“General, it’s not gonna happen.”

“Jenkins, the hatch is Captain America’s shield! What could possibly go wrong?”

“I could drown.”

“Well, obviously. I meant besides that.”

“There are no other worries in a submarine, sir.”

“Oh, pish-posh. There’s nothing but terror in a tube. Violent decompression. Tortuous recompression. You might get Jonahed.”

“I don’t think a whale would eat that, sir.”

“Never pretend to know the mind of fish, Jenkins.”

“Mammals, sir.”

“We are, aren’t we? Fine and hairy and half of us have teats.”

“No, sir. Whales are mammals.”

“Nonsense. Far too wet to be mammals. And stop distracting me, you puzzleheaded mump.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is the next step in technology, Jenkins.”

“Yes, but the step is backwards.”

“Flabbergast! She’s modern as all get-out. Look at those ropes. Used to be that you couldn’t get ropes in that color. Rope used to be rope-colored. It’s a brave new world, Jenkins.”

“I see the rope, sir.”

“Or cable. Or wire. Or whatever the hell they call a rope on a boat. You know boat people: everything needs to have a different name to confuse the landlubber.”

“Yes, sir. The toilet is the head, and so forth.”

“I’ll call the damned toilet anything I want! They can’t shame me for landlubbing. I lub land, Jenkins!”

“You’re renowned for your lub, sir. But that does bring up a question.”

“I go in raw, or I don’t go in at all.”

“Different question, sir.”

“Shoot.”

“We’re in the Army, sir. Aren’t submarines more of a Navy thing?”

“Yes, but so is furtive homosexuality and I don’t let that stop me.”

“It just doesn’t look safe, sir.”

“There’s two floaties, Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir.”

“TWO!”

“You’ve spared no expense.”

“R & D stole every part in the thing. You know R & D, right?”

“Rudy and Dave built this?”

“Those two are my boys, Jenkins. Not like you, you whiny wienie. I tell R&D to make me a submarine, they do it. And they don’t even have to ask whether the hatch should be Captain America’s shield. They just know that’s what I want. Love those two. I’d replace you with them in a second.”

“Why don’t you, sir?”

“Oh, you know why, you simpering nonny! I can’t have a drug addict and a pervert as my Jenkins! Especially since they keep switching back and forth. It’s just confusing keeping track of which one’s which that week. So I’m stuck with you.”

“Thank you, sir. I have another question.”

“Pirogi.”

“My question wasn’t about lunch, but I’ll make a note of your preference.”

“Wonderful dumplings, but you wouldn’t want them building your submarine.”

“No, sir.”

“The Polish.”

“I know the offensive joke to which you’re referring, sir.”

“Screen doors!”

“There’s the punchline. Sir, what are we going to do with this thing?”

“Submarinate.”

“Uh-huh. Why and when and where?”

“Our enemies need killing, Jenkins. Death from the depths! That’s why and as for when and where…how about Afghanistan?”

“Landlocked, sir. Very dry country.”

“Are we still in Iraq?”

“Yes.”

“There.”

“Okay.”

“What about Iran?”

“Not yet.”

“Not there. Oh, oh! The border! We could use the Sea Cock at the border.”

“You named it?”

“After my cock, Jenkins.”

“Your call your cock ‘Cock?'”

“I believe in straightforward relations with my inferiors. I give him orders. ‘Cock, rouse yourself!’ And then when I’m done with my mission, ‘Cock, resume your tumescence!’ I like that. Everyone knows where they stand.”

“I’m not getting in the Sea Cock, sir.”

“You’ll love it, Jenkins. You’ll see fish.”

“It’s covered in rust.”

“No, not rust. Nanites.”

“Nanites, sir?”

“That’s what R&D told me.”

“I thought so.”