by Tom Clancy
Stanley asks, “Will we have to disarm the bomb?”
“My team in Washington is working on that. What we do when we find the bomb will depend on a number of factors. Just report in when you’ve found it.”
There aren’t any more questions, so we go to it. Carlson reluctantly takes me through the CHARC’s controls and it seems pretty straightforward. Anyone who has operated a wet bike should be able to handle it. I’m also issued standard SEAL diving equipment. Along with a military wet suit, I have an upgraded LAR-V (Mod 2) rebreather with a large oxygen gas cylinder, a military diver broad that integrates with a compact depth gauge, a G-shock watch, an underwater compass, and a built-in adjustable chem-light holder. I try on a new Aqua Sphere SEAL diving mask that is supposedly leak-free and surprisingly comfortable; AMPHIB boots, which are all-terrain multifunctional boots that work well in and out of water; Rocket II fins that are designed to be worn over the boots; and HellStorm NaviGunner water ops gloves. We each have a single tank of air and a tool belt containing various items we might need when we encounter an MRUUV.
The CHARCs are lowered into the water with each of us sitting in our respective vehicle. Like the MRUUVs, a CHARC uses SWATH technology to propel it. SWATH gives a craft the ability to deliver big-ship platform steadiness and ride quality in a smaller vessel and the capability to sustain a high proportion of its normal cruising speed in rough head seas. The waterplane is the horizontal-plane cross-section of a ship’s hull at the water surface. Thus, the CHARC has two submarinelike lower hulls completely submerged below the surface; above the surface the CHARC resembles a catamaran with a wet bike on top of it. Ship motions are caused by the waves on the ocean surface, which produce forces on the hull that decrease rapidly as the hull is moved farther below the surface, as with a submarine. Wave-exciting forces can also be made smaller if the amount of waterplane area at the design waterline is decreased. However, the objective of SWATH is not to minimize ship motions at the expense of speed/ power or payload capabilities. Instead, the relative proportions for the strut waterplane area and submerged hulls are selected to reduce motions and accelerations well below accepted criteria for seasickness or onset of degraded performance of personnel or equipment. All SWATH crafts will have less than 50 percent as much waterplane area as a monohull of equal displacement.
We never had cool toys like these when I was a SEAL!
The weather is typical southern California — breezy, sunny, scattered clouds. The sun hasn’t been up too long and it’s still winter, so riding at a fast speed would be quite chilly if I wasn’t protected from the elements. The driver’s seat is inside a bulletproofed canopy so there’s a bit of a jet cockpit feel to it. It’s soundproofed, too, so all you hear is a pleasant whir that could easily lull you to sleep if you were so inclined. The controls are brightly lit and intuitive; a monkey could pilot the thing. And best of all it smells like the interior of a new car. I love it!
The CHARC handles so smoothly that it’s hard to believe I’m on the surface of the Pacific. The water is choppy but the CHARC seems to glide right over it. Before long I’m within a mile of the Santa Monica Pier and I can see the Ferris wheel and other amusements glistening in the early dawn. I reduce speed and concentrate on what the instruments are telling me. There are schools of fish moving underneath me. A large stationary metal object lies at the bottom, most likely a sunken speedboat.
“I’m in position,” I say into the intercom. The two SEALS and I are hooked up to a ComLink originating at the Fisher. Lambert and the Third Echelon team in Washington are also monitoring the mission through my implants. I guess I’d better watch my language.
“Roger that,” Carlson says. “I’ll be in my position in about twenty seconds.”
“Same here,” echoes Stanley.
And so it begins. The search is tedious and painstaking. After thirty minutes all three of us comment on how the job is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Each of our sections encompasses thirty or forty square miles of ocean.
“Colonel, is there any chance of getting more men and CHARCs to help with the search?” I ask.
“We’ve already tried, Sam,” he says. “More are on the way but by the time they get here it will be noon.”
“I’m afraid it’s going to take us longer than that just to locate something worth diving for.”
“Just keep looking.”
