by Andrew Watts
“Instruments normal, pulling power. One…two…three positive rates of climb. Radalt on.”
“Roger, radalt on.” Her copilot depressed the radar altimeter button.
“Your controls.”
“I have the controls.”
“You have the controls. Take her up to five hundred feet.”
“Roger, coming up to five hundred.”
“Fetternut, let’s get the radar up.”
“Bringing the radar right now, Boss.”
Victoria began speaking with the aircraft controller on the ship.
“ATO ASTAC.”
“Go ASTAC.”
“We have a P8 approximately one hundred and forty miles to your northwest laying a buoy field. It sounds like they got a sniff, ma’am.”
“Roger, we’ll be heading that way. Do you have a frequency for us?”
The ASTAC passed her the UHF radio frequency that the P8 would be listening on. Victoria dialed in the frequency and made sure she was transmitting on the appropriate channel. She climbed up in altitude and began racing towards them. After getting closer, she made her call.
“Penguin 123, this is Cutlass 471 forty miles to your southeast, inbound for ASW.”
Antisubmarine warfare, or ASW, was the bread and butter of her helicopter community and of the maritime aircraft known as the P8 Poseidon. While her helicopter had three on board and was limited in the number of sonobuoys and torpedoes that it could hold, the P8 had a crew of nine and could hold many more sonobuoys, torpedoes, and other equipment. It was also much faster and had a longer on-station time, both of which could prove crucial in prosecuting an enemy submarine.
“Cutlass, Penguin, we’ve got you. Stand by for our report.” The naval flight officer on board the P8 passed information about the situation and enemy submarine they were tracking. Victoria quickly copied down the coordinates on a pad of paper that was strapped to her knee.
“Copy all, Penguin. Our ETA is twenty mikes.”
Two clicks on the radio confirmed that he’d heard her.
Victoria typed on her multipurpose display.
“Cutlass, Ford Control, come up our datalink.”
“Roger.”
Victoria was out of range of her own ship now, so she didn’t bother telling them that she was switching. They made the adjustments to start having the aircraft carrier Ford begin controlling her. The datalink connection made, her helicopter immediately began filling with real-time data from all the other ships and aircraft in the link.
“Shit. The Ford is only ten miles away from that submarine track.” She checked her fuel, altitude, and navigational data. They would be there soon. She began rattling off checklist items, to which her crew responded appropriately, getting ready for antisubmarine warfare operations.
The voice from the P8 said, “Cutlass, Penguin. We’re going to pass you a lat-long. Can you dip there?”
“Affirm.” The language was nonstandard, and whoever was speaking sounded junior. But as long as it got the job done, Victoria didn’t care. She glanced at her display again and realized that there were hostile submarine symbols all over the place, each with friendly air tracks above them. Now she knew why she had launched. They were pairing off two friendly aircraft to each enemy submarine. The fact that the Ford was headed in this direction probably meant that they didn’t expect this particular track to be here. She and this P-8 were probably the last ones to get an assignment. Yet based on the locations, it appeared to be the biggest threat.
A few minutes later, they were parked in a hover roughly one hundred feet above the ocean surface, lowering their multimillion-dollar dipping sonar into the water.
AWR1 Fetternut, her sensor operator in the back of the helicopter, said, “Okay, ma’am, we’re ready to ping.”
Victoria contacted the Ford controller and informed them of what they were doing, then she heard the high-pitched noise of the ping in her headset.
Her sensor operator said, “We’ve got good contact. Up Doppler, two thousand yards.”
Victoria typed a series of commands into her display while relaying the information to the P8.
The P8 naval flight officer said, “Roger, Cutlass. Penguin will be coming in for weapons run.”
Victoria’s copilot said, “I’ve got Penguin in sight at two o’clock.”
On the horizon, Victoria could see the large dark shape of the P-8 making a steep turn and then leveling off on a heading that would take it right next to the helicopter. Lessons about wingtip vortices fluttered through her mind.
