Here they left the confines of the Rover and boarded a Royal Navy Sea King helicopter.
“I see that you’re headed for our base in Northern Ireland at Armagh,” greeted the Sea King’s pilot as Colin Stewart strapped himself into the observer’s seat.
“You fellows wouldn’t be going to bandit country, would you?”
The Highlander met this innocent query with a sly grin.
“Let’s just say that me and the lads are on a little fishing expedition. Now if you’ll be so good as to get this whirlybird skyward, I’ll save a part of our catch for you.”
The nuclear-powered attack sub USS Bowfm put to sea at daybreak. The mirrorlike waters of Holy Loch were veiled by a thick shroud of swirling fog as the 292-foot-long Sturgeon-class vessel guardedly entered the waters of the Firth of Clyde. A foghorn sounded mournfully in the distance, yet the Bowfin carried no such device itself. To see through the blinding mist and keep from colliding with an oncoming ship, it relied on its sensitive BPS-15 surveillance radar.
From the sub’s exposed bridge, cut into the top part of its sail, Captain William Foard monitored their progress.
The forty-two-year-old Naval Academy graduate had been stationed at Holy Loch for over a year now, and was well acquainted with these waters. He knew the narrow estuary to be tricky even on those rare occasions when the weather was good. The morning fog only made his difficult job that much more of a challenge, and he scanned that portion of the Firth visible beyond the sub’s rounded bow with a vigilant intensity.
Behind him, two alert seamen did likewise.
“Sir, Commander Mackenzie would like permission to join you on the bridge,” broke the voice of the quartermaster from the intercom.
“Send him up,” replied Foard.
Soon after, a blond-haired, khaki-clad officer climbed out of the hatchway that was recessed into the floor of the exposed bridge.
“It’s damn chilly up here,” observed Mac as he zipped up his jacket.
“A typical spring morning in Scotland,” returned the Bowfm’s CO.
“Were you able to get settled in okay?”
“No problems. Captain,” answered Mac, whose gaze attempted to penetrate the thick mist.
“The XO was most gracious to offer me half of his stateroom as he did.”
“Though there’s a few on board that feel Lieutenant Commander Bauer is a bit cold and distant, he’s a pretty decent guy once you get to know him. I understand that you two have worked together before.”
“That we have, Captain. I was stationed at the Barking Sands Underwater Test Range on Kauai, and Lieutenant Commander Bauer was the XO of one of the subs we were working with.”
“I’ve worked Barking Sands. That’s some facility that we have out there.”
Any response on Mac’s part was interrupted by the activation of the intercom.
“Sir, we have a surface contact on radar bearing one-six-three, range one-zero nautical miles and closing. Looks to be a tug or a fishing trawler of some type.”
“Very good, Mr. Murray,” returned the captain.
“Most likely they’re headed towards Port Glasgow and should stay on their side of the channel. Let me know otherwise.”
“Will do, Captain,” retorted the ship’s navigator as the intercom was silent.
“The weather’s sure a bit different in Hawaii,” reflected Mac.
The CO grunted.
“Once we get to the fifty-fathom curve and go under, we could be cruising off the tropical shores of Barking Sands, for all I know. In another half hour or so, the weather topside will be the least of our concerns. That’s one of the benefits of traveling by submarine.”
“How do you like being stationed in Holy Loch?”
questioned Mac.
“So far, I don’t have any serious complaints, Commander.
My wife’s of Scottish ancestry, and when I got my transfer orders, she couldn’t wait to get over here.
We’ve got a small cottage in Dunoon that’s got all the comforts of the States. Personally, when I’m not driving the Bovffin, I like to spend my free time playing golf and fishing. And in both activities, Scotland excels.”
“I’m a golfer myself,” returned Mac.
“Have you gotten up to St. Andrews yet?”
The mere mention of his favorite pastime put a boyish gleam in the captain’s eyes.
“No, I haven’t, though I have played Gleneagles. The little lady and myself took the train up there and had a marvelous time.
