well as. ”

Jerry fought the urge to tune her out completely. There was always the chance she might say something useful.

Patterson droned on for another five minutes about Huber’s environmental consciousness, managing to work in how essential her expertise had been to the President during the election, and now as part of the President’s Science Advisory Board. “It’s vital that the President do well with this issue. The environmental vote is one of his core constituencies. It’s never too early to start thinking about the next election.”

Maybe she thought the silence in the room was polite attentiveness. Jerry, proudly apolitical, was repelled by the entire concept. A patrol to further a president’s reelection chances?

She handed a second chart to Davis, who taped it up over the first one. A detailed chart of the Novaya Zemlaya’s east coast, it was marked top secret, and was covered with angular shapes, crosshatched in several colors.

“These are locations that we know have been used by the Soviets — and now the Russians — as dumps for everything from toxic waste to fueled nuclear reactors. Red marks radioactive waste, orange is machinery, yellow toxic material, and purple is unknown. We are going to collect photographs and samples from these sites, enough evidence to convince any objective observer that the waste is leaking into the environment on a massive scale. They’ve denied it, of course.”

She looked out at the officers and chiefs, as if expecting an answer — or at least agreement. For the first time since she’d come aboard, Patterson was smiling, her manner animated. It was clear to Jerry that she cared deeply about this, although he wasn’t sure if it was the environment or the President’s political agenda.

“In two months, at the World Environmental Congress in Sao Paulo, Brazil, the President will confront the Russian delegation with the evidence we collect. He’ll discredit them and gain stature with every country there. And then there’s the domestic audience. This has the potential to add at least ten points to his approval rating.”

She said the last sentence with so much enthusiasm Jerry almost laughed. She obviously expected her audience to react to this happy possibility. When they didn’t, she stood silently for a moment, then seemed to shrug it off.

She turned to Hardy. “I want to talk about the ship’s speed. Your ‘transit speed’ is fifteen knots.” She consulted her notes to make sure she used the proper term.

Looking at the list, she asked, “Who is Lieutenant Commander Ho?”

The Engineer raised his hand. “Yes, ma’am?”

“As soon as we’re done with the ROV trials this afternoon, change our speed to twenty-five knots.” She saw surprise in the Engineer’s face and paused. “This sub can move at least twenty-five knots, can’t it? I looked up your speed. We can reach our destination in about half the time.”

Hardy spoke up. “Standard transit speed is fifteen knots, because at higher speeds, we become more detectable…”

“By whom?” Patterson asked. “We’re not at war.”

“The Russians will still try to detect us, and the higher speed will also put a strain on the engineering plant,” he explained.

“Oh, so this thing really is a nuclear-powered junk pile.” She smiled, almost triumphant.

Hardy bristled. “We were scheduled for decommissioning until they slapped us with this junket. We didn’t ask for this mission.”

“Look, your job is simple,” she countered. “Just drive Dr. Davis and myself north and we’ll do all the work.”

She handed out papers to the Captain and XO. “See, I’ve already set up a survey plan.” She taped one copy of the plan to the bulkhead. It was the same chart of the waste sites, marked with a route between the areas.

Bair stood to study the map, and Hardy turned in his seat to look at Lieutenant Commander O’Connell, the Navigator. “Did you help her with this?” Hardy’s tone and expression were both stern, almost angry. He didn’t like surprises.

O’Connell quickly shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve never seen this.”

Hardy said, “Ma’am, our charts of that area are poor. Normally the Navigator develops a track and the XO and I approve it.”

The XO, who had been studying the track, chimed in. “Sir, she’s got us moving through some pretty shallow water.” Hardy quickly stood up and examined Patterson’s track.

Patterson refused to budge. “This plan will work. It’s perfectly all right.”

Hardy, studying the chart, said, “No, ma’am, it’s not. You’ve just drawn lines connecting these different sites. We pass too close to some known wrecks, over an explosive dumping area, through very shallow water, and in some of these locations it’s almost impossible to get out of if we’re detected. The Navigator will review your plan. He will make sure to show you any changes and get your approval,” he offered.

Patterson agreed reluctantly. “As long as it doesn’t add a lot of time to the mission. We have to be back with the samples by the end of June. The Sao Paulo congress starts on July 8. If we’re too late, then the whole mission will be wasted.”

