by Cliff Happy
The team was now an hour overdue.
An underwater shockwave hit the hull, sending a tremor through the entire submarine. Every eye turned anxiously toward Brodie while Graves and COB looked at the status board to make certain the Seawolf was unharmed. Once they saw that the sub was okay, they too looked toward Brodie as if he might know what had caused the shockwave. Over the past three hours, sonar had reported smaller explosions in the direction of the minefield, indicating the North Koreans were pursuing the retreating SDV and surviving SEALs as they tried to withdraw through the narrow channel. Sonar had classified the small explosions as regular hand grenades dropped into the water like makeshift depth charges trying to disable the SDV.
“A mine,” Brodie said calmly. They were the first words he’d said in nearly three hours.
Everyone exchanged nervous expressions, uncertain whether or not Brodie was guessing or knew this for certain. Graves studied his friend. Normally, the more pressure he was under the calmer Brodie appeared. But not this time. Now Brodie’s usual steady and controlled persona was missing. Instead, he appeared almost Sphinx-like as he stared at the tactical display while more and more North Korean search assets entered the area.
Thirty seconds later, the sonar shack verified the detonation of a mine in or near the channel. “The explosion occurred on the same bearing we were tracking a patrol boat in the channel,” Chief Miller explained via the squawk box.
“Bastards ran into their own mine,” COB offered with a malicious grin. “Serves the fuckers right.”
Graves didn’t like to consider the possible reasons the SEALs were so late. None of the probable explanations were particularly good, and he didn’t need to describe them to Brodie. But he felt they couldn’t afford to sit and wait much longer. The tactical display showed an ever-tightening noose of North Korean aircraft and ships approaching. The longer they waited, the more perilous their situation became.
Graves thought he understood Brodie well—or at least better than anyone else. Brodie was a risk taker and—at times—reckless, whereas Graves was more conservative. They got along so well because Brodie wanted an XO who spoke his mind, and Graves always presented Brodie with a difference of opinion that often worked to temper Brodie’s tendency to take risks. The combination had proved itself quite successful over the years.
“What do you wanna do, Captain?” Graves asked softly, nearly whispering in Brodie’s ear. “We should have picked up something on sonar by now.” They still hadn’t heard any sound from the SDV.
“We wait,” Brodie said coolly, offering Graves nothing else.
“Sir, they’re an hour overdue…. they could have been hit by one of those underwater explosions, the SDV could have broken down, the survivors might be on the surface trying to evade capture….” he inhaled deeply, not liking any of the scenarios. “If they can’t make it to us, there’s no way we can get to them. The longer we wait, the greater danger we’re all in.”
Graves studied his friend’s face for any hint of a reaction, but Brodie appeared to have totally shut down. His face was completely unreadable, except for the stern jaw and the look of deep concentration in his eyes. “Sir?” Graves was about to resume his argument, but Brodie glanced at him briefly. His eyes were like two chips of ice.
“We wait.”
“Aye, Captain,” Graves answered, wishing Brodie would tell him what he was thinking.
There was a lengthy pause as Graves watched his friend. Then Brodie, as if reading Graves’ mind, spoke in explanation, “If they were captured or dead, the Koreans wouldn’t still be throwing hand grenades in the water,” Brodie said reasonably. “And if the SDV was damaged and they had to leave it behind, it could take them hours to reach us. Their LAR-7s can provide breathable air for several more hours yet. And, if they were on the surface and hoping for rescue because they can’t reach us, we would hear their distress beacons.”
It was calm, level-headed, and the kind of reasoning Brodie had always demonstrated in high-stress situations. But even as Graves nodded in agreement, he felt he saw something different about his friend; something making this particular situation more difficult for him. This was hardly the first time Brodie and Graves had sent a team of SEALs onto a hostile beach and then waited hours for them to return. In the past, during such stress-filled times, Brodie had been as cool as if tied up pier side back in Bremerton.
