by David Poyer
“Stand by to illuminate.”
“Intermittent paint. Growing stronger.”
“Designate hostile, priority one. Illuminate,” said Dan. The man at the weapons-control console reached for the track ball before he remembered this was a manual designate, then pressed the button of his phones instead.
“Fire Control, Combat: your target, drone boat, bearing three-zero-eight, range nineteen thousand yards.”
“Designate to forward director, mount fifty-one.”
“Forward director reports acquisition. Lock on.”
“Load fifteen rounds BL&P ammunition to the transfer tray.”
BL&P was an inert-loaded target round that would splash but not explode. “Hold fire,” Dan reminded them, then pressed the intercom. “Bridge, Captain: Request batteries released.”
“Batteries released,” said the captain’s voice.
The slam of the five-inch going off shuddered through the deck. Twenty-five seconds later, it slammed again. Dan thought for a second he saw the splash on the screen, but it faded too fast. They were firing by radar, walking the rounds onto the target. But the drone boat was maneuvering, skating back and forth as it drove toward them. “Speed, twenty-five,” Kennedy reported.
“Fire for effect,” Dan muttered, but he didn’t press the button. It was up to Horseheads, Glasser, and Adamo now.
“Fire for effect,” Horseheads shouted.
Slam … slam … slam.
A voice shouted over the radio, “Cease fire. Cease fire! Target destroyed.”
The compartment erupted in jubilant shouts. Dan, grinning, punched up the DP center on the intercom. “Computer room, Combat: Good work, guys! Tell Doc he just earned his coffee bill.”
AFTER two more runs, Woollie said he’d sign them off on the exercise. The gunners begged to keep shooting, but Dan told them they still had the helicopter refueling to do before they went in. He called the control ship and thanked them for their services as Barrett secured from GQ.
The helicopter reported in as early breakfast was being piped. The air control petty officer relayed it to him. “Mr. Lenson: Mike twenty-eight reports, bustering inbound from homeplate with forty-six hundred pounds of fuel.”
“Ask him what’s bingo fuel.” Dan, feeling more cheerful than he had for days, searched the pub shelf for the checklist and wind envelopes.
“Mike twenty-eight says bingo fuel twenty-five hundred pounds.”
“Have we got a true wind, Chief Kennedy?”
“Zero-eight-zero, fifteen knots, sir.”
He looked at their course and came up with five knots of wind, on the starboard bow. The anemometer agreed. It was 0447, still dark outside. After some quick figuring, he hit the intercom. “Bridge, TAO: Make this a port approach. As soon as he’s in visual range, come right, steady up at two-nine-five.”
“Bridge aye.”
It was Casey Kessler’s voice, not Harper’s, but Dan figured Jay was in hearing range. He pressed the lever again. “Let’s go ahead, set flight quarters.”
“Bridge aye.”
He called the captain’s cabin and told him the helo was inbound for the refueling exercises, that the checklist was complete; they were within the envelope and had no surface contacts. Leighty yawned as he acknowledged. “Sounds like you got it covered.”
“Yes, sir, he’s got plenty of fuel even if we dick up.”
“We aren’t going to, though, are we?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, commence the evolution. I’m gonna get my head down for an hour. Keep a sharp eye out.”
“Yes, sir.” Dan hung up. He had the ship now. He checked the radar and then the chart. Do the refueling as they steamed in, then, when the helo left, steer for the bay entrance for the precision anchoring exercise.
“While Barrett is at flight quarters, all hands are reminded to refrain from throwing objects over the side. Remove caps; stand clear of weather decks aft of frame one sixty. Smoking lamp is out topside.”
“Helicopter bears two-seven-two, forty-two thousand yards, radial inbound.”
“Pass it to the bridge. Are we up on—”
“Yes, sir,” said the air controller.
Dan told Lauderdale he was going out on deck for a second.
“Red deck,” said the 1MC as he let himself out onto the 03 level. The night wasn’t as black as he expected—moon and stars, and a faint pinkish radiance to the east that presaged day. Barrett drove through the sea with a hissing crash. He strolled aft, stopping under the steel web of the after mast, looking down.
