Seawolf Mask of Command

by Cliff Happy

  Stop it!

  Kristen knew she was panicking, and allowing her fears to overwhelm her. She was breathing rapidly, and felt a tightness in her throat she didn’t recognize as she looked around a final time, wishing the captain had come down to see them off. But he wasn’t there.

  “Are you coming, Ell-Tee?” Grogan called down from inside the escape trunk.

  Kristen turned, gripped the ladder and started climbing. As she climbed, a man from above offered her a hand.

  She looked up and saw, looking down at her, was Brodie. “Can I give you a hand, Lieutenant?” She gripped his hand and he helped her into the chamber.

  A bandage still covered his lacerated left hand, but with his good hand he started passing the dive bags up into the Dry Deck Shelter mated to the escape trunk directly above their heads. Kristen stepped out of the way in the crowded lockout chamber.

  Above her, Hoover and Hamilton were in the center module of the Dry Deck Storage. It was the transfer trunk and connected to the DDS’ two other modules. They dragged the heavy dive bags up, and once all the bags were loaded, Grogan went up followed by Alvarez.

  Brodie said nothing to her as they waited for her turn. But he didn’t have to. For reasons she found unidentifiable, just his being there was enough. She was still scared, but the tension was no longer threatening to overwhelm her. “Thank you, Captain,” she said softly, well aware that she might never see him again.

  “No sweat, Lieutenant,” he replied and looked up. “I think they’re waiting for you.”

  Kristen climbed up the last ladder into the transfer trunk and found a seat next to Hoover. The chamber was ball shaped with the mating collar for the submarine in the bottom and hatches on the forward and aft section of the trunk. Forward, Kristen knew there was a hyperbaric chamber for divers suffering from the bends. The rear hatch led to the huge “garage” section where the mini submarine was stored during transport.

  Brodie followed her up into the chamber and paused for a moment, looking around at the five of them. Just a few hours earlier he’d mercilessly looked each of them in the eye and ordered them to their—potential—deaths. Now he looked at each of them and offered his hand. One by one, he shook their hands and addressed them by name. With each of the SEALs, he paused and said a few brief, but powerful words that caused the man addressed to sit a little straighter and look a little prouder.

  “Bring them all back safe and sound, Chief,” Brodie said in parting to Grogan.

  “Count on it, Captain,” Grogan answered confidently.

  Brodie then turned to Kristen, and as he had with the men, he offered her his hand. She took it and accepted a firm handshake. “You seem to have a strange fascination with getting wet, Lieutenant.”

  She smiled knowingly, recalling their brief history together. “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, and then she saw his jaw tense.

  For a brief moment she thought he was about to order her out of the DDS and back into the submarine. A part of her—the terrified part—wished he would. The rest of her knew she would hate herself the rest of her life if she allowed herself to back out now. But instead of begging her not to go, he took a deep breath and exhaled. “Stay safe, Lieutenant,” he told her. “I need you back here.”

  “I will, sir,”

  He released her hand and then spoke to all of them.

  “All right you five, we’ll keep the light on.” With that, he lowered himself back into the steel pressure hull of the Seawolf. Then, with his one good hand, pulled the heavy steel hatch closed.

  “Fuckin-A,” Hamilton summarized his feelings at the unexpected appearance of the captain. “Let’s roll.”

  Kristen was still staring at the closed hatch, her panic now a memory. Although still nervous, the paralyzing fear was gone.

  Hoover patted her on the shoulder, “Let’s go Ell-Tee. Unless you plan on growing gills, you best get your gear on.”

  They heard Brodie dogging down the submarine hatch and then three heavy pounding sounds caused by a rubber mallet on the inside of the submarine’s hatch, letting the SEALs know the sub hatch was locked down tight and they could pressurize the transfer trunk.

