“Still, I’d be happy if you’d try harder.”
“I will, Eve. I promise.” Eric bent over and kissed his wife. He found her lips softer than their usual peck. He kissed her again, this time harder. “What do you say we turn in early and make it an unprecedented two times in the same week?”
“With that kind of romantic talk, how can a girl resist,” she replied. Holding hands, they walked into the house.
Captain Bostwick yanked his head from beneath the periscope yoke and snapped the handles to the stowed position, the signal for his assistant to lower the scope.
Quartermaster Henri announced, “Number one coming down.” He rotated the control actuator, and the huge shaft hissed into its well.
Brent said, “Too dark to get much on the peri-viz monitor, Captain. What’s it like up there?”
The captain had not followed through with the threatened action to remove him from the watch bill and Brent continued to stand his watch.
Bostwick replied, “Bleak, but good. No evidence of anyone on the island, but to make sure we’re not spotted, we’ll wait till after dark before surfacing. Take a single ping sounding, Henri.”
Henri said, “Single ping, aye, Captain,” and then operated the Fathometer. “Hundred and twenty feet under the keel, Captain. That’s a charted sounding of l88, sir.”
Adding the recorded sounding to the submarine’s keel depth, Henri compared it to what the navigation chart showed for their position. The young black took every opportunity to insure everyone knew nothing slipped by him.
Bostwick, resenting Henri’s unneeded detailed explanation, took a breath to respond but let it pass. “Okay, Brent, do race tracks here for thirty minutes. Mix up the sounding intervals, but average three per minute. If they fall below a hundred, head east immediately and call me.”
The captain turned to Henri, “That’s below the keel, Petty Officer Henri,” making his point after all.
Brent believed he would never understand the captain’s attitudes. He had a habit of disapproving plans and recommendations, but once having bought in, he would reverse his attitude completely. Brent considered the captain performed a masterful job of directing his ship to an anchorage in uncertain waters.
He reckoned Bostwick’s self-confidence grew as a function of time. The more we’re successful, the more effective he is. Unfortunately, reversal makes his self confidence crash.
Effective commanding officers innovate in the face of disaster. Bostwick possessed the fundamentals but lacked the ability to pull it all together on his own.
Brent ordered, “Up number two for a look around, Henri.”
The young black responded, “Two coming up.”
Placing his face against the eyepiece when the upper window broke the water, Brent led Henri in a wild circular dance as they swung the scope around completely within five seconds.
“Dip scope,” and the shaft lowered about six feet and stopped.
Henri said, “Mark your depth, Chief.” He double-checked to be sure the scope upper optics remained beneath the surface.
Cunningham replied, “Six-eight feet and steady.”
Three pay-grades senior to Henri, COB carried out the order without hesitation. Submariners do not stand on ceremony.
“Getting pretty dark up there,” Brent noted. “I need a final look at the tangents,” referring to the bearings of both extremities of the island. “Up scope.” Again, the hissing as the scope rose and the metallic clack of the yoke butting against the upper stops. “Put me on Henri, left tangent first.”
With his hands over Brent’s on the periscope handles, Henri rotated counterclockwise. “Should be right about here, sir.”
Brent cried out, “See it!” He then shifted to high power and trained the scope one degree to the right. “Bearing, mark.”
Henri recorded the bearing and did so again when Brent marked the right tangent. The sounding checked with Denver’s plotted position. “Everything perfect here, Mr. Maddock.”
“Pretty good set of charts you swiped for us, Henri,” then ordered, “Have the engineer assemble his repair party in the Attack Center.”
The six-man patch party included the auxiliary officer and five enlisted men, all warmly dressed. Each man carried a piece of the equipment needed to make the repair. They had gas cutting torches, an arc welding kit, several tool bags and a deck plate from the machinery compartment to make the patch.
Brent reported over the 2l MC, “Repair party assembled in the Attack Center, Captain. All preparations completed for surfacing.”
Bostwick replied, “Okay, Brent, I’m on the way.”
Reaching the Attack Center the captain raised number one scope for a final look. A dark moonless night, coupled with a low heavy overcast that obscured the stars, made Denver difficult to spot with the human eye.
With a calm voice, Bostwick said, “Soon as we’re up, we’ll proceed directly to the anchorage. Get as close to the island as we can but no less than ten feet below the keel. We’ll drop at ten feet. Too dark for tangents so we’ll wing it. Henri, you been keeping a tight DR?”
The captain referred to a dead reckoning track, which employed times, course and speed changes, computed to the ship’s position and recorded on the chart.
Henri responded, “The tightest, Captain.”
The two exchanged a grin.
Bostwick addressed the auxiliary officer, “Bill, when the bridge reports hatch clear, I want you to go out on deck with the Chief and get back with a quick report of the damage, got that?”
“Got it, Captain.”
“Raise the ESM mast and do a complete electronic countermeasure search.”
An ECM antenna sat atop the ESM mast. A short time later the operator reported, “No contacts except for distant aircraft radars.”
The captain said, “We’ll have those continuously,” then ordered, “Leave the mast up and search for anything significant. Keep me informed.”
Brent replied, “Aye, sir, we’ll do it.”
Bostwick took a deep breath then turned to his conning officer and said, “Okay, Brent, let’s go.”
Inwardly, it infuriated him to converse with young Maddock, but Bostwick put his money on the best officer he had for the operation.
Henri announced throughout the ship on the 1MC, “Surface, surface, surface.”
The sound of high-pressure air rushing into the ballast tanks briefly masked Denver’s sonar. The submarine shuddered to the surface and held.
After initiating a low-pressure blow to remove remaining ballast, Brent climbed onto the bridge and at once inhaled the smell of marine growth that had accumulated in Denver’s superstructure over the past four weeks beneath the Pacific. It reminded him of the prophecy in the opening chapter of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, “One day you will smell land where there is no land.” The prophet alluded to the scent of marine growth that had accumulated on the great white whale — the same odor as from a landfall.
Looking around, Brent saw nothing. A shaft of light burst from the deck hatch as the two engineers came up to assess the damage. Damn, he thought, shouldn’t have done that. Flashlight beams moved ahead of the two men and he could hear metallic sounds from their belt guides as they dragged along the safety track.