As Edwards made it to the top of the ladder, he was met by Lieutenant Lake, who dutifully stepped aside to allow him to come through the small hatch. The conn had been transferred up to the bridge after surfacing, and Lieutenant Lake was now on watch as the officer of the deck.
“Good morning, Captain,” Lake said, smiling, his hair blowing wildly in the wind, his binoculars hanging loosely around his neck.
“Good morning, Mr. Lake. Fine day.”
“It is indeed, sir.”
Edwards suspected that Lake’s ear-to-ear grin had more to do with the fact that this was his last day in the navy than it had to do with the fine weather. He knew that Lake was a sort of outcast in the wardroom. He had an insurmountable wall built up around him, shutting everyone out. Edwards knew the other officers seldom socialized with Lake on or off the ship, and Edwards himself had found the young lieutenant rather hard to become acquainted with, though admittedly he hadn’t put much effort into it. Perhaps it was the warning Providence’s previous captain had given him concerning Lake. The legendary Captain Carl Christopher had passed judgment on the young man, and maybe because of that — subliminally— Edwards had too.
That was six months ago, the day Edwards took command. Christopher was in a rush to catch a flight that day and took Edwards through a whirlwind review of the ship’s records, hardly pausing for any of Edwards’ questions. The review included Providence’s officer files. Christopher gave the records little attention, simply tossing one on top of the other, summing up the full character of each man in two or three words. When they came to Lake’s file, Christopher paused and his composure changed slightly. Even today, Edwards remembered that moment distinctly. It was the only instance throughout the whole haphazard turnover process that Christopher seemed to be genuinely engaged.
“Watch this one like a hawk, Edwards,” Christopher had snarled beneath his bushy gray eyebrows, turning the file over several times in his hands. “Lieutenant Lake is trouble with a capital ‘T.’ He’s your most senior lieutenant, but senior only in years of service, I assure you. He’s a sorry-ass excuse for an officer if ever there was one. The worst I’ve seen. Immature obstinacy bordering on insubordination. I should’ve canned his ass years ago, but no matter — he’s getting out of the navy in a few months. It’s good riddance, too. If I were you, Edwards, I’d isolate him and leave him be until that time comes. No sense in wasting your efforts on a lost cause. He’ll only end up corrupting the others.”
Christopher had paused for a moment as he gripped Lake’s file and stared at it. Edwards remembered seeing a bead of sweat trickle down his temple and had thought it odd that the great submarine legend Christopher could be affected so by this unruly yet insignificant junior officer. Just as quickly the moment passed, and Christopher tossed Lake’s file on the desk with the others.
“Anyway, he’s not my concern any longer,” Christopher finally said, just as brusque and domineering as he had been moments before. “You’re Providence’s captain now, Edwards, you call it the way you see it. Deal with Lake in your own way. But never forget, I warned you about him!”
Edwards ended up taking Christopher’s advice to heart. Who could blame him? After all, Christopher was a submarine superstar. Having rounded out a successful command tour on the Providence, Christopher had been selected for promotion to the rank of full captain. For his successful command tour on the Providence, the admirals had appointed him as chief of staff to the Commander Submarines Atlantic Fleet, a coveted position and one that earmarked Christopher for eventual flag rank. That was why the turnover ceremony had had to be rushed. Christopher had to leave immediately for Norfolk on the East Coast and his new assignment. Who wouldn’t take the advice of such a man, who had accomplished so much and who was rising like a star?
As the departing Christopher had advised, Edwards never did try to breach the wall around Lake. He let Lake have all the space he needed, and left him out of the close-knit cadre of officers he was molding to run the Providence. But there were many moments, especially in recent months, when Edwards came to regret that decision. For all his nonchalance and ogre-like behavior, Lake was actually quite an effective watch officer, and Edwards found himself trusting the young lieutenant more and more each day. True, Lake’s administrative skills were lacking as was evident by the radio division’s constant personnel problems, but on watch it was a different story. When on watch, the young officer seemed to step outside himself for a few hours, absorbed in what he was doing with an alertness and intuition that was second to no other officer on the ship. After witnessing Providence’s numerous port entries over the course of the deployment, Edwards found Lake to be his best conning officer. Certainly, he had talent, whether he got along with anyone else or not. And surprisingly, in Edwards’ eyes anyway, the disobedient rebel that Christopher had warned about never materialized.
Sometimes, like now, Edwards regretted isolating Lake in the beginning. He was sorry he hadn’t spent more time trying to keep him in the navy. But it was too late now.
Edwards shifted around a bit to get comfortable on the small sheltered portion of the bridge, or bridge “pooka” as submariners called it. Like all other spaces on the Providence, the bridge was cramped. Only two men could fit in the sheltered portion, which was no more than an open hole in the top of the sail about five feet across. A man standing in that hole could comfortably hang his arms over the bridge coaming and look out at the surrounding sea. If a rogue wave were to crash against the sail, the two men in the hole could duck behind the coaming and thus avoid being swept away. With the seas as light as they were today, Edwards had authorized the flying bridge rigged, which consisted of an iron bar railing around the top of the sail. It allowed for additional personnel to stand on top of the sail itself. The flying bridge also allowed the lookout to stand a few feet higher than the officer of the deck and thus he could see a little farther over the horizon.
Edwards glanced back at the lookout standing alone on the flying bridge with the national ensign flapping behind his head from a flimsy pole and lanyard. The sailor scanned the horizon for any visible ships, his face pressed permanently against his binoculars. Edwards noted that the sailor instinctively stood well over to one side, careful not to stand on the heads of any of the masts or antennas hidden inside Providence’s sail. He was no fool. A careless operator down in the control room might accidentally hit a switch and raise a mast, and any man standing on that mast would more than likely find himself catapulted over the side and into the sea. Even worse, the unfortunate sailor might find himself getting sucked into Providence’s massive screw.
“There’s Oahu, sir,” Lake said above the wind.
Edwards brought his binoculars to his face and scanned ahead. Just poking above the horizon were the distant peaks of the lush green mountains on Oahu. Somewhere over the horizon and at the base of those mountains lay Pearl Harbor and home, that almost forgotten place that until now had only lived in his crew’s dreams. Sadly, Edwards feared that the pending conference with ComSubPac would dash any hopes of seeing it anytime soon. But he had to be optimistic in front of his men.