World of Corpses (Book 1): World of Corpses

by Cook, Scott W.

  After getting back to the con, I had Julie set the 1 MC on hands free throughout the ship. Only Andy would have to key his mic up on the bridge.

  “Bridge, control,” I said, “Sitrep?”

  “Control, bridge… all clear. The harbor entrance is about a quarter mile off our port quarter,” Came Andy’s reply.

  “Helm,” I said, “Engage AMU, port at minimum thrust.”

  A very faint vibration suddenly began to make itself felt beneath my boots. It was so light if you weren’t paying attention you wouldn’t notice. I grinned.

  “Bridge, control… effect?” I asked.

  A slight pause, “Con, doesn’t seem like we’re moving.”

  “Helm, auxiliary maneuvering to one-third,” I ordered.

  A few seconds went by and Andy’s voice came from the speakers, “Con, bridge… vessel is moving… five feet… ten feet… fifteen…”

  “Helm, all stop on thrusters,” I said, “Reverse main pump jet dead slow.”

  The vibration ceased. Even though the pump jet was far more powerful, it was also far quieter.

  “Con, bridge,” Andy reported, “We’re moving backward very slowly. Looks like twenty feet clearance to port and forty to starboard.”

  “Excellent,” I said, “Andy, when the conning tower is even with the end of our pier, let me know. What’s our progress, do you think?”

  “Couple of feet per second, maybe,” Andy replied, “Fifty feet… forty… thirty…”

  I waited a few more seconds, “helm, full right rudder. Starboard bow AMU to one-half.”

  The thing about steering a ship, any ship of any significant size, is that you had to anticipate the inertia. You’d turn and then have to stop your turn before the ship was headed in the direction you wanted because the immense inertial forces of that much mass would simply keep moving. The same was true for starting a movement.

  “Con, bridge, looking good. Ship is turning nicely.”

  “Give me a few seconds lead time, Andy,” I said, “Before we’re perpendicular to the dock.”

  “Roger. Almost there now. About thirty degrees.”

  “Helm, rudder amidships,” I ordered, “Stop AMU. Main ahead slow.”

  Thirty seconds went by before Andy spoke again, “Con, bridge. Looking good. Maybe ten degrees more to port, though.”

  “Helm, ten degrees port for five seconds,” I said, “then back to center.”

  “Aye sir,” Andrea replied, “My helm is ten degrees port… my helm is amidships.”

  I had to admit I was loving this. The military procedure of repeating orders given was both effective for eliminating confusion and somehow comforting. It took the edge off of tense moments and made them seem if not casual, at least mundane.

  “Control, bridge,” Andy said, “three hundred yards until we’re parallel with the opening. Opening is about three hundred yards to port as well.”

  “Bridge, same deal as before,” I said, “Give me a little lead time. Andrea, what’s our speed?”

  “Two point four knots,” She said.

  “Make turns for five knots,” I ordered, “should be just under one-quarter.”

  She turned her thrust dial very slowly, “Answering five knots. Seems slow for almost one-quarter speed.”

  I grinned, “It’s not literal. The thrust to power ratio isn’t a straight line, but more a curve. The more power you apply, the higher the curve and the greater the thrust. So one-quarter speed might be six knots, one-third ten, one half twenty, two thirds twenty-eight, three-quarters thirty-five and full forty knots. Flank will give you a bit more. The curve begins to flatten out as you reach maximum power.”

  “Crazy,” Andrea said, “It’s not dissimilar to flying, especially with this control yolk, but there are definitely some differences.”

  I scoffed, “Yeah, from a plane and for sure a helo. In this case, your aircraft weighs seventy-five hundred tons. So no loops or barrel rolls, okay?”

  Everyone chuckled. I raised the periscope so that I could get a look at what we were up against as well. Andy’s estimates were pretty spot on.

  “Con, sonar,” Vicky said over the 1 MC, “Depth is holding and no submerged obstructions detected.”

  “Excellent, sonar,” I replied, “Keep your ears open.”

  “Con, bridge, nose is thirty yards from dead center of the opening.”

  “Roger that, Andy. Helm, full left rudder.”