“I won’t risk the ship’s machinery breaking down in the middle of the Atlantic or running aground on the Russian coast for some political boondoggle.”

“You’ll do whatever’s required to accomplish the mission. Those are the President’s orders.” Her tone was preemptory. Jerry certainly didn’t like Captain Hardy, but he resented her speaking to his captain that way.

Hardy, angry and defensive, started to reply, then stopped himself, fighting for control. Jerry watched emotions play over his face, and then the Captain sighed. “We’ll get back by the end of June.”

Patterson smiled, almost triumphantly, but she tried to make it just a pleasant expression. She picked up her pad and studied it, trying to get the brief back to business. “I just have one more question. How can I send and receive e-mail while I’m aboard? I’m sure there are already several urgent messages waiting for me.”

Hardy, for once surprised, didn’t answer immediately, and Bair spoke up. “Ma’am, we can receive the Fleet broadcast three times a day. Any messages to you will be added to that. The crew receives personal messages the same way.”

“No, no,” she countered. “I asked about this before I left. They said that all Navy ships can send and receive e-mail these days.”

“Navy surface ships, yes, through a commercial satellite system. We can’t transmit while submerged, and even when we come up for the Fleet broadcasts, we usually only receive. Transmitting any radio signal is like waving a big ‘We’re over here’ sign. Our mission orders specifically cite security as having a high priority.”

Patterson became alarmed. “But that means I’ll be out of touch for weeks. You don’t understand. I work for the President. I deal with crises every day. If I can’t communicate…” she paused, as she tried to imagine being incommunicado for months. Finally she faced Hardy and said, “This is simply unacceptable. You have to let me read my e-mail,” she announced.

Hardy had trouble hiding his enjoyment. “I’m sorry, Doctor. It’s impossible.”

“It’s entirely possible. I’m the mission commander and I need to stay in close touch with my office and with the President.”

His expression hardened. “And I’m the captain of this vessel. I will not do anything that so grossly compromises our security. And the mission, I might add.”

“You’re a glorified bus driver who needs to remember who’s in charge!”

“And you need a lesson on the chain of command,” Hardy stormed. He started to say something else, then stopped himself again and quickly left the wardroom.

Patterson, also fuming, followed.

A few moments later, Jerry heard the door to the Captain’s cabin slam shut, and after a pause, open, and slam again. Considering that Hardy’s stateroom was one deck up, Jerry wondered if it was still on its hinges.

Bair, finding himself suddenly in charge of the briefing, looked at the charts for a minute, then turned to the assembled officers and chiefs. “The briefing’s over. I’m sure everyone has duties elsewhere,” he said firmly.

The wardroom quickly emptied. Jerry grabbed his qualification book and headed aft — and almost got caught in the crush of everyone else with the same idea. A small part of Jerry wanted to be a fly on the wall in the Captain’s stateroom, but most of him wanted to be as far away from forward compartment upper level as possible. Nothing good would come of the Captain’s fight with Patterson and Jerry wanted to be long gone when they came out.

And at that moment, Jerry really wanted to be somewhere else, far away from Memphis. They’d just started out on the mission and already they seemed headed for disaster. With Hardy and Patterson at each other’s throats over who was in charge, it seemed unlikely that the rest of the crew would be able to function properly. The thought of an antagonistic command element combined with the unfamiliar equipment, gave Jerry little hope for success. Searching for distraction, he fortified his resolve with a cup of hot cocoa from the galley and marched off to the engine room to delve into the mysteries of the lube oil system.

Dinner that night in the wardroom was silent, tense, and uncomfortable. While Patterson wasn’t at the first sitting, Hardy was, and it was obvious to everyone that he was still in a foul mood. Jerry noticed that Emily was still a little pale and ate sparingly. Whether this was due to her claustrophobia or embarrassment over Patterson’s behavior, he didn’t know. Regardless, she retired to her stateroom immediately after dinner. Jerry did likewise, but he spent most of the evening preparing for his next checkout and turned in late. Sleep came surprisingly easily.

Early the next morning the mood on board had improved somewhat. At least some of the junior officers talked with each other during breakfast. But if Patterson or Hardy entered the wardroom, all conversation immediately ceased and everyone stared intently at their meal, careful to avoid direct eye contact with either of them. Neither seemed to care that their ongoing feud was adversely affecting everyone else on board.

