Dangerous Ground

13. RECOVERY

Memphis bobbed around at periscope depth for forty-five minutes while the smoke was cleared from the forward compartment. The atmospheric monitoring equipment indicated that the carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide levels in the boat were once again within safe levels. But Hardy made everyone wait another ten minutes while he had the atmosphere tested manually. Finally, the IMC announced to the crew that they could take off their EABs.

Jerry removed his mask and was immediately greeted by the stench of burnt electrical insulation. The smell was so pungent that he briefly considered putting his mask back on. Throwing his EAB onto the centerline storage rack, he walked over to the starboard tube nest. Boyd and Greer had finished draining tube three, and were examining the inside of the breech door as Jerry approached.

“Any ideas as to what happened?” he asked.

“Not a clue, sir,” answered Boyd frankly. “Oh, it’s obvious that the gasket failed catastrophically, but I can’t tell you how or why.”

“Can we still use the tube?”

“Sure. We can screw in the metal plug and seal the penetration, but we won’t be able to support ROV ops.”

“I see,” Jerry said. It was not going to be a pleasant experience when he’d have to tell Patterson that the tube might no longer be capable of supporting the mission. She might blow a gasket herself. “Well, go ahead and put in the plug. I want this door watertight. And find me some of that gasket, we need to figure out what happened.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Boyd.

Jerry surveyed his damaged room. In the poor light, he couldn’t tell if what he saw was burned equipment and structure or if it was just soot from the fire. Turning his flashlight to the weapons launching console, he was surprised to see that it was largely intact. He half-expected it to be a charred ruin. Jerry had just started walking over to make a closer inspection when the lights came back on. Over at the power distribution panel, he saw Foster and FT3 Larsen, the latter on the sound-powered phones. He was probably talking to maneuvering, Jerry thought, making sure that it was safe to close the breaker for the lighting circuit. With better illumination, the real state of the torpedo room became readily apparent.

The forward part of the room was pretty bad off. The damage to the launching console was worse than he had first thought, and the area between the tubes was badly burnt as well. The rest of the room, however, just looked dirty from all the smoke. Foster left the P-panel and marched down to the console, his feet sloshing in half an inch of cold seawater still on the deck. Jerry watched as the senior chief wiped off part of the control section and surveyed the damage. He looked tired and dismayed.

Slowly, Jerry walked up behind Foster and asked, “How bad?”

“Real bad,” replied Foster as he shook his head ruefully.

“Can it be repaired at sea?”

“Uhh, I don’t know… sir.” Foster closed an access panel and then turned to face Jerry. “And I won’t know for sure until we have stripped this console to parade rest. But I can say this much: I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

Jerry nodded his acknowledgment and the two of them just stood there, an awkward silence between them. It was a little too much for Jerry.

“How’s Moran?”

“He was badly bruised when he got slammed into the tubes by that jet of water, but Doc says he’ll live,” said Foster wearily.

“You did well getting him out as fast as you did, Senior. Thank you.”

Foster was startled by the sincerity of Jerry’s compliment. And for the second time that day, he was at a loss for words.

Jerry was about to suggest that Foster go and get some dry clothes on, when Emily walked into the torpedo room. He was glad to see that she had not been hurt. He regretted being so rough on her during the fire, but he had to do it. He had to get her to safety. As Emily got closer, he could tell that she was awestruck by all the damage. But what Jerry initially took as an aftereffect of shock turned out instead to be unbridled rage.

“What did you idiots do?” demanded Emily. Her whole body shook as she spoke.

Completely taken aback by her accusation and vehemence, Jerry was barely able to muster a weak, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Mitchell! Why did those stupid Neanderthals of yours play around with the cable fitting! If they had just left things alone, this wouldn’t have happened and my baby wouldn’t be stranded out in the middle of the Norwegian Sea!”

Both Foster and Jerry were utterly amazed that the ranting woman in front of them was the mousy, quiet Dr. Davis. In different circumstances, the extremes of Emily’s behavior would have been humorous. But right now, any sign of joviality would be ill advised. With one of her precious ROVs stuck outside, she had the temperament of a mother grizzly bear whose cub was threatened.

