by D. M. Ulmer
“Fear is a hell of an incentive. What’s the search plan?”
Irritation apparent in his voice, Dan went on, “Nothing formal so far. The old man’s seat-of-the-pantsing it. He wears himself out bouncing between Sonar and the chart table. And he’s burning out our best ears with the double watch bit. A week at this pace and we won’t be able to hear a jack hammer in the Sonar Shack.”
Taking Dan by the arm, Brent guided him out of earshot of the enlisted watch standers. “Back off on the captain, Dan.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, Brent. You bait him every chance you get.”
“No, Dan, I don’t. I just do my job and sometimes it gets in the way. I don’t try to prove him wrong just to make him look bad.”
Dan said with a sarcastic tone, “Sometimes it just happens that way. Right?”
“That’s not my point, Dan. If we survive this mission, it’ll be as a team. Most important, don’t let the troops suspect there’s dissension. That would blow their confidence, which equates to low morale.”
“Yeah, Brent. But the skipper scares the hell out of me for that very reason. I don’t think he really knows what to do.”
“None of us do, Dan. We’ve got to bring out the best each of us has to offer and throw it on the table. It’ll get damn tough around here if the captain suspects we’re not behind him. He won’t take our advice then, even when it’s sound, but I promise you, it won’t always be.”
“What are you suggesting, Brent?”
“We make the old man look good. He’s running with the ball too hard on his own. Maybe not for what we consider the best of reasons, but we need to show he can depend on us.”
Dan frowned. “Let me think on it.”
“Good. And while you are, I’ll work up a search plan.”
Brent disappeared behind the plotting room curtains and emerged an hour later. “Here’s how it looks to me, Dan. Tango Four’s too big for a complete sweep before Utah gets here, so let’s focus our efforts on her projected track. We’ll do this below the layer. Ivan’s no fool and he knows that’s where the Tridents like to hang out. We’ll search passive-narrowband at low frequencies. This is our best chance to find him. But, if he’s lying still and waiting, even that will be pretty damn hard. We’ll search wide at the seaward end and converge to the rendezvous point. This will give us the most coverage for the time allowed. We’ve got to be careful about our own radiated noise levels; and Dan, fifteen knots is too fast. I don’t care what the monitors say. At this speed, we concede first detection to an Akula laying to, dead in the water.”
Dan interrupted. “Where’n hell do you come up with all this stuff, Brent?”
Brent grinned at his friend. “I’m the weapons officer and I read all that paperwork your department sends me. Listen, we must not make that rendezvous.”
“For chrissake, Brent, why not? SUBPAC told us to rendez —”
Brent broke in, “I know, but don’t forget, nobody on the Soviet side has any combat experience, either. We shouldn’t hook up with Utah for two reasons. First, if an Akula’s out there and he finds us, he’ll know what we’re up to. He’ll simply follow us to the real prize, Utah.”
“And, the other reason?”
“What can we do for Utah after the rendezvous? Consider the options. If we go ahead of her, anybody waiting on the track will let us pass and shoot the big guy. If we follow, anything we do will be too late. So why not take our chances and lead Ivan to where Utah ain’t?”
Dan shook his head. “You’ll never sell this to the Old Man.”
“I know I won’t, Dan. You will.”
“What do you mean, I will? Damn it, Brent.”
“Look, Dan. I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t believe is right. You agree with my approach, don’t you?”
“Yes, but —”
“You know I’m a burr under the captain’s saddle. He gets pissed off if I tell him what time it is. This is medicine he must take … and it can’t be from me. Besides, Dan, you’re the operations officer and it’s your job to make these up anyway.”
Dan smarted under the allegation. The two glared at each other a moment.
After a short pause, Dan said, “Okay. I’ll give it my best shot, but no promises.”
“No promises.”
Brent left the Attack Center.
An hour later Dan explained to Brent the outcome of his meeting with the captain. “The son of a bitch is dangerous, Brent.”
