New Homeport Island (11 page)

and had set to sea at 2 p.m. We were headed to a certain set of
G.P.S. coordinates to facilitate a communications link. In C.I.C.
 the captain briefed the enlisted with a more face forward
 approach, he would no longer expected a sailors uniform to
 communicate his or her identity or even their role there on the
 ship…pay grades can be deceiving. Many of the junior enlisted
 were permanently dissuaded from ever seeking promotion as a
 result of ‘Dirty Laundry Day’ and they were quite clear about
 that as some tried to imply there was ground to be made up if
 they expected to ever get promoted. One more piece of fantasy
 leverage lost to an entire crew.  
The ship was cutting the waters in fair seas, the rolls didn’t
 pitch the ship more than twelve degrees; the skies had cleared
 and presented a beautiful shade of blue all the way to the
 horizon. The social cliques were still askew but they needed a
 break from each other anyways. Captain Artimus sat in his chair
 and stood on the bridge wings; for the first time he was in
 command of a truly cut throat ship, every aspect of that was
 wrong and something to be ashamed of but at the same time
 absolutely extraordinary.
On the mess decks the E-4 and below conversed during
 their meals same as ever, with the E-5’s it was more hit and
 miss, dependent upon who’s merit they stood upon during the
 arguments, some had actually stood on their own merit, but far
 too many had stood upon the merit of their subordinates and all
 the E-6…the first class petty officers, egged on in the promise of
 soon becoming chief petty officers, feared for their lives. As the
 hours rolled on, and all had a chance to sleep at sea again the
 first classes would test the waters figuratively speaking, and risk
 testing the waters literally speaking.

Word through the grape vine was we were to position
 ourselves beneath a satellite belonging to the U.S. geological
 survey, things had gone awry and its malfunction left no way to
 contact the satellite without being directly beneath it. We would
 upload a new program and the satellite would maneuver itself
 back into position. The X.O. and Ms. Mulner the ships
 intelligence officer seemed to have somewhere else to be and
 their absence was conspicuous to the crew.  
In C.I.C. the social tension was high enough to break a
 camel’s back. The watch stations had all been set; the ship was
 still within one hundred fifty miles from the coast of Oregon in
 an out chop. The reports throughout the ship regarding the ships
 condition rendered Combat Information Central irrelevant with
 the exception of storm tracking. Unloaded and dysfunctional,
 powered down consoles have a watch stander sitting at them for
 twelve hours at a time. The games ensued, when times were
 good it was a science fiction adventure land with a game of
 dungeons and dragons on the side.
Williams said to Worksen, “Thanks for all your help…or
 was it just me helping you?” Worksen replied, “You said you
 didn’t want the chiefs getting in trouble. They ran this scheme.”
CTR3 Larry Linscoe said, “Why, why would they run a scheme
 like that.” Worksen replied, “They said the history of this boat is
 that the chiefs have always run the boat…I guess we get bad
 officers or bad captains.” Linscoe replied, “We were going to
 kill you guys.” Worksen asked, “and why did it come to that?”
Linscoe took of his ballcap and scratch his head saying, “You
 guys were saying that we were all fuck ups, that you had done
 the work that we had actually done and there for you knew what
 you were talking about.” Worksen said, “Well they convinced us
 we’re all just working for our superiors and it’s the president of

the United States defending the country.” Williams interjected,
“So…if I do something positive then I didn’t do anything all and
 am just a fuck up, but if I do something negative then it’s just
 more proof I’m a fuck up.” Worksen replied, “Get promoted…”
Linscoe added, “Ya, because you guys are tired of doing it all.”
Worksen became enraged and said, “Now you fucking get it!
Now you understand and can’t deny it!”  GMM2 Sinks started
 tapping his fingers and said, “So when I trouble shot the VLS
 console and found that short…that would be an example what
 you are tired of having to do all by yourself.” Worksen
 responded, “Things like that, ya.” Williams asked Worksen,
“When did you ever work on that console?”  Worksen replied, “I
 do what I do, you do what you do.” To which Linscoe responded
 with a sigh, “Well, dude…to be honest I’m tired of doing
 everything myself. Those manuals you were putting the ships
 force revisions into…that made me tired…And when the hell
 am I going to get some recognition for having done that?”
Worksen yelled, “When you get promoted!” Ensign Cardell
 responded, “Fuck you guys.” and a tense silence fell over the
 space again.  
Mr. Mormus was in his state room reviewing performance
 records he had to request from the Department of Defense
 database, looking for the things that don’t go into a service
 record. Hoping to find no one on board had killed in the line of
 duty or had any involvement in any top secret operations. Early
 on in his search he decided not to leave his stateroom until the
 ship was safely in port.  
His phone rang and he answered, “Mormus...” It was
 captain Artimus calling, “You going to come out and play?” he
 asked. Mormus replied with a forced laugh, “Ahaha…still
 looking Captain…” Artimus then asked, “Any good stories?”  