  The LAR-7 had been much easier to put on in the torpedo room when she wasn’t wearing forty pounds of combat gear, but with Hoover’s help, she managed to get it on plus the life vest. She pulled on the hood of her wetsuit and strapped on a dive knife to her calf in the event she got entangled in something. A dive watch, depth and gas supply gauges were secured along with a Combat Survival Evader Locator or CSEL. It was essentially a waterproof beacon she could turn on to help search teams find her if she got into trouble and couldn’t get back to the sub.

  Once all of her gear was in place, Grogan checked her over and she noticed everyone was carefully inspecting the SEAL next to him. Once all the checks were complete, they secured their full facemasks in place and waited while Grogan went to the control panel, moving awkwardly under the cumbersome mass of gear. They spent several moments adjusting the pressure to allow their bodies to get used to being sixty feet below the surface, and once everyone had a chance to adjust to the depth, Kristen heard the sudden rush of water as the valves were opened.

  It came as an unexpected shock as the chill water washed over her feet. She started as the icy water hit her and flexed her fists, biting her lip inside her full face mask to stop from screeching in fright.

  Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!

  Beside her, Hoover patted her thigh, “It’s cool, just breath normally.”

  She nodded, embarrassed by her reaction. Hamilton, who was across from her, looked to be falling asleep with boredom as the water continued to rush in, forcing the air out into the sea. Kristen closed her eyes, fighting to stay calm as the water continued to rise. She focused on taking slow steady breaths, trying to think of nothing else as the icy cold water rose higher, covering her hips and moving rapidly up the rest of her body. She felt herself beginning to rise up off of the hard metal seat as she unconsciously tried to keep her head above water. Then, realizing she was being foolish, she gripped the edge of her seat and pulled herself back down, plunging her head into the seawater.

  She opened her eyes and saw the eerie, red-shaded water inside the transfer trunk. She could see the others, each checking their systems, and she realized she’d forgotten to check the seal of her mask and her pressure gauges as they’d instructed her to do as soon as she was underwater to make certain her gear was working properly. She quickly did so, and then, once certain everything was all right, she gave Chief Grogan an “ok” signal as did the others so he would know to finish filling the transfer trunk.

  She was startled again by a heavy metal screeching and gripped the seat beneath her tightly. But then saw Grogan opening the hatch leading into the aft section of the Dry Deck Shelter—except it was no longer dry. The SEALs who specialized in operating the SDV and the DDS were already on SCUBA and waiting outside the hatch for them.

  Kristen stayed firmly secured in her seat while the others began moving. Grogan had instructed her to sit still until one of the SEALs responsible for “pre-flight” checks on the SDV came and physically led her to the SDV and placed her in it. Kristen waited, focusing on controlling her breathing. But her mask was fogging up. Realizing she was breathing too fast, she took conscious control of her breathing and forced it to slow.

  A SEAL with a red chemical light on his arm swam into the transfer trunk and waved for her to come forward. She could see his face in the red light of the chamber through his full face mask, and she nodded in understanding. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her out of the transfer trunk and into the aft section of the Dry Deck Shelter.

  They were at sixty feet below the surface and the sun had set above them, so there was absolutely no natural light reaching them. Other than a few red chemical lights marking dangerous areas for divers to avoid in the DDS, she could see nothing.

  The hangar of the Dry Deck Shelter was like a l
ong tube barely wide enough for divers to move alongside the SDV when it was in the shelter. The rear of the shelter was normally sealed with a large, vault-like hatch. The hatch was now open, and Kristen saw the SDV had been pulled out of the rear of the hatch and was sitting on its launch cradle.

  The SEAL held on to her wrist firmly as he led her to the right side of the SDV. The SDV was not unlike a long, and very thick, torpedo. There were a total of six seats in it, three on each side. The driver—Alvarez—and the navigator—Grogan—were seated in the first two seats and she briefly caught a glimpse of them as the two men, seated in tandem, were already going over the systems in front of them. Kristen was led to the second row of seats and helped in by the SEAL safety diver and Hoover who would be sitting next to her. With all of her gear, it was a bit of a tight fit and she wondered how big men like Hamilton could fit in the ridiculously small space.

