Dangerous Ground

11. BLUE NOSES

May 18, 2005

Denmark Strait, Near the Arctic Circle

Memphis’ crew arose the next day transformed. Jerry was amazed at the effect one night of uninterrupted sleep had on everyone’s temperament. They even had time for breakfast and some administrative matters in the morning before Hardy started the next round of drills. The first was a slow leak from one of the primary valves that “contaminated” the area around the reactor coolant sample sink in engine room middle level. Any piping or valve that comes in direct contact with the cooling water that circulates around the reactor’s core is considered a primary system component. Thus, any leak from any part of that system is as much a radiological problem as it is a mechanical one.

Millunzi’s engineering laboratory technicians, or ELTs, quickly isolated the area and began their search for the offending valve. Not only did they have to find and fix the problem, but simulate decontaminating the sample sink area and the affected crewmen. Bair had sneakily written LVS or “leaky valve seat” in small print on the back of one of the harder to reach valves and he expected it would take the ELTs some time to find it. Clad in their yellow anti-contamination suits, or anti-C’s, the ELTs worked methodically and found the valve in short order. And once located, they simulated torquing the valve down and then cleaning the space, all within the allotted time. The Red Baron was pleased.

Hardy didn’t praise their performance, but made only a few desultory criticisms. Jerry noticed the crew smiling, almost as if he had complimented them.

There were no further drills that morning, and Jerry spent the time trying to catch up on several days of paperwork and qualifications. He kept waiting for the general alarm to sound, but after an hour or two had passed, he started to believe that Hardy might be easing up.

Because he had the twelve to six Diving Officer watch in control, Jerry ate lunch at the first sitting. The atmosphere was more relaxed than it had been for days, and he even thought the food tasted better. The talk at the table was still muted, but things had definitely improved.

Lieutenant Commander O’Connell, the Navigator, broke the relaxed quiet. “XO, sir, I’ve refined my figures, and it appears we’ll be crossing sixty-six degrees thirty-two minutes North latitude around 1600 tomorrow.”

The sixty-six degrees thirty-two minutes North latitude marked the Arctic Circle, a milestone on the way to their destination, but O’Connell said it with a formality that implied something more.

Then Jerry remembered — the Bluenose ceremony. He immediately looked at the two ladies, both seated to the left of the Captain. The XO was studying them as well, and after a few moments of silence, said, “Ladies, as Mr. O’Connell indicated, we will be crossing the Arctic Circle tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure you’ve heard of the ritual that occurs when you cross the Equator.”

He waited for moment and both of them nodded. He continued, “There is a similar ceremony when a vessel crosses the Arctic Circle. We ask permission of Boreas Rex, Ruler of the North Wind and Sovereign of All the Frozen Reaches, to enter his realm, and if we are judged worthy. ”

“Sounds like a silly initiation, like some seagoing fraternity.” Patterson’s critical tone was even harsher than her words.

“Calling us a ‘seagoing fraternity’ is not an insult, if that was your intention,” Captain Hardy replied tersely. “These traditions have a long history, and we respect them, even if you do not.” He looked over to the XO, prompting him to continue.

“By tradition,” the XO put emphasis on the word, “anyone who crosses the Arctic Circle has the option of participating or not, as they choose. Although you’ve made your feelings clear, Doctor, we did want to invite both you and Dr. Davis to join in the festivities.”

Patterson met the XO’s statement with a stony glare, but Emily Davis asked, “What’s involved in this ceremony?” Her tone implied that she expected it to be unpleasant.

Bair smiled. “His Majesty’s representative, Davy Jones, will board us tomorrow and receive the petitions of those who have not entered the frozen realm before. Then King Boreas arrives with his court after we cross the Arctic Circle. ”

“Guess who was Boreas the last time we went north?” interrupted Frank Lopez.

Bair shot him a hard look, but then smiled. He continued and his smile widened. “The exact details of the ceremony are a deep secret, known only to those trusted members of the Royal Court. But essentially, the hot-blooded neophytes will petition His Majesty to enter his domain. They will then be brought before King Boreas, who will stand in judgment over them before the Royal Court and the Captain of the Royal Guard. If they are found pure of heart, they will be baptized and then admitted to his realm. All in a politically correct and tasteful way, of course,” he added reassuringly.

Riiiiight, Jerry thought. He’d heard horror stories about line-crossing ceremonies since his Academy days. It could be a grotesque, almost revolting, ordeal. The presence of the ladies would certainly tone it down some, even if they did not participate. Jerry, however, found himself hoping they would, not only because it would make them more a part of the crew, but also because the more “petitioners” there were, the less time “the Royal Court” could spend on each one. Safety lay in numbers.

“There’s a really nice certificate,” Berg offered helpfully.

“It’s an idiotic male ritual, and I will take no part in it,” announced Patterson disapprovingly. As she rose to leave, she looked over at Davis, who said, “I guess I’ll pass as well, sir.”

As the two departed the wardroom, Lenny Berg remarked. “She’d make a fine Queen of the Snows. She already has a chilling personality.” Looking at his watch, he motioned to Jerry and said, “C’mon, Jerry, we need to go and relieve the watch.” Turning toward Hardy, he added “Excuse us, Captain.”

Hardy nodded stiffly, but said nothing.

As Jerry and Berg headed up to control, Jerry asked, “Is it my imagination or is the CO more depressed than usual?”