“Emily, I can assure you that my guys did not cause this casualty. ”

“Don’t give me that patronizing bullshit, you son of a bitch! Your men cut him loose!”

Jerry felt his jaw tighten and he found himself becoming angry as well. He was cold, wet, and coming down from an adrenaline high. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with someone who couldn’t separate the cause of the accident from proper corrective actions. And while Jerry liked Emily Davis a lot, he wasn’t about to put up with her irrational tirade.

“Now, wait one damn minute, Dr. Davis! My men did not cause that fitting to fail. They responded properly to the casualty that followed. And I stand one hundred percent behind their actions, even though it meant cutting the drogue umbilical cable and stranding the ROV. In the grand scheme of things, Doctor, the lives of my men are considerably more important than your vehicle!”

It was Emily’s turn to be surprised. She simply stood there, her mouth hanging open, as Jerry’s stern message sunk in. Slowly, she nodded her head, the anger on her face replaced by anguish. “But what about Duey?”

Before Jerry could answer, another angry voice repeated the question. “Yes, Lieutenant, what about the ROV? Can it be recovered?”

Jerry looked up and saw Patterson and Hardy approaching them. Inwardly he groaned. It would be nearly impossible now to keep the situation under control with the two hottest heads on the boat joining the discussion. Jerry knew that they would both be upset, but for vastly different reasons. Hardy didn’t disappoint him as he butted in. “The question of the ROV’s recovery will have to wait, Dr. Patterson. What I need to know, Mr. Mitchell, is the name of the individual who is responsible for this debacle — and nearly cost me my boat!”

Jerry heard Foster swallow hard behind him. Jerry knew it would be so easy to blame him for this whole incident. According to Greer and the others, Foster was the senior member present when the casualty occurred. And Davis would almost certainly back his claim. It was the Memphis way of doing business after all, pass the blame onto someone else. But that was not how Jerry was brought up or trained by his instructors at the Academy and by Commander Casey. When he signed on to Memphis and assumed the duties as the Torpedo Division Officer, he became responsible for whatever happened in this room.

“I’m waiting, mister!” snarled Hardy.

“Yes, sir,” replied Jerry, stalling as he built up his courage. “Based on my knowledge of the events that led up to the casualty, sir, I really can’t give you the name of a particular individual at this time.”

“That is totally unacceptable, Lieutenant!” screamed Hardy, his face and neck bulging with anger.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but there is no way I can name an individual with any degree of confidence,” replied Jerry firmly, but with respect. “We had a fitting, not installed by the ship’s crew, fail at two hundred feet when it is rated for considerably deeper depths. We had a control console that is supposed to be splash-proof, short out and burst into flames. Without investigating how and why these incidents occurred, I can’t tell you if one of my men is responsible or if the fault lies with SUBASE personnel or even Draper Labs.”

Hardy, completely unconvinced by Jerry’s argument, seethed and through clenched teeth said, “One last time, Lieutenant Mitchell, I’m ordering you to tell me who is responsible for this disaster!”

“Very well, Captain. If you want a name, then use mine. Because I’m responsible for what goes on in my torpedo room.”

An eerie silence descended on the group as all of them were surprised by Jerry’s forceful response to Hardy’s demand.

“Umm, Captain,” interrupted Patterson. “While this incident is of some importance to you, we do not have time to play your petty blame game when there are larger issues to consider. Can the ROV be recovered and can we continue on with our mission?”

Jerry recognized the snide “mission commander” tone in Patterson’s voice and knew that Hardy was in a poor position to negotiate since she had kept her questions strictly within the boundaries he had set for her. Recognizing the right answer when told, Hardy motioned for Jerry to address her questions.

“In regard to your first question, ma’am. Yes, I believe we can recover the ROV. As to the second, again, I don’t know. If we can’t determine the cause of the failure, then we can’t safely use the tube to support ROV ops. Since no other tube is configured to deploy the ROVs, that would constitute a mission-critical failure.” Jerry intentionally used Patterson’s own words from that morning’s briefing to drive his point home.

