The killed comrade along with the volley covering Molly motivated the insurgents to retreat. Their gunfire ceased as Mollie pulled the driver behind the Humvee.
“What the hell!” the captain sputtered as Mollie tore open the right pants leg of the driver.
She saw that the wound, while preventing the driver from walking, wasn’t deep.
The captain handed her a tampon – she’d heard how these were shipped from the States for more than one purpose. She removed the paper covering and thrust the sterile absorbent material onto the wound. The captain tore off a strip from the driver’s pants leg and wrapped the strip around the tampon as Mollie held it in place.
“Good thing you’re a driver and not a paratrooper,” she said to the private.
The captain motioned them all into the Humvee.
Once inside he turned to Mollie. “You wanted to know what it’s like out here,” he said. “Now you’ve seen it.”
Mollie nodded. “Yes, I have. And now I can go back to STORC and try to figure out some electronics or engineering or both solutions to IEDs. No longer an academic problem, it will be up close and personal for me.”
She smiled at the captain. “And that’s the way I like it.”
CHAPTER XI – THE SHIT HITS THE FAN
Control Center of Nuclear Submarine Emir Saladin
September 9
0700 hours
The captain of the nuclear submarine Emir Saladin stood in the sub’s control center watching the actions of her crew, including the sensor operator and the weapons operator. The helmsman was at what looked like an airplane control wheel.
The sensor operator said, “Torpedo in the water, Captain.”
The captain replied: “Fire one! Fire three! Down 60 degrees, hard left rudder!
The helmsman pushed the control wheel forward and twisted the wheel hard left. “6o degrees down, hard left rudder, aye!”
The weapons operator said, “One fired. Three fired.”
The captain said: “Level off at 500 meters.”
“500 meters, aye, Captain,” said the helmsman.
“Torpedoes are tracking, Captain,” the weapons operator said.
An explosion shook the sub, followed by two distant explosions.
“One hit! Two hits! Hull noises!” the sensor operator called out. “That’s most definitely a kill!”
“Yes! Another infidel dog defeated by our holy forces!” the captain said.
A moment later the sub’s captain -- Mollie in a foreign uniform -- strode up to the sensor operator. “Secure the boat.”
The helmsman replied, “Aye, aye, Captain!”
Mollie flipped a switch and straightened her uniform. “Gentlemen, you will have the rare opportunity of meeting the officer who sank your boat. Attention on deck! Emir Saladin arriving!”
The bosun’s whistle sounded and Mollie opened a door, stepping through into the U.S. Naval submarine simulator with a raised level overlooking a submarine control room, larger and more traditional-looking than that of the Emir Saladin. Ten or so men in U.S. Navy khaki stood at attention.
Mollie stepped behind a lectern on the raised platform and smiled. “Esalaamu alaikum,” she said.
The crew stared at her. “Sorry, chaps,” she said in a British-educated accent. “Forgot that you Americans refuse to learn anything about your adversaries – until it is too late. This habit of yours, combined with your over-reliance on technology is – how do you put it? – a recipe for disaster.”
She smiled again at the audience. “You will now direct your attention to the view screen where I will illustrate how my superior tactics enabled me to destroy you so easily.”
**
Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, Pentagon
September 9
0800 hours
Lieutenant Commander Kevin Witlow sat at his desk studying papers when there was a knock on the outer door. “Come in,” he called.
Kevin watched Captain Gregory Degama, in a blue dress uniform, enter. The captain was of average height, burly, in his early 50s.
“Good morning, Captain Degama,” Kevin said. “The admiral will see you now.”
Kevin knocked on the interior office door and heard “Enter.” He opened the door and ushered Degama into Admiral Dougherty’s office.
Kevin couldn’t help comparing the two men. The admiral, while perhaps a couple of years older than Degama, seemed younger. This could have been his height or something else.
The admiral nodded at Kevin, who pulled out a chair for Degama, then took a seat himself on the side of the room.
“Good morning, Greg,” the admiral said. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Degama said.
“Trouble with commanding this desk is I’m surrounded by bureaucrats. I never see my old shipmates anymore.”
Degama did not reply to this reference, although Kevin wasn’t sure the admiral noticed this.
The admiral continued: “Is everything ready for the Neptune’s first operational cruise?”
“Yes, Admiral. We’ll be ready to sail on schedule – two days.”
The admiral tapped his fingers on his desk. “We have to upgrade your defensive system to PATIENT ARROW III. I’ll have to pull your DSO and replace him with someone who knows the new system.”
Now Kevin saw Degama’s muscles tense slightly. “What? Miller is a good man. He’s …”
“I know. But … there are funding issues here.”
The admiral spread his hands. “Putting the new defensive system on the Neptune is our key to getting our funding. We’ve got to show that we can get in, do better than the Air Force, and get out – without a footprint.”
“Miller can be brought up to speed on that new system. He’s quick.”
The admiral shook his head. “No, we need the best on this voyage.”