  “Looking good…” Andy was reporting, “Turning nicely… almost to it, a few more seconds…”

  “Helm, rudder amidships,” I said. My scope view looked good so far.

  “Amidships aye,” Andrea replied.

  “Con, bridge… damned near perfect! Headed right between the sunken ships.”

  “Sonar, con,” I ordered, “Give me a single active.”

  The sound of the powerful sonic blast reverberated through the ship. A second later, Vicky reported, “Con, sonar… clear path. Clearance one-hundred eleven feet. We’re just about dead center. Reading fifty-two foot depth.”

  “Maintain, helm” I said to Andrea and began to scale the ladder to the bridge. I popped up through the hatch and saw Andy scanning with the NVG’s.

  “Looking good, Billy Ray,” I said.

  Without missing a beat or lowering the goggles, Andy replied: “Feeling good, Winthorp.”

  The apocalypse gave you a lot of time to brush up on your 80’s comedies.

  “Nice job, L T,” I said as I took up a position next to him.

  He chuckled, “Shit, Sam… you steered this boat blind and damned near perfect.”

  “With your help,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder, “See anything interesting out there?”

  “Well,” He said, pointing at the moon which was still waxing in the east and maybe two-thirds to its zenith, “I think the tide is coming in based on that. And I think I see some water movement around the exposed structures.”

  I took a look through the goggles, “yes, a little tide rip. Nothing big, though. Probably not enough to affect us. But what if it was strong, what would we do?”

  Andy frowned, “I suppose aim the ship slightly to the right. Into the rip so that if it does push us, we’ll have plenty of leeway.”

  I grinned, “Right. Give those orders, if you please.”

  Andy keyed his mic, “Control, bridge. Minimal right rudder.”

  “Minimal right rudder, aye,” His mom said, “Five degrees.”

  We watched as the bow turned slightly toward the right-hand ship. Andy waited about ten seconds, “helm, rudder amidships. Sonar, bridge, one ping, please and report.”

  Even from up here, the gong of the active sonar ping could be heard and felt through the steel of the hull.

  “Bridge, sonar, thirty feet clearance to starboard, forty to port,” Vicky replied.

  “Nicely done,” I said, “Okay, pop quiz. We’re moving at five knots, so how long will it take this three-hundred and fifty foot ship to pass cleanly through the gap.”

  Andy frowned and started doing the math in his head, “Five knots… thirty thousand feet per hour… five thousand feet per minute… a little more than eight feet per second… so… forty-five seconds or so.”

  “Ding!” I said loudly and held up a finger.

  We slipped through the opening with no problems. Ahead of us were two large channel markers and even at night we could see the red and green. There were more further out in the river, too.

  “Should be easy sailing from here,” I said to Andy. I pulled two cigars from my BDU blouse pocket, cut them and lit them.

  Andy took his and grinned, “Just like Crimson Tide.”

  I laughed, “So I’m Gene Hackman? Guess that makes you Denzel.”

  “Damn straight,” Andy said with a grin, “So how do you smoke these things?”

  I laughed, “First one? Really? Seems like I’ve been remiss. Okay, don’t inhale, that’s number one. Suck it like a straw, blow the smoke out of your nose and then the
rest out of your mouth. It’s the nasal exhale that gives you the flavor.”

  Andy did it and smiled, “Nice. All we need is a good whiskey.”

  “Yeah…” I said as I hung my head, “I really let you down.”

  Andy guffawed, “Yeah, I’m smoking a good Cuban cigar from the bridge of the world’s most advanced nuclear fast attack submarine… that I’ve been conning… what a letdown!”

  Chapter 40

  Zombie War Journal – 12/10/92017

  By Lieutenant Andy Summers

  I’ll be honest… all of this is so hard to wrap my head around.

  A week ago, Sam, Tony, my mom and I were living on a sailboat at the harborage marina in Saint Petersburg, Florida. Now here I was, standing on the bridge of a Seawolf-class nuclear attack submarine headed out to sea. I was a Lieutenant in the Navy, too.

  And I had a hot girlfriend… and she and I had finally hooked up on the way down to Key West, which was amazing… so it’s been some week.

