by M L Maki
USS SAN FRANCISCO, 500 MILES WEST OF LIBERIA
0914, 3 March, 1942
Cumberland paces, head down, mumbling. Morrison walk in to control. Lt. Thoreau is on watch as they steam north of the convoy. Morrison first studies the chart. The convoy has four columns of six ships, with a destroyer at the van, and one on each flank. The San Francisco is forty miles ahead of the lead destroyer. Cumberland joins him, asking, “Where the fuck are the U-boats?”
“Hard to say, sir. I know at this time; some were off the American coast. Some are sitting on the convoy lines mid-Atlantic. Some are pursuing convoys like this one. We know Germany had a time travel event. That’s where the jets came from. What we don’t know is how that changed their strategy.”
“This sucks.” Cumberland takes a deep breath, “Carry on.” He leaves.
Thoreau walks back to the table, “Why is the captain so moody, sir?”
“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, that’s terrible advice. When the guy in charge is floating way below his plimsoll mark, the only sane thing to do is worry.”
“Point taken. He’s worried that we haven’t found any U-boats. Keep in mind, Thoreau, negative talk about the captain can way too easily take on the air of mutiny or sedition. He’s the boss. You don’t have to like him to work for him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Conn, Sonar. New contact. Bearing 310. Designate Sierra 5. It has twin screws. Three-bladed. It sounds like a surfaced submarine.”
Morrison calls the captain back in. He’s bouncing as he walks in and heads straight to the table. Morrison, “We’re heading straight toward it. Should we turn to get a range?”
“No, we’ll catch up to it soon enough. Load and make ready tube 4.”
The order is repeated.
“Sir, the range is 45 miles. Its course is 135. Speed ten knots.”
Cumberland, “It’s on a reciprocal course. These Germans are in a hurry to die.”
Morrison, “Sir, their strategy is generally to shadow a convoy and call in a wolf pack. If we’re patient, we might take out the whole pack.”
Cumberland, “True. But, if we kill this one, the wolf pack won’t gather. Safer for the convoy. I don’t want to wait.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 4 is loaded.”
Cumberland, “Flood it.”
They wait as the target continues straight on, getting closer.
Cumberland, “Take us to periscope depth.”
The sub climbs up to 150 feet. Miller, “Left standard rudder.”
Cumberland, “We’re alone. Bring us up.”
Miller pauses, then, “Yes, sir.” He gives the order.
Morrison studies the chart table. The target is passing down their starboard side, and at the closest point, is only two miles away. Cumberland, “Open the door.” He goes to the attack scope.
“The door is open.”
“Up scope.” He spins the scope, settles on the target, “Mark.”
“024.”
“It’s a German sub. Fire tube 4.” He lowers the periscope.
Morrison, looking at the screen, “I agree.” He pushes the button. Thud, whoosh. “Tube 4 is fired.”
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 4 is fired electrically.”
“Very well.”
“Conn, Sonar. Torpedo is hot, straight, and normal.”
“Very well.”
Miller starts counting down. “Conn, Sonar. Sierra 5 is turning left.”
Cumberland raises the scope again.
GERMAN SUBMARINE U-105
Kapitanleutnant Heinrich Schuch shouts, “Full left. Dive! Quickly!”
The bridge crew slides down from the bridge and shuts the hatch, “Captain, last man down, bridge rigged to dive.”
“Engines secured.”
“White board.”
“Open valves. Engage the electric motors. Load tubes 1 through 4.”
They can hear the pinging of the torpedo. One of his lieutenants, “Sir, what is this?”
“They have guided torpedoes? They must.”
“Will it miss?”
“I doubt it.”
The torpedo explodes against the hull of the boat, crushing and burning the sailors. The sub breaks apart as it sinks. For a time, the screws keep turning.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
Cumberland slaps up the periscope handles, “Yes.” He pumps his fist. “Direct hit. No survivors.” He stops, seeing his men all staring at him. “Morrison, get us back on course. Carry on.” He heads for his stateroom.
WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT
1334, 3 March, 1942
Kichiro is drinking a cup of coffee and waiting for a transport from Washington state. Looking out the terminal window, he finally sees it land. A few minutes later a squared away Navy lieutenant walks in. He grins, “Lieutenant Simmons? I’m Lieutenant Kichiro. Welcome to Washington, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
“Who are you?”
“I work for Admiral Klindt. Let’s go, I have a car.” Once they’re in the car, Kichiro says, “Admiral Klindt is on the hill today. He wants to see you tomorrow morning at eight. Do you want to see your room or your office first?”
Simmons, “When were you born?”
“Oh, yeah. 1966.”
“Okay, then. Were you on the carrier?”
“Nope. I’m not sure what you are cleared for.”