Work lights illuminated the refueling party, crouched in colored jerseys along the narrow deck-edge outboard of the hangar. The landing signal officer waited quietly, lighted wands dangling as he watched a distant flashing star.
“Green deck,” said the 1MC. A few seconds later, the flutter of rotors came across the sea.
The pulsing star reached Barrett’s stern. Then suddenly it became not flashing lights in the sky but a huge unsteady machine dropping slowly toward the deck. The rotor blast battered at his ears. It veered off at the last moment and dangled unsteadily thirty feet up. It only took seconds before the hose was connected and the huge clattering aircraft, dipping and swaying like a drunken hummingbird, began sucking fuel aboard.
When he let himself back into CIC, nothing had changed. He checked the scopes again, then the coffee situation. He got a fresh cup, and punched the intercom to the helo control station. “Tower, Combat: How’s it going?”
“Ninety percent fuel transferred. Six minutes to break and waveoff.”
He clicked the lever twice, acknowledging, and leaned back, thinking about their brush with the Soviet sub. That could have turned nasty. But what was it doing transiting so covertly? Was it related to the Kirov group? Had it known Barrett and Corpus Christi were out there too, due to operate in the area? And if so, how?
“Refueling complete. Stand by to pop and drop. Mike twenty-eight requests permission to depart.”
“Permission granted. Notify the bridge.”
He dimly heard Kessler acknowledging. The whine and clatter of the rotors increased outside, and he heard it pass to port and decrease ahead. “Give the officer of the deck a course and speed to reach Fisherman’s Point at oh-six thirty,” he told Lauderdale.
“Bridge, Combat: Recommend come left to two-seven-eight, speed eighteen.” A moment later, the deck leaned in a turn.
“Alfa Sierra, Mike Twenty-eight: We seem to have a little trouble here,” said the nonchalant voice of the helo pilot.
“Ask him—” said Dan, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence. The air controller said, “Mike twenty-eight, Mayday, going to autorotate; engine failure, power failure—”
“Son of a bitch,” said Dan. He sat frozen in the chair for an endless second. Then he remembered. Mike 28 had taken off to port; Barrett was still turning to port—
“Bridge, TAO: Do you have the helo in sight?”
No answer. He didn’t call again. Instead, he hit the deck running. Radarmen jumped out of his way. He slammed through the door, pounded up the ladder, burst out onto the bridge. “OOD!”
“JOOD, sir!” Kessler said, turning to him.
“Where’s the chopper, Casey? Where the fuck is Harper?” Kessler goggled at him. Dan swept the bridge with his eyes, then leaned to look out. A shadow that had to be the helicopter, all lights off, was settling into the water dead ahead—so close, he could hear the rotors, powerless, windmilling down.
“This is Lieutenant Lenson. I have the deck and the conn. All engines back full! Left hard rudder! Flight crash alarm!”
The pilothouse broke into shouting, alarms. Harper ran in in the middle of it. Dan didn’t stop, just kept yelling orders, dreading the crunch and slam that would mean they’d hit the chopper. But it didn’t come. Then the starboard lookout shouted, “Helicopter, in the water, passing down starboard side!”
“Meet her! Steady as you go! Engines stop.”
&nb
sp; “Mr. Lenson, I have the deck—”
“No, I do. Radio, Bridge: Patch helo control circuit to position six. Boatswain, call the motor whaleboat away.”
“Captain’s on the bridge—”
“What in God’s name is going on?” Leighty’s voice cracked like a shot. Dan explained, pointing out to where the helicopter rolled violently in Barrett’s wake. “He just called engine failure, sir, then autorotated in with his lights out.”
“Do you have comms?”
“Not since he went in. Sir, he came down directly ahead of us. I thought we were going to hit him. I took over and maneuvered to avoid.” He glanced at Harper and raised his voice so that everyone could hear. “I will now give Mr. Harper back the deck and the conn.”
Leighty frowned but didn’t say anything. He went out on the starboard wing with Harper. The chief warrant called back, “This is Mr. Harper. I have the deck and the conn. Engines ahead one-third, right five degrees rudder. Boatswain, have you got the motor whaleboat on the line?”
