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Authors: Cliff Happy
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immediate possession, she needed to find a place to keep it where it wouldn’t get lost.
She signed for the book, not bothering to try and make small talk with the man. She’d already pegged him as a chauvinist pig. She’d dealt with his kind enough over the last three years to know the best way to deal with him was to kill him with professionalism and resolve. Kristen knew she would never change his mind, and he would go to his grave believing she had no business on a sub. He wasn’t the first, and she knew he wouldn’t be the last. The problem was that she would be assigned to the engineering department for the foreseeable future and would have to deal with whatever he dished out.
“I’ll get right on it, sir,” she assured him as she tucked the binder under her arm.
“No you won’t, Lieutenant,” he sneered. “You’ll get your ass back to engineering and get to work. This isn’t some pleasure boat you’re on, lady.”
She was accustomed to swallowing angry retorts, and instead of telling him where he could stick his sneering tone, she settled for a simple, “Aye-aye, sir.”
Four hours later, Kristen found herself soaked to the bone once more. This time, instead of rain, it was bilge water from her supervision of the replacement of a failing pump. The task had hardly been demanding, but she assumed it wasn’t meant to be. It had simply been menial, mindless work. But at least she was on board, she kept telling herself. What was more, she was finally doing what she’d been trained to do and what she’d always wanted. She could accept Kaczynski’s hazing as long as she was on board.
The engineering compartment—her new home—was enormous, with machinery squeezed in everywhere. Besides the reactor, which was in its own space, there were the massive reduction gears, two separate steam turbines, air handling and purifying equipment, a desalinization plant, condensers, generators… the list seemed endless. As part of her engineering exam, she would have to demonstrate proficiency on all of it.
After replacing the bilge pump, she found Kaczynski standing by the reduction gear housing. A crew of men was servicing the entire assembly that provided power to the submarine’s pump-jet propulsor, driving the nine-thousand-plus tons of submarine at over thirty-five knots. She stood beside him until he noticed her. When he did, she reported that the pump had been changed successfully.
“Is that a fact?” he asked as if doubting her.
“That is a fact, sir,” she replied, keeping her anger in check. She’d already allowed the captain to bait her; she wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
“Who signed off on the repair?” he asked skeptically.
“Petty Officer Darby,” she reported, referring to the quality control inspector who’d signed off on the work order. “What’s next, sir?” she asked, making it clear she was still anxious to work.
He glanced at the gear housing and then pointed to the bottom of it. “We’ll be replacing the gear oil as part of the maintenance cycle. Why don’t you see if you can manage to drain it without breaking a nail.”
Kristen wanted to laugh in his face. But she’d learned that this would only encourage him, so, once more, she swallowed her pride. “I’ll do my best, sir,” she answered, trying not to sound too much like a smart-ass as she ignored the snickering enlisted men who’d heard the chief engineer’s snide comment.
She consulted the technical manual, as was customary. Although more difficult than changing the oil in a car, it was basically the same in principle. Kristen connected a drain hose to a fitting positioned at the lowest point underneath the main casing for the reduction gear housing. The other end of the hose was then connected to a series of barrels. The lubricant would be collected, removed from the boat, and tested for metal deposits and viscosity breakdown before it was recycled for use again. But, prior to it draining into
She signed for the book, not bothering to try and make small talk with the man. She’d already pegged him as a chauvinist pig. She’d dealt with his kind enough over the last three years to know the best way to deal with him was to kill him with professionalism and resolve. Kristen knew she would never change his mind, and he would go to his grave believing she had no business on a sub. He wasn’t the first, and she knew he wouldn’t be the last. The problem was that she would be assigned to the engineering department for the foreseeable future and would have to deal with whatever he dished out.
“I’ll get right on it, sir,” she assured him as she tucked the binder under her arm.
“No you won’t, Lieutenant,” he sneered. “You’ll get your ass back to engineering and get to work. This isn’t some pleasure boat you’re on, lady.”
She was accustomed to swallowing angry retorts, and instead of telling him where he could stick his sneering tone, she settled for a simple, “Aye-aye, sir.”
Four hours later, Kristen found herself soaked to the bone once more. This time, instead of rain, it was bilge water from her supervision of the replacement of a failing pump. The task had hardly been demanding, but she assumed it wasn’t meant to be. It had simply been menial, mindless work. But at least she was on board, she kept telling herself. What was more, she was finally doing what she’d been trained to do and what she’d always wanted. She could accept Kaczynski’s hazing as long as she was on board.
The engineering compartment—her new home—was enormous, with machinery squeezed in everywhere. Besides the reactor, which was in its own space, there were the massive reduction gears, two separate steam turbines, air handling and purifying equipment, a desalinization plant, condensers, generators… the list seemed endless. As part of her engineering exam, she would have to demonstrate proficiency on all of it.
After replacing the bilge pump, she found Kaczynski standing by the reduction gear housing. A crew of men was servicing the entire assembly that provided power to the submarine’s pump-jet propulsor, driving the nine-thousand-plus tons of submarine at over thirty-five knots. She stood beside him until he noticed her. When he did, she reported that the pump had been changed successfully.
“Is that a fact?” he asked as if doubting her.
“That is a fact, sir,” she replied, keeping her anger in check. She’d already allowed the captain to bait her; she wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
“Who signed off on the repair?” he asked skeptically.
“Petty Officer Darby,” she reported, referring to the quality control inspector who’d signed off on the work order. “What’s next, sir?” she asked, making it clear she was still anxious to work.
He glanced at the gear housing and then pointed to the bottom of it. “We’ll be replacing the gear oil as part of the maintenance cycle. Why don’t you see if you can manage to drain it without breaking a nail.”
Kristen wanted to laugh in his face. But she’d learned that this would only encourage him, so, once more, she swallowed her pride. “I’ll do my best, sir,” she answered, trying not to sound too much like a smart-ass as she ignored the snickering enlisted men who’d heard the chief engineer’s snide comment.
She consulted the technical manual, as was customary. Although more difficult than changing the oil in a car, it was basically the same in principle. Kristen connected a drain hose to a fitting positioned at the lowest point underneath the main casing for the reduction gear housing. The other end of the hose was then connected to a series of barrels. The lubricant would be collected, removed from the boat, and tested for metal deposits and viscosity breakdown before it was recycled for use again. But, prior to it draining into
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