“Weps, are you going to turn?” I asked directly. In the narrow channel, every second counted. I glanced sideways at the familiar day markers and palm trees and knew we were at the point where we needed to turn. “Yes, three seconds. I thought they were early.” He seemed miffed I had prodded him. “Helm, right fifteen degrees rudder.” Santa Fe started a slow turn to the right, lining up with the next leg of the channel. It worked out just fine. But I could see Dave had lost initiative, lost confidence, and lost control. He was no longer driving the submarine, I was. His job satisfaction had just
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QUuestion were there ny pointd thay stopped you in your tracks and mmde you realizze sowmrhijng you wwanrwd to implemmememt or vhangee rigjt away?
