NEW
by Diane Farnsworth Kachmar
It
ran briefly through my mind that Bert was making a mistake, but it was his
qualification, not mine. I'd have my own
turn at the conn soon enough. Even now,
it was hard to believe I'd been nuclear submarine command school for six
months. Lee Crane, submarine
Captain. The prize berth, the one we all
angled for. And they all but handed it
to me. The Admiral swore he had no part
in it, but I didn't quite believe him.
It had been a relief to leave
I
turned towards the school, but it was completely enshrouded by fog. Maybe Bert had the right idea, using the fog
for cover as he stalked the destroyer.
On the surface, the decoy ship wouldn't be able to track us with its
sounding gear. It didn't feel right to
me. The whole idea was to move in
silently, soundlessly, and strike without warning from under the waves. The instructing officer had no
objections. Of course, if he had the
cruise would have been over before it even started.
I
lowered my binoculars and pulled my parka up higher around my neck. My luck to pull conning officer. Everyone else down there in a warm submarine,
and I had the bridge. I glanced up at my
two lookouts, dutifully doing their sweeps from the sheers. Their little platforms were less protected
from the chill breeze than I was. I
raised my binoculars again, feeling like a fifth wheel. Lookouts in a fog. Who could see anything?
The
book said, running on the surface, there had to be a
conning officer and two lookouts. I
smiled, remembering what the Old Man had said about that book. Maybe he could rewrite it and get away with
it, but I was a long way from being an admiral yet. Do your duty, mister, and be cheerful about
it. That had been drilled into me since
day one at
"Keep
alert," I told my lookouts. Their
"aye sirs" came back quickly.
They knew what to do without me telling them, but it was expected, so I
went through the routine. Beneath me the
sub began to pick up speed. Must be on
final approach. It still didn't feel
right, but soon it would be over. I swept my glasses up river again. I should hear the target by now, even if I
couldn't see it. If they had left the
dock and were in a normal zag pattern --
I focused on the spot they should be.
Nothing. I cocked my head
sideways as a faint chuff came from port.
I turned, listening intently. One
of the lookouts above me also shifted, bringing his glasses around on the same
bearing. What was she doing over
there? I strained my eyes, trying to
bring the glasses into sharper focus.
The chuff grew louder, bouncing off the fog. It sounded like we were surrounded. I did a quick one eighty sweep and saw a
shadow in the fog off to our port side.
I put the glasses on it as the destroyer's bow broke through the fog,
headed right for us.
"Sir!" My
port lookout screamed at the same moment.
"Target! Bearing
270!"
Collision course. Why
weren't we taking evasive action? They
would be on top of us any moment.
"Over the side! Get
clear!" There was no time to get
below. As the lookouts swarmed down from
the sheers, I hit the diving alarm. The
klaxon cut the heavy fog, momentarily drowning out the sound of the closing
destroyer's engine. I punched the bridge
speaker savagely.
"Target!
270! Dive! Dive!"
There
was a hiss as the ballast tanks opened, and the sub settled deeper into the
water. I dropped down to the deck, and
grabbed the hatch cover, pushing down to make it seal. The heavy metal resisted as the water rose
around my knees. I pushed hard, coming
down on the hatch with all my weight. It
thunked home as the water surged over me.
I
struggled to turn the wheel and lock it closed.
The pressure increased as we continued our downward plunge, and I could
feel the current racing past, trying to pull me away from the wheel. I had to get some leverage. I jammed my leg between the hatch and the
conning tower bulkhead, pulling myself back over the hatch. The wheel finally turned, locking home with a
clunk I barely heard over the deep chuff of the destroyer's propellers passing
overheard.
I
released the wheel, allowing the current to take me. Streaming away from the hatch I was brought
up short in a sudden jerk of excruciating pain.
I almost lost the last of my air.
The current smacked me against the side of the conning tower. The sea erupted into flashing red streaks
that blurred in front of my eyes. I shook my head, trying to fight free. I had to go up. I grabbed the interior support rail, and felt
round the edges of the hatch to find what was holding me back. It took a moment to realize my shoe was
jammed between the hatch and the deck.
Fumbling with the laces, I loosened them, my foot came free and then I
finally felt myself rising.
Next
thing I knew, someone was tugging on me.
There was a hissing sound next to my ear. Beyond that, someone was coughing, deep
racking gasps for air. Then I was
floating. Dimly, I heard a voice.
"Commander!"
I
felt something rock me. I realized then,
I was the one coughing. Someone was
holding my head back, keeping it out of the water. I could feel his serge jacket sleeve under my
chin. Then the pain hit. Their arms were around me, keeping me from
doubling over. I swallowed hard and forced
my eyes open.
"Easy, sir."
A
blurry face bounced in front of me. I
blinked, gritting my teeth against the fire in my chest, willing my eyes to
focus. The blur resolved into the
concerned features of Picard, my port lookout.
When he saw me looking
at him, a broad smile creased his face.
"We've
got you, sir."
"T-
target?" I
had to force the word out.
The
lookout's smile turned into a pleased grin.
"Clean miss. You went port
and down, they went starboard. Man, we
scared those tin can jockeys out of a year's growth."
"Yeah." I
heard Yates' voice behind me. "We
thought you weren’t coming back up, sir."
"How -- long?"
I couldn't get my voice to produce anything more than a hoarse
croak.
I
felt Yates shrug. "Couldn't
rightly say ... two minutes."
"Then
we had to dive down after you when you sank."
Two
minutes. I had almost made that in
diving school.