“Hard to say, Jerry. He has his ups and downs like everyone else. It’s just that his downs tend to significantly outnumber his ups. But if I had to guess, I’d say that the enormity of just how hosed up this mission is might be starting to sink in,” replied Berg. He started climbing the ladder to control.

Jerry followed him up and went over to Ensign Jim Porter to begin the watch turnover at the Diving Officer station. Looking around, Jerry didn’t see Chief Gilson anywhere in control. This was strange, because Gilson had the watch officially. Jerry was still standing it under instruction.

“We pumped sanitaries during the last watch, and we’re still making water with the 10K evaporator,” said Porter during turnover. “The trim appears to be good, but at sixteen knots it’s hard to tell. You’ll probably slow down during your watch to make sure that the boat has a satisfactory one-third trim.” Porter was referring to the fact that at higher speeds, a submarine can carry more water in its variable ballast tanks because of the greater hydrodynamic forces generated by the fairwater and stern planes. By slowing down, to ahead one-third, these forces are reduced considerably and Jerry could figure out whether the sub was heavy or light and if the distribution of water among the tanks was correct to maintain a good fore and aft balance.

“If you don’t have any questions, then I’m ready to be relieved,” stated Porter.

Jerry looked around the control room again; still no Gilson. “Jim, I’m sorry but I can’t assume the watch without. ”

“Yes you can, Mr. Mitchell,” thundered Reynolds, who appeared suddenly from the navigation equipment space behind control.

“C–COB?” Jerry stammered, quite confused.

“I’m taking the watch for Chief Gilson. I want to see how well you can balance this boat,” replied Reynolds firmly. “I’ll be here in case something goes wrong, but you have the watch, sir.”

Surprised, Jerry just stood there and stared at the huge man. Reynolds waited a moment, then motioned toward Porter and said, “You can relieve Mr. Porter, sir.”

Jerry turned slowly to Porter and said, “I relieve you.”

“I stand relieved.”

As Jim Porter reported to the OOD that he had been properly relieved, Jerry sat down at his station and looked at the indications on the ship control panel. After a few minutes of careful watching, he couldn’t determine if the trim was good or not. Porter was right; they’d have to slow down first. Looking over his shoulder, Jerry saw Master Chief Reynolds leaning up against the bulkhead next to the plotters. He seemed far away, even though it was only about twenty feet.

After all the stations had changed over, Berg announced, “Attention in control, my intention is to slow to ahead one-third and conduct a baffle clearance maneuver to the right. Once the maneuver is completed, I’ll let the Diving Officer check the boat’s trim before we resume our transit speed. Carry on.”

Berg then informed the sonar supervisor that they were slowing and coming to the right to check the baffles, the spherical array’s blind zone behind the sub’s propeller. After he had hung up the handset, Berg ordered, “Helm, ahead one-third.”

“Ahead one-third, helm aye.” Reaching over to the engine order telegraph, the helmsman twisted the dial to ahead 1/3. Almost immediately, a second dial beneath the first moved to the same position. “Sir, maneuvering answers ahead one-third.”

“Very well, helm,” responded Berg.

Berg waited for Memphis to slow down a little before starting the turn. Once the speed had dropped to ten knots, he ordered a slow turn to the right to give the sonar shack adequate time to check the baffles. With no signs of any contacts, the boat completed the circle and steadied up on its original course.

“Okay, Dive, check the boat’s trim. And please be quick. We need to get back on track,” said Lenny, with an unusual amount of sternness.

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Jerry. During the turn, it became clear to him that the boat was heavy, but he couldn’t tell by how much or where. Since a submarine heels into a turn, the stern planes and the rudder interfere with each other and it’s really hard to judge just how much influence is being exerted by the stern planes to maintain depth. Once Memphis steadied up on her course, this would no longer a problem.

Looking at the positions of the stern and fairwater planes, Jerry deduced that the boat was heavy overall and heavy forward. “Chief of the Watch, when was the last time that a compensation for potable water was done?” asked Jerry.

“About an hour and a half ago, sir.”

“Very well. Chief of the Watch, please compensate for one and a half hours of potable water,” ordered Jerry.

“Compensate for one and a half hours of potable water, aye, sir,” replied MM1 Anderson. Jerry watched as Anderson positioned switches on the ballast control panel that remotely opened valves and created a clear path from the variable ballast tanks inside the submarine, through the trim pump, out to sea. “Pumping, from auxiliaries to sea,” reported Anderson. Jerry acknowledged the report.

It took a few minutes for Anderson to complete the compensation. As he was repositioning the valves, he said, “Diving Officer, thirty-eight hundred pounds from auxiliaries and twelve hundred pounds from forward trim have been pumped to sea.”

“Very well, Chief of the Watch,” responded Jerry. After another ten minutes and another four thousand pounds pumped overboard, Jerry was about to announce that he had a satisfactory one-third trim when he noticed something odd. The stern planesman was holding his planes steady at five degrees down. This indicated that the boat was heavy aft and that the planes were trying to hold the stern up. Glancing at the fairwater planes, he saw that they were in the rise position and that the boat was maintaining the ordered depth of two hundred feet. I must have screwed up somewhere, Jerry thought. I’ve made her too heavy aft.

“Chief of the Watch,” Jerry said. “Shift four thousand pounds from after trim to forward trim.”