Degama hesitated, then said, “My crew has worked together for a year getting this boat …”
The admiral waved his hand to stop Degama. “We’ve had our differences, Greg, but I’d like your help on this.”
“I’m not talking about the past,” Degama said. “I have a precision team, ready to …”
The admiral stood. “You’re a fine sub captain, Captain Degama. But if you can’t make this work, I’ve got dozens of sub commanders who would jump at the chance to command Neptune.”
Degama stared out in the middle distance, then slowly returned his eyes to the admiral. “Very well, sir. Aye, aye, sir. Anything else, sir?”
The admiral sat down again. “You won’t be handed your orders until tomorrow, but I can tell you now. The Neptune is sailing to the Spratly Islands.”
“The Spratly Islands?”
The admiral nodded. “With six countries ready to go to war over the oil there, you bet the Spratlys are going to become a hotspot. Satellites can’t do the job. Can’t tell one coral reef from another. We can get in, do a thorough reconnaissance ... really outshine the intelligence community.”
Degama stood up, and as he did so, Kevin saw his eyes go to a framed photo on the admiral’s desk. Degama’s eyes lingered there longer than could have been expected. What was that about? Kevin wondered.
**
Office of Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders, Submarine Center
September 9
0900 hours
Back in her office after the submarine exercise, Mollie changed into Navy khakis with shoulder boards that showed her rank as lieutenant commander.
She had not yet finished dressing when someone knocked on the door. “Come in!” Mollie called out.
A young sailor stuck his head in, saw Mollie half-dressed, and, embarrassed, turned away to deliver his message to the wall. “The CO wants to see you in his office right now.”
And with that the young sailor fled.
**
Submarine Center Command Office
0915 hours
Commander McCormick shook his head as he once again looked through t
he file on his desk. He shouted “Enter” to the knock on the door and didn’t change his expression when Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders stood at attention in front of him.
“Be seated” was all he said.
“What did you want to see me about, sir?”
McCormick hesitated for only a second before saying “Signalman Marsh.” Then he glanced down at the file in front of him.
“Marsh, sir? What about her?”
Now the commander forced himself to look at the lieutenant commander. “She didn’t re-up.”
“She wasn’t functioning up to standards. I have a small department; I need everyone to function at maximum.”
McCormick placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “Precisely. You have a team of five. One would think that, with so few to command, you could be somewhat aware of their needs.”
“Their needs?”
“Her mother was undergoing radiation treatment for breast cancer. Marsh asked for time off to drive her mother home from the first treatment.”
“Yes, sir?”
“And you told Marsh to have her mother take a cab.”
Sanders didn’t hesitate. “I needed her here.”
McCormick bore his eyes into Sanders’ eyes. “Her mother needed her too. It wasn’t about the drive home. It was the moral support she needed.”
Sanders replied, “The needs of the service come first. Marsh’s skills were essential to the success of the mission.”
McCormick flung his arms in the air. “It was only a simulation mission, for God’s sake!”
“It was the final run of PATIENT ARROW III, sir. The go-ahead for the whole project depended on that test, sir.”
McCormick banged his right hand on the desk. “Your project, you mean. Getting your system on the Neptune. Another feather in your cap. And to hell with everybody else!”
Sanders locked her eyes on the wall behind McCormick and stared straight ahead. Frustrated, McCormick put his face in his hands, then pulled his hands off his chin.
He reached behind his desk and plucked off a book from the book shelves.
“Are you familiar with Sun Tzu?”
Sanders nodded. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
“Obviously not familiar enough: ‘Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look upon them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death.’”
Sanders shifted in her seat. “Sir, I put the needs of the service before my own; I expect my sailors to do the same.”
McCormick stood up, Sanders following his lead. “All right, Commander,” he said to her. “You’ve been counseled. The next time it goes in your O.E.R. Dismissed.”
“Yessir!”
At least she got that response right. But would she really change her ways? He wasn’t optimistic.
**
Indoor Firing Range
1000 hours
Mollie stood in a firing cubicle shooting off rounds. A good way to release the tension from her reprimand by Commander McCormick. How dare he criticize her commitment to the mission!
At the end of the magazine she pulled in the target. Her tight shot group had obliterated the bullseye.
Satisfied, she released the empty magazine from her weapon and left the cubicle. She removed her ear protectors as she entered the lobby.
And she spotted …. Lt. Commander Kevin Witlow -- or Surfer, as she always thought of him. What was he doing here? He leapt to his feet when he saw her.
“This is business,” he said. “Well, not exactly, but it’s not strictly personal either. Dammit, I know we agreed not to see each other. But there’s something you ought to know.”
Mollie walked over to the counter to the Range NOC, who took her weapon from her and handed back her ID.
She turned back to Surfer.
“What is this? A new line?”
“Listen to me! The admiral is determined to show Congress that PATIENT ARROW III gives us our technological edge back.”
“It will.”
“He’s asked me to draw up a short list of the best electronics officers in the Navy for the Neptune’s maiden operational cruise.”