"We
brought you up. Got your jacket
inflated. Then you started
coughing. Man, were we glad, sir. Up to then, it looked like you had drowned." Picard grinned again. "The brass doesn’t like to lose
officers."
I
tried to return his smile. "Th-thanks."
"No
trouble, sir." Yates answered,
easing his grip under my chin slightly.
The
pain was lessening, but I couldn't be sure if it was easing, or I was getting
numb from the icy water. A loud horn
sounded above the swish of the waves. We
heard an outboard engine closing.
"Hey, over here!"
Picard yelled, waving his arm.
A moment later one of the destroyer's launches came out of the fog. They cut power when they saw us, and drifted
in beside us. Much to my chagrin, Picard insisted they take me aboard
first. Two pair of strong hands reached
down, latching on to my life jacket.
They dragged me over the gunwale.
It was all I could do not to cry out when my leg hit the side.
"Hey,
take it easy, he’s hurt." Picard
admonished as he hoisted himself up, tumbling into the thwarts in front of
me. Yates followed.
A
wave of dizziness passed through me.
Picard turned toward me as I grabbed the seat to stop myself from
pitching forward onto my face.
Everything went black for a moment, then thankfully my vision cleared
again. I felt a blanket being bundled
around me. The boat rocked, then began
to gather speed. The destroyer must have
come to full stop almost immediately after her evasive action. I forced my eyes open as I heard Picard telling
the CPO at the helm what had happened.
"Belay
that, Picard." I ordered, trying to
get some steel back into my voice. It
still sounded hoarse and weak. I was no
hero. I had done what had to be
done. Best nip it now, before it was
embroidered and embellished into some superhuman feat. Too late. The boat crew was looking at me with awe. I wanted to crawl under the seat in
embarrassment, but I couldn't do that. So I gritted my teeth, forcing the pain
down. I didn't want that showing on my
face.
"Here,
sir." Picard slid down behind me,
offering me a spare life jacket to lay my head on.
I lowered my head to the soft kapok, as I
felt the lookout's hands wrapping the blanket tighter around me. That was the last thing I remembered.
Something
tugged on me and I came awake with a start.
The rocking motion of the boat was gone. I was lying on something firm. I stared at the white lump beside me,
suddenly realizing it was a pillow. Then
the antiseptic smell became apparent.
"Doc!"
he called over his shoulder. "He's
come around."
"Good." I heard a voice reply. "Shock's not as deep as I
thought."
I
tried to roll over and see who it was.
The pain tore up my leg, leaving me gasping. The room spun.
"Easy, sir."
The corpsman put his hands on my shoulders, pressing me back onto the
mattress. "You shouldn't move around
until Doc sets your knee." He began
to dress me in sick bay issue.
"Now, you two men to report to the Commissary and get Cookie
to give you something hot. Then
make your report to the OD." The
Doctor's voice came from behind me again.
"We'll send your uniforms back to your quarters when they are dry."
"Aye, sir."
Yates and Picard answered. I
heard their footsteps, then they stopped.
"The
Commander," Picard's voice was concerned.
"Is he hurt bad?"
I
almost heard the smile in the Doctor's voice.
"He was very lucky. He'll be
fine in a day or two, only he won't be using that leg very much for the next
two weeks."
Two
weeks. The Admiral wasn't going to be
happy about that.
"Thanks,
Doc." The door opened, then closed
and at last they were gone.
Picard's
concern was unsettling. I certainly
hadn't done him and Yates any favors by sending them over the side into the icy
water. We all knew what the career
servicemen thought of us command candidates, particularly when they thought we
couldn't hear them. I felt a hand
on my shoulder as the corpsman finished tucking in the blankets.
"Commander?"
The voice was gentle. "Still awake in there?"
I
opened my eyes cautiously. The room
stayed still. A tall man with a wry
smile and receding black hair had joined the corpsman. He wore a long lab coat. I squinted trying to read his name tag. Jamieson.
The Assistant Sawbones. I knew of
him but it was the first time we had met.
"Ah,
that's better, Lee." He smiled down
at me. "We could have all ended up
on the bottom of the river if you hadn't sounded that alarm."
I
felt myself grow hot with embarrassment.
Couldn't Picard keep that mouth of his closed? "I was only doing my
job." I clutched at the blanket,
wishing I could burrow under it.
Jamieson
smiled. "You're not supposed to go
down with the ship until you're a Captain, mister."
His
smile was infectious and I returned it.
Jamieson reached down, lifting the blanket away from my leg.
"Now,
let's see what we can do about -- "
Before
I realized his intention, he seized my leg and yanked it straight, popping my
knee back into the socket. I couldn't
stop my cry of pain this time. My body
jerked in response to the agonizing pain.
"Lee." The corpsman had me braced by the shoulders
as the Doctor held on to my leg.
"This is very important. I
want you to try to move your foot."
I
nodded. Slowly, carefully, I rotated my
foot. My knee ached, but the shooting
pain was gone.
"Good." The Doctor released my leg. "That was the worst part. Now we have to get the swelling
down."
Something
cold was laid on both sides of my knee.
"You
want something for the pain?"
I
shook my head. It was subsiding. Things were already foggy enough without a
sedative. The cold around my knee soaked
through and I began to shiver again, despite the blankets.
"Ben." The Doctor signaled the corpsman. Another blanket was placed over me.
At
last, I began to feel warm.
"Now,
I want you to sleep. You've had quite a
morning and it will be better if you -- "
His
words were getting fainter as I closed my eyes.
A moment later I went out like a light.