“Shift four thousand pounds from after trim to forward trim, aye, sir.”

“Something wrong, Dive?” inquired Berg.

“Yes, sir, I think I messed up the fore and aft trim a little,” replied Jerry, somewhat embarrassed.

“Very well, fix it so we can get going again.”

“Aye, sir.” He glanced over at the COB, but Reynolds’ face was a mask.

After Anderson had moved the four thousand pounds of water from the aftermost part of the ship to the forward-most part, Jerry looked at the indications to see if he had corrected the problem. At first, it looked like it had indeed done the trick. But within minutes, the stern planes were now holding steady in the rise position and the fairwater planes in the dive position. All this told Jerry that he was now heavy forward, that he must have moved too much water. However, the plane positions were suggesting that he had to move almost as much water back aft as he had just shifted forward. “I don’t understand why this isn’t working,” muttered Jerry to himself as he scratched his head.

“Chief of the Watch, shift three thousand pounds from forward trim to after trim.”

“Shift three thousand pounds from forward trim to after trim, aye, sir.”

“Diiiive, would you please explain what the hell is going on?” Berg demanded, clearly annoyed.

“Uh, sir, I seemed to have overcompensated. I’m working on it now. Please bear with me.”

“Grrrr,” growled Berg.

Jerry felt more and more uncomfortable and stressed. He completely understood Lenny’s irritation, but what bugged Jerry more was his apparent inability to balance the boat. And why was the COB standing back there like a damn statue when he really needed the man’s help?

With Anderson’s report that the pumping was completed, Jerry stood up, leaned forward, and stared at the fairwater and stern planes indications. Standing there, he willed the indicators to zero out, but once again the stern planes went to a modest dive angle, while the fairwater planes drifted upward on the rise side.

“Son of a bitch!” hissed an exasperated Jerry. “What is wrong?” Turning around, Jerry was finally going to ask the COB for help, but he was gone! He was nowhere to be seen! On top of that, Berg was on the periscope stand, arms folded across his chest, glowering at him. Jerry felt helpless and was now uncertain as to what needed to be done to remedy the boat’s trim. He was thinking about being relieved when he heard the noise of people moving.

At first, it was rather subdued, similar to what one would expect at watch changeover, but it grew in volume. Then a long string of men emerged from the navigation equipment space behind him. One by one they walked past him on their way down the ladder to forward compartment middle level. Some of the men waved as they went by. Seaman Jobin said, “Hey, sir!” All were smiling. At that moment, Jerry knew he had been tricked. He had fallen victim to one of the oldest pranks in the submarine force: the Trim Party.

For operational and safety reasons, a submarine’s trim must be finely balanced. Moving a significant amount of weight from one end of the submarine to another will have noticeable affect on the boat’s fore and aft balance. In a trim party, a large number of men cram themselves into a space as far aft or forward as they can get; in this case, in the extreme after end of the engine room or the torpedo room. When the Diving Officer compensates for the extra weight by moving water to the other end, the men start moving to the other end as well. This causes the boat to “see-saw” back and forth, apparently without reason, much to the annoyance of the Diving Officer.

A seasoned Diving Officer would have recognized what was going on and simply used the planes to maintain an even keel and waited for the individuals involved to get bored and quit. But rookie Diving Officers are easier to deceive and so often became the prey of a merry band of mischievous submariners. As the long procession continued, Jerry felt his cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. Sitting down, he watched as the steady stream of men seemed to go on forever. Finally, as the last man walked past, Jerry heard the sound of clapping from behind him.

“Outstanding trim party, Jerry,” Lenny chortled, barely able to contain himself. “That has got to be one of the biggest, longest parties I’ve ever seen. What do you say, COB?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Berg, easily in the top three,” replied Reynolds. The huge grin on his face made it clear to everyone present that he had thoroughly enjoyed Jerry’s initiation.

Getting into the spirit of things, Jerry stood up and bowed. “Thank you, thank you, very much. For my next trick, I’ll go down to the torpedo room and have myself impulsed out of a tube and swim to Keflavik!”

“Nah, that won’t be necessary. We’re getting plenty of entertainment value out of just giving you grief,” responded Berg.

“Heaven forbid that I should deny you your diversion, sir,” Jerry replied sarcastically.

“Quite so,” said Lenny. “Now, why don’t you finish fixing up the trim, huh?”

“Yes, sir, at once, sir.” Before he turned back to the ship’s control panel, Jerry looked at Reynolds and waved an accusing finger at him. Feigning a shocked expression, the COB merely shrugged his shoulders and tried to look innocent. The merry twinkle in his eyes, however, spoke loudly of his guilt.

Without the malicious interference of half the crew, Jerry was able to quickly get a satisfactory trim and Memphis increased speed to sixteen knots. Except for a single fire drill, the remainder of the watch was quiet and Jerry and Reynolds went over a number of the finer points of being a good Diving Officer.

After a quick dinner, Jerry stopped by the ship’s office. He had some paperwork to drop off, but he also had an important question for YN1 Glover.

The yeoman had “Abbey Road” playing when Jerry knocked on the door. It was open, but the ship’s office was Glover’s domain, and Jerry had seen the XO knock before he stepped inside.

Glover thanked him for the paperwork, and then Jerry asked his question. “How many of us will have to go through the Bluenose ceremony?”