“I see. And if you can determine the cause of the failure?”

“If we can isolate the root cause — and if we can correct it — we should be able to support ROV deployments, barring any complications from the fire. As to whether or not we continue the mission, that is a decision that you and the Captain need to make.”

“Fair enough, Mr. Mitchell. Now, how do you propose we recover the ROV?”

Jerry turned toward Emily and asked, “Emily, did you keep the emergency retrieval hardware and software of the NMRS in your ROVs?”

“Certainly. Once the ROV detects a loss of signal continuity with the control console, it assumes that the fiber-optic cable has been severed and returns to the launch point. Once there, it emits a series of knock, knock pulses to alert the submarine that its back and waits for the homing beacon to be activated. But Jerry, without the drogue, we don’t have a homing beacon and we can’t position the ROV properly for it to be recovered by the mechanical arm.”

“Then, I guess someone will have to go outside and manhandle Duey into position.”

“Wait a minute,” Hardy protested. “I will not authorize a dive that requires decompression. And at two hundred feet your bottom time is only a few minutes before decompression is necessary.”

“Actually, Captain, it’s five minutes,” boomed Reynolds as he came down the starboard aisle between the storage racks. “And I agree with you, sir, a decompression dive is risky business even with seasoned divers. With inexperienced divers, it would be unacceptably risky. But somehow I don’t think Mr. Mitchell had a deep dive in mind, did you, sir?”

“No, COB, I didn’t,” smiled Jerry.

“Very well, then. What is your plan?” Hardy was now as curious as the others about what Jerry had in mind.

“We’ll position Memphis as close as possible to the launch point, but we’ll be at periscope depth. Once we know Duey is nearby, the divers will go out and call him up to our depth. We can then push it into position where the mechanical arm can grab it.”

“But Jerry, how will you call Duey?” asked Emily. “None of your hull arrays can transmit at a frequency that Duey’s sonar can pick up.”

“True enough. So we rig a portable power supply to one of the spare drogues and the divers lift it over the side and point it down toward Duey. If we do this right, the ROV will be less than three hundred yards away and its sonar should be able to detect the homing beacon.”

As she listened to Jerry’s scheme, Emily’s face became bright with hope. “Yes, Yes! That should work. Oh Jerry, you’re brilliant!”

Jerry was uncomfortable with her enthusiasm. “Let’s hold off on the ‘brilliant’ stuff until after we get Duey back, shall we?”

Hardy was silent as he considered Jerry’s idea. His wrinkled brow and clenched jaw showed his reservations, his uncertainty that the risk was justifiable. Finally he approached Reynolds and asked, “COB, what would your bottom time be for a dive of seventy feet?”

“Let’s see, seventy feet with no decompression would give us about fifty minutes, sir. That should be more than adequate for the job.”

Hardy started pacing as he continued to mull over Jerry’s proposal. As he walked, Reynolds kept feeding him more information. “We have the proper dive gear, and there is very little current to speak of. We have plenty of daylight left, so visibility shouldn’t be a problem. The only way we could reduce the risk further would be to go diving in a swimming pool.”

“Very well, COB. I’ll authorize the dive,” conceded Hardy with a sigh. “I trust you’ll be the lead diver, but who will be your partner on this dive?”

“Mr. Mitchell, sir.”

“Mitchell?” Hardy sounded incredulous.

“Yes, sir,” Reynolds answered politely “He’s a certified Navy diver, he possesses the best knowledge on the ROVs of any diver onboard, and I believe he has some ice diving experience. I’d say that makes him perfect for the job.”

Patterson, Hardy, and Emily all looked at Jerry as if he was some sort of circus freak. All that undesired attention made him feel a little uncomfortable, so he tried to explain. “I did some ice diving in Wisconsin and Minnesota as a kid. It’s really quite a unique experience diving under an ice canopy…and…ahh, just forget it.”

