Jabo was still in machinery one when Master Chief Cote showed up holding his Polaroid in one hand and a large knife in the other, something Jabo suspected he’d been taking to sea since Vietnam. He carefully took photos from every angle of the navigator’s lifeless body. Then they pulled a stool over from the diesel control panel, and Jabo held it steady as Cote climbed up, and slashed through the belt that held the navigator. The dead man landed on pointed toes, like a gymnast, and then fell straight over on his face with a splash. There was no hurry to get him out of there, and moving the body was a pain in the ass in EABs, but Jabo and the master chief did it anyway, both of them, without saying it, feeling it important to get him out of there. They got two men on the upper side of the ladder to help pull him up, and then wrestled him into the freezer, where they sat him next to the heavy green bag that held Howard, the first man he’d killed.
It took four hours to get all the water off the boat, with both trim pumps and the submersible pumps working in concert, very efficiently at the shallow depth. Wipe down teams went in with bags stuffed with rags afterward, still encumbered by their EABs, wiping up whatever trace of water that remained. As they did so, maneuvering kept close track of electrical grounds, which slowly climbed into the normal range as the ship dried out.
It took six hours to ventilate the ship to the point where EABs could be removed. When the word was passed, every man pulled his mask off and breathed in the fresh Pacific air that had displaced the smoke, fear, and steam that had filled their ship for so long. The men looked at each other, having not seen each others’ faces in many hours. Their eyes met briefly, knowingly. They allowed themselves to acknowledge what they had all just gone through, then looked away, eager to move on, eager to keep busy with the endless activity needed to restore the ship to normal.
Shortly after EABs were removed, Jabo climbed the ladder in the middle of the control room, ready to shift the watch topside, to the bridge. There had been a lively debate about this in control. The XO thought they should keep the ship buttoned up, keep the watch in control, afraid that if the ship went down again with the bridge open, for any reason, they would not recover. The captain, on the other hand, wanted real human eyes topside as long as they were travelling under their own power, and was confident, after six hours, that the ship was securely on the surface. As was typical in these types of debates…the captain won.
Jabo would be the first on the bridge. He climbed until he could reach the opening ring of the lower hatch, spun it all the way counter-clockwise. Then he climbed another step, so he could push his shoulder against the hatch. A slight difference in pressure had developed between the ship and the world, and it took all of Jabo’s considerable strength to move the hatch against it. As it opened a crack, warm air rushed in, as if the giant ship were taking a deep breath.
The interior of the bridge trunk was lit by a single yellow bulb. It smelled good, like the sea, the smell of being close to home, because that was generally the only time the ship was surfaced, at the very beginning and the very end of patrol. He scurried up the next ladder, to the upper hatch. He spun the ring and opened it, revealing a circle of blindingly bright daylight above him. He climbed up a third ladder, toward the light.
As he climbed, something glistening in the dark cavity behind the rungs caught his eye.
He reached through with his damaged, left hand. He felt something slimy against the small bare patch of un-bandaged skin on his palm. He pulled the flashlight off his belt, curious, and looked again.
It was a small octopus, its head about the size of a grapefruit. It legs were writhing, trying to escape in a panic. It had found its way into the bridge trunk somehow, and was stranded when they surfaced. Jesus Christ, thought Jabo, startled, he’d never seen that before. It was a patrol of firsts. He carefully reached through the rungs and grabbed it, palming it like a basketball, and scooped it toward him. He held it against his stomach as he climbed the ladder the rest of the way, feeling its legs beating helplessly against his stomach. The thing was soft but strong, like one big muscle.
He climbed the rest of the way to the bridge. Getting up first was always a moment he savored. Jabo had no problem working in close quarters with minimal privacy for months at a time, it was one of the reasons he was a good submariner. But he always did treasure those first seconds on the bridge, when the OOD and all his responsibility still resided in control while he enjoyed the best view of any man on the submarine, surrounded by fresh air, water, and daylight. He was alone except for the octopus.
“Hello!” said Jabo, looking it over. It was fascinating, he could have stared at it for hours. Another time, he might have sent it below in a bucket, let the crew take a look at it, everybody would find it interesting. On some patrols, it might rank as one of the most interesting things to happen, a legendary episode, the time they caught an octopus and made it their mascot for a few weeks.
Jabo hefted it with his good hand, holding it in front of his face like Yorick’s skull. Its eight legs groped around his wrist and arm. Jabo leaned over as far as he could, and then he heaved the animal, shot put style. It landed in the water with a splash. Its legs spread outward like the petals of a flower, perfectly symmetrical, then closed powerfully. It shot forward and down, disappearing into the safety of deep water.
Within thirty minutes, they shifted the watch topside, and Jabo was the officer of the deck. He had company, Seaman Connelly as lookout. Connelly had a large bloody bandage on the side of his head, and a swatch of his hair had been ripped off.
“How’d you do that?” said Jabo.
“Not real sure, sir,” he said. “After the collision, I guess. The doc saw me after we removed EABs and slapped this bandage on my head.” He reached up and brushed it with the tips of his fingers. “How about you?” he pointed at Jabo’s hand.
“Hatch slammed on it.” He held his hand up.
“Fuck, sir, are those fingers gone?”
“Yep. Two of them.”
“Holy shit,” said Connelly. He stared at it a moment before putting his binoculars back to his face.
“XO to the bridge,” came an amplified announcement from the bridge box at their knees, and moments later they heard quick footsteps on the ladder.
The XO scaled the ladder and was soon standing beside them. He took a look around, especially at the bow. “Can’t really see any damage from up here,” he said.
“Look at the port bow wave,” said Jabo. “You can see it’s a little asymmetrical.”
The XO peered at the water for a few minutes. “You’re right. I can see that.” The bow wave on that side of the ship was frothier, compared to the smooth green swell on the starboard side. But other than that, all the ship’s damage was invisible, below the surface. “I can’t fucking wait to see it in drydock.”
“Is that where we are heading?” said Jabo.
“Still sorting everything out. But I’m pretty sure we’re not delivering anything to Taiwan.” He shot a look back at Connelly to make sure he wasn’t paying attention, or at least pretending not to pay attention. “Wouldn’t make good TV to make a delivery like that from a broken ship. Know what I mean?”
Jabo felt a pang as the XO said the words: broken ship. But that’s what they were. “So where are we going?”
“For now, where going to stay up here, within our assigned operating area. I expect a revision soon. Probably to the nearest submarine drydock, which, by my estimate, is Pearl.”