The yeoman smiled. “Thirty-one. We’ve actually got forty who haven’t made the trip with us, but nine have entries in their service records. That’s not counting the two ladies, of course.”

“You knew, just like that?” Jerry asked.

“The XO asked for the numbers yesterday.” Glover explained.

Jerry felt relieved. “That’s a quarter of the crew,” he observed.

“Well, we’ve stayed pretty close to home in the past year or so, mostly doing Manta trials.”

“It’ll be nice to get it over with,” remarked Jerry.

“Oh, you’ll do fine, sir. Although I’ve heard that they’re working on a special procedure for new officers that used to be aviators.” He smiled and Jerry couldn’t be sure if he was serious or not.

As the evening wore on, Jerry started to hear Bluenose stories creep into the crew’s casual conversation. Those who had crossed before shared their experiences, suitably embellished to amaze the recipients. The trick was to exaggerate outrageously, but still make it sound plausible. Even if the listeners knew the story had to be untrue, a good storyteller could create uncertainty in their minds.

He heard the story about Boreas and the admiral and several variations on ways to get ice cubes from one end of the boat to the other before they melted. Jerry was advised to pick one and practice, just in case Boreas wanted to test his skill.

The actual preparations were secret, of course, as were the exact trials that the “warm bodies” would have to endure. Jerry figured it wouldn’t do any good to ask, but Ensign Jim Porter, the Electrical Officer and most junior officer aboard, kept on asking. Either out of fear or just plain curiosity, he grilled his division, then the wardroom, trying to find out exactly what would transpire.

Early the next day, Thursday, Porter spotted Frank Lopez and Master Chief Reynolds in the wardroom. They were working on A division paperwork, spread out on the wardroom table, but had paused, and he sat down. Jerry, on his way to see the XO, knew what was coming and stopped to watch.

“Mr. Lopez, Master Chief, how many Bluenose ceremonies have you seen?”

“More than a few,” the COB said vaguely. Lopez simply replied, “Just one, on this boat’s last northern run.”

Porter pressed his point. “Master Chief, are the ceremonies the same on every boat? Who decides what happens?”

“Why, King Boreas, of course,” said Reynolds, laughing.

“Come on, Master Chief,” pleaded the Ensign, “somebody on Memphis must be in charge of organizing the Bluenose ceremony this evening. Who is it?”

“Son,” growled Reynolds menacingly, “talk like that will get back to Boreas. And if he doesn’t find you pure of heart, he may not let you in, and then you’ll have to swim home.”

Jerry was startled by a harsh voice almost directly behind him. “How much of this foolishness do I have to put up with?” Patterson exclaimed. “ ‘King Boreas,’ my foot.”

Jerry quickly stepped out of the way, almost physically pushed aside by the force of her words.

“We have more important things to worry about than some male bonding ritual. All I hear about is how much work it takes to run one of these things, and if you don’t do everything exactly right, someone — probably all of us — will die.”

As Patterson talked, she poured herself a cup of coffee. When she paused to drink, though, it set her off again. “And the food on this ship! Hasn’t the Navy ever heard of low-fat cooking? And this coffee tastes like it came out of a paint can. In fact, this whole boat smells like the inside of a paint can!”

She was shouting now and didn’t even look at Jerry or Lopez or Reynolds. A few other officers, including the XO, clustered at the door, but didn’t seem eager to come in.

“There’s no space. I’m constantly bumping into people or things I’m not supposed to touch. There’s no privacy and too much noise. I can’t get in touch with my office. I can’t even make a phone call! I cannot imagine why any of you stand for it!”

Master Chief Reynolds, like the others, listened to her tirade. When she paused, he asked, “If you hate being on board so much, why are you here? Why didn’t you send someone else?”

“Because it was my idea. Because I’m the best-qualified person to do the job and to see that it is done properly,” she replied intensely.

“That’s what every sailor on Memphis would say, if you asked them. They volunteered for sub duty, and they had to work hard just to get here.”

When she didn’t answer, Reynolds added, “It’s a much easier life ashore, and the pay’s a lot better too, especially for men this well trained. Each and every crew member chose to be here, in spite of all the discomforts and the separation from their loved ones, because they know it’s a job that needs to be done. And they want to make sure the job is done right. Patriotism isn’t dead in this Navy, Dr. Patterson, of that I can assure you.”

Patterson remained silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the COB. “You should have been in politics.” A slight smile flashed across her face as she softened. “I see your point, Master Chief. And… I admit that I may have misjudged the people on this sub.”

The COB responded, “You can work with these men, if you’ll only give them a chance. And if you’re willing to work with them, then play with them as well. Don’t the people in the White House have a party every once in a while?” asked Reynolds with a grin.

Patterson sighed, steeling herself, then turned to the XO, standing in the doorway. “Commander, is that invitation to the Bluenose ceremony still open?”

”Of course, ma’am,” replied Bair. “We’d be honored if you would join us.”

At 1515 that afternoon Memphis came to a complete stop and Davy Jones was brought aboard. Jerry watched as an elderly man dressed in a white robe and bedecked in seaweed, actually plastic ivy, climbed down from the forward escape trunk. In his hand was a scroll case, encrusted with seashells and starfish. Bair greeted him at the trunk and escorted the King’s herald to the CO’s stateroom to examine the petitions of the neophytes. An hour later, the submarine officially crossed the Arctic Circle.