Anna Grimsdottir comes on the line and says, “Our intel buoys have picked up a total of sixteen objects that might be MRUUVs in the three sectors. I’ll give each of you the coordinates for your respective sector. At this point it’s difficult for us to tell if they’re moving or not. You’ll have to determine that.”
She gives the three of us separate coordinates to check out. It takes me three minutes to guide the CHARC to my first one only to find that the object is stationary. Another sunken wreck. Grimsdottir calls out the next location, which turns out to be a mile closer to shore. I reach it in forty seconds and once again am disappointed by the discovery.
This process continues for the next hour until finally Stanley calls out, “Hey! I think I have one.” Grimsdottir quizzes him on some of the instrument readings and he answers promisingly. The object is moving with the speed of a barracuda and is the correct size and shape. “I’m going for a dive,” he says. Carlson and I continue our search as we wait with anticipation for good news. Six minutes pass and finally Stanley’s voice rings in our ears.
“Affirmative,” he says. “It’s an MRUUV.” Grimsdottir asks him about Geiger readings, but this time his answers are negative. There’s no indication that this is the one with the bomb.
“Blow it out of the water,” Lieutenant Van Fleet commands. Stanley confirms the order and tells us that he’s activating the drop-mines. They’re powerful explosives but nothing so serious that he’d be in danger by being on top of them.
“Mines released,” he says, and we wait for the sound of fireworks.
But the tremendous noise we hear in our headsets is shocking, overamplified, and distorted. After a few seconds we hear nothing but static. Then everyone talks at once.
“Stanley? Ensign Stanley?”
“Oh, my God!”
“What happened?”
“Did you see that?”
“That geyser was sixty feet high!”
Lieutenant Van Fleet quiets everyone down and says, “I’m afraid the MRUUV was booby-trapped with a powerful explosive. When Stanley’s mines hit it, the MRUUV blew the CHARC to pieces.”
Well. I guess that’s going to change our strategy.
38
“I just received word from the White House,” Colonel Lambert announces to me through the implants. The other SEAL can’t hear him. “The president is going to issue the go command in thirty minutes whether or not we find the nuke. People in Taiwan are dying and General Tun’s forces are on the outskirts of Taipei. The president is going to call Tun’s bluff.”
“Won’t China protect their general?” I ask.
“That we don’t know. The vice president is in seclusion with China’s president in Beijing. We’re not privy to what communications are going back and forth between Beijing and Washington. The bottom line is we have thirty minutes.”
“Then get Anna to give me and Carlson something to work with.”
“I’m working on it, Sam,” Grimsdottir cuts in. “I’m tracking two possibilities in your sector and one in Lieutenant Carlson’s sector. Give me five minutes to narrow them down to the best choice.” She sounds calm and collected in a stressful situation that would have anyone else at the breaking point.
The CHARC purrs closer to Santa Monica Pier as I study the sonar screen for anything unusual. Fish set off minor readings every few seconds. There’s a lot of junk down there that causes the metal detector to jump continuously. I’m beginning to understand the various meter levels and what they might mean so I don’t spend too much time looking at something that turns out to be nothing.
“Sam, I have coordinates for you.” Grimsdottir reads them out and says, “Something’s in motion there and it’s bigger than what you’ve seen so far.”
“I’m on my way.”
I guide the CHARC about four hundred yards to the south and watch the screens for any blips. Sure enough, there’s something down there. It’s metal, it’s moving at a slow speed, it’s about six feet long and approximately three feet wide. More promising is the fact that the Geiger counter is going nuts. I snap some sonar pictures of it and transmit them to Third Echelon, all the while staying above the thing. I reckon the speed to be about fifteen knots and at that rate it’ll be very near the shore in less than a half hour.
“Take a dive, Sam,” Lambert says. “Anna thinks that’s it.”
“Roger that.”
I put the CHARC on idle, lower the face mask, and insert the rebreather into my mouth. The backward dive off the vehicle pulls on my abdomen, which delivers a jolt of pain through the sore spots, but I ignore it and allow myself to descend. It’s been a while since I’ve been diving. It’s a lot like riding a bike, though — you never forget how.
