Down Periscope

Moving on to the last name on the list, Lt Cmdr Thomas Dodge.

Third in his class at sub school. Did even better in the advanced course.

Cited for tactical excellence, joint NATO exercise.

180 and closing, sir.

- Ahead one-third, steady on course. - Ahead one-third, steady on course. Aye, sir.

- Target at 175 and closing, sir. - Let's try a shot.

This is the third time Tom Dodge has come up for command.

If we don't give him a boat, he'll be dropped from the command programme,

which would be a tragedy for him

and a mistake for us, given the years and dollars spent training him.

Well, I'd have to disagree with you, Admiral Price.

Dodge's fitness report also presents a man who three years ago

brushed against a Russian missile sub just off Murmansk.

Not exactly a promotional bell-ringer.

Target at 160, sir. Five-knot aiding wind.

- Delivery seven. - We have a shooting solution.

More to the point, I simply don't approve of his command style.

He's impulsive. He's often undisciplined, even reckless at times.

Fire one!

Get up there, you miserable little puke.

It's a fine shot, sir.

Well, what the heck? Why don't we pull in so you can putt out?

I will simply remind the selection board of one irrefutable fact

that seems to sum up Dodge's character.

There is physical evidence that as an ensign Dodge became so physically intoxicated

that he not only allowed himself to be tattooed,

but tattooed on his genitalia.

Now, call me a prude if you want, but I don't think it's good policy for the navy

to hand over a billion-dollar piece of equipment

to a man who has "Welcome Aboard" tattooed on his penis.

After 80 days under the ice pack I thought some recreation might be in order.

- Priority message, sir. - I was not endangering the boat.

Your actions were totally inappropriate. It's not the way a prospective captain acts.

A failing noted more than once in your fit rep.

As much as I like to see my men advance, I have an obligation to be as honest as I can.

- Then I'm in trouble. - This is entirely of your own making.

This is a confirmed kill. 20 years down the fucking drain.

Watch your language, Dodge. You know how I hate that.

Gee, now I've gone and done it. Ruined my career!

Apparently not.

This is just in from COMSUBLANT.

You are to report to Norfolk immediately.

- To command your own submarine. - That's not funny.

No, it's not. That's why they decoded it twice.

Congratulations.

?Oh, yeah!

I just hope they have one in turquoise. Thank you!

It's good to see you again, Dodge. Been about four years.

Something like that, sir. Not since we were both at Kings Bay.

Well, you're about to join the elite of the submarine service.

- The best the United States Navy has to offer. - Damn good feeling, sir.

As a matter of fact, there she is right now.

Your new boat.

USS Stingray. SS 161.

That?

- This can't be my boat, sir. - Well, it most certainly is.

- Balao class, refitted 1958. - Balao class? But that's a diesel sub.

- The navy doesn't even use diesels any more. - They do now. She's been recommissioned.

No disrespect to the USS Rustoleum here, but I'd be better off in the Merrimack.

- I was trained to command a nuclear boat. - Are you refusing to take command?

- No, sir. - Good.

- Meet your crew here tomorrow at 0700. - They also left over from World War Two, sir?

No, Captain.

They've been handpicked... by me.

Come on in.

Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Admiral Winslow.

- Take a seat. - Thank you.

- Well, how do you like your boat? - It's a complete piece of...

antiquated equipment, sir.

I have dedicated a substantial portion of my life to getting my own boat.

I was wondering why you chose to embarrass me.

No embarrassment intended. You've been chosen for a specific mission.

To turn her into a museum, sir? The Wonderful World Of Corrosion?

Hardly.

Here are recent satellite photos of Russian bases at Petropavlovsk and Vladivostok.

That's where the Russians have got their diesel sub fleet.

But each week they're fewer because they're selling them off like hot cakes

to countries like Iran, Iraq and Libya, to name a few.

With respect, sir, one American nuclear attack sub could defeat several diesels.

In conventional battle, certainly that's true.

What if you had one renegade diesel captain who decided to hit us without warning,

a terrorist intent on getting a nuclear warhead into a harbour?

Do you think we could catch and kill a bogie like that in time?

Absolutely, sir.

Well, most of the admiralty, they would agree with you.

But me, personally, I'd like to know for sure.

That's why you'll clean up the Stingray and take her out off the Atlantic coast

for a series of war games.

One rebel diesel against the US nuclear navy.

Come on.

First you'll attempt to invade Charleston harbour.

If you're good enough to evade further pursuit,

you're going to attempt to sink shipping right here at the naval base in Norfolk.

Simulated, of course.

- What do you think? - I think I'm gonna get my ass kicked, sir.

Don't think like that. Damn it to hell, don't go by the book.

