Chief Francis E. Sharkey,
just about to start his second cruise as COB aboard the giant submarine
Seaview, ambled into the Control Room, head bent over a clipboard. He stopped just inside the aft hatch to make
a couple more notations before giving the paperwork to the boat’s XO, Lt. Cdr.
Charles P. “Chip” Morton. Sharkey had been
supervising the loading of supplies. He
was only too aware of how picky Mr. Morton was, and wanted to make sure that
there was nothing the XO could find fault with.
Sharkey was still finding his
way with his new crew. He’d been excited
when Admiral Nelson, with whom he’d served briefly several years ago, had
contacted him about taking over after the death of her first Chief of the Boat,
Curley Jones. When he’d seen the roster
he’d been a bit concerned to note how many men had been brought in from
non-Navy positions. But it hadn’t taken
him longer than halfway through his first cruise to realize how well each man
meshed into an incredibly tight, hard working, extremely competent crew. Sharkey was impressed that, while there were
a lot of strong-willed temperaments present, it was rare that everyone didn’t
pull together – didn’t all work toward the common goal of a successful
cruise. Sharkey was quick to note that a
lot of the smooth running was because of the Command Staff. While the XO might be a little anal – as far
as Sharkey was concerned, anyway – there was no doubt that his focus was on
keeping everything running smoothly. As
for the Skipper, Cdr. Lee Crane, well…
Once Sharkey got past the fact of how incredibly young the man was,
there was no denying the man’s competence.
Nor, the crew’s devotion to him. Sharkey was still coming to terms with the
fact that CO and XO were such good friends – had known each other since their
first days at
As Sharkey put the finishing
touches to the stowage report, someone came down the boarding hatch
ladder. So far, only the XO and CO were
in the Conn since it was still several hours before sailing time and the crew
was just starting to report in. Sharkey
quickly identified, even before his face came into view, Seaview’s cook. That had been another surprise for Seaview’s
new COB. While the man was the backup
reactor technician aboard the sub, he was also an excellent chef. Sharkey had never eaten so well on any other
vessel he’d served aboard. Of course,
he’d also figured out early on that if he wasn’t careful he’d have to buy
bigger uniforms. A smile crossed his
face as he listened to the two senior officers greet the man.
“You’re aboard early,
Cookie,” Morton commented as he checked the man in on his crew list.
“What with being out of town
all week, sir,” Cookie answered, “I wanted to spend a little extra time getting
the galley squared away.”
“Don’t you trust Higgins?” Morton asked, naming Cookie’s assistant.
Before the chef had a chance
to answer, Cdr. Crane jumped in. “Of
course he does, Chip.” Sharkey knew
Crane was teasing his XO, from the broad grin on his face and the quick wink he
sent the chef. “He just wants to make
sure that you didn’t raid the candy he ordered, since we’ll be out over
Halloween.” Sharkey knew, from Crane’s
instant laughter, that Morton had sent him a hard glare for that crack. Once more, before Morton could think of a
comeback, Crane spoke. “So,” he asked
Cookie, “how did you enjoy Boot Camp?”
Sharkey could only see the
side of Cookie’s face, but the chef’s expression changed from trying not to
laugh at Seaview’s XO – nothing was guaranteed to tick off Mr. Morton faster,
even if he wasn’t the one who had initiated the comments – to one that Sharkey
could only translate as pure joy. “Oh
man, Skipper. That CIA is
incredible!” Cookie’s voice was filled
with awe. “I learned more about using
knives than I ever thought existed, and that was just the first day.”
Crane sent him another
grin. “I look forward to your report,
Cookie,” was, however, all he said, and Cookie headed back toward where Sharkey
was standing, to go out the aft hatch and head for the galley.
Sharkey let him pass, totally
confused by what he’d just heard.
Seaview’s chef spending time at the CIA?
What was he doing there? It hadn’t
taken long for Sharkey to learn that Cdr. Crane still ran the occasional errand
for ONI. But what was Cookie doing at
the Central Intelligence Agency? He
finally walked forward. “Here’s the supply forms, Mr. Morton,” he said as he stopped
at the chart table where the two were standing, working on clipboards of their
own.
“Thanks, Chief,” Morton
answered. Crane was still grinning, and
Morton frowned before his expression softened somewhat as he turned to accept
Sharkey’s report.
“Ah…” Sharkey was still so new, he hadn’t yet quite
figured out how much he could question the senior staff.
“What’s up, Chief?” Crane
asked, sending the easy grin Sharkey’s way.
“Couldn’t help overhearing
Cookie,” Sharkey told him. “Just
wondered what he was doing at the CIA?”
He glanced at Morton as the XO couldn’t totally smother a snort. Crane’s grin momentarily broadened, but he
answered the question seriously enough.
“It’s a program the Admiral
authorized Cookie to take.”
“Wasn’t that all in the P-5
memo?” Morton asked, barely looking up from the clipboard he was working with.
“I believe that you’re
right,” Crane nodded back.