”All warm bodies are to muster in the crew’s mess,” squawked the IMC. “The honor guard is to muster by the forward escape trunk, to welcome His or Majesty aboard.”

Jerry, Emily, Patterson, and the other warm bodies were herded into the crew’s mess. Most of them looked nervous, some were afraid. Emily was also a bit apprehensive, but Patterson looked calm and collected.

Everyone, as ordered, wore swim trunks, and the ladies were attractively but modestly attired in one-piece suits and a pair of shorts. Patterson’s was blue, Emily’s green with stripes. Both were new, obviously purchased for she this special occasion.

Jerry couldn’t help but notice that Joanna Patterson was rather attractive in a one-piece bathing suit. With her ash-blonde hair in a ponytail, she looked far more feminine than usual. At that thought, Jerry looked away, as he didn’t want to get caught staring at her. She would probably grow fangs and bite his head off.

Emily, on the other hand, was striking. Although she was smaller than Patterson, she had one hell of a figure. Remembering that these two ladies were the only females on board and that he hadn’t seen any other members of the fair sex for some time, he tried to be objective in his appraisal. Sidelong study of both confirmed that they were lookers. Jerry caught some of the others studying their guests as well and hoped this wasn’t going to complicate things.

Unexpectedly, Emily turned and her eyes met Jerry’s. For a brief moment, they simply looked at each other, and then Emily suddenly blushed and turned away. Jerry was also embarrassed and wondered if she had read his thoughts — or if they were written all over his face. He didn’t have long to think about it, for a loud voice announced: “ALL STAND FOR HIS MAJESTY, BOREAS REX, RULER OF THE NORTH WIND AND SOVEREIGN OF ALL THE FROZEN REACHES.”

From the back of the crew’s mess, King Boreas walked in wearing a very regal-looking red and gold cape; a seashell crown rested on his noble brow. His Majesty sported a huge white beard, which must have required a master engineer to construct, since it was made from cotton balls. It didn’t take Jerry very long to see that Master Chief Reynolds had the honor of playing Boreas on this run. Jerry felt a little relieved that the COB would be in charge, but that would soon change.

Following Boreas was his Royal Consort, the Queen of the Snows. Jerry had no idea who was playing the role of the Queen, but whoever it was, they did a pretty good job. The white wig with sparkling garland, matching boa and handbag, and a pair of pink fish sunglasses made whoever it was look more like a cheap movie actress. In tow behind the Queen was the Royal Baby. This kid was a real whiner and acted more like a chimpanzee than a baby. As the royal offspring got closer, Jerry saw that it was Lenny Berg. Behind him were Bill Washburn as the Prime Minister, dressed in a simple toga and carrying a satchel of scrolls, and Senior Chief Foster as the Captain of the Guard. Foster was in some sort of brown leather biker outfit, complete with a real-enough-looking short sword and scabbard. It made him look quite menacing, as it was intended to.

With his two roommates, his division chief, and the COB making up most of the royal entourage, Jerry suspected a conspiracy against him. He then remembered Glover’s earlier comment about a special procedure for new officers who used to be aviators. I’m toast, Jerry thought ruefully.

As Boreas walked haughtily down the small aisle in the crew’s mess, he carefully gauged the hot-blooded neophytes. As he passed Jerry and the two women, he paused a moment to examine the three more closely. A deep frown appeared on his face. As the rest of the Royal Court went by, each looked directly at Jerry. The Queen also stared intently at the two ladies, flicking her boa around in an agitated manner. Foster had the most wicked expression Jerry had ever seen, a devious cross between a sinister sneer and a gloating grin. All this confirmed Jerry’s growing fear that he was going to be the special guest at today’s festivities. Right now, he thought, it sucks to be me.

Hardy was waiting up at the front of the mess, and as Boreas approached, he bowed and announced, “Welcome, Your Majesty, to my ship. My crew and I are honored that you have consented, once again, to grace us with your presence.”

“Greetings, Captain,” boomed Reynolds. “It has indeed been too long since we last met. And I am pleased to see you and those of the Royal Order of the Bluenose once again in my realm.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. We are but humble servants whose duties have blessed us with the opportunity to travel yet again to the far north.” Hardy was laying it on pretty thick and Jerry saw that he wore a broad smile as he played his role. This was a side of Hardy that Jerry had never seen.

The pleasantries continued as Boreas introduced the remaining members of the Royal Court. Each offered his respects to Hardy, then assumed his place behind the King. After the introductions were completed, Bair and Davy Jones showed up at Hardy’s side with Jones carrying the sealed scroll case. Kneeling before Boreas, he offered the case to the King. “Excuse me your Majesty. Sire, here are the petitions of all the warm bodies present.”

“Ahhh, thank you, my loyal herald,” replied Reynolds loudly. “You are quite right. We must proceed with the business at hand.” Taking the petitions, he handed them to Washburn, who, along with Foster, began to examine them. Reynolds then clasped Hardy on the shoulder and pulled him over to Patterson and Davis. Gesturing toward them with his massive hand, Reynolds asked, “Before we begin, Captain, perhaps you would care to explain this? It is most irregular for females to be aboard a submersible vessel, is it not?”