Patterson and Emily both laughed, while Hardy slowly shook his head. “All right COB, I’ll get Memphis in position while the two of you get ready.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Jerry and Reynolds in unison.

“I’ll break out the gear, Mr. Mitchell, while you finish giving your people their instructions,” said Reynolds.

“Okay, COB, I’ll be with you in a moment,” Jerry replied. Turning to Foster and Emily, he briefly discussed with them what they had to do to support the dive. Foster reassured him that tube three would be ready to receive the ROV, and Emily said it would take her twenty minutes to put together a portable power supply and connect it to one of the spare drogues.

Jerry found the COB at the far forward end of the torpedo room, removing the diving gear from their storage lockers. The paint on the lockers had been fried, but the lockers themselves were in good condition, as were their contents. Jerry was relieved to see that they had good crushed neoprene dry-suits to wear, but they didn’t have any insulated undergarments. This meant that he and the COB would get cold during this dive. It might take thirty minutes or so before they started to really feel it, but they’d still need a hot shower afterward.

After breaking out the gear from the lockers, it had to be moved to the crew’s mess, where they would suit up. Reynolds had several sailors lug the equipment up while he and Jerry went to their staterooms to change. Digging around in his locker, Jerry found the cotton sweatshirt and pants he’d brought and put them on, along with two pairs of socks. Back in the crew’s mess, Jerry found Reynolds already slipping into his drysuit. He tossed Jerry a container of talcum powder, which he applied liberally to the legs and arms of his suit before putting it on. After adjusting the neck, wrist, and ankle seals, Jerry put on his rubber boots and made sure that the boot and ankle seals overlapped. He did the same with the hood.

Reynolds then ran Jerry through the checklist to make sure the tank, regulator, gauges, and buoyancy compensator were all in working order. With that completed, all they could do was sit and wait for the sonar techs to find the lost ROV. They didn’t have to wait long. Fifteen minutes later, control called down to the crew’s mess to inform the divers that the ROV was close by and that it was up to them to bring it home. As Jerry and the COB started putting on their tanks, Bair came into the mess deck and told them that the starboard torpedo nest muzzle and shutter doors were already opened and that the mechanical arm had been extended. The floodlight on the arm would also be on and they were to use it as a navigation aid, if the visibility was not as good as they expected. He then wished them luck and issued a stern warning not to do anything heroically stupid.

As they picked up their masks, gloves, fins, and flashlights, Reynolds looked over to Jerry and said, “Time for you to become a true Bluenose, Mr. Mitchell.”

The wide grin on the COB’s face left Jerry feeling a bit uneasy. “Why do I get the impression that I should feel honored?”

“Because it is a true honor to actually swim in the realm of King Boreas. An honor that goes far beyond merely being sprayed down with seawater during the baptism.”

“Really? Well, I’ll take your word for it, Your Majesty. Just no more of that Prussian blue crap,” warned Jerry adamantly.

Reynolds laughed as he climbed the ladder up into the forward escape trunk. For a moment, Jerry wasn’t certain that the COB would fit through the hatch. He was such a big man to begin with, and he now had most of his diving gear on as well. But with surprising ease, the COB deftly navigated the hatchway. After all their other gear had been handed up, Jerry started climbing up the ladder.

“Press your chest onto the ladder, sir. That way you won’t snag the hatch seat,” coached Reynolds. Once Jerry’s tank was clear of the hatchway, Reynolds reached down and bodily pulled him up into the escape trunk. After being set down on the grate, Jerry called down, “Is that drogue and power supply ready?”

“Right here, sir,” responded Boyd. Jerry then heard a guttural, “Umph!” Followed by, “Sir, if you don’t mind, I could use a little help.”

Reynolds knelt on the grate and helped Jerry grab the large box in Boyd’s arms. It was rather heavy, and even the COB had to exert himself to lift it into the escape trunk. “Son of a buck!” Jerry exclaimed. “I thought Davis was going to make this thing portable!”