Artimus was in his stateroom and threw his left leg up on his
 desk as he began scratching his groin. Mormus sat pensive at his
 desk, Looked up and gasped as he considered how he would
 reply and said again with a forced laugh that nearly sounded like
 crying, “It seems some of our boys went up against Iraqi
 intelligence services well after the war…there’s even some
 arrests of ship board gangs and drug dealers in these.” Artimus
 rolled his head and his eyes simultaneously and replied, “I like
 the ship board gang one…let see if we can get any play there.”  
In the galley MS3 Scrye was preparing the evening meal.
DKSN Greg Laung was mess cranking helping clean the galley
 and prepare the food. Laung was tearing lettuce by hand when
 he asked, “You know anything about this satellite thing were
 doing?” Scrye replied, “I was up there…they don’t know if
 we’ll get it, and it’s a three week underway period.” Laung
 replied, “Three weeks? What are we underway for this time?”
Scrye replied, “We just do it.”  
The meal was to be beef stroganoff or chicken patty with
 massed potatoes and stewed carrots, not a favorite meal of the
 crew but the reality of having a complaints department but no
 compliment department has been long understood by this galley
 staff. It’s said that on one occasion a new recruit had
 complimented the food and the result was a mess specialist
 second class petty officer went so delirious realizing no one had
 complimented the food in three years he had to be rushed to the
 emergency room and pledged to only serve dog food forever
 after. During his stay in Balboa medical center in the psyche
 ward the Hospital corpsman gave him a religious hell for all the
 bad food they had ever eaten or shipboard case of food
 poisoning they had treated. He was far worse off upon his return
 than when he was carried off the ship straight jacketed in the

white sheets the navy uses for its bunks. They say the expression
 on his face was like a five year old kid hopped up on jolt cola
 and pop rocks with nothing but free passes to every ride at
Disneyland having just had sex with Minie Mouse; a facial
 expression far too easy to picture for anyone that’s been down
 that road.
Mr. Mormus had been searching the ship for Mulner and
 couldn’t find her setting him into a panic. One of the last
 persons to see Mulner was MS3 Scrye. The X.O. rushed into the
 space like a rush of wind asking, “Have you seen Mulner since I
 was last down here?” Scrye replied, “No sir…is it her birthday?”
Mormus replied, “No scrye…it isn’t her birthday.” Scrye saw
 how disturbed the X.O. was and said, “I’ll find her sir.” and the
X.O. nodded and gave a quick glance out the door of the galley
 and then disappeared with a breeze behind him that actually
 blow down a piece of paper on top of the cabinet next to the
 door. Scrye walked to the phone and called the bridge. Moments
 later over the 1MC was passed the word. “Ensign Mulner,
 contact the bridge.”
Several minutes later there had been no response from
Mulner. Mulner had gone to the disbursing office and walked
 past the ladder to forward pump room, there was the sound of
 rushing water and a gush of air as she passed. In disbelief and
 shock she had descended the ladder to reassure herself that all
 was well. But once she reached the bottom she could only see
 one thing that her eyes had fixed on, a gush of water spraying up
 and being deflected by the overhead back down to the forward
 bulkhead, the arc of the water traversed the space from forward
 to aft. She stood there stunned, she glanced around and realized
 this is not a normally manned space, but a machinery space. She
 read the bulls-eye on the bulkhead giving the frame number,

