He now looked worried as well as confused, and as they went down the stairs—ladder, Cavanaugh corrected himself — Truitt explained, “Even a small fire puts out lots of smoke, and in a closed environment there’s nowhere for the smoke to go.”
They reached a locker labeled “EAB Storage” and Truitt reached inside, returning immediately with a bag that had what looked like a gas mask in it, except for the rubber hose trailing from it. Truitt explained about the emergency air supply piping that ran through the sub, with quick-connect fittings. He showed the civilian how to get the mask on, test to make sure it was tight, and then find and hook up to one of the fittings. “I’m still memorizing where all these fittings are. It’s one of the things I have to know before I can get my dolphins.” He tapped the empty spot over his right shirt pocket.
“How many are there?” Cavanaugh asked.
“There are 204 manifolds with four or five connections each,” Truitt replied instantly. “I also have to be able to draw the piping network from memory, know where the air comes from, and what to do if we need to isolate a manifold.” He handed Cavanaugh the bag and helped him stow the mask properly — another thing for the newcomer to practice. “Each space has EABs in it, including your stateroom. It’s really a good idea to know where the masks and manifolds are in each space — even if you’re not getting qualified in submarines. And don’t be surprised if the XO makes you grab a mask and show him you know how to use it,” Truitt warned.
It was now almost eleven o’clock, and Truitt got Cavanaugh headed back toward officer’s country before taking his leave. He jokingly warned the civilian, “If you see daylight, you’ve made a wrong turn.”
But the main passageway was fairly straight, and once he spotted the wardroom, Cavanaugh’s uncertainty vanished. Navigating his way back to “his” stateroom, he opened the door and walked in to find someone else in the middle of changing from a white uniform into the dark blue coveralls Truitt said were called “poopie suits.”
Confused, Cavanaugh started to back out, saying, “Excuse me,” but then he saw his own belongings, confirming that he was in the right stateroom. Even more confused, he noticed a puckered, circular scar on the other’s shoulder.
“No, you’re good,” the stranger barked as he straightened up, pulling on the coveralls and zipping them closed, and turned to offer his hand. “I’m Jerry Mitchell.”
Cavanaugh saw silver eagles on the collar tabs of Mitchell’s coveralls. Mitchell. This is the guy that President Hardy put aboard to run the mission. “Captain — I mean Commodore…”
“Either will suffice, but just Jerry is fine when we’re in a private setting. And you’re Dr. Daniel Cavanaugh. Carter’s captain has already briefed me on your role. I have some questions for you, but there’s time for that later.”
“Of course — Jerry, anything I can do…”
As Mitchell was pocketing different items, Cavanaugh looked for the third bunk.
Jerry saw his confusion, and explained. “I’ve taken over the XO’s stateroom, but you’re staying here. I think the XO will be bunking with the engineer on this trip. Rank does have some perks. The only stateroom with more space is the captain’s.”
“But then shouldn’t I move?”
“No. Not only are you a guest on board Carter, but your civil service pay grade makes you roughly equivalent to a captain. Not that you’d give him any orders, but technically, you outrank Captain Weiss.” He grinned. “So you and I get to split the extra two square feet of floor space in the XO’s stateroom.”
Mitchell grabbed a clipboard from what was now his desk and said, “I’ve got to run now, but I would like to get together. Can we meet after dinner?”
“Of course,” Cavanaugh answered, and Jerry was out the door.
Cavanaugh nodded as Jerry left, then grabbing the chair by his desk, he sat down, his brain overloaded with all the new information that had just been crammed into it. He tried to organize what he’d learned, where everything was, and sort out who he’d met. It was very different from what he’d expected. His impressions were all of people and technology packed into tight quarters. It was at odds with his first sight of Carter’s massive black hull in the dry dock.
As he sat, the excitement faded, and a wave of fatigue washed over him. The morning would have worn him out even if he’d been well rested.
Climbing into the upper bunk was another challenge, but he made it. Truitt said that they started serving lunch in the wardroom at twelve o’clock, which gave him just under an hour for a quick nap.
He missed lunch.
Jerry headed aft to the mission spaces, specifically the UUV bay, passing through the berthing area as unobtrusively as possible. He greeted those he knew by name. There were even a few of Jimmy Carter’s crew who had served with him on other boats, including Carter’s chief of the boat, or COB. Jerry would chat for a moment with his former shipmates, but always excused himself as soon as possible. Everybody had more than enough work to do, getting ready for the undocking, but more importantly, he didn’t want to answer any questions about why he was aboard. The best way to do that was to not give the crew any chances to ask them. Jerry knew he’d have to sit down with Master Chief Paul Gibson eventually and explain what was going on, but that would have to wait. Although, Jerry was confident Gibson already knew he was coming along on the mission.
Carter was doubly familiar to him. Not only had he been aboard as the squadron commander, but he’d also served as navigator aboard Seawolf, the first boat of the class. Jimmy Carter was the third and last boat of the same class, and differed from her sisters only in having an extra hundred feet hull section added amidships.
The multi-mission bay held, among other things, the UUV hangar and control center. Climbing down the ladder into the hangar, Jerry saw the two UUVs in their cradles. Looking at the blunt, rounded nose, Jerry was sometimes reminded of a loaf of bread; it was eighteen feet long, four feet wide, and painted blue-black. It had an almost square cross-section, which allowed more internal space for batteries and other equipment. The back end was sharply tapered, with a stubby x-tail and a simple five-bladed propeller. In many respects, they were similar to the UUVs he had on North Dakota.
The two vehicles sat in large cradles that allowed the crew to service them and then move them to what the U.S. Navy had designated the “Ocean Interface Module.” Carter’s crew called it the “Hatch.” Besides being used to launch a UUV while submerged, it could also be used as a lockout chamber for combat swimmers.
As Jerry entered the space, officers and enlisted men were clustered around the UUV named José. A stack of metal cylinders, the acoustic beacons, lay to one side. LT Kathy Owens, Carter’s weapons officer, stopped what she was doing and came to attention as he came in. She didn’t salute, of course, since they were indoors. The others kept working. A chief petty officer held a tablet that was connected by a cable to José. As he typed commands with the tablet, a petty officer lying underneath the vehicle’s payload bay reported the results.
“We’re making good progress with the beacons, Commodore,” Owens reported brightly. She was short, even for submariners, with curly hair that threatened to explode out from under a blue ball cap. “I’ve still got my techs working on them. The beacons all work, of course, but my guys are making doubly sure they’re watertight, programming in the unique ID codes, and disabling the ‘pinger’ mode. Transponder only.”