“Well, sir, it is — kinda. You can move it.”

Jerry was unimpressed and showed his concern. “Petty Officer Boyd, if we take this thing out of the escape trunk, we’ll go straight to the bottom.”

“Uhh, yes, sir, we know, sir,” replied Boyd with a smile. “That’s why we made sure there was enough umbilical cabling so you don’t have to remove the power supply from the escape trunk. Dr. Davis says all you have to do is point the drogue down over the starboard side and push the black button. As long as the button is depressed, it’ll keep transmitting the homing beacon.”

As Jerry pulled the cabling into the trunk, Boyd and Greer lifted the drogue and pushed it up into the trunk for the two men to grab. As they lifted the drogue, Jerry noticed that it weighed almost as much as the power supply. There were two metal gas bottles taped to it, too, one on each side. “What the hell are these for?” he asked, pointing to one of the cylinders.

“It was Dr. Davis’ idea, sir. They’re empty. She said their buoyancy should make the drogue easier to handle once you’re out in the water.”

“Would you please thank her for us, TM2? And we’ll see you when we get back.”

Once everyone was clear, Reynolds shut and dogged the lower escape trunk. With the hatch closed, Jerry repositioned the drogue and the cabling so that he and the COB had at least a little room to don the rest of their gear. “It’s a bit tight in here, isn’t it?” remarked Jerry tensely. As Jerry started to put on his fins and gloves, Reynolds saw that he was agitated, uneasy. As the COB put on his fins, he glanced over at Jerry and asked, “Nervous?”

Jerry let out a brief sigh and then admitted, “No COB, I think a better word is ‘scared.’ I’ve never left a submerged submarine before, and I’ve never made a dive hundreds of miles from the nearest shore.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Mitchell. It’s all right to be a little scared. I actually prefer it that way because I know you’ll be more careful. Now, once we get out there, we stay in each other’s sight at all times. There is no reason for us to be apart, understood?”

Even though Jerry was an officer and Reynolds a senior enlisted man, Jerry knew that the COB had the authority of experience, and in this situation, he gave the orders. “Understood, COB.”

“Okay, then,” said Reynolds as he opened the valve. “Let’s get wet!”

Below the grate, Jerry heard the rush of seawater as it quickly began to fill the escape trunk. He could feel the temperature inside dropping sharply on his face as the water rose up over his feet. Reynolds reached down and scooped up some seawater and swished it around in his full face mask. As he put it on, he leaned over to Jerry and shouted, “If you think the dousing I gave during the Bluenose ceremony was bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

Jerry did the same, but waited until the last minute before pulling the mask down over his face. As he adjusted the straps, the frigid arctic water rose over his head. Suddenly, a sharp chill clawed its way down Jerry’s back, as a few drops of seawater slipped between the facemask and his dry suit. The unexpected cold caused Jerry to inhale sharply. Reynolds shook his head, a broad smile on his face. Moments later, the trunk was filled with water and Reynolds opened the upper hatch. A small amount of air bubbled its way to the surface.

Reynolds exited first and then reached down for the drogue. Jerry handed it to the COB, and after making sure that the umbilical cable wouldn’t get caught on anything, pulled himself out onto Memphis’ hull. The sea that greeted Jerry was grayish-green in color and the visibility wasn’t too bad. The sail of the submarine was clearly discernable, but the rudder was harder to make out. Looking up, he could see the ocean surface. The sun was bright and rippled by the low waves. Jerry heard a long, low moaning sound in the distance: whale song.

Jerry’s heart rate increased significantly, as did his breathing. He had to force himself to breathe more slowly, and he tried to think about things that would soothe him. He had to calm down or he would expend his air too quickly. Reynolds motioned with his light for Jerry to follow and they swam past the sail, looming darkly to one side. When they reached the weapons shipping hatch, a dull glow could be seen over the starboard side. It was the light on the retrieval arm.