The water here is murky and not very clean. L.A. must have one of the most polluted shorelines in the world, yet people swim in it all the time. This far out I would have expected it to be a little clearer but no such luck.
I switch on my lamp and shine the beam across the ocean floor until it finds the object. Sure enough, it’s an MRUUV, just like the one I saw in the submarine pen in China. It’s an odd thing to see down here. The device is shiny silver with several indicator lights burning brightly along the side. My earlier thought that it looks similar to a giant cigar tube is even more apropos down here.
I quickly surface, climb aboard the CHARC, and transmit my message. “You’re right, Anna. I’ve got one. And the Geiger is about to jump out of its skin.”
“Excellent,” Lambert says. “Stay on top of it, Sam. Stand by until we figure out what we want to do about the damned thing.”
“Well, hurry up. I’m not very fond of nuclear enemas.”
A few minutes go by and Anna says, “Sam, can you hear me when you’re underwater?”
“Yes.”
“Then go on back down.”
Another backflip off the CHARC and I’m below the surface. I break open a chem-light and place it in the holder so I can see what’s in front of me.
She continues. “Sam, I want you to swim alongside the MRUUV and look for something. Tap your OPSAT to let me know you’re there.”
I keep up the pace, swimming four feet above and parallel to the device, then push a button on the OPSAT.
“Okay, good. Now, do you see the rectangular panel on the top? It should be directly behind the antenna in the front.” I see it. The lid is roughly two feet by one foot.
AFFIRMATIVE, I type.
“Right. Now get on top of the thing like you’re riding a motorcycle. You’re going to have to unscrew that panel.”
Ride it? Is she kidding? The other one blew up beneath poor Ensign Stanley. How do I know just touching the damned thing isn’t going to set it off? I tap out the question on the OPSAT.
“Sam, it won’t blow up just by touching it. It’s got to be protected against minor bumps and scrapes down there. The thing’s probably collided into a rock or two since being launched from the sub. Not to mention fish or other plant life. Go ahead, you’ll be okay.”
Fine. I swim a little faster so that I’m gliding evenly with the thing, then I reach down and grab the front end. I try not to flinch when I do so and thankfully “the Barracuda” just keeps purring along. I let it pull me through the water for a few seconds and then I lower myself onto its back. I’m now riding it as if it was a dolphin.
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Good. Now get that panel off. It’s the only way to get to the booby trap and, if I’m not mistaken, also to the guidance system controls and the bomb.”
I take a screwdriver from my utility belt and begin to work. The panel is lined with twelve screws, so it takes a few minutes to get them all off. I put them in a pouch on the belt in case I need them again later. The panel comes off and I hold it in one hand. In order to work with both hands I have to grip the MRUUV with my thighs.
“You can let go of the panel. You’re not going to need it again.” Okay, so I let it float away. I indicate that it’s off and she says, “Good. Now look carefully inside the compartment. I assume you have a chem-light? You should see plastic explosive attached to the inner surface, probably encased in waterproof material. It’s probably brick shaped and has wires coming out of it.”
I would have found it without her description. Recognizing explosives is part of my job. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can dismantle the thing without her instructions. It’s pretty straightforward. “What you need to do is determine which is the positive lead and which is the negative lead. The wires go to a—”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Oh, okay, you know what you’re doing. Sorry.”
It’s a simple matter of disconnecting the explosive from the igniter. There’s probably a sensor located somewhere in the device that tells the igniter to do its business but I don’t have to worry about that. With a pair of wire cutters, I snip the appropriate leads and that should do the trick.
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Good. Now you should be able to get to the guidance system controls. Do you see what looks like a closed laptop inside the compartment?”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“See if you can open it.”
I do. It’s exactly like a laptop computer, complete with keyboard and monitor. A screen saver displaying Chinese characters and a GyroTechnics logo flashes on.
“All right, now you need to get into the main menu. Press any key to do so.”