“Cool it, Dan. That kind of talk can kill us. We won’t achieve a damn thing with open hostility.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Exactly what did he say?”
“He said the plan contradicts his orders. SUBPAC said to sanitize Tango Four and that means all of it. When he says rendezvous with Utah, that doesn’t mean go someplace else. He asked me what would headquarters’ reaction be if our patrol report states we disobeyed orders.”
Brent suspected the captain had said more. “Is that all?”
Dan hesitated. “No.”
“What else?”
“He said he’d expect that kind of advice from an officer like you but surprised to hear it from me.”
Brent nodded, took a breath to speak, but remained silent.
Later he relieved Dan as conning officer before reaching Denver’s rendezvous point three hours early. Bostwick, determined to be on time, ordered the high speeds needed to sanitize the entire area.
Exactly on time, the faint whir, whir, whir of Utah’s propellers marked the mighty ship’s passage overhead.
Denver initiated the rendezvous signal with three short pings on her secure depth sounder. Utah received the signals reflected off the ocean floor and replied with three of her own. Denver fell into trail five miles astern of the Trident submarine; an excellent peacetime tactic to detect an adversary lying in wait with intentions to trail Utah to her northern Pacific patrol area, but not a good one if an attack is in the cards.
Reluctantly Brent complied with the captain’s orders. “Ahead one-third,” he directed the helmsman and to the chief of the watch, “Chief, ease us down to three-fifty.”
Chief Cunningham answered, “Ahead one-third, ease to three-fifty.”
Brent said, “Left full rudder, steady two-eight-zero, belay the headings.”
Helmsmen, while executing turns, usually announce the ship’s heading every ten degrees unless ordered to belay them.
“Left full to two-eight-zero, belay headings, aye, Mr. Maddock.”
“Sonar, Conn. Here we go, Hansen. Give me a report on anything that remotely sounds like a target.”
“Good move, Brent.” Captain Bostwick provided the young officer with a rare, but sincere vote of confidence, though to be short-lived.
“Conn, Sonar! Torpedo in the water bearing two-eight-five!”
Brent ordered, “Collision alarm!” A shrill signal made its piercing whoeee, whoeee throughout the ship. Henri, the quartermaster of the watch correctly anticipated the order and its follow-on. He initiated the gong, gong, gong of the general alarm and announced over the 21MC, “Man battle stations!”
Brent ordered, “Torpedo Room, Conn. Make tubes one and two ready in all respects.”
Instantly, Brent knew he had made a mistake. The sound of water blown from WRT tank to the launchers deafened the sonar at the most critical moment. The background noise masked the torpedo’s running sounds. For what seemed an eternity the torpedo tube blow subsided forty seconds later.
“Bearing to torpedo, Sonar!”
“Two-eight-four, drawing left.”
Brent surmised correctly, They’re shooting at Utah.
Wanting to acquire a bearing and range to the attacking Soviet with a pulse from the ship’s sonar, Brent turned to Bostwick, and requested, “Permission to go active, Captain.”
Silence ensued.
Brent demanded, “Captain!”
Bostwick made a stern and well calculated reply, “Not granted.”
The so
und of two distant explosions rattled Denver’s hull.
Brent pleaded, “Captain … for chrissake. Permission to go active and get the sons of bitches.”
“Not granted, Brent. It’s too late. Let’s not give ’em another aim point and another scalp for their belt.”
“Let me shoot down the bearing line, then.”
“No. They’re out of range and they can outrun anything we throw at them. Secure the tubes and save the bullets. We’re going to need them later.”
Anger surged through Brent’s chest but mostly at himself. He knew the captain had it right. They had blown their first mission, but better not to make matters worse by striking out in stupid anger.
Get above the layer, Brent thought then said, “Chief, five degrees up bubble, make your depth six-zero feet.”
No response from Chief Cunningham as he sobbed uncontrollably. At that instant, sounds from a collapsing compartment in Utah rattled over the underwater telephone receiver speaker. The sinking Titan yielded to the sea and gave up the lives of Cunningham’s former shipmates.