Jerry tapped the COB on the shoulder and motioned for him to give Jerry the drogue. Reynolds passed it to him, and with the drogue firmly under his arm, Jerry swam about twenty feet away from Memphis. He then pointed it down and pushed the button. He had no way of knowing if the homing signal was being transmitted or not. The frequency of the pulses was about twenty times higher than the human ear could possibly hear. All he could do was keep his position in the water and press the button.

After about five minutes, Jerry’s eyes made out a very dim, ghostly cloud that seemed to be coming toward him. He pointed his flashlight at Reynolds and then swept it down in the direction of the faint glow. Reynolds looked downward for a few seconds, and then he suddenly looked back up at Jerry and gave him the “okay” sign.

As Duey came up, Jerry could see that it was still too far away from the sub, so he kept on transmitting the homing signal. He hoped that as Duey got closer it would adjust its speed as it tried to find the docking signal. True to its programming, the ROV did indeed slow as it got closer and closer to the drogue. This gave Jerry an idea.

Signaling for Reynolds to follow, Jerry started swimming down toward the starboard tube nest. Holding the drogue about two feet from Memphis’ hull, Jerry and Reynolds watched as Duey obediently followed the homing signal. When it was about ten feet away, the bright lights on the ROV turned themselves off. The light and the camera assembly then retracted itself back into the ROVs body and Duey seemed to coast the remaining few feet. Reynolds then reached out and wrapped his huge arms around the ROV’s midbody. Jerry released the drogue, which bounced harmlessly against the acoustic tiling on the submarine’s hull, and he too grappled with Emily’s lost “baby.”

For the next fifteen minutes, the two of them wrestled with the ROV as they tried to get it into the reach of the mechanical arm. After a lot of tugging, pushing, and shoving, they finally managed to coax the vehicle toward the open torpedo tubes. All of a sudden, they felt a jolt and heard a sharp metallic noise as the retrieval arm finally captured the ROV. Both men quickly moved away from the vehicle and watched as Duey was gently guided back into torpedo tube number three. Just to be sure, they stayed until both shutter doors were closed. Then they retrieved the drogue and made their way back to the forward escape trunk.

Once they were safely inside, Reynolds shut and dogged the outer hatch. As he opened the drain valve, Jerry finally felt himself relax. He also realized that he was shaking. The cold had set in faster than he had originally thought, particularly around his hands, feet, and face. On top of that, his body ached from the exertion of playing tug-of-war with a recalcitrant ROV. When the air bubble in the escape trunk was large enough, Reynolds spit out his mouthpiece, and with shivering blue lips said, “Not too shabby for your first dive, sir.”

“Thank you, COB. It was an honor,” replied a very tired Jerry.

Seven minutes later, Reynolds opened the lower hatch and the two of them wearily lowered their gear — and themselves — onto the deck. With a little help, the two slowly walked to the crew’s mess. Jerry and Reynolds had just plopped down onto a couple of chairs when Bair showed up.

“Well done, you two! I guess I don’t have to tell you that Doctors Patterson and Davis are ecstatic over your successful recovery of the ROV.”

Jerry could only nod in response to the XO’s compliments. He was pleased they had succeeded, particularly for Emily’s sake, but he really needed to warm up before he could celebrate.

“For your outstanding efforts, I’m awarding you both a fifteen-minute hot shower. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to thaw you guys out until tomorrow morning.” Jerry appreciated the XO’s humor almost as much as the idea of a long hot shower. As the two divers started to remove their gear, Bair slipped over to Jerry and whispered, “The Captain wants to see you in his stateroom in forty-five minutes. Don’t take too long, okay?”

Somehow Jerry knew this was going to happen. Hardy still wanted to pin the blame for this disaster on someone, and he expected Jerry to give him that someone. Again, Jerry nodded his acknowledgment of the XO’s message. Twenty minutes later, hot fresh water was pouring over his cold body.

Jerry was still getting dressed when he heard a knock at the door. “It’s Emily Davis, Jerry.”

“Wait one,” he answered and quickly pulled on his coveralls and zipped them up. Still in his stocking feet, he opened the door. “Please come in.”