And Jerry’s musings made him lose track of the time. He had to get up to control for his first watch as Diving Officer under instruction. Jerry wolfed down a sticky bun and some cereal, grabbed his qual book, and literally ran up to control. For the next six hours, Jerry started applying some of the basic concepts necessary to keep Memphis at its ordered depth with a balanced trim. Lenny Berg was the OOD on the 0600 to 1200 watch and he passed on a few tricks as well.

Before they went to the wardroom for lunch, both Jerry and Lenny went to the stateroom to grab their notebooks. There would be little time after lunch before Davis would give her presentation on the capabilities of the ROVs and go over the launch and retrieval procedures. Rustling around his disorganized desk, Lenny looked over his shoulder at Jerry and asked, “So, who do you think is going to win round two? Yesterday was a bit of a draw.”

Sighing, Jerry replied, “I’m entertaining the fleeting hope that both will act like civilized human beings this afternoon.”

“Ha! Little chance of that, I’m afraid,” chortled Berg. “But, as much as I hate to admit it, the Captain has every right to be pissed off. Patterson is way out of line.”

“She certainly knows all the right buttons to push, doesn’t she?”

“Well, since they are both control freaks, it doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to see that they have the same buttons,” stated Lenny firmly. “Ah, there’s my notebook. What say we go and enjoy a quiet lunch at Chez Memphis before this afternoon’s festivities.”

Lunch was indeed quiet, with only four at second sitting. Jerry, Lenny, Al Millunzi, and Jim Porter had all just come off watch and they enjoyed their temporary isolation from the rest of the boat. During the meal, they talked, joked, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. For a brief moment, Jerry saw the wardroom atmosphere he appreciated so much during his days at the squadron. He was glad to see that the camaraderie he missed wasn’t completely dead on Memphis, just buried under the oppressive cloud cast by Hardy’s command style.

Just as the dishes were being cleared away, Emily Davis walked in with her laptop. The four officers rose to greet her and then helped her hook up the computer to the flat panel display on the forward bulkhead. The mood remained pleasant and the banter lighthearted. It included the predictable joke by Berg on how many engineers did it take to screw in a light bulb. No sooner had the groans died down when Patterson burst into the wardroom.

The change in the room was palpable. Instantly everyone, including Emily, became tense and silent. Everywhere she went, Jerry thought, her sour, cold disposition dragged everyone down. Jerry found himself deeply resenting Patterson’s influence.

After briefly conferring with Emily about the afternoon’s presentation, Patterson poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the wardroom table. The room was now so quiet that her sipping could easily be heard. Ten minutes later, the wardroom was full to capacity, but it remained just as quiet. Hardy finally entered and motioned for those that had them to take their seats. He didn’t even look at Patterson.

“Dr. Davis is going to brief us on the capabilities of the ROVs. Since very few of us have NMRS experience, I expect you all to give her your undivided attention. In an hour and a half, we’ll slow down and give each ROV a shakedown test. We’ll resume our transit north once the tests have been completed,” declared Hardy. “These ROVs are crucial to the success of our mission and I expect a flawless performance from everyone involved. Dr. Davis, the floor is yours.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Emily nervously. “As the Captain has already mentioned, the Draper Environmental Survey ROVs are based on Near Term Mine Reconnaissance System vehicles. However, they have been heavily modified to collect environmental data from undersea sites that are suspected to contain radiological contamination.”

Emily was fidgety, tense, and definitely uncomfortable giving the briefing as she moved through the introductory material very quickly. As hard as he tried, Jerry just couldn’t keep up with all the new information as Emily flew from one slide to the next. From the frustrated expression on a number of the crew’s faces, he wasn’t the only one, and Hardy was starting to get that impatient look. Fortunately, the XO piped up and asked Davis to go back a slide and clarify a point she had just made. As she looked at Bair to provide further explanation, Jerry saw him mouth the words: “Slow down.” Emily nodded and her pace noticeably slowed.

It was only after she got to the detailed technical specifications of the ROVs that she seemed to reach her comfort zone. Slowly and deliberately, she went over every system and explained its function in detail. She also went over each step in the launch and recovery processes with the same degree of detail.

