Stan Roth seemed utterly frustrated.
“How the hell should I know, Mac? I’m no jaw breaker!”
Sensing the degree of his shipmate’s distress, the torpedoman put down his partially eaten cob.
“Easy, Stan. I’m not purposely trying to aggravate you. I only wanted to know what that dentist did for your toothache.”
After a series of calming breaths, the sonar technician replied.
“First off, I should have walked right out of there the moment I entered that clinic, because there wasn’t a soul in the waiting room. Some scrawny nurse had me put what seemed like my whole life’s history on a form and then led me into the back room. We must have surprised the hell of that jaw breaker, because we caught him red-handed, putting golf balls into one of those electronic gadgets that simulate a golf hole.
“He must have been right out of dental school, because not only did he look as innocent as a choir boy, he had pimples as well. But that’s beside the point, because the next thing I know he’s got me in the chair and that’s when the fun really began.”
“Did he use the drill?” quizzed the wide-eyed torpedoman who had temporarily abandoned his silverware.
Stanley shook his head.
“No, he only poked around a bit with some sort of probe. Then, after scraping off a bit of tartar, he treated the gum with some horrible-tasting medicine and dismissed me with a warning to brush and floss after every meal or I’d lose that tooth for sure.” While carefully rubbing his lower jaw, Stan added.
“Right now, I’m beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t have pulled it right there. At least it still wouldn’t be bothering me.”
Compassion etched his dining companion’s face, as Brian picked up knife and fork and responded while cutting up the remainder of the T-bone.
“I don’t know about that, Stan. The pain has got to go away sometime, and why lose a perfectly good tooth if you don’t have to.”
“Jesus, Mac, I’ve had this damn toothache for over two weeks now, and it’s really starting to get to me! Why I can’t even get down a cup of hot coffee without it killing me.”
“Now that’s serious,” retorted the torpedoman between bites of meat. “Say, didn’t those painkillers Pills gave you last week do some good?”
Stanley pushed away his bowl of half-eaten oatmeal and replied.
“Sure, they took away the ache for a while, but in the process they left me so doped up I couldn’t even stand my normal watch. And when they eventually wore off, I was stuck with that same damn throbbing pain all over again.”
“My friend, I really do have compassion for you,” offered Mac as he cleaned off his plate, mopped up the remaining juices with a piece of bread, and reached for a big slice of apple pie.
Sickened by this sight, Stanley retorted.
“At least your compassion hasn’t spoiled your appetite any. Christ, Mac, you’re worse than a pig!”
Not taking this remark seriously, the torpedoman attempted to change the subject.
“Lighten up. Roth. That toothache will go away, and you’ll be right back here wolfing down the chow with the best of ‘em. But until then, you’ve got to get your mind onto something other than what ails you. Otherwise, you’re going to wig right on out of here.”
“I’m afraid that sounds a lot easier to do than it actually is, Mac.”
“I don’t know about that, Stan. You haven’t by any chance seen the latest addition to the Defiance’s crew as yet, have you?”
As Roth shook his head indicating he hadn’t, his grinning shipmate glib’y continued.
“Well you’d better prepare yourself, sailor, because one look at that face and body and you’ll forget all about that damn toothache of yours.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Mac?”
“I’m talking about a young, good-looking dame, living right here inside this very same hull, along with you, me, and the rest of the boys!”
“Aw, come off it, Mac. What kind of sucker do you think I am? Everyone knows that the US Navy doesn’t allow women aboard it’s submarines while they’re on patrol.”
“Are you calling me a liar. Roth? Or perhaps you don’t think I have enough experience to know the difference between a man and a woman when I see one. Because I’m telling you we’ve got a female on board this submarine, and a stone fox at that!”
Though still thinking this all a mind game, Stanley couldn’t help but be impressed by his shipmate’s sincerity.
“So the Defiance has a woman on board. I guess next you’ll be telling me she’s been assigned to share the crew’s berthing facilities.”
The torpedoman snickered.
“Very funny, Stan. Actually, from what I heard from the chief, she’s staying in Lieutenant Commander Layman’s cabin. The XO’s moved in with lieutenants Marshall and Sanger.”
With the sudden realization that this wasn’t a joke after all, Stanley further probed.
“Is this female you’re talking about in the Navy?”
Mac was all business as he answered.
“Again it was the chief who explained that she’s some civilian hotshot with the Naval Arctic’s lab. Seems she was sent on the Defiance to have a look at that surface-scanning Fathometer that was almost responsible for deep-sixing us back under the ice. Since she barely had time to look at the unit before we were ordered back to sea, and since scuttlebutt has it we’re returning to the ice once again, she was sent along to repair it while we’re on the way.”
“Well, I’ll be,” reflected the senior sonar technician. “I thought the crew looked a bit more dapper than their normal grubby selves when I boarded late this afternoon.”
A sudden thought entered MacMillian’s mind and his eyes widened.
“Say Stanley, isn’t that new Fathometer somehow tied in with your sonar gear?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. Why do you ask, Mac?”
A bit more excitedly, the blond-haired torpedoman answered.
“Because that means she’ll most likely be working in the sound shack. Damn, you lucky stiff! Say, Stan, if her duty does send her into the sonar room, and your toothache gets too bad, just call the forward torpedo room and I’ll be happy to fill in for you.”
“I’ll bet you would,” remarked Roth. He couldn’t wait to see this mysterious woman his shipmate was raving about so, and he suddenly realized that since they’d been talking about her, his tooth had miraculously stopped throbbing.
While sailors throughout the three-hundred-foot vessel were immersed in similar discussions concerning the latest addition to the crew, the woman responsible for this scuttlebutt sat in her cramped, Spartan quarters in officer’s country. Laurie Lansing had been so busy organizing her technical materials, she was just now finding the time to sit back and reflect on more personal concerns. Though she was certainly no stranger to submarines, and had even gone to sea on one before, this would be her first overnight stay on such a craft. Thus her perspective was completely different on this occasion.
The cabin she found herself in was just about the same size as the roomette of a train. It had a similar Pullman-type washbasin that folded up into the wall when not in use. The rest of the furnishings consisted of a built-in bunk, beneath which was a clothing locker, a small desk and chair, and a mounted bookshelf.
Even though cramped, it would allow her space to work in peace, and would give her some semblance of privacy. This last feature was most appreciated, considering that she was the only female in a crew of 107 men. Though she didn’t foresee any problems developing in this respect, it was nevertheless somewhat comforting to have a solid door to shut behind her when she desired to be alone.
Were it not for the digital knot indicator and Fathometer mounted in front of the bunk, she would have found it hard to believe they were currently three-hundred feet beneath the Atlantic, clipping away at a steady twenty knots. Except for a slight tilting sensation that had followed the triggering of the dive klaxon, there’d been absolutely no sensation of movement or instability, though this hadn’t been the case when they were still traveling on the surface. The keelless vessel had incessantly rolled in the endless ocean swells, and for a while there Laurie had thought she might vomit. Fortunately, she had been too busy organizing her work materials to pay her nausea much attention, and it soon passed.