“Oh. Are you a nuke?”
Kichiro, “Nope, a weapons specialist. Your room or office?”
“It’s a work day. The office. Do you know where the room is?”
“Yeah, your rooming with me.”
“Oh. Do you know I’m a mustang?”
“So am I. Most of us are. There’s one officer you ought to know about. Oh, fuck it, you’ll know who he is.”
“Hughes. He’s NRRO. I’ve met him.”
“Nope. Here we are.” They go into the building and up the stairs, showing their ID to get into Klindt’s office. As they walk in, Rickover is walking out. He stops, “You Simmons?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have a board tomorrow night.”
“Um, yes, sir.”
“We’ve a great deal to accomplish, so don’t sit on your rear wasting oxygen. Kichiro, when do you leave?”
“Tomorrow at 0615, sir. I have everything in order for the trip.”
Rickover, “Who are you meeting with?”
“Captain Jerkin and his staff. I’ll also be sharing the good news at the shop level.”
Rickover, “Remember, we demand absolute compliance with standards. No deviations. No excuses.”
Kichiro, “Yes, sir. I’ll be focusing on testing and QA. Once I have the command on board, I’ll be there until it’s squared away.”
Rickover, “Good.” He walks out.
Simmons, “That…that was Hyman Rickover.”
“Commander Rickover to you. You’re a nuke, so you probably already know what he’s about.”
“I’ve heard stories, but never met him.”
Kichiro turns to Simmons, “Rickover is simple. Never bull shit him. Never guess. Never promise. Have facts, not assumptions. Oh, and never chit chat. He has zero patience for idle talk. If you have nothing to report, just say so, and move on.”
“How did you learn all that?”
“By fucking up and seeing others fuck up. Here’s our desk. My stuff is in this drawer and this cabinet. We have an extra chair.”
“We have to share a desk?”
“I’m sorry, I thought you were a lieutenant. Now, if you’re a captain, or something, I’m sure we might accommodate you. Hell, neither of us is likely to be here much. Let me show you around.”
“What ship were you on?”
“Lieutenant Simmons, do you need that information to do your job?”
“I don’t even know what my job is.”
“Me, neither. You’ll find out tomorrow. Okay, here is where we keep our office supplies
. Over there is the secure storage. This set is weapons systems. This is propulsion, and this half is nuke. If they need you to have access, they’ll issue you a pass. Ronald is the day custodian.” He turns to Ronald, “Hey, Ronald, how’s it going?”
Ronald just looks at him, “Hey, back. New guy?”
“Yeah, anyway, check out stuff from Ronald, and for God’s sake, do not ever leave anything laying around. Clear?”
“Hello, Ronald. Sorry.” He turns back to Kichiro, “I’m a nuke. I know how to handle classified stuff.”
“Okay. This section is the Manhattan files, and this is electronics.”
“We have the Manhattan project?”
“We are the Manhattan project, and all other projects. You need to wrap your head around what we are doing here. The war will be won, or lost, in this room.”
“What do you mean?”
“Klindt said it, and it’s smart. In warfare, the side who evolves fastest almost always wins. We are creating the tools our warfighters will need. Our purview is all new technology from soup to nuts.”
“I see.”
“If we’re fucking off, we’re killing servicemen. We don’t have the time.”
“Got it. Sorry, I was a little slow.”
“Truth, you’re figuring it out faster than I did.”
Captain Warren walks up and sticks out his hand, “Hi, I’m Captain Warren.”
Kichiro, “Captain, this is Lieutenant Michael Simmons.”
Warren looks Simmons over, “Okay. Squared away, I see. You’re going to be standing up a nuclear maintenance facility on the sub tender Beaver. It’s currently in Boston. You’ll have a month to prepare all the shops a nuclear submarine needs to be maintained.”
“We have a nuclear sub?”
Warren smiles, “Kichiro, he’s cleared in on anything you know. Kichiro came to us from the San Francisco. It’s currently transiting the Atlantic and will need your help.”
Simmons, “In a month, I’ll be lucky if I’m able to convince the crew on cleanliness and basic sub safe. Oh, do we have copies of the sub safe program?”
Warren, “We do. Kiche, I got him from here. And Kiche, we all have time to breath. You’re right about fighting the war from our desks, but if we have no time to relax, our effectiveness goes down. Why don’t you pack and prepare to leave?”
CHAPTER 24
USS SAN FRANCISCO, 100 NM EAST OF DAYTONA BEACH, FLORIDA
1140, 5 March, 1942
It’s broad daylight and they are in sight of the beach. A German sub is stalking an oil tanker. Cumberland orders tube 1 fired. Backes counts down the shot, as Cumberland watches through the periscope. They hear the rumbling concussion from the hit. Cumberland pirouettes and claps his hands, “Got you, mother fucker. Morrison, we continue up the coast.” He heads forward.