He motioned her to a seat, but she shook her head and remained standing. With Hardy waiting, he felt a little rushed, and sat down to put on his shoes.

“Jerry, I want to apologize for the things I said earlier.”

“Emily, you were upset. Nobody’s mad at you. We understand how much those ROVs mean to you. They’re important to us, too.”

“And I knew that too, but I still yelled at you. I guess it was because I was still afraid. The roar of that water coming in, the smoke and fire, and there was no way to get away from it. It was my worst nightmare.” She shivered, holding her shoulders. “I’m still shaking.”

As he listened, Jerry finished dressing and took a moment to check his appearance in his mirror. He had to report to Hardy shortly, but he didn’t want to look like a slob when he did.

Jerry turned to face her and tried to sound as positive as he could. “But you got through it, just like we all did. We were all scared. We all got through it because of our training. And next time, if there is one,” he added reassuringly, “you’ll be better prepared for it.”

Jerry stepped toward the door and Davis moved to one side. “Excuse me, but the Captain’s waiting.”

Followed by Davis, he climbed the ladder to the upper level, heading for Hardy’s stateroom. Dr. Patterson was in control when she saw Jerry climbing up the ladder and stepped out to meet him.

“Lieutenant Mitchell, thank you very much for recovering the ROV. You and Master Chief Reynolds risked your lives for our mission. I won’t ever forget that.”

Patterson spoke so warmly that Jerry fought to keep the surprise from his face and had to pause a moment before answering lamely, “Thank you, ma’am. I’m glad we were successful.”

“I was afraid the whole time you were out there. For you two, of course, and for the mission, and for what almost happened in the torpedo room. I promise never to complain about drills again.”

“Mr. Mitchell!” Hardy’s impatient call interrupted Jerry’s weak reply. Leaving the two women, Jerry took the few steps necessary to reach the Captain’s stateroom.

Out of habit, he knocked on the doorjamb as he answered, “Lieutenant (j.g.) Mitchell reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Get in here and close the door behind you.” Jerry did as he was told and stood, unprompted, silently at attention.

Hardy sat in his chair, outwardly relaxed, but his face showed the strain of the past few hours. “Mr. Mitchell, this entire sorry episode is further evidence of your poor leadership and lax control. A small leak becomes a fire which almost costs us mission-critical equipment, and the only way to save the situation is to risk the lives of two members of my crew.”

“Yes, sir.” Jerry couldn’t think of what else to say, but evidently it wasn’t what Hardy was looking for.

“ ‘Yes, sir?’ Is that the best you can do?” Hardy stood up, as if to pace or somehow burn off nervous energy, but there was little room. “We could have lost this submarine and the lives of everyone aboard. Even after the danger to Memphis was ended, we had to take more risks to get the ROV back.

“You could have failed and left us short an ROV. You and Reynolds could have failed and died, which would have left us short an ROV and two crew.

“And I’m the one who’d have to go back and explain everything to a lot of very disappointed flag officers.” Hardy sat heavily in his chair, looking drained. “It’s easy when you’ve only got yourself or a small group to be responsible for. I’m responsible for this boat, and all the men aboard and everything they do, and the mission on top of that. If anything goes wrong on Memphis, I’m the one who will have to account for it.”

Hardy paused, then continued in a more businesslike tone. “So I want to know exactly who screwed up. I’ll make sure he never makes that mistake again, and everyone else will see what happens to those who do make mistakes.”

Jerry was appalled. Moran had screwed up, but he wasn’t the root cause of the casualty and he certainly didn’t merit the kind of punishment that Hardy seemed to be planning. He quickly answered, “Sir, Petty Officer Moran had been told by Dr. Davis that the fitting would leak a little. In fact, she told that to Senior Chief Foster and me as well. When it started to leak faster, Moran immediately called Senior Chief Foster to come and look at it, since he had observed the fitting during the first trial. Before Foster could do anything but look at the fitting, the gasket failed for reasons still unknown.”