  She sat down on the metal seat as the safety diver reached underneath her and grabbed the canvas webbing serving as a loose-fitting seatbelt to hold her in place. He then waved a hand in front of her face and pointed toward a valve on her left side. She recalled that the valve controlled her onboard air supply provided by the SDV. He hooked the auxiliary supply to her equipment and then shifted her air supply over from the LAR-7 positioned on her chest, to the SDV’s internal air supply so she could conserve the gasses in her rebreather. He gave her a hand and arm signal, questioning whether or not she was getting enough air.

  She nodded—the wrong signal—corrected herself and gave him the proper okay sign with her hand. Beside her, already settled in his seat and with the side cover of the SDV in place over him, Hoover leaned over to her in the darkness. “Just relax and enjoy the ride,” he offered, trying to sooth her tension. The safety diver then slid Kristen’s metal cover over her, sealing her inside the small vehicle.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked herself in the near complete darkness.

  With her full face mask on, her words could actually be heard, and Hoover leaned back over to her. “What?” Hoover shouted to be heard the short distance between them. His face was dimly illuminated by a red chemical light hanging between them, providing her some more light along with the soft glow from the cockpit directly in front of her. They sat for several minutes, and occasionally Kristen heard a metallic sound, or something brushing along the outside of the SDV.

  Then, to her delight, a small fish swam across the front of her full face mask. It was colorful even in the dim light and appeared interested in her mask. The fish nudged it several times as if checking to see if it were edible. Kristen felt a slight calming of her nerves. She raised a gloved hand gently, and the fish began nibbling at the end of her gloves. She tried not to think about what hell she’d gotten herself into as she focused on the fish continuing to try and eat her neoprene gloves.

  Kristen—as well as the fish—started slightly as a soft whirling sound reached her ears and the SDV began moving. She tried not to think about the two hour ride ahead of her. They would not only be deposited on a hostile shore, but would have to transit a narrow channel through a minefield. She took small solace in knowing that if they hit a mine, they’d all be killed so quickly she’d never know it. Instead, she struggled to force herself to relax.

  After the SDV cleared the rear deck of the Seawolf and increased to its cruise speed of seven knots, all sense of motion left her, and she was floating in the tiny compartment. She glanced over at Hoover whose face was barely visible in the red glow. He was studying a navigation board. The board was illuminated by tritium gas on the dial, and she watched as Hoover, using a chemical light stick, a grease pencil, his dive watch, and the board, did his best to keep track of their movement on a laminated map showing their route through the minefield.

  She knew such navigation methods had been the standard for decades on SDVs, but would hardly have made her comfortable. Far more comforting was the knowledge that the SDV—the SEALs simply called it an “eight boat” for its military designation SDV MK 8—had an onboard Miniature Underwater GPS Receiver (MUGR) with a float antenna reaching up to the surface above. This far more accurate satellite system was their primary means of navigation which was good, since to traverse the minefield safely allowed for no error.

  It was too cramped for her to move around much, and she couldn’t look over her shoulder at Hamilton who was positioned behind her. So she tried to keep her mind off what lay ahead by concentrating on what Hoover was doing and occasionally catching a glimpse of the tiny fish that’d joined them as a hitchhiker. She checked the luminous dial of her dive watch periodically, finding the time going by slowly as they headed through the minefield. Kristen tried various mental games to try and help pass the time and keep her thoughts off what might be waiting for them. She found it almost impossible to concentrate as gruesome thoughts flooded her imagination about what lay ahead on the shore of North Korea.

  Slowly, the methodical rhythm of the electric motor and the weightlessness combined with her lack of sleep allowed her thoughts to drift.

  Chapter Fifty One

  Musudan-ri, North Korea

  The panel alongside her seat slid back, startling her awake. Her first thought was to wonder where she was, having believed it all some stress-induced nightmare. She looked up in the dark water and saw Hoover. The SEAL, just like her, was wearing his full facemask. He wore a red chemical light stick strapped to his left wrist, allowing her some light in the murky blackness. It took her only a few seconds to once again realize where she was. Then she discovered a new problem, something she should have anticipated. She was cold.

