“You’re happy about this?” Arneau asked.
“XO,” Shipley said, his smile widening, “you get up on the wrong side of the rack this morning?”
A forced smile spread across the XO’s face. “There’s only one way to get out of the rack, and that is on the port side.”
Shipley shook his fingers. “Touchy, touchy,” he whispered. Arneau’s crossed arms tightened. “I just don’t — well, you know,” he said, nodding at Logan.
“Shall we go get some more of Crocky’s afternoon coffee?”
“I think we received a message from the commander, Naval Surface Forces Atlantic, in Norfolk. They have run out of paint remover and want to know if they can borrow Crocky’s coffee.” Shipley laughed. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”
Another head poked through the hatch. It was Petty Officer Baron, the leading radioman.
“Over here,” Olsson said, seeing the sailor.
Baron crawled up into the already crowded conning tower. He was reaching into the left pocket of his dungaree shirt as he bumped and apologized his way toward the communications officer.
“Christly twit,” Brooks said as Baron bumped him.
“Sorry.”
“Shall we go, XO? It will lessen the number of bodies filling the tower.”
Arneau acknowledged and waited for Shipley to ease his way to the hatch. Shipley turned with his back to everyone as he stepped on the ladder to head down.
“Captain, XO,” Olsson said, holding up the message Baron had brought.
“What is it?” Shipley asked, not moving. Too much effort to fight his way to the aft section of the conning tower with this many bodies in it.
“Here, pass this to the captain,” Olsson said.
Topnotch handed it to Logan, who passed it to Cross, who handed it to the XO.
Arneau scanned the message quickly. “Shit,” he exclaimed as he handed the message to Shipley. “Makes me think of a great vacation planned, only to have the in-laws show up.”
Shipley read the message quickly and then handed it back to Arneau. “Doesn’t surprise me, XO. This is the North Atlantic, and when it isn’t storming, it’s whipping one up.”
He started down the ladder, with Arneau following him. Logan turned to Olsson. “What was in the message?”
“Bad weather headed our way. Off the Arctic and should hit us in the next twenty-four hours. Most likely we’re going to be in it all the way to the OPAREA.”
Logan scratched his head. “Shouldn’t be much of a bother for a submarine, should it. You just do deep and ride it out.”
Olsson nodded. “We’ll do that as much as we can, but this is a diesel sub. We can stay down for two days, even three with a little conservation and scattering of CO2 absorbent through the boat, but eventually we’re going to have to surface for air. And from the message, it looks as if the storm will be going full blast by then.”
“Will that change our mission?”
“I don’t know what your mission is, but if it involves surfacing or being at periscope depth for the next few days, then at best it’ll have to be delayed.”
Logan shook his head. “Never mind.” He glanced at Cross and Brooks struggling with the connection.
“You’re gonna bite off that tongue one day,” Brooks said to Cross.
“Bite me.”
Logan looked at Olsson. “We could always sail away from the storm,” Logan offered, more a question than a statement.
Olsson nodded. “We can if the storm is going in one direction very, very fast while we inch along submerged at the mind-numbing eight knots the captain has us doing now.”
Shipley finished his letter home, telling his wife about the voyage, leaving out the part about where they were. He and the others would slip the mail over to the Stevens when they rendezvoused in two weeks. Chances are he’d be back in Holy Loch before the letters arrived, but the act of writing June was important. It was sailors’ way of keeping loved ones foremost in their minds as they sailed the seas, whether above or below the waves. Sailors had to feel they were doing this not only because they loved the sea and the Navy, but also because they were doing it for their families. Even Shipley believed what he was doing would bear fruit for his son and daughter.
He had this someday vision of him and his wife sitting on a front porch, watching their grandchildren play, and him knowing they played in an era of peace because he and others put themselves in harm’s way today. Like most Navy officers he knew, it was only time before they had to fight the Soviet Union, and when they did, it would be superior firepower, technology, and tactics that would allow the U.S. Navy to control the seas. Control the seas and you contained the Soviet Union.
A knock on the passageway bulkhead caused him to turn to the closed curtains to his stateroom. “Yes,” he said, raising the envelope and licking it.
Arneau stuck his head through the curtains. “Thought I would give you a status report before we had evening chow, Captain.” Shipley motioned the XO inside as he laid the letter on the small shelf that served as his desk. “Go ahead.”
Arneau stepped into the small space at the entrance. “Lieutenant Bleecker reports quieten ship is ongoing. Lots of maintenance checks to complete, but he foresees no problems finishing those in the next two days. Lieutenant Logan and his band of spooks finally figured out how to put the camera on the search periscope.”
“Don’t you mean the attack periscope?”
Arneau shook his head. “No, sir; seems they gave up after we left. Apparently the ‘Christly twits’ spook took the camera down, and sitting on the deck of the conning tower, took it apart and rebuilt it.”
“I take it, it worked.”
“First time. It slid on easily, and they were able to use some copper wire to secure it to the periscope.”
“Good.”
“Not too good.”
Shipley lowered his head and looked questioningly at Arneau. “Well?”
“You can’t lower the periscope with the camera attached.”
“Well, we can’t leave it up there with this weather coming, and once we arrive on station, having the periscope raised while we’re submerged puts unnecessary noise in the water. Not to mention we run the risk of damaging it.”
Arneau held up his hand. “Yes, sir, I know,” he agreed, lowering the hand. “I have already told them to practice taking it down and putting it on until they have it down to a fine science. I told Logan there was no way they were going to leave that thing permanently attached.” Arneau smiled. “Not only can’t we take the periscope down, Skipper, but when it’s attached, it takes up too much room in the conning tower. They are going to have to attach the camera when they are ready to use it and take it down when finished.” Shipley thought about that for a moment. “That may not be good either,” he offered. “The only time they’re going to have it attached is when we are near the Soviets. The only time we may find ourselves in a fighting situation is when they have the camera attached.” He looked up. “I think I liked intelligence better when they stayed ashore and just sent us messages telling us what they had. This idea of putting them on subs. .” Shipley paused. “Well, it just isn’t done. Where are they?”
“They are in the forward engine room seeing how the radiation detector is going to connect,” Arneau said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Lieutenant Bleecker is with them.”
Shipley laughed. “Better step down there, XO, and make sure Bleecker hasn’t stuffed them in the aft torpedo tubes.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Who was that sailor?”
“Which one?”
“Christly twits?”
“That was Brooks; the sailor from NAVSEASYSCOM.”
“Well, I am sure that after an afternoon with Bleecker, he will learn new, more sailorlike socially accepted retorts to take back to the Navy Yard with him.”