Jerry didn’t mention that these highly trained men each failed to act because they were afraid to make a mistake. Better to do nothing than goof and get punished. Better still to find someone in authority, so it’s not your fault. In the meantime, of course, things went to hell.

“And while everyone’s running around deciding what to do, the sub and the mission and everyone’s life is in jeopardy. Successfully recovering from a casualty is not an acceptable substitute for safe procedures in the first place.”

Jerry screwed up his courage, but he found it easy to say. “Sir, with all due respect, I do not believe Moran’s actions merit any punishment. He acted as soon as he saw a problem.”

“Then why did we almost lose the boat?” Hardy countered angrily. “Don’t think that defending him will reduce your guilt in this business. You are ultimately responsible for everything that happens in your division. Just as I am responsible for everything that happens on Memphis.” He sighed heavily. “Get your division in order, mister. We were lucky this time. There will be no next time.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Jerry responded dutifully.

“Get out.”

Jerry got out quickly and immediately headed down the two decks to the torpedo room. Almost all of the division was there, working on the space. While it had been dewatered, there was a lot of cleanup left, as well as the repairs to the weapons launching console and the ROV.

Hardy was right. Jerry did have to get the division in line.

Senior Chief Foster was working on the console with FT1 Bearden when Jerry entered the torpedo room, “Senior Chief, I need to talk to the entire division right now for a few minutes. Please call them together. And make sure that door to berthing is closed,” he said, pointing to the opening in the back of the space.

Puzzled, Foster nodded and barked an order to Jobin. “Get Davidson and Willis out of berthing. And Larsen, close that door.”

The rest of the division was curious as well and stopped work to gather around their division officer and senior chief. By the time Larsen had closed the door, isolating them from the passageway and the berthing area, the other enlisted members had arrived.

Jerry waited until they were all present and close by, so he didn’t have to raise his voice. He suddenly realized he should have rehearsed his talk a little, but he knew what he had to say.

“I’ve just come from Captain Hardy.” He could almost see everyone, especially Moran, tense. “There will not be any disciplinary action, and I want to personally commend everyone for the way they acted.”

There were a few audible sighs, and Jerry did feel the division relax. “Everyone did exactly what they were supposed to do, and we helped to save the boat and the mission. But we can do better.”

Jerry stopped for a moment, then spoke carefully. “We had a small leak that grew to a big one and ultimately became a fire. The casualty could have been stopped earlier, but the watchstander”—he avoided using Moran’s name—”was unsure of what do. He didn’t want to make a mistake.” Jerry carefully did not look at Moran, but he did see some others in the division nodding, and Jobin silently mouthed, “Damn straight.” Foster looked thoughtful.

“We don’t always have that much time during a casualty, and we almost didn’t have it today.” Trying to speak to the entire division, he continued, “I trust your judgment, and if any of you see a problem, I want you to deal with it. Immediately. Call for help, but from now on, don’t wait for it.

“Whatever happens, right or wrong, as long as you’re acting in the best interests of Memphis, I’ll do my best to protect you.” It was a strong statement, but he’d kept Hardy from persecuting Moran, and could only hope he could do it again.

“That’s all I’ve got. Do your best, and I’ll back you up.” He nodded to Senior Chief Foster, who ordered, “All right, everyone, back at it! We’ve still got a lot of work to do to get this place squared away.”

Jerry watched as the torpedo gang returned to work. He turned to Foster, reluctant to ask what should have been a routine question, but he was the man to ask. “Senior Chief, what’s our status?”

“I’ve got the FTs working on the panel, of course, and Moran, Greer, and Boyd are working on the ROVs. Everyone else is giving the space a field day, sir.” Foster paused and then added. “As soon as Bearden and I have checked out the console, I’ll find you and fill you in.”

“Thank you, Senior Chief.” Jerry responded automatically, and Foster turned to go back to the badly damaged console.

Jerry was surprised by Foster’s complete, polite report. It was the last thing he’d expected. He was so used to Foster’s hostility that its lack confused Jerry, and he looked for some hidden trick on insult, but he couldn’t find one.