“Uh, yes, Your Majesty, you are correct.” Hardy’s response seemed awkward, shuffling his feet, as if he were reluctant to answer the King’s questions. “You see, Sire, my ruler ordered me to bring them along in the pursuit of our duties. They are crucial to my ship’s ability to fulfill his wishes.”

“I see,” Reynolds said sternly. “We shall have to review their petitions closely.”

Returning to the front of the mess, Reynolds drew himself up and formally addressed Hardy. “Captain, as these warm bodies are under your command, I desire to know your assessment of their worthiness to enter my realm.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Hardy turned to face the warm bodies, a hard look on his face. Then, with a slow wave of his arm, he shouted, “Sire, they are all unworthy bastards!” The force of his statement caused Emily to audibly draw in her breath. Hearing her gasp, Hardy looked directly at her. “Correction, Your Highness, all but two are unworthy bastards! Those two are unworthy wenches!”

Patterson erupted indignantly, “Now, see here, Capt. ”

“SILENCE!” roared Reynolds. His bellow was so loud that it actually echoed inside the crew’s mess. Even Patterson was taken aback by the sheer power in his voice. Reynolds then looked around menacingly at everyone, to make sure they understood that he meant business. Sighing, he turned once again to Hardy. “Captain, I appreciate your candor in this matter. But as their lord, you must make at least a perfunctory attempt at defending them.”

“Of course, King Boreas. My apologies.” Hardy then proceeded to testify that these warm bodies hadn’t sunk the ship yet, although their ignorance had nearly succeeded on numerous occasions. Furthermore, they were barely adequate in the performance of their duties and their exercises. Hardy ranted on for a few more minutes about their general inability to do anything right and concluded that they were totally unworthy in and of themselves. Their only credible defense, Hardy concluded, was for them to throw themselves at the mercy of the King’s court. Reynolds listened with rapt attention, looking very sagelike in his robes and fake beard.

“Very well, Captain. I concede their unworthiness,” stated Boreas. “However, I am willing to be merciful to these warm bodies and allow them one last opportunity to prove that they are indeed worthy to enter my domain. We shall begin the. ”

All of a sudden, there arose a commotion behind Reynolds. Washburn and Foster appeared to be shocked and angered by one of the petitions and their agitated discussion interrupted the King. A very annoyed Boreas turned toward his two courtiers and swore, “By my beard, you try my patience! What are you two babbling about?”

Both Washburn and Foster quickly came over with the petition and presented it to Boreas. “Your Majesty,” spoke Washburn hesitantly as he knelt before Reynolds. “There is a warm body present that has openly admitted to being affiliated with a most heinous association. I–I—” Washburn seemed unable to finish, so appalled by what he had read.

“Please go on, Prime Minister,” commanded Reynolds. Jerry had a sinking feeling that there were talking about him.

“Sire,” spoke Foster with significant disgust. “The warm body in question is an aviator.”

Jerry watched as Reynolds’ hands curled up into clenched fists. Slowly and rigidly, he turned around and cast a chilling gaze on the warm bodies. “Do you mean to tell me there is a member of that league of arrogant scoundrels who routinely trespasses on my realm without so much as a ‘By your leave!’” Reynolds was shaking as he spoke and Jerry noticed that everyone near him had started to move as far away as they could, given the tight quarters.

“WHERE is this wretch, my Captain of the Guard?” demanded the King angrily. Foster wasted no time in pointing Jerry out. With slow, deliberate steps, Reynolds marched toward him.

Oh shit, this is not going to be good, Jerry thought as Reynolds approached and towered over him. Jerry gulped as two large hands grasped his arms and lifted him off the deck. Once the two were at eye level, with Jerry dangling almost a foot off the deck, Reynolds spoke in a hushed voice through clenched lips, “You have much to account for, flying man!”

Jerry could only nod his head, amazed at Reynolds’ strength and a little afraid of what was to come. Reynolds gently put Jerry back down and released him. Both Davis and Patterson watched in awe, their eyes the size of saucers, as they witnessed Reynolds easily lifting Jerry off his feet. Turning away with a graceful swing of his cape, Boreas commanded, “Let the trials begin! Captain of the Guard, escort these unworthy warm bodies to the torpedo room.”

For the next two hours, Jerry and the other warm bodies underwent the trials as prescribed by King Boreas. None of them were particularly harmful to the body. Most were simply uncomfortable, but everything revolved around being cold, somehow, somewhere.

The first trial was relatively simple. All a warm body had to do was crawl down the twenty-two-foot length of a torpedo tube and rub their nose on the muzzle door. Of course, with the forward end of each torpedo tube exposed to the sea, the temperature in the tube was a bit on the nippy side. It was a cold trip down and back, as well as a little claustrophobic.

The part that Jerry hated the most was backing his way out of the tube once he had reached the muzzle door. In order to get anywhere, Jerry had to arch his back so that he could shuffle backward. This brought his bare back in contact with the frigid guide rail at the top of the tube. He yelped more than once.

As Jerry had been warned earlier, many of the trials involved the use of ice in a number of very unpleasant ways. In one particularly devious trial, he had to transport two ice cubes placed under his armpits from the back of the engine room to the spherical array access trunk: the full length of the boat. “This will clip his wings,” remarked the Royal Baby as he placed the ice under Jerry’s arms. Unfortunately, the ice cubes on his first attempt were too small, and they melted before he could finish the course. Obviously, Jerry was still too hot-blooded to enter the frozen realm. He was sent back to the engine room to try again.

