The Hunt for Red October (Jack Ryan, #3)

by Tom Clancy

“Skipper, Jones picked up a funny signal on the lateral. The computer says it’s magma displacement.” “And Jonesy doesn’t agree with that.” Mancuso didn’t have to make it a question. “No, sir, Captain, I don’t. I don’t know what it is, but for sure it ain’t that.” “You against the machine again?” “Skipper, SAPS works pretty well most of the time, but sometimes it’s a real kludge.” Jones’ epithet was the most perjorative curse of electronics people. “For one thing the frequency is all wrong.” “Okay, what do you think?” “I don’t know, Captain. It isn’t screw sounds, and it isn’t any naturally produced sound that I’ve heard. Beyond that . . .” Jones was struck by the informality of the discussion with his commanding officer, even after three years on nuclear subs. The crew of the Dallas was like one big family, albeit one of the old frontier families, since everybody worked pretty damned hard. The captain was the father. The executive officer, everyone would readily agree, was the mother. The officers were the older kids, and the enlisted men were the younger kids. The important thing was, if you had something to say, the captain would listen to you. To Jones, this counted for a lot.