“Gonna be a little close.” She watched as a torpedo dropped from the P-8, and then the aircraft again banked sharply, turning away from her aircraft.
“There it goes. Good chute.” From the rear of the helicopter, her sensor operator said, “Torpedo’s in the water, up and running.”
“Roger,” said Victoria. She had switched up her comms to listen to one of the closer passive buoys’ acoustic transmission. She could hear the high-pitched tones of the MK-50 lightweight torpedo as it searched for the Chinese submarine in the depths below.
Victoria watched the updates of the sonar track on her display screen. “Looks like they’re turning and picking up speed.”
Whether it was Chinese or not, it was probably a nuke as opposed to a diesel-electric boat, based on the speed. The contact was now going over thirty knots through the water—so fast that their current dipping position was now useless.
“Let’s reel up the dome.”
“Roger,” AWR1 Fetternut said and began procedures to bring the dipping sonar back up into the helicopter.
She scanned the instruments, checking her gauges to make sure their fuel was at a healthy level and her engines performing normally. Her copilot was supposed to be monitoring those things, but it was always smart to double-check.
“Sounds like the torp’s gone silent.”
“Roger.” She switched up her UHF to the channel they had been using to speak with the P-8. “Penguin, Cutlass, we’re available for a reattack if you need us.”
“Roger, stand by.”
“Dipping sonar is secure, ready for forward flight.”
“Coming forward,” her copilot said as he inched the cyclic ahead. The airspeed ticked up and the crew felt a flutter as they got past translational lift and into forward flight.
“Cutlass, Penguin, come to zero-nine-zero and prepare for weapon drop.”
“Zero-nine-zero, wilco.”
Victoria ran her finger down her torpedo launching checklist, saying each step aloud, her free hand physically verifying that each switch, knob, and digital readout was in the correct position. “Checklist complete.”
“Boss, the P-8 just pinged with that buoy closest the target and got a good hit. If we can get there soon, it’ll be a good drop.”
“My controls,” Victoria said, taking the cyclic and collective in her hands.
“Roger, your controls,” said her copilot.
“Cutlass, Penguin, come left zero-two-five.”
“Zero-two-five.” She banked the aircraft to the left until she saw her heading approach the magnetic compass heading of zero-two-five and leveled off.
“Stand by for weapon release on my mark. Ready…now, now, now.”
With her right hand, she pressed the weapons release button and felt a shudder as the aircraft let go of a six-hundred-pound torpedo.
“Good chute. It’s in the water,” came the voice of her sensor operator.
A moment later, they could once again hear the pinging of the torpedo as it began searching for the enemy submarine.
“Sounds like it’s acquired the target,” Victoria said as the pinging grew faster.
Then came a crunching mechanical noise that she recognized from the first day of the war, near Guam.
“Hit! It’s a hit!”
Victoria checked her position and then banked left to see if she could see the surface of the water where she expected the submarine to have been located. Sure
enough, she saw a large area of whitewater and debris coming to the top of the ocean.
“Cutlass, Penguin, we have a detonation and noises of breakup.”
Her crew inside the helicopter cheered over the internal communications system. Victoria felt slightly ill. That submarine had contained men with families, she thought to herself, looking down at the floating debris. Now it was twisted steel and oil and bits of flesh. But it wasn’t the first time for her. And the sensation of guilt was duller than before.
Victoria readjusted her lip mike to her mouth. “Roger, Penguin. Our fuel state is one plus zero-zero. Going to see if Ford can take us.”
“Roger. Bravo Zulu, Cutlass.”
Soon she was in the holding pattern on the starboard side of the USS Ford. The aircraft carrier was recovering jets. Presumably ones that had just returned from attacking the Chinese fleet.
“Cutlass, Tower, expect another ten minutes in starboard-D.”
“Roger, Tower.”
Victoria was guiding her copilot to make sure they stayed in the right spot. Two fighters zoomed by overhead. F-35s. The first one broke left over the carrier, circling to land. The second kept on going for another beat, gaining separation, then followed the first.