TWO hours later, the tenor voice said, “Come in.” Dan opened the joiner door and stepped in, taking his cap off.
The captain’s sea cabin looked the same as it had last time, except messier. The blackout drapes were drawn so tight none of the morning light bled in. Only the corner lamp was on. In the lowered light, it looked more intimate and less official.
Leighty swiveled from his desk. “Dan. How’s the hook look?”
“It’s holding, sir.”
“Grab yourself some joe. Make a head call, then I’ll be right with you. By the way, we got some good news. Mr. Cash brought the message up. We’ve gotten a reprieve on the missing gear.”
“A reprieve?”
“Funding-wise, I mean. Since Sipple can’t answer for it and the investigation dead-ended, the type commander decided to cover most of it out of his discretionary fund. Norm has the accounting data, but the big picture, they’re picking up the tab for the controlled equipment. We’re still stuck with the missing cash and the silver bars. That’s sixteen thousand some—”
“Sixteen thousand, six hundred, sir,” said Dan. He’d worried over it for so long, he knew each sum to the dollar. “That’s great news. It’ll be a lot easier to cover that than a quarter million.”
“Good,” said Leighty. He seemed about to add something but then didn’t.
Instead, he went next door and half-closed the joiner door. Dan heard water rattle while he poured himself coffee. The adrenaline rush when the chopper went down had evaporated, leaving him shaky and prone to snap at people. That was good news, about the funding, but if only he could get a little sleep … .
Leighty came out, toweling his face, in uniform trousers and undershirt. “Hairy there for a couple of minutes.”
“Yes, sir. But it turned out all right.” They’d stayed with the helicopter till the pilots located the problem, then maneuvered to provide a lee as they tested the engines and finally lifted off again in a blast of spray. Then they proceeded on in for the anchoring exercise. Leighty had decided to stay anchored out, swing around the hook and give the men rope-yarn Sunday.
“The shoot went well. How’s the ACDADS effort progressing? Have you got the Crud tracked down yet?”
He cleared his throat. Yes, the shoot had gone all right, but only by blocking out most of the combat system and feeding in their designations and spotting corrections manually. Tracing the Crud
… they’d found its telltale damage on every tape that had gone through the computers. That included operating systems, modules, and data tapes, navigation, radio, and sonar. Everything except, for some reason, the Link 11 module, the one that linked Barrett to other NTDS-equipped ships. Then they’d hit an invisible wall. Though they could see traces of it everywhere, in the wreckage it left in the code, when Shrobo had tried to isolate the virus itself, it slipped through their fingers, vanishing like a ghost. He told the captain all this, and Leighty nodded somberly, listening. When Dan was done, he just said, “And the battle problem?” “I can only say it’s going to be close, sir. Mr. Shrobo has some new ideas he’s trying. Maybe we’ll have a breakthrough.”
Leighty nodded again. “I hope so, too. There’s a lot riding on it. Keep me informed … . Next subject. You took the deck from Jay this morning.”
“I felt I had to, sir. We got a transmission from the helo indicating they had engine trouble. I called the bridge, but there was no answer, so I left Combat and ran up. The officer of the deck was not in evidence. The JOOD, Mr. Kessler, is a good performer, but I judged that we were in extremis, so I took action.”
The phone buzzed. Leighty snatched it off the bulkhead. “Captain … . Hi, Dwight … . How many gallons? Are the evaps in limits? Send it to potable and bromate them. Yeah.” He hung up and rubbed his eyes. “So, where was Mr. Harper?”
“He says he was in the ET shop.”
“He had the deck, and he was in the electronics shop?”
“He said he was there only a moment, sir. It’s fifty feet aft of the bridge and on the same level. He wanted to find out our grade on the radar-repair exercise.”
“I don’t buy that. That’s not the way I want my bridge run.”
“No, sir—but he’s always been a good shiphandler, in my estimation.”
“Mine, too. But I’ve noticed a falloff in his level of performance, his level of interest lately.” Leighty pinned him with a glance. “The exec has noticed it, too. Mentioned it to me. Have you?”