Can’t say much for my score, but the course itself is gorgeous, and the scenery even better. It’s located right at the southern part of the Highlands and abounds with heather-filled meadows, crystal-clear lochs, and plenty of fast-moving streams. Luckily I brought along my fishing gear, and caught the biggest salmon of my life on the nearby Devon River.”
“Sounds like Scotland’s been good to you, Captain.
For the last couple of years, I’ve been living on the north shore of Oahu. We’ve got a few pretty good golf courses of our own, though the scenery’s a bit different.”
“That’s awful lovely country in its own right,” said the CO with a sigh.
“I’d be a liar if I didn’t tell you that this fickle Scottish weather can get a bit nerve wracking sometimes. During the winter just passed, we had three weeks straight of nothing but solid rain.
Naturally it came just as we returned from a 45day cruise. By the end of the first week, we were dreaming of palm trees, blue skies, and white sand beaches. By the end of the third week, even New London, Connecticut, was starting to sound good.”
“I didn’t think that submariners got cabin fever,” Mac said with a grin.
The CO shook his head.
“At least when I’m aboard the Bow/in, my wife’s not around to constantly pester me about painting the interior of the house and fixing the plumbing. That can get old real fast.”
Again the intercom crackled alive to report a nearby surface contact, and as the captain responded to this call, Mac looked out to the Bowfm’s teardrop-shaped bow. Through the roiling mist he could just see the waters of the Firth as they smoothly cascaded up over the sub’s rounded hull. Nearly half the forward portion of the deck was covered by this frothing seawater that left behind a characteristic splashing surge in its wake.
“Seems we’re just about to pass a slow-moving trawler that lies to our starboard some five hundred yards away. They shouldn’t be any problem as long as they remain on course.”
Mac looked to his right, but failed to spot the vessel.
“The Firth can get awfully crowded with civilian vessels sometimes,” added the CO.
“It’s not the best place to locate a submarine base, but I shouldn’t complain.
It’s a hell of a lot more convenient than having to steam in from the United States mainland. Because a short northward jog of only a few hundred miles puts up right on Ivan’s doorstep.”
“I understand that the Brits have a sub base here as well,” said Mac.
“That’s right, Commander. It’s located a few miles east of us in Gare Loch. Falsane is where they keep a good majority of their boomers, and where their new Trident vessels will be operating out of.”
“Sort of puts us smack at ground zero in the event of a war, doesn’t it, Captain?”
The Bowfin’s CO looked at Mac as he replied to this.
“As far as I’m concerned, if such a horrific thing were going to come down, that’s right where I’d like to be. It’s the survivors of such a conflict that I’d pity.
I’d much rather go up in a flash, though as a submariner there’s a good chance that I’d be directly participating in such a conflict at sea, rather than merely just getting fried at port.”
“If the unthinkable ever occurs and the nuclear genie is released, Oahu won’t last long either,” added Mac.
“The Reds will hit the island with a barrage of submarine-launched warheads that will make December 7, 1941, look
like a turkey shoot.”
“But don’t forget, Commander, our job’s to ensure that such a tragic turn of events never happens. That’s why it’s so damned important that America remain strong. One thing I’m absolutely certain of is that the Russkies respect strength above all. They’re not about to launch a nuclear strike if they know Uncle Sam will be able to retaliate effectively. Right now, our triad of nuclear delivery systems ensures our continued security.
But for how much longer, I just don’t know. Ivan’s continually improving his ASW skills, which means that soon our Trident submarine fleet won’t be so invulnerable.
Congress still can’t decide on an updated ICBM basing mode to replace Minuteman, and I’m afraid that our fixed-wing capabilities are a bit questionable.”
“I hear you, Captain,” returned — Mac.
“It’s hard to believe that the first flight of a B-52 took place way back in 1952. Hell, that’s two whole years before I was even born, and those planes are still up there flying deterrent patrols. SAC and the Air Force have done one hell of a fine job maintaining such platforms. But the questions remains, can they still do the job that they were designed to do almost four decades ago?”