  Anyway, after Sam and I finished our cigar, he started running tests on the various systems. He had the Gunny raise and lower both periscopes and all the communications antennas. He even went forward to the torpedo room and tested the equipment. Flooding and emptying the tubes as well as opening and closing the outer doors.

  He found that there were four torpedoes loaded already. He explained that this was common practice, to keep fish in the tubes because it allowed the vessel to store more weapons. Sort of like loading a bullet into the chamber of a semi-automatic or automatic weapon and then ejecting the magazine and putting another bullet in.

  After a little over an hour, we left the St. John’s River and were headed out into the Atlantic. There were still channel markers out to about a mile, but after that, we had nothing but open ocean in front of us. It was a gorgeous night, the moon wasn’t quite yet overhead and a gentle breeze was blowing off the land. You couldn’t really feel it, though, because of the wind generated by our movement. There was a small swell running and you could barely feel it moving the ship.

  After we’d left the last two channel markers, depth soundings revealed we were in ninety feet of water and the depth was steadily increasing. Sam ordered mom to throttle up and we were running at twenty-five knots. It didn’t take long before the land, or what you could see of it at night, had sunk below the horizon and we were in deeper water.

  “You ready to take her down?” Sam asked as he popped up through the hatch.

  “Me?’ I almost squeaked.

  Sam grinned at me and clapped me on the shoulder, “You, L T. It’s easy, I’ll walk you through it.”

  He ran down the procedure and told me that mom had the deck and that he was acting as chief of the watch. It was fairly simple but a lot of little details that I hoped I remembered.

  “You ready?” He asked me.

  I blew out my breath, “I think so, sir.”

  “Acting XO take her down,” Sam ordered.

  “Take her down, aye,” I said and picked up the mic, “Control, Bridge… sounding.”

  “Bridge control,” Came mom’s voice, “Sounding six-zero fathoms.”

  “Officer of the deck, prepare to submerge the ship,” I ordered.

  “Submerge the ship, aye,” Came mom’s reply.

  Sam and I secured the bridge cover and the upper lockout hatch. Then he slid down the ladder way. I slid down as well. When I heard Sam hit the deck, he announced that the captain was down.

  I hit the deck and dogged the lower hatch, “XO is down. Hatch secure, bridge rigged for dive. Chief of the watch, on the one MC, dive, dive, sound the alarm, dive, dive.”

  “Aye-aye,” Sam said, He activated the intercom, Chief of the watch on the 1 MC… “Dive, dive!”

  He then sounded the diving alarm twice and repeated the dive notice twice.

  “Diving officer, make your depth one-five-zero feet,” I ordered, “Five degree down bubble.”

  “Making my depth one-five-zero feet, aye,” Tara said and then looked at Sam. She was acting diving officer, although Sam was the one who sat at the chief of the watch’s station. Tara’s job was only to supervise. Sam was responsible for vents and ballast trim.

  “All vents indicate open,” Sam reported, “Five degree down.”

  I looked into the periscope, “Deck is awash.”

  “Fifty feet,” Mom announced. After a few seconds she said, “Seven-zero feet… eight-zero feet…”

  “Secure all scopes and masts,” I ordered. Sam gave me a nod.

  The Gunny activated a set of switches on her board.

  “Now passing one hundred feet,” Mom said.

  This was so fucking awesome. The ship began to creak and groan very slightly around us. Sam smiled at everyone and reassured them that this was normal, just the pressures equalizing.

  “approaching one-five-zero feet,” Mom intoned.

  Sam came over and whispered in my ear.

  “Diving officer,” I said, “Close all vents. Bring buoyancy to neutral.”

  Tara looked over at us and her face paled a little. Before she could say anything, Sam went over and operated the controls and explained to her what they did.

  “One hundred and fifty feet,” Mom said.

  “Helm, zero bubble,” Sam ordered, “Come right. Steady up on course one-five-zero. Make turns for twenty knots.”

  “Aye-aye,” Mom said, “Zero bubble. Holding one-five-zero feet, coming right… steadying up on one-five-zero degrees. Maneuvering ansering twenty knots.”

  “Great,” Sam said, “So what’s for dinner?”

