by Cliff Happy
“Your lieutenant needs a corpsman,” she whispered to Vance.
“What?” he snapped and directed the pistol back at her.
Kristen looked down the barrel of the pistol. She could clearly see the lands and grooves inside the barrel and a few flecks of powder residue on the muzzle. At that moment it looked to be the size of a cannon. For a brief moment she thought she’d never been more terrified, but then remembered another memory. A distant, painful memory she’d struggled to suppress all her life. She felt herself losing her own grip on reality as the closely guarded memories from her past were unleashed and a flood of unwelcome images hit her like an avalanche.
“I…I…if he doesn’t get help soon, he’ll die.” she whispered with a hoarse, dry voice.
“It’s not my fault,” he whispered in reply.
Kristen saw the short, stocky SEAL she’d seen before appear at the far end of the rack of torpedoes. He held his own pistol in his hands and looked even more menacing than Vance, who had lowered his pistol and was looking at it with a strange, distant glare.
She raised a hand toward the SEAL as he advanced slowly, his weapon at the ready. She wanted to avoid any more gunfire. “Please… no more shooting,” she whispered as calmly as she could.
Vance glanced around and saw his teammate.
“Trip?”
“Drop the pistol, Vance,” the short, powerfully built SEAL warned as he continued to close the distance between them, his pistol aimed at Vance. Off to her right, Kristen saw a second SEAL appear, his own weapon up and at the ready. If Vance raised his pistol, they would surely fire.
“Trip?!” Vance pleaded. “I shot the Ell-Tee!” he cried and slumped back against the bulkhead. “Doc!” Vance called out to the second SEAL.
Then, in a flash of desperation, he turned the pistol toward himself.
“NO!” Kristen screamed. Her shout was echoed by both SEALs as they closed in at a rush, trying to prevent their friend from killing himself.
Kristen heard the roar of the pistol a final time, then felt the spray of blood, brains, and bone as the back of Vance’s head erupted in gore.
Chapter Forty Four
Control Room, USS Seawolf
“Transients! Transients! Torpedo in the water. Bearing two-seven-five!” Brodie heard Senior Chief Miller report excitedly from the sonar shack.
“All ahead, full!” Brodie ordered briskly, not waiting for the order to be repeated before he issued his next one. “Sound general quarters!” he barked to the Chief of the Watch who pulled the alarm claxon.
Just what had happened in the torpedo room, Brodie dared not guess and didn’t want to think about at the moment. But whatever had happened to cause the shooting, the sound of the multiple gunshots had reverberated out through the hull and had created the sonar equivalent of shooting off a flare to mark one’s position.
Prior to the shooting, the Tral had been moving steadily away from the Seawolf. But following the barrage of pistol fire, the corvette had turned sharply toward the submarine. The North Korean corvette was now coming directly at the Seawolf. And to the north, a Whiskey class attack submarine had turned to investigate as well.
“Sonar, what is the range to the torpedo?” Brodie asked as the Seawolf accelerated.
In his mind he saw the dilemma his submarine was in. They were dangerously close to the minefield they were planning to reconnoiter, and their current course would carry them directly into it if he didn’t turn soon. The Tral was to the south and the Whiskey boat was off to their north.
“Five thousand yards, Captain,” Miller responded over the speaker. “The bastard went active as soon as it entered the water.”
“Helm,” Brodie snapped as he motioned to the Chief of the Watch to turn off the alarm. “New course, one-eight-zero!”
Beside him, Jason Graves, his oldest friend in the world, raised an eyebrow. “That’s heading right at the torpedo,” his XO pointed out.
“Trust me,” Brodie replied and turned toward Andrew Stahl.
“Load tubes five and eight with Aselsan. Standby to fire countermeasures.”
Stahl, the weapons officer, echoed his orders.
“Jason,” Brodie ordered. “Go forward and find out what the hell happened in the torpedo room!” He then reached up and pulled down the microphone linking him to a squawk box in the sonar shack. “Sonar, Brodie,” he said, forcing calmness he didn’t feel into his voice. “Where is that Whiskey boat?”
