Not So Subpar #3 - The Time I Threw Away the NAVs Classified Data Inventory Sheet

There's only one submarine story

JO's Log, USS [REDACTED], SSN-[XXX], 0351 hours, location [REDACTED], ship is surfaced, normal surface running mode...

I had just settled in for a cozy and much deserved sleep after a decadent "third-meal" on the inbound transit home from a grueling 8-month deployment. The ship was slicing through seas that were just passing the threshold of "rock-you-to-sleep" and starting to enter the "ruin-your-oncoming" zone. But no matter, with a belly fully of burger and a heart full of anticipation for the arrival home tomorrow, I could sleep through anything and was quickly engulfed in unconscious bliss. 

I awoke moments later to the creaking of bulwarks and bulkheads caused by a particularly hard roll to starboard followed by the slippery sloshing sound of stacks of paper sliding to the floor.  For the uninitiated, immediately across the passage way from the officer's quarters is a series of "mailboxes" labeled for each officer onboard. While the intended purpose of these mailboxes is likely routing of important messages, documents, and memos, in practical use, they end up being a storage area for JO engineering notes, casualty reports the chop will never co-sign, esoteric weapons inventories that WEPS will find during critiques, and every engineering document you swore you routed to the ENG a week ago.

In a depth of daze that can only be initiated by awaking in the middle of a REM cycle after weeks of missing the necessary quantity of REM cycles, I stumbled to the door and poked my head into the hallway. Amidst the groans and shouts of my shipmates recovering from the roll, I saw a mountain of paper on the ground, impeding the exit from my stateroom and precluding anyone's entrance into the head. Knowing full well, I could easily jump right back in the rack and ignore this problem entirely, I was reluctantly overcome with JO-guilt and began to pickup and sort through the Kafkaesque cacophony of papers.

Some sorts were easy: "Reactor chemistry - definitely CRA". 

"Weeks of unsigned Fuel-Oil-Water reports - right into ENG's box."

"Engineering Notes: LTJG [REDACTED] (Submarines, Unqualified)" - No problem, EA, sleep tight." 

Others were bewildering: 

"Never seen this document before... could be a chop thing?"

"OK, looks weapons related... I'll just put it in AWEPS box. WEPS is a nice guy and I don't want to cause him extra work sorting through this"

Soon the adrenaline of the abrupt wakeup wore off and I became tired and irritable. 

"I don't know why the MPA has to keep ALL his old surveillances in his box. Shouldn't he have a folder in the Engine Room???"

"Why does the ANAV even have a box here? Last time I checked his rate starts with an 'E' not an 'O'!"

I began shoving papers into boxes wildly, knowing God would sort his own, and if not him, then potentially some off-watch JO. I was soon left with a pile of papers of unknown origin and no more space to shove them.

"How is this even possible? This definitely violates some law of physics or at the very least thermodynamics!"

In a storm of tired frustration, I quickly shuffled into the wardroom and tossed the remaining papers into the "burn bag" where scrap and excess documents were stored for later destruction. I stormed back to the rack and jumped in without a care left to give. 

Enter scene, the ship's dutiful "burn bag" manager and destruct-extraordinaire, codename "Petty Officer Shred-wards" (he actually received a NAM for his expert management of the ship's discarded classified materials). Ever vigilant, earnest warrior of paper-shredding, Petty Officer Shred-wards deftly anticipated the need to rid the boat of all materials marked for destruction so declassification and visitor conditions could be set upon return to homeport. I know not if it was a matter of hours or seconds after my departure from the wardroom, but at some point in my slumber, Shred-wards entered and removed the bag for immediate shred operations. 

I was awoken sometime later by a flurry of activity in my stateroom. 

"What's going on?"

"It's NAV," the DCA replied, "he's got all the JO's up looking for some inventory sheet"

"Inventory of what?"

"Classified documents or something, or maybe an audit of them. I don't know, I'm just looking for anything that COULD be that so he'll get off our case and I can go back to sleep. He's in the wardroom if you want to ask."

I got up, composed myself, and went to the wardroom to see what all the fuss was about. As I entered I came upon the Nav, frantically shaking binders, books, and folders free of their contents on the wardroom table while lambasting, "I can't believe this.... it took FT1 and I hours to complete that audit!!!"

Me: "What's going on?"

Nav (zero composure): "It's the audit of the inventory, I can't find it!"

Me: "The what?"

Nav (unhinged): "The audit! The audit of all the classified material! It's gone, it's not anywhere, I can't find it! We need all the JOs up now! This is an all hands event! We need to find it before we pull in so we can get it sent off once in port!"

Me: "Ok, ok, we'll look for it. Can we send the guys about to be oncoming to bed? That way they can get some sleep before we drive the ship in?"

Nav (returning to reality): "Yeah, ok, sure, we just need to find it today"

And so the rest of us set to work, leaving no cabinet unopened, no binder unflipped through. After some time of searching with no results, I started probing with more questions to the Nav in order to get the background on the situation.

"So what is this thing? Why do we need it?"

"It's an audit we have to submit when we send the rest of the material off... we had the whole thing ready to go, but when I looked through my mailbox this morning, it wasn't in there. I definitely put it in there last night!"

I'm glad that the NAV was looking down at the papers he was shuffling through, because at these words my previously sleep deprived eyes shot wide open. I immediately jerked my head toward the spot on the wardroom bench where the "burn bag" traditionally sat perched only to find that spot... EMPTY!

Oh Calamity! Oh perfect storm of hubris, laziness, and neglect come perfectly meshed for catastrophe! I knew immediately that all signs pointed to the document having been destroyed by the dutiful hand of Shred-wards. BUT... there was no way to know for sure... and being a rapscallion of a JO, there was no way I was going to fall on my sword without definitive knowledge I was at fault, but yet....

"So NAV, if we can't find this thing, what does that mean? Is this like a 'CO gets fired' kind of thing?"

"Well, no... it just has to be sent before we can remove this material when we pull in... and FT1 and I already put in so much time to put it together... there's no way to do it now because he's on watch and soon we'll be stationing the maneuvering watch..."

"Well, what if I helped? We could get as much as we could done now... and then do the rest after the homecoming ceremonies and before we leave to go home?"

"Hmm... you'd do that? I think we could make that work..."

"Seems faster to redo it then keep searching with no results, at least we'd be making some progress..."

"Yeah...yeah, I know what you mean... ok... let's do it! Thanks for volunteering."

"Sure NAV, anytime."

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