Under the Ice

A dozen men currently sat in this large compartment that served as a combination dining room, rec hall, and library. Several were playing cards, while others were gathered at various tables working away on breakfast. The scents of freshly perked coffee and frying bacon met Colter’s nostrils as he halted beside a booth holding Petty Officer First Class Stanley Roth.

“Good morning, Mr. Roth. How are you feeling?”

The ship’s senior sonar technician was far from his usual self, and he rather unenthusiastically answered, “I’m doing pretty good. Captain. At least I can get my oatmeal down this morning.”

“So that tooth is still bothering you. I thought you were going to see the base dentist and get it taken care of.”

“I did,” snapped the petty officer, “And to tell you the truth, that visit really didn’t amount to a hell of a lot. If you ask me, the doc would have rather been out on the golf course. He scraped and poked around a bit, and then dismissed me with a warning to brush and floss after every meal or I’d lose my tooth for sure. And here I’ve been conscientiously brushing and flossing ever since, and the damn thing is still throbbing.”

“Sounds like he should have pulled it right there. Is the pain interfering with your work in sonar?”

“Not really, sir. I guess I’m finally getting used to it.”

Colter could tell that the technician wasn’t being honest with him.

“No one should have to live with constant pain. I want you to see Pharmacist Mate Krommer right after chow. There has to be something he can do for you.”

Stanley Roth looked glum as he laid down his spoon.

“I know what Pills is going to do. Captain.

He’ll look inside my mouth, take my temperature, then my pulse, and hand me a bottle of those damn painkillers. Though they help a bit, I can’t go around doped up all day.”

“Ask him to prescribe a less potent drug,” advised Colter.

“He’s certainly got plenty to choose from in the ship’s pharmacy, and one of them has got to do the trick until you get that tooth taken out.”

“I never thought I’d look forward to the day when

I’d get a tooth pulled, but now I know better. Thanks for your concern. Captain. And don’t worry. I’ll survive.”

“I’m sure you will,” returned Colter. He patted the petty officer on the shoulder and then continued on through the mess hall.

He was about to pass by the galley when a familiar voice broke on his right.

“Hello, Captain. Can I fix you up a plate? Just pulled some fresh buttermilk hotcakes off the griddle, and the bacon’s nice and crisp just as you like it.”

Stepping forward to greet him was Petty Officer Howard Mallott, the sub’s head cook, his perpetual smile cutting his bespectacled face. The hefty brown-haired, ten-year veteran was second-generation Navy.

His father had been the head steward on the battleship New Jersey, and it was because of his exciting war tales that Howard had enlisted right after his high-school graduation.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to pass up that enticing offer, Mr. Mallott,” Colter responded as he touched his waistline.

“Your culinary magic has already been responsible for too many of these spare pounds.”

“Well, make certain to bring your appetite along at lunchtime. Captain. I’m serving your favorite — roast turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, and broccoli casserole, with apple pie a la mode for dessert.”

“Thanks for the warning, Mr. Mallott. Now 111 be certain to walk through the ship another time around just to burn up some of these excess calories.”

The jovial cook waved him away.

“Nonsense, Captain.

You look just as fit today as you did in your Annapolis photo. Now this gut is another story.”

As the senior cook playfully patted his own bulging stomach. Colter excused himself to get on with his tour. Briefly glancing into the galley itself, the captain found its relatively small space clean and neat. This said a lot for Petty Officer Mallott, whose responsibility was a heavy one.

One hundred and seven men put away a lot of chow in the course of a typical two-month patrol. Yet all meals came out of this single cramped galley. With the help of three assistants, Mallott served three complete meals a day along with a variety of light snacks in between.

US submarines have always been known for the excellence of their chow, and Howard Mallott kept this proud tradition alive. With the flair of a gourmet chef, he carefully supervised the preparation of each and every menu. Because the very nature of underwater duty was in itself boring, meal times on the Defiance were looked to as a welcomed break from the humdrum routine. After a tasty fried chicken dinner with all the trimmings, or even hamburgers and french fries, the crew felt refreshed and ready to return to their duty slots.