Jerry was furiously writing notes as he listened, and he couldn’t help but be impressed with Emily’s technical competence. Every question posed by a crew member was answered thoroughly and professionally. Even Hardy was getting into the briefing, leaning forward in his chair as Emily highlighted the various features of her vehicles. Patterson, on the other hand, seemed bored with the whole thing. Toward the end of the presentation, there was a lot of discussion on the sampling system and how it operated.

“Dr. Davis, since many of the sediment and water samples may be radioactive, how do we safely get them back to nucleonics, where the analysis equipment is installed?” asked Ho. “I’m concerned about the risk of spreading contamination throughout a good chunk of this boat.”

“I understand your concern,” replied Emily. “The sediment and water sampling systems are encased in individual watertight containment modules and are removed from the ROV as complete assemblies. They’ve been pressure-tested to four hundred pounds per square inch. The test pressure is greater than the ROV’s maximum design depth.”

“Good,” said Hardy. Then, turning toward Jeff Ho, he continued, “Engineer, only your people will be allowed to transport the sample modules from the torpedo room to Nucleonics. And I expect radiation surveys to be made along the entire route to verify that there was no leakage.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Ho.

“Any other questions?” demanded Hardy. When none were forthcoming, he said, “All right, then, we’ll man ROV launch stations in half an hour. Dr. Davis, make sure the XO has a copy of your brief so it can be uploaded to the network for reference by the crew. Dismissed.”

As people filed out of the wardroom, a number of the officers and chiefs paused to compliment Davis on her presentation. Patterson appeared annoyed by the attention that Emily was getting and left in a huff, nearly running over Cal Richards in the process.

Jerry stayed behind in the wardroom and waited for an opportunity to talk to Emily. It took a few minutes before he was able to get near enough to speak without having to raise his voice. “Great presentation, Emily. Even the Captain seemed to like it. I’d interpret that as a rare compliment.”

“Thanks, it did seem to go well. Still, I’m just glad it’s over.”

“How are you doing with your little issue that we talked about yesterday?”

“Better, thank you. I’m still somewhat nervous, but the XO was very helpful in talking me through it. Thanks again for all your help,” replied Emily sincerely.

“Glad to be of service, ma’am.” Jerry said with a mock bow. He then took a quick look around the wardroom to make sure Patterson wasn’t within earshot. “Switching topics, I noticed that Dr. Patterson didn’t look too thrilled during your presentation. You’d think she would be more interested, seeing as these ROVs of yours are key to the success of this mission.”

“Well, Jerry, in her defense, she has seen this brief over a dozen times,” said Emily apologetically. “I’m sure it starts to get a bit stale after the fourth time.”

“Yeah. well, I see your point. I guess I’m just reacting to her sandpaper approach to interpersonal relationships. She damn near ran over Mr. Richards getting out of the wardroom.”

“She’s still upset with Captain Hardy. They had a terrible fight after the meeting yesterday and apparently Hardy read her the riot act on what she can and cannot do in regard to this mission. From what little she has told me, she’d turn this sub around right now if she hadn’t committed herself in front of the President.” Emily paused while she finished putting her laptop away. She then looked Jerry in the eye and said, “Dr. Patterson doesn’t take it well when people oppose her. She’s used to being in charge and she’s used to getting her way.”

“Sounds vaguely like my commanding officer,” remarked Jerry sympathetically. “But if we are going to pull this mission off, we all need to learn to play nice.”

“Teamwork is not something Joanna Patterson is good at. Just ask about a half dozen former White House staffers,” replied Emily with a slight hint of humor.

“Wonderful! And Captain Hardy’s afraid of joining them.”

“That’s about how I see it, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Well, then, with that cheery thought in mind, Dr. Davis, shall we head off to the torpedo room and prepare your vehicles for their test runs?”

“Certainly.” She brightened as Jerry changed the subject. “But I need to get something to drink. My throat is dry after all that talking.” The hoarseness of Emily’s voice reinforced her statement.

“Sure thing. We can swing by the galley and grab a cup of bug juice on the way,” said Jerry.

“Ewwww, that sounds disgusting! Why do you guys have to be so gross?” complained Emily.