deck, division responsible, and space designation. Once she had
 noted the bulls-eye, she attempted to gauge the rate of flooding,
 then looked for a phone. Mulner said, “phone..phone…where
 the hell is the phone.” She panicked and cried out, “Hello! hello!
A little help here!”  
DCFN Hyple was on the sounding and security watch a
 roving watch that checks the spaces bilge levels and
 temperatures to ensure there are no fires or flooding. He was just
 descending that same ladder when he heard a female voice call
 out, “Hello! Hello! Where the fucking hell is the god damn
 phone!!!” Once Hyple reached the bottom of the ladder he saw a
 growing wall of water and whirlpools forming in the raising
 bilge water as well as a screaming lost and delirious ensign, he
 instantly went into shock and with a flash of rage he looked at
 her and yelled, “What the hell did you do!!!??” Mulner looked at
 him shocked with no idea how long he had been standing there
 and cried out in a raspy hoarse voice, “What did I do!!?” Hypole
 tried to regain his composure and with his masculinity in full
 force held out his hand as if to say calm yourself and asked,
“Who else is down here!” his voice nearly drowned out by the
 sound of the rushing water. Mulner looked at him and back to
 the rushing water doing a triple take that made her dizzy and she
 asked, “Are you going to do…anything!!?” her voice just as
 raspy as before. Hyple again flashed with rage he yelled back at
 her throwing down his clip board and sounding tape, “What the
 hell are you even down here for!!” Mulner noticed the sounding
 tape as it hit the deck and she yelled, “Oh, your sounding and
 security…were flooding!” using the gesture he had used just
 before her and pointing with her other hand at the water coming
 from the aft end of the space. Hyple replied in an angry yell,
“What the hell did you do!!” Mulner responded in a full panic

realizing he suspected her of sabotage and might strike out in
 violence. She yelled back at him, “No…No…It’s coming from
 back there!” Hyple clenched his right fist just below his hip and
 grimaced. Mulner said, “No…god no! Your being
 disrespectful!” and with that Hyple struck her in the her left
 temple. She with stood the blow and cried as she said, “Will you
 just report it…will you just report it.” Hyple couldn’t hear her
 over the sound of the water and with an astonished look on his
 face he asked, “Are you saying… you just want to die, you just
 want to die!!??” Mulner yelled back wide eyed, dizzy and
 blurred from the blow she sustained, “No! No!...I’ll go report
 it...I didn’t do it…I’ll go report it!”  
Hyple unzipped his coveralls to waist level and tied the
 sleeves around his waist, then took of his dungaree shirt and
 waded in the water looking for a rupture in the hull. He resigned
 himself to stopping the flooding or dying in the attempt. In spite
 of his shock and hypothermia he was beginning to think more
 clearly, a voice in his head was saying, “repeat it…repeat it.” He
 voiced out loud, “Repeat what!” and in a moment of clarity it
 struck him… “Report it!” He yelled. He made his way back to
 the 2JV mic which was wrapped around a threaded stud on the
 sewage treatment plant and keyed the mic, “Hey guys, this is
 hyple forward pump room is flooding pretty bad…it’s up to my
 waist.” Central Control replied, “Is it the S.T.P. Hyple?” Hyple
 replied sounding as though he were crying, “No…I, think it’s
 the hull.”
In central chief Pete announced, “That guy is a DC-
 men…maybe he couldn’t get laid in a whore house, maybe
 performance anxiety with a woman that has been with a hell of a
 lot of men would prevent him from being able to get it up…but
 he’s a DC-men and I believe him.” Orbly said, “Let’s not have a

repeat of Aux one, send someone up there.” Chief Pete
 responded in irritation, “How about I just call it away! Don’t
 you have the watch?” Orbly ran over and keyed the 1MC,
“Flooding, Flooding…Flooding in space five tac one four eight
 tac one…forward pump room.” The ship didn’t set general
 quarters dealing with flooding was becoming a sport or perhaps
 as physical readiness training it was just a workout routine.  
Mr. Murmos happened upon Ms. Mulner in his stealthy
 search through the ship. Mulner jumped with a shake of her head
 that flipped her hair from on shoulder to the other and she
 shouted, “Sir, Sir…” Mr. Mormus lunged at her cover her mouth
 and asked fearfully, “Who’d they kill?” Mulner startled, “Ah-
 hunh wha..?” Mormus slowly uncovered her mouth and she said,
“I’ll say it calmly then…flooding, forward pump room,
 flooding. Hyple is a dick.” It was just then that they had passed
 the word from central regarding the flooding in forward pump
 room. Mormus said, “Just come with me…many of the
 problems we are having are indicative of having a ship board
 gang. Someone in the enlisted ranks does a really good job and
 as we thank them and give them some recognition that same
 individual tells us to go fuck ourselves.” Mulner replied, “This
 may be one of those days, sir.”
I ran to the forward pump room ladder and looked down it
 looked as though I would be neck deep in water. Forward of
 where I was standing the Captain stepped through the water tight
 door and asked, “How long have you been here?” I replied, “I
 just got here.” The captain said, “someone named Hyple is down
 there. It looks flooded solid.” I replied, “Yes sir it does.” then I
 jumped down the ladder. I had stood sounding and security
 while in port years ago and it is an exhausting marathon
 anything that makes it easier is something you’ll eventually