Think like a pirate. I want a man with a tattoo on his dick.

Have I got the right man?

By a strange coincidence you do, sir.

However, the task you've given me here is close to impossible.

If I pull it off, that is get both ports...

I would like command of my own nuclear sub.

- Setting terms now? - No, sir.

But without command, once this exercise is over I'm headed for a deskjob,

which means I'm out of the navy.

I can't make you any guarantees, Dodge, but this is what I'll do.

I'll give you two live torpedoes. I'll set a dummy ship in Norfolk harbour.

If I see that baby go up, then we'll talk about your boat.

Thank you, sir.

Nice pants. Lose the cigar.

You better burn that shirt, sailor.

It's the crew from hell.

Good morning, sir! Martin G Pascal, Executive Officer of the Stingray, sir!

- Do you come with a volume control? - Sir?

Lt Commander Tom Dodge.

- You're kind of young for an XO. - Excellence knows no age, sir.

What do you think about our boat?

I need a tetanus shotjust from looking at it.

The only thing holding her together are the bird droppings, sir.

We have our crew here, I see. What do you say we board them?

Yes, sir. Seaman Stanley Sylvesterson, sir!

- Welcome aboard, Sylves-terson. - Sylvesterson, sir.

- Though my friends call me Spots. - Spots.

I'm a bit of a gambler, sir.

What happened to your shoes?

Ever bet on a sure thing and the horse gets a cramp, sir?

- Grab a bunk. - Thank you, sir.

- Next. - Hey, get your hands off of me!

Oh, good. Our chaplain has arrived.

Sonar Technician, Second Class, ET Lovacelli, sir!

- Goes under the name "Sonar". - Welcome aboard, Sonar.

Excuse me, sir. This is an actual navy submarine?

- Not a float in a parade or something? - I'm afraid so, Sonar.

Isn't that odd.

Don't tell me. Deaf as Beethoven.

Oh, no. Great ears, sir. Watch what you say around him.

He hears everything. His last CO thought he was a security problem.

Excuse me, sir, I don't hear everything. And I'm quite trustworthy too.

Right.

Shoot.

Engine Man, First Class, Brad Stepanak!

Sit on it and rotate, sir.

What did you say, sailor? You can't say that.

- He can't say that! - Pascal, down. Heel.

By the code of military justice, that constitutes gross insubordination,

punishable by one month in the brig. I'm ready to go, sir.

- Board the boat. I like a challenge. - You'll throw me off within a week.

I'm a dedicated pain in the butt, sir.

- Stepanak. - What?

If I throw you off, it'll be in the middle of the Atlantic.

- Board the damn boat. - Oh, man.

What's our mission, rescue Gilligan?

- You're mine, maggot! - Ha!

I love this job.

And who's our next contestant?

Sorry. The name's Buckman.

- Nitro, hi. - Interesting nickname.

What's your real name?

Nitro.

- I'm working on a nickname, though. - Oh, yeah?

Listen to this.

Mike.

- You're Stoneball Jackson. - Who you calling Stoneball?

I lost a grand on that army game, butterfingers.

For your information, I was mugged. Gaines was all over me that play.

I saw that play. I saw the replay.

There was nobody near you but the mascot, and he could have made that lay-up.

That's cute. But it's on now.

Small, but... filthy.

Come in.

Hell of a day, huh, Marty?

It's not over yet, sir. Lt Lake is here.

- Show him a bunk. - There's a problem, sir.

Lt Lake reporting for duty, sir. And there's no problem.

I get it. Please, don't take off your clothes.

It's nice of the guys to get me a stripper, but I got a lot of work to do.

Thank you. Nice job on that uniform though.

I am not a stripper, sir.

I am Lt Emily Lake, your new dive officer.

Well, that's impossible. They must be confusing you with Emilio Lake.

Women aren't allowed on submarines.

They are now. Admiral Graham instituted a trial programme.

- I'm it. - Good old Graham.

Men! At ease.

I'd like to introduce our newest crew member - Lt Emily Lake.

Emily is part of a pilot programme

to test the feasibility of women serving on submarines.

She's going to be our diving officer.

Can she do a back inward one-and-a-half in the layout position?

Look, gentlemen, I know this is an unusual situation.

It can't be easy for Lt Lake here to be thrown into this jungle.

And I know it will make things hard on all of us.

Let me rephrase that. It's going to make things difficult on all of us as well.

But if we just work together as a team, I'm sure we can handle ourselves...

Ping!

Comport ourselves as professionals.

That is all.

Come on, put some muscle into it.

- Stepanak, what are you doing? - As little as possible, sir.

I'm a detriment to the entire operation. A total morale-crusher.