“Aye, sir,” Van Ness replied.
The slight feel of the turn caused everyone to shift their center of gravity slightly. Moments later the helmsman said, “Steady on course one seven five, speed six knots.”
Five minutes later, Shipley turned to Arneau. “XO, I’m going down to the wardroom for breakfast. I’ll be there for a while; then I’m going to do a walk-through of the boat from the forward torpedo room to the aft one.”
Arneau acknowledged Shipley’s orders and waited until the captain disappeared down the ladder. Then he turned, glared at Logan, and said, “My mind is still not made up about you, Lieutenant. I’m going to have a talk with my communications officer and then I may be back.” Arneau turned, grabbed the sides of the ladder, and climbed down to the control room. He was heading toward the radio shack and an ass he was going to chew out before breakfast.
Van Ness walked over to Logan.
Logan met the blue eyes of the Dutch American. “Glad they’re gone. I’m sure you guys are used to them, but they make me nervous. I’m sure they want me off the boat as fast as I want to get off it.”
“They make me a little nervous when they’re both in the conning tower.”
“They make me nervous because I’m on your boat.”
Van Ness smiled. “Now, how can they be off the boat?” Logan’s eyebrows rose. “They can’t, but I am willing to make the sacrifice and leave the great and wonderful Squallfish as soon as possible.”
“Well, looks as if you are stuck with us for a while. By the way, the XO told me he wanted no wave noise when we raised the periscope.”
“What’s wave noise?”
Van Ness’s eyebrows wrinkled into a V. “I think he means when the water ripples around the periscope or the snorkel creates a modicum of cavitations in the water.”
“A modicum?” Logan said with a grin.
“Lieutenant, you and I are the same rank, so don’t make fun of my speech,” Van Ness said with a smile, wanting to help Logan as he did everyone.
Logan nodded. “I get the feeling you submariners don’t have a sense of humor, or if you do, you leave it ashore when you put to sea.” Changing the subject, he added, “Does that mean we are going to be operating the periscope under the surface, or are we coming up to periscope depth?”
Van Ness’s eyes shifted to the left for a moment as he thought. “They didn’t tell me to stay at a hundred fifty feet.”
“I think they’re okay with us coming up to periscope depth. It’ll give us an opportunity to see how the camera works in daylight. We haven’t had a chance to practice it except at night.” Van Ness bit his upper lip, thinking about the idea of changing the depth without notifying the captain. The captain and the XO did say to help Logan. Van Ness relaxed and smiled as he realized he was following orders. “I understand. The XO did say to reduce any chance of wave noise, and there is less noise with a periscope breaking the surface than doing it at this depth. At this depth we run the risk of damaging the scope. Don’t want to do that.”
“Good. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”
Van Ness walked back to the navigation table and told the leading signalman to work out the calculations of a six-knot transit. He did a quick caliper check along a dead-reckoning line, which showed them eighty nautical miles north of the entrance to Kola Bay. Most of the transit would be within the territorial waters of the Soviet Union. When they reached the entrance, they would be ten nautical miles off the Soviet coast that bordered the western side of the entrance.
“Steady on course one seven five; speed six knots,” the helmsman reported.
Van Ness smiled. This was a good time to show the skipper how well he conned the boat. “I would like to take us to periscope depth and do it at a five-feet-per-minute rise rate. Angle on the bow, five degrees.”
Senior Chief Boohan crawled into the conning tower. He heard the command. “What ya doing, OOD?”
“Oh, hi, COB. Just bringing the boat to periscope depth slowly. Good training for the crew. Got Lieutenant Logan and his men up there,” he said, pointing upward while shaking his head back and forth, “practicing their camera tactics again.”
Boohan shook his bald head and chuckled. “I know what you mean. I’ll be glad when they’re off my boat. I’m going to get a quick bite; then I’ll be back, Lieutenant.”
Logan gave the chief of the boat a hard glare. Boohan turned and crawled back down the ladder, heading toward the crew’s mess.
“Passing one four five feet,” the helmsman announced.
“Very well,” Van Ness acknowledged. He enjoyed the feel of the deck when he had the conn. No one ever fully understood the pride and pleasure of guiding a warship through the seas until they had done it themselves. If he was going to be at periscope depth, he might as well top off the batteries. So, following Shipley’s standing orders of always charging the batteries when able to do so, Van Ness made a couple of mistakes compounding the one of bringing the boat to periscope depth. He called the maneuvering room and gave them a heads-up on reaching periscope and snorkel depth in twenty-five minutes.
Washington lifted the metal canister with the trash from the morning breakfast.
“Where you goin’?” Crocky asked.
Washington looked at the canister he was holding. “It’s full. Thought I’d take it up to the forward torpedo room to store until we can dump it overboard.”
“Why don’t you wait until we finish breakfast?”
Washington set the canister down. “It’s full, Petty Officer Crocky, and since we’re surfacin’, it’ll be one less bag of trash to pitch overboard.”
“I ain’t heard no surfacin’ horn, Petty Officer Washington, and what is this you doin’ somethin’ I ain’t asked you to do?” Crocky wiped his hands on his apron, ignoring the sailors as they progressed along the chow line. “Usually I can’t get you to wipe the tables down, much less carry the trash forward without a lot of wailin’ and whinin’ on your part. So why you wanna do it now?”
“Hey! Petty Officer Crocky, we goin’ to get fed or what?” one of the sailors holding a metal tray near the instant eggs asked.
Crocky lifted a metal spoon and waved it. “You wait, you hear. I’ll feed you when I’m good and ready.” He looked the sailor up and down. “Besides, you look as if you could miss a meal or two.”
The sailors laughed. “Ah, come on, Crocky.”
“Hey, Jonesy! What you in a hurry for? Don’t you know Crocky’s chow can drop a moose at twenty paces?”
“Twenty paces ain’t near enough what you need if you eat enough of that chow. Ain’t ever goin’ to make it to the head in time.”
The sailors laughed.
Crocky scooped up a huge spoon of eggs and slapped the concoction on the metal tray. “There, now stop bothering me, boy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Washington lifted the canister and wormed his way from behind Crocky to the small entrance. Stepping into the chow hall portion of the mess, he worked his way across, and was soon in the passageway leading forward. He didn’t know if they were surfacing, but he had seen the water in the glass tilt slightly with the forward side up, so they were at least changing depth upward. Heading up didn’t necessarily mean surfacing, but if he had to carry the trash out after they surfaced, he’d run into Potts and his sycophant cracker, Fromley. Washington had worked hard the past week to avoid them. Once they switched to diesels, the electrician mates would be doing their routine maintenance on the batteries. This way, he could avoid them.