BUILDING 35, NAVAL TORPEDO STATION, KEYPORT, WASINGTON
1000, 5 March, 1942
Kichiro takes in the beautiful brick building, then walks in. A receptionist asks, “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, I have an appointment to see Captain Jerkin. I’m with Vice Admiral Klindt’s office.”
“Of course, just a moment.” She makes the call.
Jerkin comes in from a hallway, “Good afternoon, Lieutenant. How can I help you?” He offers a hand.
Kichiro takes his hand, noticing the academy ring. “I need access to all your shops and personnel. I need to correct the problems with your torpedoes and start the manufacturing lines for better torpedoes.”
“Lieutenant, there’s nothing wrong with our torpedoes.” He walks Kichiro back to his office.
“Sir, I understand your position. Please understand, I’m a torpedo expert who came back from 1990. When I say there are problems with the Mark 14, it isn’t conjecture or suggestion. I know the torpedo is faulty and I know what is wrong with it.”
“So, you’re one of those time travelers. Tell me, in 1990 did they teach lieutenants to respect captains?”
“Sir, it is not my intent to disrespect you. My sole intent is to give the warfighters at the pointy end the exact tools they need to be successful.”
“Well, I’m sorry you came all this way to waste your time. We do not desire or need your help here. Good day.”
“I don’t think you quite understand, sir. I work directly for Vice Admiral Klindt. He’s not asking or suggesting. I’ve been ordered to correct the problems and set up new lines. I’m hoping we can work together to that end.”
“Well hope your ass out the door and get the fuck off my base. There is nothing wrong with our torpedoes.”
“Sir, I fucking know your torpedoes are fucked the fuck up, now quite fucking blustering and help me fix it.”
“Fucking leave. NOW!”
“You are killing our men with your fucked up fucking attitude. We have no time for this shit.”
“I’m a captain.”
Kichiro picks up the phone, dials, and says, “Please connect me with Vice Admiral Klindt’s…”
Jerkin rips the phone out of Kichiro’s hand and slams it back into its cradle, “LEAVE!”
Kichiro nods, then smiles, “Roger that, dumb ass. The light in the corner of your eye that is flashing. It’s your termination alarm.” He steps out of the office and asks the receptionist to use her phone. Like gophers, people are poking their heads out of their offices or finding a reason to be in the area. Kichiro completes his call and asks, “Ma’am, is there a place where I could get a cup of coffee?”
“You’re not going to leave?” She takes him to a room with a kitchenette.
“I have a job to do. It’s a very important job.” He pours a cup of coffee, “Thank you.” He walks out to the reception area and calmly sips his coffee.
A few minutes later, Captain Jerkin storms out of his office and sees him, “You little son of a bitch. I will fucking kill you!”
Kichiro, “Sir, I wish you luck with your new assignment. Now, I have work to do. Good day.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, 40 MILES OFF CAPE HATTERAS
1822, 7 March, 1942
Cumberland, “Up scope.” He spins it, “Mark.”
“048.”
“Down scope.” He steps to the console and pushes the button, “Fire tube 3.” The torpedo has a forty second run.
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 3 fired electrically.”
“Conn, Sonar. Fish is running hot, straight, and normal.”
“Very well. Morrison, take the search scope.”
Morrison raises the scope. It’s night, but he can see the German boat on the surface. The flash of the torpedo is attenuated by the water, but in the moonlight, he sees the towers of water and the submarine break in half. “Sir, there may be survivors.”
“Radio in their position.” Cumberland dances out of control toward his stateroom.
“Yes, sir.”
USS BEAVER, AS-5, BOSTON HARBOR
0900, 8 March, 1942
Lt. Simmons stands in the front of a makeshift classroom, “So, this is the first steps we need to take to prepare for our next mission. Questions?”
CDR Marion Netherly Little, “Can you explain why you spent half of the brief discussing cleanliness and quality work?”
“Everything we do must comply with SUBSAFE standards. It’s a safety program you are all unfamiliar with. SUBSAFE details exacting standard for the cleanliness, storage, and use of materials to prevent catastrophic loss of a submarine, sir.”
“We know how to work on submarines. Our crew is widely respected.”
“I know, sir. It’s the main reason you were selected. Your crew doesn’t have as far to go as some of the others may. No one, other than me, has ever worked on a nuclear-powered vessel. Nuclear power plants require exacting repair standards. In the ‘60s we lost two submarines because standards had grown lax. The submarine we will be maintaining is a one of a kind. In the Pacific it sank ten Japanese submarines in about two months. It never, not ever once, missed with a torpedo.”
&nb
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