“Let’s hope to God we never have to learn the answer to that question, Commander. And speaking of the B-52, what do you think our chances are of finding those two bombs that are still missing?”
Mac thoughtfully stared out into the fog.
“We should be able to do it, sir. Our current level of technology is certainly advanced enough to handle the operation.
Unfortunately, our resources are limited, and the logistical concerns of such a mission are extremely challenging.
“Washington’s in a hurry for us to recover the missing ordnance, and rightly so. Yet without the proper equipment, our job’s going to take only that much longer to accomplish. Our oceanographic ship, the USS Lynch, arrived at the site only yesterday. There are but a dozen such vessels in the fleet, and we were lucky they were in the Norwegian Sea when the crash occurred.
The Lynch’s job will be to make an intensive bathymetric scan of the seafloor beneath the debris field. This profile will be of invaluable assistance once the bombs are located and it becomes time for their actual recovery.
“We’ve currently got Sea Stallion helicopters at the site pulling sonar sleds over the area. Soon a pair of Avenger-class minesweeping ships will be arriving to give the choppers a hand. The sonar capabilities of these vessels are excellent, and with them we’ll be able to scan every square inch of the sea bottom. Also on hand is the sub rescue tender Pigeon, along with the DSRV Mystic. The Mystic will be utilized to eyeball suspicious contacts along with a variety of ROV’s that have already arrived.”
“It certainly sounds as if you’ve got a handle on it, Commander. Yet since this whole operation has been working under a need-to-know basis only, how are you explaining to the outside world what all these platforms are doing out there? Surely the Irish are going to be curious, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Ivan’s eye in the sky has already beamed photos of the crash site back to the Kremlin.”
Mac hesitated before responding.
“This whole operation is being explained away as a submarine rescue drill. Yet the longer it takes to find the two missing bombs, the shakier this story is going to get. In order to help speed things up, I’ve already begun circulating a flier among the fishermen in the area, asking if they happened to see anything out of the ordinary on the night of the accident. Because either one of the bombs could have fallen in an altogether different part of the Irish Sea, I felt that such an inquiry was necessary.”
“It sure won’t hurt,” said the captain as he looked at his watch.
“We’ll have you out to the site soon enough. Commander. Meanwhile, how about joining me down below for some breakfast? The chow’s pretty decent on this pig boat, and I know you won’t be disappointed.”
“I’d enjoy that, Captain,” replied Mac, who watched as the Bowfin’s CO barked into the intercom to send up a replacement.
As Mac climbed down the narrow steel ladder that led below deck, the distinctive scent of machine oil replaced that of the sea. The access way led directly into the control room. Here the current OOD stood watch beside the periscope well. Mac took in the two seated helmsmen perched before their airplane-style steering columns awaiting the order that would take the Bow/in down into its natural element.
When there was enough water beneath them to safely allow this dive, the chief petty officer positioned behind the helm would be called upon to change the state of their buoyancy by triggering the valves at the tops of the ballast tanks. In this way the air inside these tanks would be vented, allowing seawater to flood in from below and cause the vessel to lose its positive buoyancy and sink. This process would then be reversed when they wished to surface.
Close by, the radar operator anxiously stood facing his pulsating green scope, quick to call out each new surface contact that lay before them. Alertly plotting these sightings on a chart was the Bowfin’s navigator.
It was to this sandy-haired, bespectacled officer that the captain addressed his remarks.
“Mr. Murray, I’ll be in the wardroom. Let me know as soon as we pass Little Cumbrae Island. The sooner we dive and get out of this pea soup, the better it will be for all of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Confident in his crew’s ability to safely see the Bowfin through these fog-enshrouded waters, Captain Foard beckoned Mac to follow him aft. A narrow cable-lined passageway took them by the sonar and radio rooms.
