The outburst was very inappropriate behavior for a low-ranking helmsman, but his frustration was understandable given that he was not an engineering rate but a yeoman by trade. Edwards knew exactly what was happening, and he couldn’t help but smile as all around them the ship took on a new murmur. The lights dimmed throughout the space and the deck shook as Providence’s big reactor coolant pumps shifted into fast speed. Then, like a big Mack truck shifting into gear, Providence’s massive thrust bearing felt the full force of her spinning shaft. The deck lurched forward with an abruptness that sent books flying out of lockers, and jostled coffee cups in their holders all around the control room. Every man groped to find a handhold, and the surprised helmsman took a firm grip on his control yoke like he had suddenly been placed in the saddle of a wild bronco. The puzzled yeoman smiled widely when he saw the engine order telegraph jump over smartly to the All Ahead Flank position followed by three distinct buzzes. The engine room was answering the bell! All ahead flank, at last! For further confirmation the yeoman needed only to glance up at his panel where the speed log showed Providence accelerating at the rate of two knots per second.
Within half a minute Providence had come close to doubling her single main engine speed, and her deck shook and shuddered from the strain. The big twins were pulling together once again. Providence was once again a fast attack submarine.
A smiling nod from Fremont told Edwards that they were in the clear now, and after another eight minutes of running at flank speed, sonar made the expected report.
“Conn, Sonar. No longer receiving active pulses from the hostile torpedo. Weapon has shut down.”
Edwards walked over and patted the helmsman on the shoulder as the fast-moving ship continued to vibrate under his feet.
“The engine room had to disengage the starboard main engine momentarily in order to bring the other one on line,” Edwards explained, smiling down at him. “That’s why they rang up All-Stop. I’m sure you’ll remember that for the rest of your life, helmsman.”
The sailor nodded, visibly relieved as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
The men in the room chuckled as they all breathed a sigh of relief.
Edwards did not want to be remiss in his duties. He wanted to place credit where credit was due. The Providence had survived only because Coleman had been so quick to restore the number two main engine, and even though Edwards would have preferred that Coleman keep him better informed, the young acting engineer had done a fantastic job.
Edwards grabbed up the engineering microphone and keyed it. “Mr. Coleman, this is the captain. Excellent work! You and your men can drink up when we get back to Pearl. I think every man on this ship owes you a beer!”
Everyone in the control room smiled at the thought of drinking alcohol again. Edwards waited by the speaker for a response from the engine room, but none came.
After several minutes, the headset-wearing chief of the watch finally spoke up.
“Captain, I’ve got a message for you on the JA phone circuit. The XO would like you to come to engine room lower level right away, sir.”
Bloomfield? Edwards thought. What the hell was he doing in the engine room?
“Nav,” Edwards said, dispensing with the normal watch relief formalities, “Take the conn, please. I’m going below.”
Edwards ducked through the flood bay doors into the auxiliary seawater bay and came upon a sight he most certainly didn’t expect to see. On one side of the bay, Van Peenan lay propped against the bulkhead, mumbling something as the corpsman shined a flashlight into his groggy eyes, an ugly gash very visible on his forehead. Two steps away, an armed security petty officer rested one hand on his holstered forty-five, watching Van Peenan’s every move.
On the other side of the bay, Petty Officer Dean sat on top of an equipment locker with his head in his hands, while at his feet a prostrate Lieutenant Coleman received medical attention from the corpsman’s assistant. Standing in the middle of the bay Bloomfield conversed with the two lieutenants Edwards had sent to find Coleman.
“Captain,” Bloomfield said, with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “I thought you’d want to see this, sir.”
“What happened?”
“Apparently, Mr. Van Peenan there attacked Lieutenant Coleman with a crescent wrench, then went after Petty Officer Dean. Don’t know the reason yet, sir, but I’ve ordered him taken into custody after the corpsman checks him out.”
Van Peenan continued mumbling, and Edwards thought he heard him say to the probing corpsman, “Don’t tell Captain Christopher, okay? Don’t tell Christopher …”
“What’s Coleman’s condition?” Edwards asked.
“I think he’ll be okay, sir. Or, at least, the corpsman thinks so. Got a pretty tough nut, that lieutenant.”
Edwards watched as the corpsman turned Van Peenan over to the security petty officer, then moved over to help his assistant with Coleman. Van Peenan now wore handcuffs, as the petty officer led him forward into the next bay. He never once looked in Edwards’ direction. He just kept mumbling, staring straight ahead as if in a daze.
Next in the procession, the two corpsmen carried Coleman between them. He was in no condition to walk. As they passed Edwards, Coleman grabbed hold of his uniform.
“Stop!” Coleman shouted to his bearers, his eyes still jerky, his face covered with sweat. “I’ve got something to tell the captain.”
Edwards knelt down and looked him in the face. “What is it, Lieutenant?”
“If only I can remember, Captain. I was coming to see you when someone hit me.”
“Commander Van Peenan hit you, Lieutenant,” Edwards said gently.
“Yes, sir. That’s right. Commander Van Peenan hit me. And then he tried to hit Dean, but I stopped him.”
Coleman looked distant for a few seconds as Edwards waited.
“Maybe you’d better get some rest,” Edwards said finally. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“No!” Coleman said firmly, grasping his arm. “I remember now, sir. I remember what I was coming to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“It’s Dean, Captain!” Coleman struggled to get the words out. “Dean’s the saboteur! He tried to destroy the main engine!”
Edwards glanced back at Dean, who gave no apparent reaction, still sitting on the locker with his head between his hands, staring blankly at the bulkhead.
“Get some rest, Lieutenant,” Edwards said kindly, as he removed Coleman’s hand from his arm and nodded for the two corpsmen to proceed. The two lieutenants followed as the corpsmen carried Coleman forward, leaving Edwards and Bloomfield alone in the room with Dean. Dean still did not move.
“Are you all right, Petty Officer Dean?” Edwards called to him.
Dean didn’t respond initially. He kept staring at the bulkhead as if Edwards and Bloomfield were not there. His voice was barely audible when he finally began to speak.
“It’s true, sir,” he mumbled through his hands.
“What’s true? Speak up, Dean.”
“I mean Mr. Coleman, sir. What he said is true.”
Edwards and Bloomfield looked on skeptically.
“What are you saying, Dean?” Edwards prodded.
“That I’m the reason the engine seized up, sir. That I’m the one who put the Kimwipe in the lube oil system. I did it, Captain.”
“Damn it, Dean!” After all he’d been through in the last few days, Edwards wanted to lay into the young mechanic. He wanted to take his frustrations out on this sailor who had placed all their lives in jeopardy, but he refrained, instead asking simply, “Why on God’s green earth would you do such a thing?”