  “Well, skipper,” Rivers said from her monitor, “We were just figuring that out when we left dock. I took the liberty of pulling out some steaks. There was very little fresh produce. I guess they were putting in to provision. There are about twenty pounds of potatoes, though, and they’re mostly still good. A few spuds, but they’ve been in the dark. There are plenty of frozen veggies, instant taters, and so on.”

  “Good work, Gunny,” Sam said, “I’ll start getting that together. Deactivate the 1MC and open up the 2MC to this overhead phone by the periscope. Tony how’s the equipment. Tara, how’s your trim?”

  Tara looked at her displays and said, “I think we’re in good shape, Sam. Indicators are all level and it looks like we’ve got neutral buoyancy.”

  I double checked to confirm, “Good work. You’re welcome to help me in the galley, if you like. Lieutenant Summers has the deck. Sonar, con, deploy the towed array and give me a heads up.”

  “hey,” Mom said, half turning in her seat, “you never mind her trim, Mister.”

  That got a chuckle from all of us. Helped to ease the tension. We’d just dived a submarine and all of us except Sam were a little nervous about it.

  A few minutes later, Vicky came over the direct channel, “Array deployed. No contacts.”

  “Any sound shorts?” Sam asked.

  “Negative,” Vicky reported, “We’re as quiet as a fart in a windstorm, Skipper.”

  That got a chuckle. Sam grinned, “I take it that’s a specialized term, Sonar?”

  Vicky laughed.

  “Andy, you’ve got the con,” Sam continued, “Just keep us on course. I suppose we ought to check in with the Admiral, though… if we want to do that, L T, what’s the procedure?”

  Now let me state that my training didn’t just start that night. Sam had been going over submarine operations with me during the long hours on the locomotive, too. But still, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. I mean here I was, this seventeen year old kid who hadn’t finished high school in charge of the world’s most advanced attack submarine.

  I took a deep breath, “Well, there’s no communications network anymore to receive extremely low frequency sub messages… so we’d either have to trail the free floating comm wire or come to periscope depth and raise the radio mast. We can then use conventional radio or satellite communications.”

  “That’s my child!” mom said from her station.
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br />   Sam grinned, “Excellent. Since we’re running at twenty knots, what do you think is the best course of action?”

  I frowned, “I guess trailing the wire.”

  Sam grinned, “Normally, yes. But we’ll have more options with standard comm gear. And since we’re alone out here…”

  Then rise to periscope depth and raise the satellite comm mast,” I said hesitantly.

  “That’s what I’d do,” Sam said, “Officer of the deck, make it so.”

  I squared my shoulders and cleared my throat, “helm, make your depth seven-zero feet. Fifteen degrees up bubble.”

  “Aye-aye,” Mom replied, “All diving planes at one-five degrees up. Now passing one-two-five feet.”

  It only took a minute or so and mom leveled us off. I then turned to the Gunny, “Raise the communications mast, please.”

  “Mast ascending,” Rivers said after Sam showed her which controls to activate. He then went forward into the radio room and activated the satellite comm system. He came back and told Rivers that he’d slaved all communications functions except passive ELF encryption to her board.

  “This is U.S.S. Connecticut to U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt,” Sam said, “Come in please.”

  A few seconds went by and a woman’s voice came over the communications system at the Gunny’s board, “This is Roosevelt. Identify yourself, please.”

  “Captain Samuel R. Decker in command,” Sam replied, “May I speak to the Admiral?”

  “Oh, Captain,” the woman’s voice responded, “This is Chief Poole. I take it you were successful in boarding the boat?”

  “Roger that,” Sam said.

  “Standby for the Admiral,” Poole replied.

  “Up periscope,” I ordered.

  Rivers looked at Sam. He smiled as he touched the right button, “He’s the OD, Gunny.”

  “Periscope raised, sir,” Gunny said as she smiled at me.

  I looked into the eyepiece and activated the night vision circuit. I did a slow three-sixty. There was nothing to see but a greenish tinged ocean all around us. By now we were about fifteen or twenty miles off shore in the Gulfstream and the ocean floor was several thousand feet below.

  “Decker,” Banks’ voice said over the speaker, “What’s your status?”