Mollie’s eyes bored into Surfer.
“I had your name on it – it’s only fair – but he crossed it off.”
“That son of a bitch! Who’s on the list?”
Surfer glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand. “Mark Brighton.”
“Lost over half his simulator missions,” Mollie said.
“Bernie White.”
“An idiot! Knows nothing! Who else?”
“And Colin Trihurt.”
“I wrote almost all of his last software design proposal for him!”
Surfer put the paper away in a pocket. “That may all be true. But one of them is going to be the DSO on Neptune’s first operational cruise.”
“That slot belongs to me! It’s my system design.”
Surfer didn’t answer. Mollie stared at him.
“I’ll just have to convince him. Is he over there?”
“Let me drive you.”
Mollie eyed him.
“Mollie, I’ve got a parking space.”
She charged out of the lobby, calling back over her shoulder: “Let’s go!”
**
The Pentagon
1130 hours
In the car Mollie had barely replied to Surfer’s questions about her impromptu visit in July to Afghanistan. He already knew that, upon her return, she’d only begun to work on the problem of IEDs when she was told of her immediate transfer from STORC to the Submarine Center. PATIENT ARROW III was to be readied for a test cruise asap.
She had to give Surfer credit that he hadn’t tried to again raise the issue of his transfer to work for the Chief of Naval Operations. Surfer knew she felt betrayed but for him it was a major ticket to punch.
She’d gotten his email message about the transfer right before she went to Afghanistan. On her return she had decided not to acknowledge the move.
When they arrived at the outer office of Admiral Dougherty, Surfer knocked on the admiral’s door. Immediately a deep voice said “Enter.”
Surfer opened the door to admit Mollie and then closed the door behind her. He obviously wasn’t going to wait to be asked to remain in the room.
Mollie strode up to the admiral at his desk as he said, “Mollie, how nice to see you.”
“How could you do this to me?” she said.
Dougherty got up from his desk and came around as if to hug her. She stepped out of his reach and sat on a chair facing his desk.
“What have I done?” he said as he returned to his desk chair.
“You know damn well what you’ve done. I’m the most qualified officer in the Navy to be the Neptune defensive systems officer! How could you cut me out?”
“I can’t assign you as DSO to the Neptune.”
She stared at him. Then she said, “You’re the Chief of Naval Operations – you can do anything you damn well please.”
Dougherty retreated back to the safety of his desk chair. “Why do you want this?”
Mollie glared at him. “I have as much ambition as my father.”
“I never did understand why you changed your last name.”
“I didn’t change my name. I’m just using my mother’s maiden name. You do remember that I had a mother? Or did you think I sprang full grown from my father’s head?”
Dougherty drummed his fingers on his desk.
“Damn it!” she said. “All I’m asking is that you give this job to the best person. The fact that it’s me and I’m a woman shouldn’t enter the equation.”
Dougherty shook his head. “The Navy has been working on putting women on subs for years. We still haven’t figured out how to do it on anything smaller than a boomer.
“Everybody’s going to be gunning for you. The men are going to hate you. Even the ones that don’t hate you won’t like you, Mollie. You haven’t
made many friends in the Navy.”
“So much the better. If I fail, it won’t bother anybody.”
Dougherty shook his head again. “You’re going to face continuous sexual harassment. There’ll be remarks, gropings, somebody may try to rape you. Can you take that?”
“I eat that shit up.”
Dougherty hesitated. “I know the captain of ANS-1 – known him a long time. He’s not an easy man to get along with. He’s got … issues.”
Now Mollie smiled for the first time. “What captain is easy to get along with? I haven’t met one yet.”
Dougherty shrugged. “You’ll have to work twice as hard as a man just to stay in place. Nobody will accept you. Hell, I don’t accept the idea of a woman on a sub.”
Mollie’s smile got bigger. “I’m not asking you to accept a woman on a sub. I’m just asking you to send the best defensive systems officer in the Navy to run the new equipment – equipment designed by me!”
“There are too many risks,” he said.
“Yes, there are too many risks,” Mollie said. “What if another officer screws up the equipment and the experiment fails? You’ll never get your funds to build more of the Neptune class.”
He didn’t reply.
She hammered in the point: “You’ll be handing Navy money to the Air Force. With the budget the way it is, you’ll never get it back. The whole Navy will never forgive you.”
Dougherty turned a pen over and over on his desk, then he looked at her.
“All right, you win. The post is yours. Kevin will cut your orders.”
“Yes, sir!”
Mollie jumped up. She moved towards him, raising her hands as if … But then she changed to extending her hand for shaking.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much! I won’t let you down, sir!”
As she turned to walk towards the door, he called out to her retreating back, “Good luck, Mollie.”
**
Degama’s Office on Navy Base
1500 hours
Lieutenant Commander Richard Stewart watched Degama spread out a map on his desk. As the captain’s number two, Richard had a variety of duties.
“We’ll go under the North Pole on the way to our destination in the Spratly Islands,” the captain said.
Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders Page 11