“Sorry, Navy tradition. How about we grab you a cup of cheap Kool-Aid? I believe they are serving green and purple today.”

“Huh? What’s with the colors? Don’t you Navy types believe in flavors like the rest of the us?”

“In theory, there are flavors. I think the green is supposed to be lime and the purple is grape. But they pretty much taste the same, so we go by colors. That’s what you get when you buy from the lowest bidder.”

Making their way to the galley, Jerry and Emily picked up their drinks and then headed forward to the ladder that led to forward compartment lower level and the torpedo room. Since the ladder ended up in the twenty-one-man bunkroom, Jerry went down first to make sure no one would be “surprised” by Emily’s appearance. With the coast clear, Emily quickly made her descent and the two of them entered the torpedo room.

Senior Chief Foster already had the entire torpedo division assembled when Jerry and Emily arrived. Foster was reviewing the ROV launch procedures with the men and paid little attention to the two as they headed over to the ROV control area.

Emily sat down at the control and display pallet and powered up the computer systems. Jerry looked around the space as she went through the initial system checks. He focused on the two ROVs in their support cradles and his eye caught the stenciled H and D on the vehicles. He asked, “Emily, I have a question for you. What do the ‘H’ and ‘D’ stand for on the ROVs?”

“Oh, that’s just my way of telling them apart. The ‘H’ stands for Huey and the ‘D’ stands for Duey.”

Jerry just stood there and stared. The quizzical look on his face made Emily chuckle.

“You mean to tell me you named those two vehicles after Donald Duck’s nephews?”

“Ahh, well, uh. yes… and no,” answered Emily, whose face started to blush.

“Okay, that was as clear as mud,” replied Jerry sarcastically. “C’mon, what do the letters really stand for?”

“I told you,” said Emily defensively. “My babies are named after two of the maintenance robots from the 1971 science fiction movie Silent Running. The robots were named after Donald’s nephews.”

“Silent Running.?” asked a befuddled Jerry. “Isn’t that a submarine movie?”

“Oh, no! It’s classic sci-fi!” Emily’s face brightened, and she became more animated as she described the movie to Jerry. “There were these three spaceships carrying the last existing forests in domes, awaiting the message to return to Earth and renew the world following a devastating nuclear war. And on each ship there were three maintenance robots, and on the Valley Forge the three robots were named Huey, Duey, and Louie.”

Jerry could only stare in utter amazement as Emily just kept babbling on about this movie. She had the same unrestrained zeal for science fiction that his sisters had for shoes, jewelry, and boys. Jerry was now absolutely convinced that Emily Davis was a geek, a nerd — another brilliant engineer who didn’t appear to have a life. She went on for ten more minutes and finally concluded by describing how the tragic hero kills himself with a nuclear bomb. “It’s a wonderful movie with lots of depth and emotion all tied together in a futuristic spaceship motif. You really should see it sometime.”

“Let me get this straight,” Jerry said with deep concern in his voice. “Your favorite movie is about a ship. It has two robots named Huey and Duey. The movie has an environmental theme to it. Its title is Silent Running, which is something we will probably be doing a lot of. And at end, the hero is killed by a nuke. Are you trying to tell me something here?”

“What?” It was now Emily’s turn to be confused. But after a few moments, her eyes widened, her mouth dropped, and she sputtered, “Oh. Oh! No, no, I didn’t mean anything like that at all, Jerry!”

“Good! I’m glad to hear it, because I don’t like your ending.” Both of them laughed over Jerry’s response. The sound was so loud that all of the torpedomen stopped and looked over at the two of them. Foster had absolute disdain on his face.

Before Jerry could explain, the IMC announced, “Man ROV launch stations.”

Pulling himself together, Jerry looked over at Foster and ordered, “Senior Chief, please start loading Huey into tube three.”

Perplexed, Foster replied, “Excuse me, sir?”

“The ROV with the ‘H’ on it, that’s Huey. Please load it into tube three.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Foster said coldly.

Foster turned and signaled TM1 Moran, who opened the breech door for tube three remotely from the weapons launching console. Greer then inspected the tube with a flashlight, while Foster and the other torpedomen positioned the loading tray with the ROV so it lined up with tube three. The hydraulic rammer was connected, and Huey was slowly pushed into the tube, stern first and upside down. Emily showed the torpedomen how to thread the fiber-optic cable through the small penetration in the breech door and made sure there was enough slack so the cable could be hooked up to the connection box on the inboard side of the tube.