As her helicopter’s racetrack pattern neared the carrier once again, she saw a tall gray-haired man standing on the uppermost bridge wing. He wore a khaki uniform and gripped the railings as he watched her aircraft fly by.
She couldn’t contain her smile as she realized who she was looking at. After all that had happened, she was finally seeing her father again, if only for a moment.
“Boss, are you listening up on the ASW freq still?”
She looked down at her radios and saw that she wasn’t. She had switched to tower and turned off the other channel so she could hear better.
She adjusted her switches so that she was listening to both frequencies.
“…strong contact. Classified as a Chinese submarine now bearing three-zero-zero at five miles.”
Victoria frowned. “Fetternut, who’s talking? Five miles from what?”
“Two Romeos to our north.”
Then she noticed the pair of black specks just above the northern horizon. The carrier had turned back into the wind to recover its jets and was heading to the northwest. Whereas before, they had been headed away from all other submarines, it appeared this one had just popped up much closer than the others.
“Five miles from what?”
“From Ford, I think…”
Victoria’s heart beat faster. She turned towards the Ford. The last of the F-35s had just touched down on the flight deck. She could see her father on the bridge wing, still looking up at her helicopter as she made her closest point of approach. He knew it was her, she realized. That was why he’d come out here.
Then she saw the smoke on the horizon.
“…missile launch! Missile—”
Victoria followed the smoke trail from the area where the helicopters were located. It disappeared in the sun for a moment. Then the missile’s smoke trail reappeared as it gained speed and approached the carrier, rocketing into the superstructure of the USS Ford and exploding in a haze of fire and shrapnel, and then her father was gone forever.
30
Day 29
Victoria walked out of the dark hangar, holding her thermos of tea and squinting in the bright Hawaii sunlight. From the flight deck, she watched as the USS Farragut sailors worked to fasten the lines to the pier at Pearl Harbor.
A whistle sounded over the 1MC. “Moored! Shift colors!” A pair of sailors near the ship’s stern raised the American flag. Simultaneously, the American flag was lowered from the ship’s mast. A modern US Navy Jack, with its thirteen red and white stripes, rattlesnake, and the motto “Don’t Tread on Me,” was raised on the bow.
“Morning, Boss.” A delicate tone.
Victoria turned to see her helicopter detachment’s maintenance officer, Spike, standing at the hangar’s entrance.
“Good morning.” Her voice was subdued.
She walked slowly towards the flight deck nets as her maintenance officer updated her on the plan of the day. The USS Farragut would be taking on fuel, food, and stores. Gunner’s mates were already gathered pierside, ready to start replenishing the vertical launch system’s empty missile cells. A part of her wondered what good that would do, considering the Chinese antiair technology. The ship would also undergo expedited repairs to the hull and engineering spaces, and any other areas that had been damaged by the Chinese antiship missile.
She said, “Have we started the phase maintenance?”
“Yes, ma’am. Senior got ’em started on the night shift. So far we’re only missing two parts, which we should get today. I’ve told OPS that we will need to do rotor turns while in port, if we’re here more than two days.”
“We will be.”
“Okay. Well, I’m trying to get as much done as possible so that when we get underway, we’ll just have a quick maintenance flight and be good to go.”
Victoria nodded, looking at the dozens of workers waiting on the pier. Two gangways were being set up forward. Some of the contractors were pointing at the hole in the hull where the missile had struck, shaking their heads, their eyes full of incredulity.
“There’s going to be a liberty call, the XO told me. Probably won’t be until tonight, but they’re going to let everyone blow off some steam. Once they call liberty, I’m going to let the guys off in shifts. Everyone could use a break, but the maintenance still needs to get done. And honestly, there’s less risk of any horseplay if we send them off in smaller groups.”
Victoria said, “On-base liberty only, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s from PACFLEET. Nobody’s allowed off base. No overnights. The guys will have to get drunk at the E-club.”