“We lost him in our baffles as soon as we turned to the south, Skipper,” Miller replied. “But the bitch was charging right at us before we lost her.”
“Range to the Whiskey?” Brodie asked, seeing the anxiety on the faces of every man in the control room.
“Six thousand yards. She’s making revolutions for thirteen knots.”
The Whiskey was an aging, Cold War Era, diesel-electric submarine built by the Soviet Union and was no match for the Seawolf, but this wasn’t a fair fight. The Koreans could freely fire at him, whereas he couldn’t shoot back.
“Status on Aselsan?” Brodie asked Stahl.
“They’re just loading the first one, Skipper,” Stahl replied.
“Speed is thirty-seven knots, Captain,” COB reported.
“All ahead, emergency,” Brodie ordered calmly, knowing he was now pointing directly at the torpedo.
“All ahead, emergency, aye,” COB echoed.
Almost at once, the squawk box above his head came to life. “Con, sonar, we’re cavitating!”
The blade design for the Seawolf’s propeller was a closely guarded secret. It was designed to lessen the chance of air bubbles forming as it swept through the water. These bubbles forming and popping in the ocean was called cavitation and could be heard for a great distance.
“Chief,” Brodie replied. “What’s that Tral doing?”
“Burning out her bearings and coming right at us, Skipper,” Miller replied. “She’s gone active with her sonar and is pounding hard.”
Brodie glanced at COB who was staring back at him. Brodie could see the tension in the old seadog’s face. His was just one of many strained faces. Brodie knew they were thinking he’d gone crazy. They’d expected him to turn eastward and head for deeper waters and open sea. But he had no time to explain to them his intent. Instead, he offered COB a knowing wink.
“Con, sonar,” Miller reported. “The torpedo has acquired us and is homing. Speed forty five knots.”
“Weps?” Brodie asked calmly and glanced down at his stopwatch, calculating the range to the closing torpedo in his head. He’d always liked math; it had been his strongest subject in school.
“Tube five loaded, Captain,” Stahl replied. “Countermeasures, ready.”
“Program Aselsan in tube five to go active as soon as it leaves the tube. Make Aselsan’s course zero-nine-zero.”
“Torpedo range three thousand yards and closing,” Miller warned.
“Roger that, Chief,” Brodie replied, trying to keep his voice steady. The men were scared enough. The last thing they needed was to know that he was just as scared as they were. “Count down the range starting at two thousand yards, Chief,” Brodie ordered.
COB stepped up onto the pedestal. “Condition Zebra is set throughout the ship, Skipper.”
Brodie didn’t respond as he continued making his mental calculations. The geometry was complex, and they were very close to the minefield to the west.
“Torpedo range two thousand yards,” Miller reported.
“Skipper?” COB asked softly.
Brodie raised a hand to stop him.
“Range seventeen hundred yards,” Miller’s voice seemed to echo through the control room.
“Tube five ready, Captain,” Weps nearly shouted.
“Make tube five ready in all respects for firing,” Brodie ordered calmly.
“Range thirteen hundred yards,” Miller reported.
“Sean?” COB asked softly.
“Tube five ready in all respects, C
aptain!” Weps called out.
“Fire Aselsan,” Brodie ordered and followed it instantly with another. “Helm, hard to starboard! New course two-seven-zero! All stop! Launch countermeasures!”
Brodie heard his orders echoed as the Seawolf suddenly turned hard to the right, directly toward the minefield. Brodie adjusted his legs so as to keep his balance as the submarine heeled over sharply. Behind them, a huge knuckle of swirling water and air bubbles was created in the water by the submarine’s rudder as it bit hard into the sea. And, into that knuckle of swirling water and noisy bubbles, they’d launched a torpedo countermeasure. In addition, the Aselsan decoy, simulating the sound of a submarine, had left the torpedo tube and was heading out to sea. His hope was that with all of this noise now in the water behind him, and the Aselsan sounding off and heading out to sea, that the torpedo and the two Korean ships wouldn’t notice the Seawolf as she suddenly went quiet and turned in the least likely direction, toward the minefield.