Foster and Lee then attached the deployment drogue to the nose probe on the ROV and slipped the retrieval cable through a larger breech door penetration and attached it to the drogue body. Finally a breech support ring was installed in the tube, which firmly secured the ROV and would prevent it from moving inadvertently. After the loading had been finished, Emily and Jerry inspected the ROV to make sure everything was in order. For Jerry, this was more of a quick course on what to look for when double-checking to see that a ROV had been loaded properly.

Satisfied that everything was correct, Emily asked Moran to shut and lock the breech door. She then took the fiber-optic cable, crimped on a connector, and hooked it up to the connection box. While the loading process went well, it still took twenty minutes to complete and it was clear from the torpedo room phone talker that the Captain was getting impatient.

Jerry and Emily hurried back over to the control pallet, and while Jerry put on his headset, Emily brought Huey to life. After a quick diagnostic check, she informed Jerry that everything was functioning normally and that Huey was ready to go. Jerry then reported to the control room, “Control, U-bay. ROV has been loaded and tested. Test satisfactory. Request permission to flood tube three, equalize to sea pressure, and open the outer door.”

The Chief of the Watch in control acknowledged the request and relayed it on to the OOD, who in turn asked the Captain. It didn’t take long before “Permission granted” was passed back to Jerry. Looking over toward Moran, Jerry called out in a loud voice, “Launcher, flood tube three, equalize to sea pressure, and open the outer door.”

“Flood tube three, equalize to sea pressure, and open the outer door, aye, sir,” replied Moran.

Looking back down at the checklist, Jerry marked off the step with a grease pencil. He then looked at the ship’s speed, the digital display read five knots, and he requested control to slow to two knots — bare steerageway.

“Sir, tube three outer door open,” reported Moran.

“Very well,” said Jerry. Now all they had to wait for was for Memphis to slow down enough so that the ROV could leave the tube without damaging itself in the process. It took a few minutes, but as soon as the speed indicator read two knots, Jerry contacted control again.

“Control, U-bay. Tube three outer door is open, all launch conditions have been met. Request permission to launch the ROV.”

As Jerry was waiting for permission from control, Dr. Patterson walked into the back of the torpedo room. He waved her over and offered her his chair. Jerry was surprised to hear her say, “Thank you.”

Control relayed the Captain’s permission, and Jerry looked over at TM2 Boyd at the winch controls. “Winch operator, release the brake.”

“Release the brake, aye. Sir, the brake is released,” said Boyd.

“Very Well.” Jerry then turned to Emily and said, “It’s your show now, Dr. Davis. Launch Huey.”

“Right. Engaging thruster,” she said.

“Louder, Emily. Everyone has to hear you,” chided Jerry.

“Engaging thruster,” repeated Emily in a louder voice.

“Cable paying out,” reported Boyd.

“Very well,” acknowledged Jerry.

The display console showed Huey slowly backing out of the tube. Once clear of the submarine’s hull, the ROV swung around in a lazy arc, righting itself, and assumed a position twenty feet below Memphis.

Emily announced that Huey was in the tow position. This was confirmed by Boyd, who reported that the cable was holding. Jerry then ordered the winch brake engaged and informed control that they were ready to begin the tow test. Slowly but steadily, Memphis increased speed from two to eight knots. At each half-knot increment, Boyd reported the tension on the cable. The stresses were within the specifications provided by Draper Labs. With the tow test completed, Jerry requested that the boat’s speed be reduced to five knots in preparation for the next phase of the trials.

While Memphis was slowing down, Seaman Jobin noticed that some water drops were coming from the fiber optic penetration in the breech door. Surprised, he called out to Emily, “Doctor Davis, ma’am, there are some drops of water leaking from the fiber-optic penetration in the door. Is it supposed to do that?”

Jerry took off his headset and walked over to tube three. So did Foster. As they were moving toward the tube, Emily said, “I was warned that the penetrations through the breech door might weep initially. As long as it is just droplets, it should be fine.”