Midway through the trials, he had had significant doubts whether he’d make it. The low point was during Captain Hardy’s favorite game: bobbing for ice cubes. In this trial, Jerry was pitted against another warm body and the two would submerge their faces into a large container of water filled with ice cubes. The first to grab an ice cube with their teeth won. The loser had to keep on playing till they defeated someone. Jerry proved to be particularly inept at this game, and ended up going seven rounds before finally managing to beat a junior petty officer from E Division. Even Patterson beat Jerry. It was with a bruised and frozen ego that Jerry heard the crew cheer, “Broomhilda! Broomhilda!” as Patterson emerged first with an ice cube clutched firmly in her mouth. He’d be hearing about this ignominy for the rest of the patrol.

With most of the trials over, the warm bodies started to congregate in the auxiliary machinery room for the baptism. As Jerry entered the twenty-one-man bunkroom, just forward of the auxiliary machinery room and aft of the torpedo room, the Prime Minister and the Captain of the Guard brought him up short. “His Majesty, the King, requires your presence, warm body,” said Foster malevolently. Washburn and Foster then grabbed Jerry’s arms and led him into the torpedo room.

“Ahhh, excellent. You have found him,” remarked Reynolds, pleased. “Well, done. Well done. Bring him here.”

Jerry was ushered up to King Boreas, where the Captain of the Guard pushed him to his knees. “Show the proper respect to His Majesty, knave!”

The rough handling by Foster was starting to anger Jerry. Foster’s behavior was becoming abusive and even in such ceremonies there were limits. Jerry sensed that Reynolds also knew that Foster had gone overboard and ordered him to back off. “Stand easy, my Captain!”

Foster moved away from Jerry, who was allowed to rise and face the King.

“According to the reports of the Royal Court,” began Reynolds, “you have acquitted yourself well in the trials. But there is still one issue that I need to have satisfied before I grant you entry into my realm.” Turning away from Jerry, he paced about a bit, rubbing his beard slowly, as if he were trying to find the right words.

“What issue would that be?” asked Jerry. Belatedly he added, “Your Majesty” after Foster glared at him.

“It’s rather simple really,” said Reynolds, pausing as he faced Jerry. “Are you an aviator or a mariner?”

“I was an aviator, but I’m no longer qualified to fly. I’m now a submariner.”

“He lies, Your Highness!” screeched Foster. “I recommend that he be given the truth serum!”

“Hmmm, perhaps you are right, Captain.” Reynolds then motioned to Washburn to come forward. In his hands was a steel bucket. “Prime Minister, administer the serum to this warm body so that we can see if he is indeed telling us the truth or not.”

Washburn lifted the bucket, handed it to Jerry, and ordered, “Drink!” Jerry took the bucket and looked closely at the contents. The liquid inside had a dark orangeish-brown color and it had an oily sheen to it. A light brown foam clung to the edges. It looked absolutely disgusting and it smelled just as bad.

“I said, drink!” repeated Washburn forcefully.

Hesitantly, Jerry slowly lifted the bucket to his lips and took a drink. Almost immediately he began to cough and sputter as he gagged on the foul-tasting elixir. He coughed so hard that he nearly spilled the rest of the serum onto the deck. Washburn deftly recovered the bucket from Jerry’s shaking hands and said, “The serum has been administered, My Lord.”

“Very well, Prime Minister. It will take but a few moments for it to take effect.”

A few moments, my ass! thought Jerry as the coughing finally subsided. It’s having one hell of an effect right now. Jerry didn’t know all of what they had mixed together in that bucket, but from that one vile gulp he was certain that soy sauce, vinegar, and some sort of carbonated drink were included. What sick mind had devised this concoction? They should lock him up before he hurts someone, Jerry lamented.

“I ask you again: Are you an aviator, or a mariner?” Reynolds’ voice was louder and firmer than the first time.

More than a little irate with the whole Bluenose business, Jerry replied firmly. “Your majesty, I am now a mariner. I sail on and under the sea, not over it.”

“More lies. It is well known that aviators do not pay their respects to King Boreas. And you were an aviator,” growled Foster.

“That is incorrect, Captain of the Guard,” replied Jerry sternly. “Aviators like myself fly from ships. When the ship crosses the Arctic Circle, we pay proper homage like anyone else.” Foster appeared almost apoplectic, shocked that Jerry would dare challenge him.

“That may be true,” interrupted Reynolds, “but explain to me why those in their flying machines do not pay their respects and violate my domain with wild abandon? Even though I send my fiercest winds, they ignore my challenge and come and go as they please.”

Jerry looked at Reynolds and tried to figure out why he was doing this. It seemed like he was really trying to make a point, but what? And to whom? It should be obvious to Reynolds that this sort of ceremony wouldn’t be possible in a tactical aircraft, and Jerry just didn’t know if the charge Foster was leveling against all aviators was accurate or not. Maybe the aviation community had some kind of ritual that he wasn’t aware of. So, why would Reynolds emphasize the lack of respect by aviators? Was this just one of those legendary trumped-up charges brought against people during these ceremonies to which there was no right answer? Or was Reynolds trying to get him to admit to something under pressure — to someone who needed to hear it. His gut feeling said it was the latter.