AFFIRMATIVE.
It asks for a password. She tells me the password is “Taiwan000” and I type it in. I’m amazed that she knows that. It appears that Anna Grimsdottir is back in action.
“Sorry to interrupt, folks, but I have some news.” It’s Colonel Lambert. “The thirty-minute time limit has elapsed and the order’s been given.”
Damn, the time flew by.
“Our forces are attacking General Tun’s army at this moment. The navy, the air force, the marines — you name it. They’re unleashing hell on Tun’s little army.”
Shit! What does that mean? Is Tun going to set off the bomb?
“Keep working, Sam,” Grimsdottir says calmly. “Tun will have to get a message to the submarine and give the order to blow the nuke. They’re not going to do it without his say-so.”
I hope you’re right, sister. Okay, let’s keep going. She instructs me how to get into the programmer’s main menu. Everything is in Chinese so it’s a little more difficult for me. Grimsdottir’s Chinese is “fair” and mine is “okay” so together that makes a “pretty good,” right? Accurately translating these commands is essential.
Once I’m inside she relays a series of coded commands. It’s tough typing on the keyboard while riding the MRUUV in cloudy water. The chem-light is sufficient but with the gloves and everything else, it’s easy to make errors. I have to use the backspace key several times during the course of typing. Finally I’ve got it all in and press Enter. The screen changes and there are several options available, all in Chinese.
“You’ll need to select the option that says ‘Course’ or ‘Direction,’ something like that.”
AFFIRMATIVE. I find the one that translates to ‘Heading,’ and select that. This takes me to a screen displaying the current course in common submariner terminology.
Then something odd happens. A red light illuminates within the compartment and starts to flash slowly and repeatedly. I tell Grimsdottir this and she says, “Oh, no. If it’s what I think it means, then they’ve activated the nuke. Sam, do you see any kind of digital readout inside there? Something that looks like a clock counting down?”
I hate clocks that count DOWN! Yes, I see it. It must have started
at 10:00, for now it’s at 9:52 and decreasing a second at a time.
“Okay, Sam, you’ve got a little time but you have to work fast. The MRUUV is equipped with an automatic diagnostics program that checks the entire system to make sure the bomb goes off properly. It takes roughly ten minutes to go through all the tests and as soon as it’s done, the bomb will explode. Try to ignore the countdown and go back to the laptop. I want you to type in these new course headings.” She gives them to me and I try to enter the data, but I keep punching the wrong keys. Damned gloves. I finally pull them off so my fingers can be a little more accurate. The water is cold but not unbearable. I’m sure, though, that if I’m in the water for too long my hands will stiffen from the low temperature.
I finally get the new course heading entered but it suddenly changes back to the original!
What the hell?
I tell Grimsdottir this and she says, “Damn, it’s the control on the submarine. They see what you see on their monitor and realize someone’s tampering with the guidance system. I have to figure out a way to cut them out. Stand by.”
Stand by? The fucking nuclear bomb is ticking and the clock now reads 8:43! The Barracuda is on a steady course right for Santa Monica Pier and I’m sitting on the goddamned thing.
I type into my OPSAT: IS THERE A WAY TO DEFUSE THE BOMB?
Grimsdottir replies, “Not in this amount of time, Sam. Hush, let me think.”
All right, now I’m considering what kind of damage a nuclear bomb will do if it explodes out here in Santa Monica Bay. I’m just guessing, but I would say half of Los Angeles would be gone in an instant. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, Venice—poof! Millions dead. The nation’s economy in chaos, which of course dominoes into the world’s economy being in turmoil. World War III with China.
I can’t let this happen.
“Sam! I want you to type in exactly what I tell you to,” Grimsdottir says. “Make sure it’s correct before you press Enter.” It’s long and it’s complicated but I do it. It seems like it takes forever. I indicate that I’m done and she reads it again slowly so I can proof what I’ve typed. I hit Enter and a bunch of code appears on the monitor at a high rate of speed. After ten seconds of this, the screen goes blank.