Both Jerry and Foster looked at the very slow but steady drip from the seal around the penetration. Their instinctive dislike of any seawater entering the boat fought against Dr. Davis’ known engineering credentials. “Senior Chief?” Jerry asked hesitantly. Foster looked at his division officer with an equally questioning expression and shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea if this is normal, sir. But it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Okay, then, let’s continue the test,” said Jerry as he stood up. “Jobin, keep an eye on it. If it gets any worse, sing out.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jobin.

“What’s next, Dr. Davis?” asked Jerry.

“It’s time to let Huey go for a short swim.” After pushing a few buttons and then pulling back on the joystick, Emily announced, “Detaching from the drogue.”

Jerry watched as Emily activated the forward-looking sonar and the video camera. Instantly, the sonar display showed the outline of Memphis’ hull, but only a vague shadow could be seen on the video screen. She then turned on the two 150-watt underwater lights and the greenish underside became clearly visible.

“Whoa! Way cool,” remarked Jerry softly.

Emily drove Huey about five hundred yards away from Memphis and then back. Satisfied that everything seemed to be in working order, she told Jerry it was time to recover the ROV.

Jerry nodded and called to control. “Control, U-bay. Preparing to recover the ROV. Request permission to flood down, equalize, and open the outer door on tube one.”

Permission was granted, and Moran proceeded to open tube one’s outer door. Normally it would not be possible to open both the outer doors in the same tube nest, but Foster had disabled the mechanical interlock. This was necessary since tube one contained a retractable arm that would be needed to assist in the recovery of the ROV into tube three below.

“Activating docking beacon,” announced Emily. The very-high-frequency acoustic beacon provided precise information on the drogue’s location to the ROVs navigation system. This enabled it to find the drogue and dock. As Huey approached the drogue, Emily tweaked the course with slight nudges of the joystick. Once the nose probe of the ROV edged into the drogue, mechanical clamps latched onto it and held the ROV securely.

Turning off the sonar, video camera, and lights, Emily reported, “Huey is docked and ready to be retrieved.”

“Very well,” said Jerry as he moved over to the retrieval arm station. He turned on the black-and-white video camera and lights and then extended the arm. “Winch operator, slowly reel in the ROV to my mark.” Boyd acknowledged Jerry’s order and began to reel in the cable. Jerry watched the video screen intently, waiting for the first sign that the ROV was near the outer door of tube three. He wished he had as clear a view as Emily did from her vehicle’s video system, but the arm used considerably less advanced technology. Soon the ROV’s form emerged from the shadows. Jerry shouted, “Mark!” and Boyd stopped the winch. He then tried to reach Huey with the arm, but the ROV was still too far away. It took a couple of tries before Jerry got a good grip on Huey’s hull. As Boyd started reeling in again, Jerry moved the ROV into place so that it entered tube three cleanly. As Jerry was stowing the retrieval arm, Boyd called out, “Breech ring contact.”

With a sigh of relief, Jerry ordered, “Launcher, close the outer door on tube three, drain the tube, and open the breech door.” He felt like clapping and Emily had a cautious smile. One down, one to go.

Jerry turned to Foster and said, “Senior Chief, have the men pull Huey from the tube and prepare Duey for its test run as quickly as they can.”

“I know what to do, sir,” replied Foster icily.

“Very well, Senior. Carry on,” responded Jerry casually.

The second test run went more smoothly than the first, and Jerry thought his guys were starting to get the hang of deploying and recovering the ROVs. After Duey was recovered, Jerry sent some of the division off to dinner while the others washed down the two ROVs. The first group returned to perform some of the required maintenance, under Emily’s watchful eye, while the others went to the second sitting.

Both Emily and Dr. Patterson were very pleased with the test runs, and both were confident that the ROVs would perform as expected once Memphis reached the Kara Sea. After everything was completed, and Emily had tucked her babies in for the night, Jerry grabbed a cup of coffee in the wardroom and started studying for his next watch.

All in all, Jerry thought, the day had gone remarkably well. The ROVs had performed to spec, Emily was happy with how things went, and both Hardy and Patterson had been civil. Foster was still a pain in the ass, but he had gotten the job done, and that counted for something. Jerry hoped that maybe, just maybe, this crew had turned the corner and that things would improve in the coming days. Jerry even dared to consider the possibility that this mission might not be as bad as he had originally thought. Only time would tell.