Under the Ice

While self-consciously wiping off the excess crumbs of powdered sugar that had gotten left behind in his thick mustache, the XO nodded.

“That’s certainly good news. Skipper. I’ll get the chief on it at once.”

As he jotted down a note on the half-filled legal pad resting on the table, Al Layman continued.

“Speaking of that newfangled Fathometer, we took on some support personnel soon after you left for your meeting. They’re currently up in the sail trying to figure out what went wrong with the frigging thing.”

Matt Colter seemed impressed with this revelation.

“Well, I’ll be. Command certainly doesn’t seem to be dragging its feet on this one. I can’t wait to hear what excuses they’ll come up with to save the reputation of the pencil pusher responsible for dreaming up that device.”

“I’m sure they’ll be good ones,” reflected the XO as he reached into his pocket and removed a well-worn briar pipe and a pouch of tobacco.

“I still think the laser was improperly calibrated. That would account for the discrepancy between the pictures of the ice conditions fed into our Nav system and those we actually ran into.”

As the rich scent of vanilla-and rum-soaked tobacco filled the air, the captain responded.

“But why in the hell do we even need such a system in the first place? Though they might take a bit more sweat and effort on the part of the crew, the old machines have been in service over three decades, and never once have I heard of one of those units failing.”

“I guess there’s no use trying to buck progress,” the XO offered.

“You must admit, when the bugs are finally worked out, having such a sophisticated system on board will certainly save a lot of time and worry on our part. Not only will the lasers accurately plot all available surface leads to the tenth of an inch, they’ll determine the pack’s precise thickness as well.

And then all we have to do is sit back on our duffs while this data is incorporated into our Nav system, and look on as ‘big brother’ automatically handles the ascent from there.”

“It still sounds like a pipe dream to me, Al. If this system works as planned, pretty soon a human crew won’t be needed at all. Why risk lives when computers can handle the whole damn show?” Thoughtfully taking a sip of coffee. Matt Colter grinned.

“I imagine many similar conversations filled the wardrooms of past warships when other radical changes were about to be incorporated into the fleet. I’ll bet the sailors of a hundred years ago turned a skeptical eye on the introduction of fossil-fueled engines into ships and preferred sails.”

“And don’t forget the recent advent of the nuclear reactor,” added Al Layman.

“If it wasn’t for the vision and tenacity of Hyman Rickover, who knows if under-the-ice missions would even be possible today.

No, Skipper, though it might take time to smooth out the kinks, I say it’s impossible to ignore the advances technology brings our way.”

Quietly absorbing this statement. Matt Colter worked on his coffee. He was a good halfway into the mug of strong brew when he again spoke.

“What do you have planned for your leave, Al?”

The XO replied while tamping down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe.

“Actually, this will be the perfect time for me to make good on that anniversary celebration I missed out on last week. I thought I’d surprise Donna and make a reservation at the inn on Nantucket where we spent our honeymoon.”

“How long has it been now, Al?”

“Believe it or not, we’re going on our eighth year, Skipper. Though in that time I’ve only been here twice to celebrate on the actual date of our anniversary.

“How about you? This would be the perfect opportunity for you to winterize your place in the White Mountains before the first big snows hit.”

Matt Colter shook his head.

“Afraid not, Al. You see, the last I heard, Kay and the kids were still living there. Seems she’s got something going with the owner of the lodge she was selling her paintings at this summer, and she asked if it was okay to have the place for the rest of the season.”

Conscious that he was treading on delicate ground, Al Layman carefully responded.

“I didn’t realize she had left Boston, Skipper. The last I heard, she had that great teaching position at Wellesley.”

“So she did,” reflected Colter.

“But just like Kay, she goes and blows her tenure on a summertime fling.

I pray this relationship works out for her, at the very least for the kids’ sake.”

The somber mood that had suddenly descended on the wardroom was broken by the arrival of a smiling, khaki-suited sailor carrying a half-filled duffel bag.

Quick to note the no-nonsense looks on the faces of the ship’s two most senior officers. Petty Officer First Class Stanley Roth sucked in his slightly bulging gut and stiffened to attention.

“Sorry to bother you. Captain. But you asked me earlier to give you an update on that sonar system’s checkout before I took off, sir.”

“That I did, Mr. Roth,” returned Colter, instinctively putting personal concerns out of his mind.