She looked up at that. “Make sure we’re being smart and looking out for each other. I know everyone needs to let off steam, but I don’t want someone in jail or injured. This isn’t just about some readiness score anymore. We need each and every one of our men. Somebody goes down, that hurts our ability to fight.”
“Yes, Boss.” Spike scribbled something on his clipboard and departed back into the hangar.
She walked to the other side of the flight deck and looked out over the marina. Across the water, the USS Ford towered over the pier it was tied up to. Cranes moved supplies and parts from shore to the flight deck. Most of the jets and helicopters had been stuffed in the hangar. Hundreds of repairmen worked feverishly to get the carrier back into shape. Scaffolding and tarps had been set up around the superstructure. A floating city under repair.
The whole harbor was under repair, Victoria realized. Dozens of other ships with welders and hammers and needle guns and cleaning, rearming, resupplying. C-5 and C-17 transport aircraft flew in overhead, bringing in more people and parts crucial to the endeavor. Commercial aircraft flew in the opposite direction, taking civilians back to the continental US.
Everyone knew an attack was coming. The scales had been tipped. While the US Navy had defeated the Chinese Northern Fleet at Midway, they had suffered heavy casualties. Multiple ships and aircraft had been lost, and the Ford was temporarily out of commission. The Southern Fleet had been spotted leaving the waters near Guam. Its transit time was a mystery, but everyone expected them to attack Pearl Harbor eventually.
Victoria’s eyes kept straying back to the USS Ford. To the superstructure where her father had been standing when a Chinese missile had evaporated his body.
“Victoria, there you are.” The ship’s captain, Commander Boyle, was wearing his summer whites. “You and I have been called to PACFLEET headquarters.” His eyes went to the Ford and then back to her, studying her face. The captain was quite aware of the magnitude of her loss. He was a good man, but she didn’t like the attention.
Victoria cleared any remaining emotion from her mind. “Now, sir?”
“Afraid so. A car will pick us up on the pier. If
you can change in the next two minutes, please do so. If not, just come as you are. I’ll meet you at the quarterdeck.”
Victoria checked her watch. “Will do, sir.” She let her maintenance officer and senior chief know that she was departing the ship and then hurried to her stateroom.
Two minutes later, she was on the quarterdeck with Commander Boyle, double-checking that her shoulder boards were actually clipped into place on her uniform. One of her flight school roommates had forgotten to wear her shoulder boards when she’d checked into her fleet squadron. The first person to point this oversight out to her was her commanding officer. The young pilot’s mistake had been immortalized by her fellow junior pilots, who had given her the call sign “Salty,” because Navy chief uniforms didn’t have shoulder boards, and chiefs were salty, or experienced, sailors.
Victoria followed the captain down the gangway, pausing to salute the flag, and then got in the waiting blue government sedan. During the drive, she said, “Any idea what this is about?”
“Either we’re being debriefed or fired. I’d say it’s fifty-fifty.”
Victoria glanced at him. He looked like he was only partly serious. When they arrived at the PACFLEET headquarters, Commander Boyle was led in one direction and Victoria in another.
She was escorted into an office with four stars on the door and asked to sit in the waiting area. The secretary gave her a sympathetic look and offered her coffee.
Of course. That’s why I’m here. The admiral must have known my father. A part of her resented being treated differently once again. Even now, following his death, in what should have been a private moment to grieve.
Victoria shook off the sentiment. She was being stupid. These people were just trying to be kind in paying their respects, and she needed to get over herself. Just say thank you and move on.
“The admiral will see you now, Commander.”
“Thank you.” Victoria stood and gave three quick knocks on the door. “Sir, Lieutenant Commander Manning…”
“Come in.”
She entered the office and found herself shaking hands with a four-star admiral in summer whites, with two other officers standing next to him. One was a one-star admiral, the other an Army general. The four-star made introductions, but Victoria didn’t recognize the names. She noticed that the one-star admiral wore the gold trident insignia of the Navy SEALs. She figured that the fact these men were here meant that the admiral was busy, and her visit would last only a few moments. Just grit your teeth and get back to the boat, Victoria.