  The SDV was not a dry environment, and for the entire sixteen miles through the minefield, all of them had been exposed to the cold water. The SEALs in their drysuits were fairly well protected from the cold, but there had been no drysuit close to her size, and her ill-fitting wetsuit had provided, at best, marginal protection.

  But she could hardly ask them to start a fire so she might warm herself. Hoover helped her out of the sub, and she felt the ocean waves just above their heads. They were in relatively shallow water, and she could see two more red chemical lights in the darkness. She was connected to Hoover by an eight foot tether—not that she had any inclination of moving more than an arm’s reach from the SEAL until they returned to the Seawolf.

  She swam alongside Hoover, doing her best to ignore the dark, paralyzing fear trying to consume her once more, and instead focused on the mission one step at a time. She then saw Chief Grogan with an underwater navigation board in his hands. Hamilton was with him. She didn’t see Alvarez, but then looked back and saw the SDV pilot following them. Once Grogan was certain they were all with him, he began swimming.

  The team spread out in a rough wedge shape with Grogan in the middle, Alvarez directly to the Chief’s left, Hamilton on the extreme left, Hoover on the right. Kristen stayed near Hoover as they swam along the rocky bottom. Kristen was once more aware of the pounding in her chest, and she felt across her body for the pistol on her hip, wondering if she could ever use it. The assault rifle was secured on her left side but was not loaded. She then noticed her face mask fogging up again. Recognizing she was on the verge of hyperventilating, she concentrated on regulating her breathing.

  Slow, steady breaths. Take it easy. You’re going to be okay.

  Yeah, right!

  The motion of the waves was becoming stronger and the moonlight was growing brighter. She glanced up and saw they were now a few feet below the surface. Grogan came to a stop, and she moved closer to Hoover. They were now in barely six feet of water, and Kristen was certain the entire North Korean coastline had to be able to hear her thundering heart.

  Hoover stripped off his swim fins. Seeing this, she did the same, securing each fin to the appropriate calf as they’d taught her back on the Seawolf. He then pulled her to him and motioned for her to wait as he loaded his assault rifle while still underwater and then pulled his pistol. She watched in the dim light just
below the surface as the SEAL loaded his pistol.

  Oh, shit!

  They were no longer tethered, and she allowed herself to sink to the rocky bottom where she pulled herself hand over hand toward the shore. Once she reached waist deep water, she forced herself to stand up slowly, allowing her head to rise above the water. She peeked out over the surface, expecting to see the entire North Korean military aiming weapons at her. It seemed the height of arrogance to believe they might actually be able to sneak ashore undetected. Yet, as she peered across the moonlit surf, she could clearly see the four SEALs, still in their wedge formation with their suppressed HK-416s in hand.

  For a moment it felt as if she were watching some sort of stupid action movie. The surf was pounding the rocky shore, and the wind was howling. The four SEALs, their weapons up and at the ready, were each facing in a different direction, ready to unleash hell if Grogan ordered it. But whereas it might have the appearance of some action film, an ice cold chill of reality struck her as gut-wrenching fear gripped her once more.

  This was as real as it got.

  She resisted the urge to duck her head back beneath the waves. Instead, she kept her head just far enough out of the water to see what was happening. The SEALs slowly moved forward, their heads up and looking over the sights of their silenced pistols.

  What are you doing here?!

  Some might have thought it exciting. Some might have thought it cool. She didn’t. There was absolutely no part of her that thought any of this was fun or adventurous. The idea of possibly drawing her pistol and joining these trained killers as they crept silently toward the forbidding shore was almost laughable. Instead as she waited, her head just above the water, she was uncertain if she could go through with it. Paralyzing fear had engulfed her as the four men reached the rocky shore. She then saw Grogan turn toward her and motion her forward.