Bill sat, mumbling, to the hoots and whistles of the guys at the bar.
"Sorry ma…," but I slapped my hand over his mouth.
"Don't get her started again, for God's sake!"
"What kind a fresh meat you got here, Mac?" Patty winked at me.
"A couple of my deep-divin' boys, Snorkel. Treat 'em right!" I turned to the three.
"A grain of salt, guys. She hasn't completed the first round yet, cause she missed me."
And to the bartender, "Give Patty whatever she's drinkin'."
Dark rum arrived in a shot glass, and Patty hoisted in the air. "Anybody don't drink straight rum is a friggin' laaaiiidy," she shouted as she tossed the drink down her throat.
The bartender said with a chuckle, "Last week it was gin." He leaned across the bar. "She keeps a hundred dollar bill in her nightstand, says she'll give to the first man who's as good as her dearly departed husband."
"I heard of this place," Bill said, keeping his green eyes on Patty's considerable cleavage.
"You ain't no bubblehead, then?"
I nodded to the bartender, and another shot of rum appeared before Patty. She picked it up and examined Bill's reddish hair and lightly tanned features through the golden liquid.
"You ain't no friggin' bubblehead?"
Bill started to answer, so I kicked him under the bar.
"These guys are special, Patty. They ride submarines, but don't earn dolphins… not even gold ones." I toasted her with my mug.
"No friggin' dolphins?"
I couldn't tell for sure if she was putting us on or not. I reached into my pocket and hauled out the deep-sea diving pin I had brought for just this occasion.
"They wear these," I said as I pinned the emblem to her low-cut blouse, copping a generous feel in the process.
She winked at me.
"Oh," she said, stroking the pin and the top of her ample bosom. "Is it as hard to get as dolphins?"
"Harder," I said, "much harder."
"Harder… I like harder…." Her voice drifted off and she locked eyes with me. I shook my head slightly with a rueful half-smile, and Patty's eyes got wistful and teary. Then she turned to Bill and grabbed his hand.
"C'mon, Billy boy!" Her voice had developed a hard edge. "You gonna earn yo dolphins t'night," and she dragged him out the door to the hoots and hollers of the crowd.
"What the hell was that all about?" Jimmy lifted his half-empty mug. "You got somethin' goin', El-Tee?"
"Easy, Jimmy." Whitey patted him on the back. "Mac here don't trespass."
It was the last night before deployment. I had agreed to meet the guys at the Winnie and Moo for a drink or two, partly to keep them out of trouble in this unfamiliar territory, and partly just because it was so much fun. Before the evening got too old, former submariners Ski and Jer showed up, and the Master Chief himself made an appearance. His understudy, Chief Jack Meredith, and Harry had drawn duty, and were keeping an eye on the system.
Whitey was briefing the Master Chief on Bill and Snorkel Patty. "And she literally dragged him out of here, Master Chief."
"Dragged…"
"Yeah, dragged. But he wasn't resisting too hard; he had an eyeful of them melons!"
Master Chief Comstock grinned at me with a lifted eyebrow. He didn't want to lose any of his men on the last night out.
"He'll be okay, Ham," I told him.
Whitey piped in, "Give her another hour, and she'll have cleaned his clock but good."
Everyone laughed, and Ham raised his mug. "To Bill."
"To Bill!" We all clinked glasses, downed our dregs and ordered another round.
That was when the table just across from us burst into flame.
A young sailor in his birthday suit, three sheets to the wind, was attempting to run the length of his table top with the remains of a flaming toilet roll protruding from between his ass cheeks. Someone must have dipped the roll in rum, because it was burning furiously, and the tabletop was covered with blue flames as the fire spread to the spilled rum.
Somebody threw a full pitcher of beer on the flames, but the burning rum just floated to the top of the beer and traveled to the floor, where it quickly spread. The bartender grabbed a fire extinguisher from behind the bar. I reached out, and he handed it to me. Guys were beginning to run in all directions, and several women started to scream.
"Belay that!" I shouted. "Stand still! Stop moving!" And I hosed down the flames with purple-k from the dry chemical extinguisher.
Jimmy, who in another life was a battlefield hospital corpsman, examined the singed behind of the "flaming arsehole" initiate, and announced no serious damage.
"What the fuck was that all about?" Whitey demanded.
"Halibut crew — last night out," answered Ski.
"You're shittin' me. Those guys'r driving our sub?" Jer and Ski nodded. They'd seen this before, of course, since they had been around longer than Whitey and Jimmy.
"They'll be good as new by morning," Ham added, "or I don't know their Division Chief."
"I knew they was fuckin' nuts," said Whitey. "No wonder you took up diving, El-Tee."
I laughed and glanced at my watch.
"It's nearly twenty-two-hundred, guys." I looked at Ham. "You gonna stay around a while, Master Chief?"
"I reckon. A while, anyway." He glanced around the room. "I guess we'll wait for Patty to bring Bill back."
I nodded.
"I'll get the guys back. Safe and sound, Sir."
"Roger that," I responded, and wended my way through the tables to the door.
It was fresh and cool outside, and the air didn't smell like spilled beer and flaming rum and toilet paper. I jumped over the door into my Vette, and started the engine. The moon was out, the stars were clear. A light breeze carried the odors of lilac and sea salt to the tarmac in front of the Winnie and Moo. The combination triggered special memories as I slowly cruised across the narrow bridge to Mare Island, memories filled with softness and pleasure, memories of touch and scent that would remain just that — memories — until we returned from our uncertain quest into the unknown.
CHAPTER SIX
Morning came early. The Master Chief and I had already completed a last-minute inspection of our system the day before, and since Chief Meredith and Harry had kept things copasetic overnight, I wasn't worried. I knew I could rely on those guys — let's face it, my life and theirs depended on it. Besides, I suspected the Master Chief had already gone over the system one final time this morning. It's not that he didn't trust me; it's just how he is.
I left my Vette at the base car storage facility. Mare Island was different than any other facility I had ever known. Everywhere else you made your own arrangements for cars and personal effects, but Mare Island, at least the part I knew, took good care of the guys. While I had to clear out my room at the BOQ, since we would be gone for so long, my stuff was placed in secure storage nearby, and my Vette was inside under lock and key, and covered. The only thing I had to do was make provisions in case I didn't come back.
Yeah, it may seem bizarre, but it was pretty standard, not just for we the few, the proud, the crazy, but for sailors in general — I mean the arrangements, just in case. So far as the rest of the world knew anyway, we were just another submarine going out on patrol. They always came back… most of the time.
I paused to reminisce about the Thresher and Scorpion. The Thresher happened about the time I was in sub school as a young Sonar Tech. It was sobering but challenging. No one quit the training, however, no one. Thresher was before SubSafe; in fact, it was the cause of Sub Safe.