Calmly, Brent ordered, “Henri, relieve the chief of the watch.”
The authoritative voice of the black quartermaster responded, “Aye, sir,” and then ordered the helmsman, “Full rise on the fairwaters, five up on the angle, smartly to six-zero.”
“Messenger of the watch, call the chief’s relief,” Brent said. Then he put his arm about Cunningham’s shoulder and guided him to the ladder leading to the crew’s quarters.
Doing what he could, Brent tried to comfort the COB. “Chief, I can’t say I know how you feel. I’ve never been there. But I hurt for you, Chief, and for your buddies. I hurt goddamn bad.”
Captain Bostwick hunched his shoulders and with no expression showing on his face, walked to his stateroom.
The 21MC crackled, “Conn, Sonar. Distant suppressed cavitation bearing two-eight-five, range opening.”
The message described the distinct sound of an escaping submarine. Her work done the victorious Soviet sped off into the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.
Chapter 6
Eric Danis looked out his office window onto a magnificent view of the Mojave Desert. Though a seaman, the expanse and serenity of this intriguing land overwhelmed him. He made a mental note to find time to look into the many secrets that had attracted man to find an abode here over the past ten millenniums. He held a phone to his ear and heard the ring at the other end, twice, three times.
“Hello, Dave Zane speaking,” came a distant voice.
“Hello, yourself. Eric Danis, here.”
“I know that. I’d recognize that sandpaper voice anywhere. How are you, old buddy?”
The relief in Dave’s voice said much. His friend had survived. A custom of their generation precluded emotional pronouncements.
“Figured I’d find you at the Digs, Dave.”
“You figured right. If you believe the newsies, it’ll be five years before we can go back to Bainbridge. The Soviets made a damn mess of it. Too hot for at least the time being.”
Eric assured Dave. “Eve’s here with me. The last we heard Sean got arrested for laying down in front of visitors at a Trident submarine commissioning ceremony. But he’s still with us and I’ll take having him alive any way I can get him. How about Bea? I trust she’s well.”
“Bloomin’, Eric, just bloomin’. Since young Maddock showed up, things have gotten a lot better for her. She’s a mite worried about him. I keep tellin’ her a 688 at sea has a better chance of making it than us poor souls on terra firma. She’s a woman, Eric, and needs assurances.”
“Tell her I’m certain he’s well and that’s more than just a gut feel.”
“Thanks, Eric. She’ll be grateful for that, especially since it came from you.”
“Least I can do for my favorite godchild.”
“How we doin’, Eric? Papers say we’re gettin’ our butts kicked.”
Eric said with a grim voice, “We’ve lost just about all the hardware we needed to successfully carry out the Maritime Strategy. Add to that some serious casualties ashore, both military and civilian. Most of this is on the coasts. We don’t know how they did it, but the areas attacked are dirty enough to keep us out for quite a while. Apart from facilities ashore, submarines seem to be holding their own … just barely, but hanging in there.”
“Guess the Maritime Strategy turned ’round and bit us submariners square on the ass. We went along ’cause it got us outta battle-group escort and freed us up for the forward areas where the good hunting is. Just didn’t believe the Soviets would do what they did.”
“Hindsight is 20/20, Dave.”
“Well at least we saved something, Eric. The damn I told you so flakes from the candy-ass peace crowd piss me off. If we do get taken over, wait till they hear what the KGB has to say about their damn intellectual pontificating.”
Dave regretted his words the instant they left his mouth since Eric’s son was an avid peace activist.
If Eric Danis noticed, he didn’t let it show. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Hmm. What’s the best way to hit Dave with this? A no brainer, just give it to him straight up. “Dave, have I got a deal for you.”
“Shoot. I got my hand over my butt.”
“How would you like to be activated for temporary assignment?”
“A stupid-ass old diesel guy like me? What could I do for the war effort? Do I get paid? Better not let the newsies get hold of this. I can just see the headlines now. Navy retiree, already getting paid too much for doing nothing, gets paid more for doing less.”