Jerry stood as erect as he could and slowly, evenly addressed Reynolds’ question. “Your majesty, I was an aviator. And I was a good one. But due to an accident that was not my fault, I can no longer fly. I wanted to stay in the Navy, but I also wanted to belong to an elite group, a group that had some of the best people in the service. I tried to transfer to submarines, but I was told no. Not because I wasn’t qualified, but because it would cost too much and that the Navy wouldn’t get a good return on its investment.” Jerry found his gaze slowly shifting toward Foster as he continued speaking. “I didn’t like the answer I received; it seemed to me to be arbitrary and capricious. The higher-ups just didn’t want to be bothered by a baby aviator with a broken wing. I forced the issue through family political connections because I don’t believe in giving up on something important just because it’s hard to achieve. And now I’m here.”

Taking a deep breath and returning his attention to Reynolds, Jerry concluded his little speech. “Now Your Highness, as for the disrespect shown by aviators: I can’t speak to the actions of others. I can only speak for myself. In that regard, I am here, now, willingly paying the proper respect and deference due to your exalted position and humbly seeking your permission to enter your realm. These actions should be the point of debate for the Royal Court, not my past status.”

That twinkle in Reynolds’ eyes told Jerry that he had made the right choice. “Well said, lad. I accept your explanation.” Turning toward the Prime Minister and the Captain of the Guard, Reynolds inquired, “Are there any other charges against this warm body?”

“None, sire,” said Washburn with a huge smile. Foster said nothing, but shook his head no.

“Very well, then, young mariner, join the other warm bodies and we shall conclude the ceremony.” Jerry bowed and left the torpedo room.

The baptism was the climax of the Bluenose ceremony. Each warm body stepped into the shower area in the crew’s head and was liberally doused with unheated seawater from one of the small garden-hoselike fire-fighting connections. Jerry watched as Emily was drenched with freezing water. Her screech was so loud, it was picked up by one of the ship’s self-noise monitoring hydrophones. When it was Jerry’s turn, Reynolds himself took the hose and gave him an extra-long soaking. Jerry stood there and endured it, determined to not cry out. Shaking violently, Jerry was led to the auxiliary machinery room, where he was allowed to dry off, and a petty officer painted his nose a very deep shade of blue. He was now a true and trusted, ice- and brine-encrusted Bluenose.

The celebratory feast, in spite of the pomp and circumstance, was really just another excuse to give the new Bluenoses some more grief. The dinner was served cold, naturally, and Jerry thought the menu was about as disgusting as the truth serum. The salad was half-frozen cooked spinach with anchovies, pickled relish, some kind of squishy nut, and spearmint dressing. The main course consisted of sardines in peanut butter sauce, cold mashed potatoes with hideous gelatinous sardine gravy, and frozen snow peas. Dessert was a snow cone made from the water drained from cans of tuna fish. In addition to the chilly and revolting cuisine, the new Bluenoses ate their dinner while sitting on ice held in large sheet cake pans. By the time the ceremony had finally concluded, and King Boreas and his court retired, Jerry’s butt was numb with cold.

Slowly waddling back to his stateroom, Jerry was congratulated on surviving his initiation. He acknowledged their greetings with a stiff nod, but all he cared for right now was a hot shower. Grabbing a towel from his stateroom, he headed for the officer’s head. Once at the shower stall, he turned on the water and waited for it to warm up — it didn’t. Jerry moaned and cursed the general unfairness of it all, as the XO had secured the hot water until further notice. He had to get the salt off his body, so with a deep, resigned sigh, Jerry jumped into the cold fresh water.

Up in their stateroom, Patterson and Davis were desperately trying to warm up from their ordeal. Emily was still shaking uncontrollably, despite being wrapped up in two blankets. Patterson walked around their tiny room, shivering, upset, and annoyed that there was no hot water. Suddenly there was a knock at their door.

“Yes!” yelled Patterson, “Who is it?”

“Messenger of the Watch, ma’am, with a gift from Master Chief Reynolds.”

Patterson flung open the door, poised to tell the messenger just what he could do with the master chief’s gifts, when she saw the sailor holding a tray containing two large steaming mugs. “What is this?” she asked.

The sailor smiled. “Hot tea fortified with a little depth charge medicine, ma’am. COB said you two earned it.”

Patterson grabbed one of the mugs and took a sip, “Oh, my God! A Hot Toddy! Bless you.” She grabbed the other mug and handed it to Emily, who seemed more content to just hold the hot ceramic in her hands.

“Where on earth did you find brandy?” questioned Patterson through sips of the prized beverage. “I thought the Navy didn’t allow alcohol to be consumed on board ships.”

“That’s true, ma’am. But we do carry some alcohol for medicinal purposes, and as the COB pointed out, you two aren’t Navy, so the rules don’t apply to you.”

“Well, thank you for the hot drinks. We do appreciate them,” replied a grateful Patterson.

“Oh, ma’am, one more thing.” The messenger moved a little closer and whispered in a hushed voice, “The XO wishes to convey his compliments and says that by the time you are done with your tea, the hot water will be back on line.”

Patterson thanked the messenger for the news and shut the door. Shuffling over to the desk, she sat down and slowly sipped her drink. As the warmth poured back into her body, Patterson looked over at the huddled mass on the bunk and said, “You know, Emily, for military types, these guys are okay. Criminally insane, but okay.”

Davis could only nod her assent.