But now, on this operation, Graves could see that Brodie had become all steel eyes and hard angles. Graves knew the EAMs ordering a nuclear attack on Musudan-ri was part of it. But there was more than that. He could see worry in Brodie’s face, something Graves had seldom seen in his friend.
“Con, sonar,” they heard Chief Miller’s voice. “The Tral is pinging with active sonar and is coming awful close, sir.”
The Seawolf was normally exceptionally stealthy. Her hull, with the thick hard rubber anechoic tiles, absorbed sound waves quite well and prevented a good hard return when struck by an active sonar ping. Unfortunately, this stealthiness was somewhat disrupted by the Dry Deck Shelter which was not as well protected against sonar pings as the Seawolf. Plus, with the rear of the DDS open to allow the SDV to enter, the stealthy characteristics of the Seawolf were negated during an active sonar search because the interior of the DDS was in no way designed to prevent active sonar detection.
Graves glanced at Brodie who’d again assumed his statue-like posture and was burning a hole through the tactical display with his eyes. The Tral would soon be close enough to detect them. If that happened, they’d be forced to run for it. Graves thought it prudent to button up the DDS and move away quietly until they detected the approaching SDV. “Skipper,” he said softly. “The Tral is barely two miles distant and coming on awful hard,” Graves reminded him.
Brodie nodded his understanding but made no comment.
“Con, sonar,” Miller’s voice announced. “We’re picking up a submerged contact bearing one-four-eight.” The bearing indicated the contact was in the minefield’s narrow channel. “Very faint, definitely propeller noises. But we’re also picking up other transients.”
Brodie pulled down the microphone. “What kind of transients, Chief?”
“Sounds like metal banging against metal, Skipper.”
“Are you picking up the SDV’s obstacle avoidance sonar?” Brodie asked calmly as everyone was again watching him anxiously.
“Negative, over. Just the propeller and the transients.” Miller then added, “It’s got to be them though, unless the DPRK is sending a mini sub out after us.”
Brodie replaced the microphone and had the Type-18 periscope raised above the sail. He turned to look down the bearing where Chief Miller had reported the contact. Everyone crowded around the single television monitor showing what Brodie was seeing through the periscope. The underwater picture was not good, but as he flipped to an active infrared view, the image showed the rear of the Seawolf with the open Dry Deck Shelter waiting for the SDV to return. “Inform the SEALs in the DDS to prepare to receive the mini sub, and tell them to expedite,” Brodie told Graves. “Also, have Doc Reed standing by to receive casualties.”
“Aye, sir,” Graves answered. He then considered the TLAM-N that was, by order of the National Command Authority, supposed to be loaded in a tube and ready for launch. But, thus far, Brodie hadn’t given such an order. “And the EAMs?” Graves asked.
Brodie glanced over at him, thinking for a moment and then explained, “I’m not about to jump start World War III until I know for certain we have no choice,” he replied simply.
Graves understood perfectly the orders that went along with firing any nuclear weapon. Besides the elaborate safeguards that were meant to preclude either an independent missile launch by a rogue officer, or an accidental launch by some computer foul up, the final check on whether or not the Seawolf could launch would be common sense. If either Brodie or Graves felt their orders made no sense, they had the authority to abort the launch. Of course, they had to hav
e a real reason to believe the orders were erroneous other than just a hunch. But Graves, who didn’t want to incinerate potentially tens of thousands of North Koreans, wasn’t about to argue with Brodie for his prudence.
“I mean,” Brodie confided to Graves, “does any of this make sense?” He paused and then said, “The North Koreans have been rattling the saber for decades, but they’re smart enough to know that if they go nuclear we’ll turn them into a cinder.”
“True enough,” Graves agreed. “But how do you intend to prove it? If we’re ordered to launch and you don’t, there’ll be a board of inquiry. If you can’t show cause to abort, they’ll have your nuts.”
“I’d rather explain myself to a bunch of Brass Hats than accidentally kill thousands of people that never did anything wrong other than having the bad manners to be born on the wrong side of the 38th parallel.”
