“The chief wants me to learn it, sir.”
MacDonald’s lower lip pushed against the upper one as he nodded. “Then let’s hope you learn it.” He looked at the three men. “Keep up the good work.”
“Thank you, sir,” they replied. Cleary eased the sound-powered headset back down on his ears, pulling the helmet forward slightly, hoping to hide his face and escape questions.
MacDonald eased aft a couple of steps so he could straighten up. “Mr. Hatfield, you and your team keep doing the good job you are, but be ready when we locate the contact. If anyone can find the Echo, it’ll be the Dale team.” He nodded at the second-class petty officer. “Banks, good work, right?”
“We’ll try, Captain.”
“Yes, sir, we’re Gold. Right, team!” Hatfield added.
MacDonald saw the quick wide-eyed glances between the four sailors as they mumbled, “Gold.”
“I like good esprit de corps among a team,” MacDonald added. Then he patted Hatfield on the shoulder as he eased past, heading aft toward the small side compartment where Sonar manned its console. He chuckled.
Officers like Hatfield did well in the navy. Sailors adopted officers when they actively sought knowledge. On the other hand, those with arrogant infatuation with their rank, or with themselves such as Burnham, woke up one day to discover the meaning of “falling on one’s sword.” The navy would become more a memory for reminiscence than a career worthy of recognition.
The sonar compartment was separated by a heavy curtain that parted down the middle. The newer destroyers being designed, like the DD-963 class, had doors — a true physical barrier that separated the sonarmen from the rest of Combat. But it would be 1972 before they sailed out of the shipyard.
Once the Dale returned for its five-year yard period, it would have a true sonar compartment installed, like some of the other Forrest Sherman class destroyers.
MacDonald pulled the curtain back. Oliver was leaned back in his chair, feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the narrow ledge in front of the sonar display. He jerked his feet down, nearly turning the chair over, before he sat up straight. “Morning, Captain. I wasn’t aware you were—”
“Morning, Oliver,” MacDonald said. “Doesn’t take you long to get comfortable.” He looked around the small area, then pulled his head back into Combat and glanced around. “Where are Mr. Burkeet and Chief Stalzer?”
“Sir, they stepped outside for a smoke.”
“You got ashtrays in here, don’t you?”
The sailor stood as if he had finally made up his mind on whether to remain sitting or not. “Sorry, sir. Yes, sir, but they know I don’t smoke so they decided to step out on the main deck,” Oliver stuttered.
“You got anything?” MacDonald asked. “This SQS-26 living up to its expectations?” The SQS-26 was the newest sonar in the fleet.
Oliver let out a deep breath. His hand shook slightly as he touched the controls of the AN/SQS-26 sonar. “It’s performing to specs, sir. I did the preventive maintenance check on it yesterday when we were diverted against the Echo class submarine.”
MacDonald’s right lip arched up. “That’s good, Oliver. Was the PMS due, overdue, or not due at all?”
The sailor shook his head. “No, sir. I just thought it would be a good thing to do.” The sailor smiled. “I wanted to make sure everything was working when we got on station.”
MacDonald nodded. “You did well, sailor. I don’t think most would have thought to do it.” He uncrossed his arms and pointed at the console. “You got any indications of anything out there?”
“No, sir, but that was over fourteen hours ago when the reconnaissance aircraft spotted the Echo class submarine.”
“You never know what a bubblehead is thinking, Oliver. Sometimes they screw up and decide to hide where they were last seen.”
MacDonald turned at the sound of voices behind him. Chief Stalzer and Lieutenant Junior Grade Burkeet stepped through the hatch from the main passageway, into the darkened spaces of CIC. The conversation stopped abruptly when they saw MacDonald’s frame blocking the curtained opening to Sonar.
“Skipper, we were just—”
“I know, Mr. Burkeet. Petty Officer Oliver told me you and the chief had taken a cigarette break. He and I have had a good conversation.”
“Yes, sir. Last chance before we reach the datum.”
MacDonald scratched his chin. “I agree, Mr. Burkeet. It was your last chance for that quick smoke. I’m impressed with what Petty Officer Oliver told me, but we can’t have him manning the sonar alone. He needs some help, and I want some senior leadership down here as we take up the chase. I would like you or the chief down here with the watch at all times.” His eyebrows lifted.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Work with Lieutenant Kelly so he can make sure you and Chief Stalzer are on port and starboard down here at Sonar without having to give up your other watches. I think that’s a good idea, don’t you?” He saw Stalzer’s Adam’s apple rise and fall. It never hurts every once in a while to let a chief know whose ship he rides on.
“Yes, sir. I was thinking the same thing,” Burkeet said.
MacDonald grunted. “I’m sure you were. By the way, Chief, you’ve done a good job training Oliver here. I was impressed he had taken the initiative to do the preventive maintenance earler to ensure everything was shipshape on the SQS-26. Ensign Hatfield told me about how Oliver had been sharing his knowledge of the Echo class submarine with the TMA team.”
“Thank you, Skipper.”
MacDonald turned away and started forward again. Time for him to pay a visit to the bridge. The bridge was where a skipper should spend most of his time, regardless of this new fad of fighting the ship from Combat. He opened the forward hatch and stepped out.
Oliver sat down as soon as the skipper turned away and the curtain fell back in place.
The curtain came apart and Chief Stalzer slapped him lightly against the back of the head. “What did you tell the skipper, dickhead?”
Oliver leaned toward the sonar console, away from the chief, rubbing his head. “I didn’t tell him nothing, Chief, he didn’t already know.”
Stalzer put his hands on his hips and looked at Burkeet, who stood outside the curtains. “He must have told him something for the old man to put us on port-starboard.”
Burkeet shook his head as he crossed his arms. “Not Oliver’s fault, Chief. Besides, this isn’t punishment because we took a smoke break. It makes sense to have one of us two down here while we have the ASW condition set. I should have thought of it earlier.” He sighed heavily as he dropped his arms. “I’m going to see Lieutenant Kelly. You, on the other hand, Chief, have the first watch.” And, before Stalzer could say anything, the junior officer walked off.
Stalzer and Oliver watched him weave his way through Combat before Stalzer pulled the curtain shut. He turned to the sailor and lightly slapped him upside the head again, causing the headset to slide sideways off his ears. “What did you tell the old man?”
Oliver rubbed his head, taking the headset off. “I told him nothing. I told him you two had just stepped outside for a smoke because you both knew it bothered me.”
“Oh, gee, Oliver. That’s just what captains like: sympathetic officers and chiefs. Jesu-Christ. Lord, protect me from naïve sailors and know-it-all officers.”
Oliver slipped the headset back over his ears.
“What else?”
“What else what?”
“What did you tell him about the PMS you did yesterday?”
“I didn’t tell him nothing.”