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“Seriously?” Howard was paying attention now. On a normal patrol, trips to PD were rare. Offering a seat like that to Howard was a big deal, giving him a leg up on a big watchstation qualification. “What time?”

“Come up about halfway through the watch,” said Jabo. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m not even positive we’re going, but I know we need the broadcast…if you happen to be in the control room when we do, and you’re prepared, I don’t see why you can’t get the signature.”

“Thanks sir, I’ll be ready!”

“Good,” said Jabo, and he continued his tour.

• • •

He finished the tour, as always, in the control room, reading the captain’s night orders, checking the deck log, and looking at the CODC display, the Officer of the Deck’s view into the ship’s sonar suite.

“What’s that?” said Jabo, pointing to a contact designated Sierra Nine. They’d been tracking it loosely for the whole watch.

“Not sure,” said Hein. “We’ve been trying to get away…not really doing any good listening at this speed.”

“But he keeps hanging on?”

“Still there every time we slow down.”

Jabo punched a few buttons on the console, bringing up the contact’s estimated course and speed.

“She’s following us? That’s what you’ve got in here.”

Hein shrugged. “Who knows? We’re going so fast, it’s hard for us to listen.”

“But easy for someone to listen to us.”

Hein smirked a little…Jabo could tell he didn’t really believe they were being followed. But he knew they should be assuming the worst right now, and he didn’t like the complacency he saw from his friend Hein at that moment. It was sloppy thinking for an OOD. It would be hard, but he vowed to learn more about Sierra Nine during the six hours of his watch.

Jabo crossed the control room to finish his pre-watch tour with a check of the ship’s position on the chart. Even with all the advanced, electronic navigation at their disposal, the ship’s position, marked in pencil on a paper chart, was still a cornerstone of navigation. Jabo took his time as he did it, even though he could tell Hein was eager to get off the conn now that his six hours were nearly up.

“Are these our assigned areas?” Jabo asked QM1 Flather, the assistant navigator, who was standing nearby with a pencil tucked behind his ear. He looked as exhausted as the navigator did, all the last minute changes to their patrol orders had taken a toll on him as well.

“Here, here, and here,” said Flather, wearily thumping his thumb on a succession of three blue boxes that progressed westward. “They are changing fast because we’re moving so fast.”

“Where are the orders?” Flather handed him over a clipboard with their assigned areas from Subpac. Jabo carefully checked all three areas on the chart, verified that all three had been drawn in correctly. It was critically important. Staying inside the proper rectangle at the proper time ensured that they wouldn’t collide with any other US submarine, as no two boats would ever be assigned overlapping patrol areas. Conversely, if, while in the assigned areas, they heard another submarine on sonar…it wasn’t friendly.

Jabo then looked over the ship’s track on the chart. He checked the time of the dead reckoning, followed the track to the left, realizing with shock that Flather had actually plotted their predicted position, three hours into the future, past the left border of the chart, into the margin.

“Where’s the next chart?” said Jabo. “Why haven’t you changed?”

“Not approved — Nav’s still got it,” said Flather. “Still going over the updates.”

Jabo frowned and Flather shrugged. He looked up at Hein.

“There’s no chart.”

Hein came over to join them. “I think the Nav’s almost done with it, he’s finishing up in the officer’s study. I’ve been asking him about it for the last hour, he finally stopped picking up the phone.”

Jabo tapped his finger on the table. “I need to see that chart.”

“Ah shit, Danny, it’s six o’clock already. I’m starving.”

“Sorry, Jay, really. I’ve got to see where we actually are before I take the conn.”

“Alright,” said Hein, falling wearily into the captain’s chair. “Fuck. Go find him. Quickly please.”

Jabo slid down the ladder out of the control room and headed for the officer’s study where he’d last seen the nav. He felt bad — relieving the watch late was a bad deal, and doing so more than a few times could quickly lead to a reputation that he didn’t want. But on the other hand — he didn’t feel right about taking the watch without seeing where they were going. Hein should have insisted on getting that chart into the control room. He knew that they were operating under some extraordinary circumstances, but his instincts as an Officer of the Deck, honed over three long years at sea, wouldn’t allow him to take the watch when their position was plotted into blank space on the margin of a chart.