“Maybe, sir,” he said reluctantly.
“Have you discussed it with him, this decline? How close are you to him, Dan?”
“I’ve been to his house. Went sailing with him once.” He sipped coffee. “But I think you’re right, sir. He’s not an easy guy to tell he’s wrong. But I’ll give him a talking-to.”
The captain sat down. He said, closing his eyes, “Okay, let me know how it goes … . We’re all locked down on Gitmo right now. And that’s as it should be. But I don’t want to get so focused on the drills that we lose track of what’s going on in the real world.”
“No, sir.”
“You know, I don’t entirely believe in the way the Navy runs things, Dan.”
Dan thought this was an abrupt change of subject. But maybe the captain had made some sort of transition he hadn’t followed, tired as he was. “You don’t, sir?”
“No. It’s as if we can only do one thing at a time. Engineering readiness, or shipboard security, or racial awareness—they’re all good, but we need to do them all the time, not just two weeks before the inspection. I’m not even sure we ought to have inspections.”
“You get what you inspect,” Dan said. “Isn’t that what Admiral Rickover said?”
The phone buzzed again. “Captain. What? Permission granted. Make it so.” He hung up and stared blankly at Dan. “What were we talking about? … Oh, inspections.
“I’m not sure who said it, but it’s exactly right—and exactly wrong. The XO and I should spend half our time preparing the ship for battle—tactics, intelligence, training. Instead, we spend all our time preparing for the next inspection. Here in Gitmo’s the only time we actually train to fight. And even here, there’s too much emphasis on doing things the approved way.” Leighty frowned. “I’m a radical in a lot of ways, Dan. I think we micromanage too much. We strive for control, but what we get is bookkeeping. We say we want tacticians and innovators, but what the system selects for is adminstrators and inspection-passers.”
Dan wondered why the captain was telling him this. It seemed like a conversation he ought to be having with Vysotksy, or better, with another skipper at the club. “I agree with some of that, sir,” he said. “But I’m not sure why you’re telling me.”
“You’re one of my best officers,” said Leighty, shrugging. “You seem like a serious person, someone who reflects on things. You have ideals, but they’re not inflexible. But you also seem lonely. I know you’ve been upset about losing your wife.”
He couldn
’t help sighing. “I guess it takes a while. Actually, I miss my daughter more.”
“You’re dating?”
“That didn’t work out too well, either.”
“You know, friendships are important in the service.”
Dan looked at Leighty’s leg, crossed toward him, and at the captain’s bare arm. For a moment, everything seemed relaxed, commonplace, homelike—not at all like sitting with the commanding officer. It was more like having a talk with an older buddy. He could smell the captain’s aftershave. The skin on his arms looked smooth and pale.
For just a moment, he saw that skin as not belonging to another man, or as not belonging to either a man or a woman, but simply as bare flesh. He imagined what it would feel like: warm, slightly hairy, slightly damp.
Suddenly, the compartment seemed dim. The air was cool, air conditioning blasting out of the diffuser, but he started to sweat. “Sir, I feel uncomfortable about this,” he blurted.
“Uncomfortable. Why?”
“I have a good deal of respect for you, sir, but I just feel … uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t talking about much of anything, Dan. Certainly not about anything I thought would upset you. You mean about friendship?”
“Sir, I’m not sure it would be appropriate between junior and senior.”
“I know what you mean,” said Leighty. “But I don’t see anything inappropriate about two officers having a private discussion. You know, when you get a little older, get some shore duty under your belt, you’ll understand how things are done. You’ve heard of the ‘rabbi’ system, I’m sure. Well … there are different kinds of rabbi systems.”
Dan looked at Leighty, his heart hammering. “What about Diehl? The investigation?”
“Diehl’s been satisfied. I don’t mind telling you, he suspected you—”
“He suspected me?”
“Oh yes. He came to me with that, including some statements he’d gathered from others aboard ship. I told him that whatever they thought, they were wrong; that I had the highest confidence in you; that in destroying the diary, you undoubtedly acted in accordance with the most honorable intentions; that his suspicions about you, whatever they might be, were groundless.”