“I’m with you on that,” Graves agreed, relieved Brodie was finally explaining himself.
“Just get back to the forward escape hatch. I’ll keep an eye on the store up here,” Brodie ordered.
“Aye, sir.” Graves headed aft.
Brodie turned his attention back to the image from the periscope. The SDV had just appeared in the murky water moving slowly toward the Seawolf. But as he watched, he could see it was moving awkwardly. The driver and the navigator had their “doors” slid back, and their heads were sticking up out of the mini sub, piloting it by eyesight and not by the GPS. One of the stabilization fins was flapping along the side and there appeared to be more damage to the SDV’s hull. Finally, an ominous stream of air bubbles were rising up from the craft. These air bubbles would act like a clear visual signal for anyone on the surface searching for the SDV. Plus the clanking of the stabilization fin could be picked up by passive sonar easily.
“Con, sonar,” Chief Miller reported. “I have an active sonar search bearing zero-nine-five, range less than three thousand yards. It sounds like a dipping sonar from a helicopter.”
“Roger Chief, where’s the Tral?” Brodie asked as he looked at a stopwatch he wore around his neck.
“Eighteen hundred yards, bearing constant, sir,” Miller replied, which meant the Tral was coming directly at them. No one in the control room had to be reminded that it was virtually impossible for the Tral to just happen to be on an intercept course with the Seawolf.
But before Brodie could answer, he heard Miller’s frantic call, “Transients! Torpedo in the water, bearing zero-nine-five! The helicopter dropped a torpedo. It went active as soon as it hit the water and is searching.”
“Very well.” Brodie started the stopwatch and then spoke with a calmness belying the growing peril of the moment to the officer of the deck. “Mister Massanelli, please bring the hands to general quarters.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as the dozens of men trying to watch what was happening in the control room heard his calm, almost conversational tone, order them to battle stations. Then, as the alarm claxon blared overhead, there was instant pandemonium as men ran for whichever exit from the control room would get them to their battle station the quickest.
Brodie, mindful of the danger his boat and crew were now in, knew they had run out of time and options. They had to move and move fast if they were going to escape yet again. He called Graves now positioned at the forward escape trunk where the SEALs would soon be reentering the sub.
“XO?”
“Jason,” he heard Brodie’s steady voice over the phone. “We’re about to have the Tral breathing down our necks. Do you have communications with the divers working in the DDS?”
“Aye, Skipper,” Jason answered. “How much time do we have?”
“We’re out of time,” Brodie admitted, hoping to keep his own concern out of his tone. His young crew had been through a lot in the last seventy-two hours, and the last thing they needed to see was a frantic commanding officer. “Have them get our people out and set the self-destruct charges in the SDV. We need to button up and get underway.”
“Aye, sir.”
Brodie hung up the ship’s phone and returned his attention to the tactical display. The torpedo was still searching for a target, but its search pattern was bringing it closer to the Seawolf. He listened impassively as Andrew Stahl reported six tubes ready for firing. COB was watching him nervously. Their orders prevented him firing on the Koreans in their territorial waters. Yet Brodie had loaded four torpedoes which could only be used against the Tral. In addition, Brodie had also ordered two Aselsan decoys loaded.
“Set Aselsan in tube seven for course bearing zero-nine-zero, have it run for five hundred yards and then turn onto a new course due north.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Stahl replied. Brodie could hear the confusion in Stahl’s voice. Brodie was ordering the decoy to enter the minefield.
COB turned to Brodie. “Condition Zebra set throughout the ship. All departments report general quarters manned and ready, Captain.”
Brodie looked at the television screen showing what was happening on the aft deck of the Seawolf. The launching cradle for the SDV was being retracted while the SDV itself was swarming with support divers helping get the passengers out and back into the DDS. Another group of divers were standing by the large hatch used to seal the DDS once everyone was inside.