“Quick quiet,” Brodie ordered.
The Seawolf leveled off on her new course.
“Course two-seven-zero, Captain,” the helmsman reported.
“That minefield is still out there, Skipper,” COB whispered cautiously.
Brodie nodded. It was a gamble. But it was also the only place the North Koreans wouldn’t expect them to go. Only a mad man would intentionally turn into a minefield.
Brodie keyed the microphone to the sonar shack. “Chief, what’s that torpedo doing?”
“We lost it in our baffles, Skipper.”
Brodie stepped off the platform and behind his helmsman, who was strapped into his seat and gripping the control with white-knuckled intensity. “Take it easy, Roberts,” Brodie whispered as he continued to glance down at his stopwatch.
“Yes, sir,” the nervous petty officer replied. “Sorry, sir. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a torpedo shot at me.”
Brodie leaned over Roberts slightly and gripped a handle on the control panel. “Oh, really?” Brodie asked curiously. “It happens to me all the time,” he said smoothly, sounding far calmer than he felt. If the truth were known, he was quite certain he was the most nervous of them all. Not that he could allow his true fears to be seen by his crew.
Roberts took a deep breath and forced his hands to relax on the controls.
“Con, sonar. Torpedo passed through our countermeasures and is searching.”
“All right, Mister Roberts. A nice and easy turn to starboard. I don’t want any disturbance behind us, just like a ghost in a fog.”
Slowly, the Seawolf turned back toward the north. Brodie listened for the mine avoidance alarm to sound. He couldn’t be certain where the minefield started, but he knew it had to be close. The Seawolf had been less than a mile from the point they’d planned to launch the two mine-hunting drones when all hell had broken loose in the torpedo room.
“Con, sonar. Torpedo has acquired the Whiskey and is homing.”
Brodie saw Roberts glance up at him with a grin only a man who’d never known combat could have. “You got him, sir.”
Brodie patted Roberts shoulder, but at the same time the men around him were exhaling in relief with the knowledge that the torpedo meant for them had found a new target and was now homing in on the aging Whiskey. Brodie returned to the periscope pedestal as the Seawolf, now slowing down below five knots, settled in on her new course. He exchanged an uncomfortable glance with COB. Neither of them relished what was about to happen.
“The Whiskey is blowing her tanks and heading for the surface, Captain,” Miller reported.
“They’re not going to make it, are they?” Andy Stahl asked.
Brodie turned and saw compassion in his weapon’s officer’s face. “No, Mister Stahl. They aren’t,” Brodie said simply, knowing his orders had saved his own crew but doomed another.
“Con, sonar. The Tral has turned after the Aselsan. Torpedo still homing on the Whiskey, range now less than two thousand yards.”
Brodie didn’t respond. Instead, he stood impassively on the platform. He’d yet to determine exactly what had happened in the torpedo room. His only information was that there had been casualties. He felt a brief flash of pain as he thought of Kristen possibly being part of the chaos.
“Range five hundred yards,” came Miller’s steady voice as he counted down the time the crew of the Whiskey had left to live.
The time was mercilessly short.
“Impact,” Brodie heard Miller’s voice report. “Torpedo detonation.”
“Poor bastards,” COB offered.
Brodie nodded his head slightly but then saw, appearing at the forward entrance to the control room, Kristen. The fact that she was alive and able to walk was some comfort, but she was completely covered in blood and gore. Jason appeared a moment later, slipping past her as he entered the control room. He headed directly for Brodie.
“A SEAL went nuts,” Graves whispered as he lowered his head to speak into Brodie’s ear. “He smoke checked two of our men, put a round into Lieutenant Cheng, and then blew his own brains out.”
Brodie could see the look of shock on Kristen’s face. She looked terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought. She was leaning against the hatchway leading into the control room, gripping the metal as if holding on for life. “What happened to her?” Brodie asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.