“Ah…oh,” Sharkey
stammered. He’d seen no such memo, but
he wasn’t about to admit it. No
way! Not to these two. “If there’s nothing else, sirs…”
Crave waved a hand in his
direction, already back to studying his own clipboard. “Carry on, Chief,” he said nonchalantly.
Sharkey almost saluted,
remembered just in time that Crane preferred to ignore that kind of military
discipline – on a day-to-day basis, anyway – and turned and left. Just as he stepped through the aft hatch he
thought that he heard snickers from Mr. Morton, and turned just in time to see
Crane punch him lightly on the shoulder.
But he hustled out before they could notice that he’d seen.
Now that the extra supplies
were loaded and stowed, Chief Sharkey had several other lists of pre-cruise
duties to see to. He thought about
heading for the Crew’s Mess to grab a cup of coffee – he knew that that would
be Cookie’s first chore once he’d gotten to the galley. But the man’s volatile temper made Sharkey
hesitate. He’d seemed happy enough while
talking to Morton and Crane, but the cook was one of the first people that
Sharkey had crossed swords with when he took over as COB. Man, all he’d done was question why the
Crew’s Mess had run out of hashbrowns before everyone had a chance to finish
breakfast and he’d gotten a two-minute tirade about how, if the crew wasn’t
such pigs, there would have been plenty for everyone. Sharkey figured that the comment was directed
at him personally, since he’d taken a huge portion first time through the
line. And then, no sooner had the man
stopped yelling when he’d pulled another tray of potatoes out of the warming
oven. The smirk he’d sent his new COB
had definitely been intimidating and Sharkey had, since then, kept his mouth
shut around the man, except to extend the occasional compliments on the quality
of the menus.
But the more he thought about
the man’s conversation with the two senior officers, the more confused Sharkey
got. And the more confused he got, the
grumpier it made him. He did not
like not knowing what was happening on his boat.
One of the items on his
checklist was to see how repairs were coming to one of the torpedo racks in the
Missile Room. When he entered, he saw
Patterson and Kowalski apparently just sitting on the deck, talking. “Hey,” he growled, “what’s the big idea? Do I have to stand over your shoulder
constantly just to make sure you don’t goof off?”
Kowalski sent him a sharp
look, but it was Patterson who calmly answered.
“Not goofing off, Chief. We’re
just rebuilding this bracket.”
“Rebuilding,” the Chief
continued to bluster. “Just get a new
one.”
“Can’t, Chief,” the
mild-mannered seaman continued to try and placate him. “The Admiral designed these especially for
Seaview. The company he had make them has been bought up by some congloberate…”
“That’s conglomerate,”
Sharkey automatically corrected.
“You describe it your way,”
Kowalski, the senior rating aboard Seaview, finally spoke, “and we’ll describe
it our way.”
“Anyway,” Patterson broke in
before Sharkey could say anything more, “seems the new owners are doing away
with the less profitable programs.
Admiral Nelson is looking into finding a local company to make these,
and several other parts for Seaview that aren’t standard issue. Until he does that we have to make do with
what we have.”
“Oh.” Sharkey immediately deflated. He thought that he saw Kowalski send him a
self-satisfied grin but chose to ignore it.
Instead, he had the two men show him what was so special about the
bracket as opposed to the standard variety, and watched as they repaired it.
As the two got ready to
reinstall the bracket, Sharkey decided that he’d better get back to his
list. But he took a moment to ask them,
“Ah, I seem to be missing a memo the Admiral sent out. Something he labeled the P-5?”
The two seamen looked at each
other, and then back to him. “Sorry, Chief,” Kowalski, now a good deal more calm then when
Sharkey had first challenged them, said.
“Never heard of it.”
Patterson nodded his
agreement. “Might have been something
for just the officers,” he added.
Sharkey had his own opinion
of officers keeping secrets from the COB.
How was a man supposed to do his job if he didn’t know what was going
on? “Either of you know,” he tried to
sound like he was changing the subject, “why any of the crew would be sent to
take basic training with the CIA?”
This time the two shared a
grin before Patterson answered. “Not
unless it was the Skipper.”
“And he’d probably want to do
it behind Mr. Morton’s back,” Kowalski added, before both men chuckled.
Even Sharkey smiled. It hadn’t taken him long at all to find out
just what Seaview’s XO felt about the Skipper’s occasional extracurricular
activities for ONI. He could well imagine
the fireworks if Cdr. Crane had gone off for extra training in anything related
to those missions. Although, he was sure
the yelling would have been done where the crew couldn’t see or hear it. Mr. Morton was always perfectly proper around
the Skipper on duty. Well, most of the
time anyway. Sharkey finally shrugged,
let the men get back to their job at hand, and headed to check the next project
on his list.
He was standing in the
corridor outside the reactor Room when Lt. Chris James came toward him from the
direction of the
“Oh, sorry, Chief,” he
stopped and apologized. “XO Morton sent
me to track down a box of spare microchips for the navigation computer, and I
was trying to figure out where they were listed on the cargo manifest so I knew
which cabinet they were stored in.”
“Cabinet B in the aft stores
locker,” Sharkey told him automatically.
