Edwards cringed inside. Time and again he wished for his executive officer to keep his comments to himself, especially in front of the crew. He made no eye contact with Bloomfield, embarrassed as he was by the XO’s blundering babble. He noticed that Dean kept staring forward, but the red face and the small vein visible on the sailor’s neck indicated a twinge of anger at Bloomfield’s last words.
“The investigating officer is Lieutenant Coleman, Captain,” Bloomfield added.
Coleman stood on the opposite side of the table from the rest of the officers, a sort of geographic representation that the investigating officer did not take sides, but carried out his investigation in an objective and impartial manner.
“Mr. Coleman.” Edwards nodded to the young red-haired lieutenant, who was no more than twenty-five years old, but had an expression to suit the worries of a man twice his age.
“Captain,” Coleman said, standing at attention. He turned toward Edwards slightly. Edwards knew Coleman to be a very studious young officer who soundly defeated all others in technical knowledge. He viewed every situation with a logical eye and could see to the heart of a problem easier than most of his peers, whether the problem was tactical or technical. However, whatever Coleman was blessed with in intellect he was denied in charm. Regardless, Edwards considered him to be reliable and the perfect candidate for an investigating officer.
“Sir,” Coleman continued, “during my investigation I interviewed Commander Van Peenan, Ensign Yi, Chief Hans, the engine room supervisor who was on watch at the time, and several members of the watch section, including Petty Officer Dean himself. I also reviewed the applicable engineering procedures and the engineer’s night orders for the evening in question. It’s my opinion, sir, that Petty Officer Dean failed to follow procedures as directed in the engineer’s night orders. All watchstander testimonies are in agreement with this conclusion.”
Edwards glanced through the report in front of him. Of course, he was familiar with the incident. There was no question as to Dean’s guilt in the matter. It was the charge that bothered him. Dereliction of duty and the punishment that accompanied it was extremely harsh for a young third-class petty officer who was still learning how to be an efficient and useful nuclear mechanic. Edwards had hoped Van Peenan would have addressed this issue within the confines of the engineering department, and not taken the case to mast. He had hoped his engineer wouldn’t force him to act in front of the crew, but it was not to be. He glanced in Van Peenan’s direction and was surprised to see the engineer standing at attention with eyes shut and a smile as insidious, and at the same time gleeful, as any he had ever seen. If Edwards had to guess, he would conclude that Van Peenan was enjoying every minute of the proceedings, as if he were fulfilling some sort of personal vendetta.
“However, I would like to add something, sir,” Coleman interjected, and before Edwards could turn his attention back to the lieutenant he caught a glimpse of Van Peenan’s eyes bolting wide open, surprised to hear any more words from Coleman in this open and shut case.
“Reviewing Dean’s watch and drill schedule of the seventy-two hours prior to the event,” Coleman continued, “I found that he had no more than four hours of uninterrupted sleep during that time. I also learned that it is currently engineering department policy that every man must spend the six hours after his watch cleaning the engineering spaces, which leaves only six hours of off-watch time for routine maintenance, drills, and sleep before he has to go on watch again. Petty Officer Dean revealed to me that he has not had six hours of straight sleep since the ship left Diego Garcia!”
A nervous laugh suddenly came from Van Peenan. A high-pitched neurotic laugh that penetrated the formality of the ceremony to the amazement of all present, including Edwards.
The laugh was disturbing. It didn’t belong. It was so uncharacteristic, so strange, so out of place that Edwards found himself speechlessly gazing at Van Peenan for a long moment before it registered. As his laugh degraded to a chuckle, Van Peenan seemed to realize that all eyes were on him.
“This is really ludicrous, Captain,” Van Peenan’s high-pitched voice pronounced, his eyes never meeting Edwards but staring awkwardly at the manual on the table. “Mr. Coleman’s observations and his opinions have nothing to do with this issue. Dean is guilty, plain and simple. Anyone can see that.”
“With respect, sir,” Coleman said, “I have included no opinions in my report, but if you want my opinion, Captain, the entire engineering department is to the point of exhaustion. So much so, that I wouldn’t trust them to conduct any reactor maintenance at all, let alone a simple procedure like the one Dean was performing.”
Van Peenan shot a hateful glance across the table at Coleman, but the young lieutenant appeared unmoved by the senior officer’s scowl. Coleman was the sonar officer and therefore reported to Miller, the weapons officer, which meant that he was not in Van Peenan’s chain of command, and therefore virtually untouchable.
“These men stand watch over a nuclear power plant and carry the trust of Naval Reactors, sir,” Coleman persisted. “If they’re not allowed sufficient rest, they’re being set up for failures like this one.”
Edwards started to speak but was abruptly cut off by Van Peenan who shook a long bony finger across the table at Coleman.
“If the men would clean their fucking spaces while on watch, they wouldn’t have to clean after watch!” Van Peenan said with much agitation in his voice. “If the men had fucking cleaned their spaces before the fucking ORSE, if they’d read their fucking manuals, if they’d done their fucking jobs, then they’d be getting sleep every damn day, Mr. Coleman! But that’s not your decision, is it? The last time I checked I’m still the fucking engineer on this ship, correct? So keep your damn junior officer opinions to yourself!”
Edwards and every other sailor in the room gasped at Van Peenan’s tirade, completely inappropriate, especially during captain’s mast. Edwards stared at Van Peenan’s long trembling finger, still stretching across the table at Coleman. The engineer’s freckled face was full of rage — no, full of hatred— for Coleman. Edwards had seen a lot in his fifteen years in the boats. He had seen it before in other men. These were the signs of a man who was breaking down. Edwards had grown increasingly concerned in the weeks since the ORSE failure, but he never envisioned that Van Peenan’s emotions were strung so taut.
The crew’s mess remained silent. Edwards scrambled to gather his thoughts. The engineer had problems, yes, possibly psychological. The crew had witnessed the whole outburst, yes. But Providence still had a mission to perform. And he needed an engineer. There had to be a way to tactfully reprimand Van Peenan and continue with the mast. He could deal with the engineer later, in private. Before Edwards could find the right words, Coleman responded to Van Peenan in a seething tone.
“No, Eng, you’re right. That’s not my decision. And, yes, you’re still the fucking engineer.”
The whole room burst into laughter, which was silenced in less than two seconds by Edwards’ seething glance at the chiefs, who in turn glanced at the sailors, who in turn glanced at each other with still concealed smiles.
The veins were clearly visible now on Van Peenan’s bright red temple and he shook with anger.
“Captain, I won’t have him talk to me like this …” Van Peenan started.
“Enough!” Edwards scolded the room in general. “Lieutenant Coleman, you are dismissed! Leave the room!”