Graves shook his head somberly. “She was right in the middle of it,” he whispered. “The fucker blew his brains out right in her face.”
She looked like something out of a horror movie.
“Damage?” Brodie asked, struggling to force thoughts of her aside and focus once more on his mission. He had a crew of over one hundred forty men counting on him. Not to mention the SEALs. Everyone was looking to him for calmness in the eye of the storm, and he couldn’t allow himself to think of her at the moment.
“A couple of bullets ricocheted off the bulkheads and chipped some paint, but so far we’ve found nothing else.” Graves looked around. “What happened to that Tral and the Whiskey?”
“The Tral is chasing a ghost out to sea,” COB answered.
“Con, sonar,” Miller’s voice announced. “The Whiskey is going down.”
Brodie looked up at Graves. His friend exhaled deeply. Graves knew what it meant to kill, and he didn’t relish it any more than Brodie did.
“How bad is Lieutenant Cheng?” Brodie asked.
“Chest shot,” Graves answered. “He looks bad. Doc’s with him now.”
Brodie nodded and after ordering a course adjustment to take them away from the minefield, he summoned his staff for a quick situation briefing. While he waited for them to gather around, he glanced back at Kristen, who was still leaning against the hatchway.
“Maybe we should get her to sickbay,” COB suggested.
“No,” Brodie replied, fighting his urge to do far more than send her to sickbay. She still looked to be in shock. “I need her here.”
“What for, Skipper?” Graves asked as the department heads began arriving. Each of them assembled around the periscope platform.
“She’s the only one who can operate the drones,” Brodie answered simply.
Kristen stood on unsteady legs. Her blood-stained hand gripped the railing around the periscope platform to steady herself. She heard her fellow officers talking all around her, but it was like she was in a dream and their voices were strangely distant.
“Lieutenant?” she heard a familiar voice. She turned her head and saw COB standing next to her. “Miss, are you okay?” he whispered.
Kristen nodded her head, not at all certain just how she was at the moment. She was numb all over and, she realized, suffering from shock. Cheng had nearly bled to death in her arms, and Vance’s gore was still splattered all over her. She could see blood and pieces of tissue on her hands and arms. Similar ghastly images she’d always suppressed refused to return to the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind where she’d kept them locked away for so many
years.
“Lieutenant!” she heard another voice as her thoughts were yanked back from the past to the present.
“Yes, sir!” she responded automatically to Brodie.
She’d seen him only briefly during the battle with the Tral corvette and the Whiskey class submarine. Everyone in the control room had thought they were dead. She’d seen the fear in all of their faces.
All but Brodie’s.
He’d been calm, steady, focused. Just like always. And now, when all of his officers were suggesting a withdrawal, the same rock-like nerves drove him to stay. “Are you with us, Lieutenant?” Brodie asked her bluntly, his voice sharp.
“Yes, sir!” she snapped again, knowing she wasn’t being honest.
She peeled her eyes off her blood-stained hands and forced herself to look at him. He was on the periscope pedestal leaning against the railing, bent slightly at the waist and surrounded by his key officers.
“Skipper, we’ve got multiple North Korean air, surface, and sub-surface assets moving into the area,” the XO reported. “We don’t want to stay here.”
“We’re less than a mile from the release point for the drones,” Brodie reminded Graves and his other officers. “We didn’t just fight our way in here to turn tail and run,” he added bluntly. “We complete the mission, period.” His no nonsense, clearly logical words brooked no further discussion.
Brodie turned his attention back toward her. “Are you okay, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, trying to force calmness she didn’t feel into her voice.
“Are the drones damaged?”
“No, sir,” she replied. “But I should probably look them over a final time, just to be on the safe side.”
There was no part of her being that wanted to return to the torpedo room and see the gore decorating the starboard bulkhead. But, he was counting on her. He’d stayed calm when it appeared chaos had become the order of the day. She would have to be strong also. Whatever internal struggle she was experiencing would have to wait.