“At least, that’s where Mr. Morton stores most of his computer
components.”
“Thanks, Chief,” and James
started to walk off.
“Say, Lieutenant,” Sharkey
stopped him. With James being so new
himself, the Chief took a chance. “I’ve
misplaced my copy of the Admiral’s P-5 memo.
I’ll just take yours and make a quick copy.”
James sent him a puzzled
look. “I’m sorry, Chief. I don’t know which one that is. What was it about?”
Stuck in his little charade,
Sharkey had to think fast.
“Extracurricular training schedules for personnel.” He remembered the Skipper’s comment, and
tried to sound convincing.
But James just gave him the
same shrug that the two seamen had earlier.
“I haven’t seen anything like that, Chief. But I’ll ask the XO as soon as I get back to
the
The last thing that Sharkey
wanted was for Morton and Crane to find out he had no idea what they had been
talking about earlier. “No, no,” he
quickly stammered. “I’ll take care of
it.”
“Oh. Okay, Chief,” James told him, and once more
headed aft. Muttering to himself about
barely shaving junior officers, Sharkey went back to his checklist.
He’d actually managed to forget
the whole thing by the time Seaview was ready to sail six hours later. Well, almost.
He still had no idea what the sub’s cook had been doing at the CIA. He’d casually mentioned it to several other
seamen – judiciously avoiding doing so where he might have been overheard by
any of the officers – but no one had any more ideas than he did. Riley was actually excited by the idea, and
wondered out loud if anyone could volunteer for the extra training.
Sharkey tried to squash the
young seaman’s enthusiastic ponderings on the subject by reminding him of the
usually top secret goings on of that organization. Unfortunately, he realized too late what he’d
started when, passing one of the locker rooms later,
he heard several of the crewmen talking about it. “If you guys haven’t anything better to do
than gossip like a bunch of old women,” he blustered, sticking his head in the
door, “I bet I can find you something.”
“Sorry, Chief,”
the half dozen men told him, and immediately tried to look busy. Sharkey continued down the corridor, shaking
his head.
He knew that he’d screwed up
big time by not keeping his mouth shut when, the next morning, he entered the
aft hatch of the Control Room and was greeted to several quick grins and a
couple of snickers, before all duty crew turned back to their stations. He was just about to walk back out, not sure
if he wanted to face anyone, when
“Chief, a message just came
in for the Admiral. He’s in the
Wardroom. Would you take it down to
him? He’s expecting it.”
“Sure thing,” Sharkey readily
agreed. At least it got him out of the
But he regretted the decision
instantly when, walking into the Officers’ Wardroom, he found not only the
Admiral but also Morton, Crane, and Dr. Jamison sitting with him, all just
finishing their breakfast. CO and XO
almost instantly buried their faces in their coffee mugs, but not before
Sharkey saw the total merriment written all too plainly on their faces. Jamison’s back was to Sharkey so he couldn’t
see his expression, but the doctor’s shoulders briefly shook with what Sharkey
figured was silent laughter.
Nelson himself was trying
desperately – and failing miserably – to keep a straight face as he turned and
sent a pointed eyebrow at the Chief. “
But the Admiral stopped his
retreat. “Come sit down and try one of
these scones Cookie made,” Nelson waved him toward a seat. As Sharkey hesitated ever so slightly, Crane
and Morton quickly stood with comments of having to get to the
“Huh?” Sharkey looked up wearily from starting to
reach for one of the tempting baked treats.
“Surely you’ve heard of the
Culinary Institute of America?” Nelson asked nonchalantly.
“Ah, oh sure, Admiral,”
Sharkey stumbled to get out with equal nonchalance. Nelson once more struggled to control his
expression, but made no other comment as Sharkey bit into the still warm quick
bread. He couldn’t stop the moan of
utter delight that came out as he savored the subtle flavors of peach and
coconut baked into the scone.
Nelson took a long swallow of
coffee before continuing. “Cookie wanted
to test the recipe out on Cdr. Crane before he decided to make enough for the
whole boat. There will no doubt be more later in the Crew’s Mess.” Sharkey only nodded as he took another big
bite. “Speaking of whom,” Nelson
continued, “Lee was so pleased with how easily you went along with his and
Chip’s teasing about the P-5 memo.
Sometimes, when a person takes over for someone as well respected as
Curley was, it takes awhile to settle in.
He said he knew that you understood all along that he was referring to
the old phrase, ‘Prior Planning Prevents Poor Performance,’ and then went on to
spread the joke around the rest of the boat.
I’m sure it helped put the crew more at ease around you.”
“Ah…” Sharkey tried to get out
around another big bite of scone, “oh sure, Admiral. Knew it all the time.”
Nelson nodded. “Just his way, you being
the new guy and all, of helping welcome you into the crew.”
“Appreciated.” Sharkey mumbled.
Nelson sent him another grin, finished off his coffee, and left. Sharkey sent a frown at his back. And
hopefully I won’t be subjected to that kind of appreciation again, he
growled to himself, before reaching for another scone.