Then Brodie saw a group of divers swimming back toward the open hatch of the DDS. With these support divers, Brodie saw what had to be the slightly built Korean. But there were also two men in camouflage drysuits indicating they were SEALs who’d gone ashore. At least one of the SEALs needed assistance and both men had what appeared to be battle dressing on them. He then saw two divers swimming with someone in baggy camouflage and long flowing blond hair.
Brodie felt his jaw tense. It could only be her. She wasn’t wearing a LAR-7 rebreather like everyone else, and she wasn’t moving. He could see no clear injury to her or any of the others in the grainy image, but there could be no doubt things had gone terribly wrong. He’d sent five people ashore to snatch the doctor. There should be a total of six of them returning, but all he counted was four. He knew the SEALs orders only too well. Two missing men, meant two dead. There would be no prisoners.
Another memory to live with.
“Sir, tube seven ready in all respects,” Stahl reported anxiously, his finger on the launch button.
Brodie look down from the image on the screen, not even hearing Stahl.
“Captain?” Stahl asked.
“Fire seven,” Brodie ordered, feeling a terrible sinking sensation deep in the pit of his stomach.
“Fire seven, aye, sir,” Stahl replied and launched the Aselsan submarine decoy.
“Sir?” COB asked softly with a hint of concern in his voice. He’d stepped close to Brodie and lowered his voice so no one else could hear. Brodie knew COB thought he was crazy, but didn’t have time to explain his reasoning. The Aselsan would enter the minefield almost immediately. As soon as it did, the minefield would come alive with activity as bottom moored homing torpedoes went after the decoy. Brodie’s hope was that the noise created would mask any sound the Seawolf would soon make as he maneuvered to avoid the inbound torpedo.
Brodie gripped his friend’s forearm. “Go aft, help Jason get all of the divers out of the DDS,” he told him. “We’re going to have to move and move fast, and they can’t be in there as deep as we’re going to be heading.” Brodie explained quickly.
The DDS was made out of HY80 steel and could withstand a depth of no more than two hundred feet if pressurized. But, if there were no personnel in the DDS, it didn’t have to be pressurized and could be flooded and so withstand any depth the Seawolf might dive to.
“Aye, sir.”
Jason Graves stood nervously beneath the hatch leading to the escape trunk. The hatch was sealed and the trunk itself was flooded. Beside him, waiting to receive casualties, was Doc Reed with several men. Graves checked his watch. The divers were going directly from the open sea, through the transit trunk, and into the su
bmarine escape trunk because Brodie needed them inside the sub as soon as possible. But all of the divers couldn’t enter the escape trunk at once. So the Dry Deck Storage team would have to wait in the transfer trunk until the first group of divers cleared the escape trunk.
By the book, all of the divers should take a few minutes to decompress, but there was no time for the book. None of the SEALs had been very deep, and they would just have to risk the bends. It was either that, or all of them die when the Seawolf was caught in the trap currently closing around it.
Graves kept his eye on the various gauges, waiting for the indicator light letting him know the SEALs, Kristen, and Dr. Dar-Hyun were in the trunk and the outer hatch was sealed. The Seawolf could not begin moving until all of the divers were at least inside the DDS and couldn’t go deep until they were all inside the hull of the submarine itself.
After what felt like an agonizingly long time, the SEALs in the DDS reported it was sealed. Graves immediately relayed the information to Brodie. Seconds later, he felt the Seawolf accelerate. COB arrived a few seconds later.
“Are they all inside yet?” COB asked.
“Negative,” Graves replied. “What’s happening?”
“That helicopter dropped a torpedo about three thousand yards off. It’s searching.” COB explained. “We need to get everyone inside, fast!”
“The first group is in the escape trunk, and we’re pumping the water out,” Graves explained. “How much time do we have?”
“None, the skipper just put the hammer down and is taking us out to sea.”
The squawk box outside the escape trunk then came to life. “We’re depressurizing now.” Graves didn’t recognize the SEAL’s voice.