Mac would be utilizing the powerful transmitter of this latter compartment to contact Admiral Long at the Pentagon once the ROVs were deployed and he was able to gauge their effectiveness.
They passed by the ship’s office, ducked through an open hatchway, and entered a fairly spacious compartment dominated by a large table. Seated alone here, sipping a mug of coffee and immersed in a pile of paperwork, was a middleaged officer sporting a crew cut. The captain had to clear his throat loudly to get the man’s attention.
“Excuse us, XO. Commander Mackenzie and myself were just going to have a little breakfast. Would you like to join us?”
Lieutenant Commander Ted Bauer put down his pen.
“No thanks. Captain. I’ve got a couple of extra pounds I’d like to lose, and I’d better stay as far away from Cooky’s hotcakes as possible.”
As the CO seated himself at the head of the table and Mac sat down beside him, an alert orderly appeared with two mugs of coffee.
“We’ll be having two Scottish breakfasts, Mr. Warren,” instructed the captain.
As the order was sent down to the galley on the deck below, the XO pushed aside the stack of reports that he had been working on.
“I understand that we’ve still got the fog topside, Skipper. Do you want me up on the bridge?”
“Lieutenant Murray can handle it. How are the crew’s competency reports coming?”
The XO shrugged his shoulders.
“I keep working on them, but I don’t see any progress. It doesn’t seem like I’ll ever finish.”
“You’ll manage like you always do,” said the Captain, as the orderly arrived with two bowls of oatmeal.
As the two officer’s dug into these servings, the XO asked, “How do you like the Bowfin so far, Mac?”
Mac gulped down a spoonful of the thick cereal and answered.
“She seems like an efficient, proud boat, Ted. I’m still kind of flabbergasted that Admiral Connors gave me the use of her.”
“We’re happy to be of service,” replied the XO.
“She’s a bit different than my last command, though.
You remember the Blueback, don’t you, Mac?”
Mac grinned.
“How can I ever forget her? I think I spent more time in her torpedo room than I did at Barking Sands.”
“You never did say what you two were working on back on Kauai,” observed the captain.<
br />
Mac looked at the XO before replying.
“Though it was classified top secret at the time, I guess we can tell you about it. Hell, we’re all going to be working with CURV soon enough, as soon as it gets here from San Diego.”
“CURV?” repeated the captain.
“That stands for cable-controlled underwater research vehicle,” explained Mac.
“We originally designed it at Nose to recover test-fired torpedoes. It’s primarily comprised of ballast tanks, lights, and a claw, and has a 3,000-foot depth limit.”
“We sure pushed it to its threshold back at Barking Sands,” observed the XO.
“Actually, the Blueback was almost responsible for us losing the first CURV prototype,” revealed Mac.
“It was originally designed only to go down to 2,000 feet.
But it seemed that every time you fired a torpedo, it ended up at a depth greater than that. So to show command that CURV was worth all the time and effort that we had been putting into her, we made some quick adjustments and sent her down to recover the Blueback’s torpedoes. At a depth of 2,600 feet, the port ballast tank ruptured. It’s a miracle that the starboard tank remained intact and we were able to nurse it to the surface.”
“I still say that it wasn’t our fault that the guys at Barking Sands gave us the wrong firing coordinates,” justified the XO.
“I’m just glad that we were able to save the prototype,” added Mac.
“Without it, the test would have been a complete failure, and there’s no telling if we’d ever get the funding to build another test unit.”
“So I gather that CURV is now a working element of the United States Navy,” concluded the captain.
“It most certainly is,” answered Mac.
“The new models work with fiber optics and are equipped with a camera that can send back remarkably clear photos at depth. This facilitates recovery and allows the unit to work on its own.”
“Let’s just hope that all of us will get a chance to see CURV do its thing in the Irish Sea,” offered the captain, who looked on as the orderly arrived with a platter heaped with blueberry hotcakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, kippered herring, and crusty scones.
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