Eric laughed. “This thing hasn’t hurt your sense of humor one bit. Seriously, Dave, I need you to set up an emergency submarine base.”
Not quite believing what he heard, Dave asked, “Set up a what?”
Although a patient man, Eric could get his back up on occasion. “Damn it! Hear me out.”
Sensing his friend’s stress, Dave said, “Okay.”
Eric went on, “We’ve got boats at sea with no place to bring them home. All of our deep-water ports are unusable. We need something workable. Flimsy is good as long as it works. You’re the best person up there to do this.”
“Why do you say that, Eric?”
“Two reasons. You know the Washington coast like the back of your hand and what’s needed to pull off a refit.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Eric. Got any specifics?”
“There are none. Find us a spot and then look around to see what you can lay your hands on to make it suitable for submarine refits.”
“That’s one hell of a job, buddy. It took eight years and three billion dollars for the base at Bangor.”
“That’s because you weren’t running the job, Dave.”
“I’d have cut it to four billion and twelve years.” Dave paused then asked, “You’re serious? You want to fire up an old fogy like me?”
“Look at it this way, Dave. We didn’t pay you any attention when we owned your soul; so now we figure you owe us. That’s one of the beauties of this country. We’re the land of the second chance.”
“Do I get a raise?”
“You’ll be damn lucky to see another retirement check in the next ten years.”
“In that case, I’ll take the job.”
Dave Zane realized the powerful vote of confidence he had just gotten from a man he held in great esteem. Old salts avoid maudlin so he said nothing. Dave gleaned as many details as he could from his old friend and after an exchange of pleasantries they hung up.
Eric drew a pair of black and bitters from the coffeepot behind his desk and summoned Dutch Meyer.
Dutch came into the office, took the coffee and seated himself in response to Danis’s hand gesture. “Afternoon, Commodore.”
Eric said, “Afternoon, Dutch. Thanks for coming by. Got a couple of things on my mind and need your help.”
The stoic Dutch replied, “That’s why they keep me on the payroll, Commodore.”
> “I’m worried about our aviators. We gotta find them something to get their teeth into. They’ve had their asses kicked and want to get even. Failure of the carrier battle group strategy does not reflect on these kids. From what I see, they’re damn good. I get the feeling we give them nothing but make-work and I think they deserve better. I want you to dissolve the hard-ass attitude by some of our submarine staffers. You know who they are.”
“No problem, sir. You’re right. It’s been bugging me too. I can fix that.”
“Work fast. You only got a day to do it. There’s something else I need you to do.”
Dutch squirmed uneasily. “Something else, Commodore?”
“Yeah, Dutch. How’s the old Chevy running?”
The old Chevy … what the hell? Danis wants to buy my car? Dutch answered, “Not all that bad, I guess.”
“Good. I want you to start driving north and gather up everything you can find to help set up a temporary submarine base.”
Sitting back in his chair, Dutch thought, Whew! Then he said, “A temporary submarine base, Commodore? Where? When?”
“On the Washington coast as soon as Dave Zane gets off his sorry ass and finds us one.”
“When did he get the assignment, sir?”
“About fifteen minutes ago.”
“I see what you mean, Commodore. Those retired guys do take their own sweet time. When do you want me to start?”
Looking at his watch Danis replied, “Right now, Dutch. We gotta get a base for our boats because they can’t stay out there forever.” He passed the mustang a letter with a stack of duplicates. “This authorizes you to requisition anything we need, including the means to get it up there.”
Dutch asked, “Where’s up there, Commodore?”
“I don’t know, Dutch. Here’s Zane’s phone number. Call him once a day and keep the pressure on. Dump whatever you find at the Coast Guard Station in Astoria, Oregon till Zane finds us a better place.”
“This okay with the Coasties?”
“It will be by the time you get going.”
“With all due respect, Commodore, how am I supposed to do this? Gather all the stuff, I mean.”
“If I knew, I’d do it myself and wouldn’t need you.”