Still, he would have to find out. He told the XO to draft the casualty report and have it ready to go out in two hours. Already a list of tasks was arranging itself in his mind, prioritizing itself as a checklist. First, locate the submarine. Second, assess the extent of the damage. Third, check the area for other contacts. Fourth, when it was safe to do so, come shallow and transmit the casualty reports of the battle group.
"We've got her back, Captain," the sonarman said. "1 have a firing solution."
"Good. Hold contact, weapons tight, and wait for my order." Tran's voice was grim. "We'll teach them just how big a mistake it is to take on an American submarine."-. .
Sick Bay
USS Jefferson
1400 local (GMT-IO)
Jack Simpson stared at the khaki-clad Navy doctor leaning against the bulkhead. "I'm not willing to agree to that."
The doctor shook his head patiently. "I'm sorry, but it's standard procedure. You and your wife took a pretty nasty spill out of that boat. I'm going to insist that you stay in Sick Bay at least overnight."
Jack glanced over at Adele and could see that she was starting to do a slow burn. Despite their weariness, they'd come through too much, done too much, to be confined to sick bay now.
"If there's nothing wrong with us, then we're not staying here," Adele said firmly. She started stripping off the hospital gown they'd put her in as soon as they'd arrived in sick bay and reached for her own wet clothes. "I'm not injured, I'm not taking up a bed. And that's, that."
"You don't seem to understand, Mrs. Simpson," the doctor said slowly. "I know you're not on active duty, but you are on board a U.S. warship. And, in my judg- ment, your failure to agree to a reasonable request is just further evidence of your mental instability at this point. Under the circumstances, I have no doubt that the admiral will support me in this."
"Who's the admiral?" Jack demanded.
The doctor gazed at him thoughtfully. "Admiral Wayne commands the battle group. Admiral Magruder has just arrived on board to take charge of the joint staff."
"Tombstone Magruder?" Jack asked. A slow smile spread across his face. "Tomcat jock?"
"Admiral Magruder is a naval aviator," the doctor said stiffly, "and I believe his aircraft of choice is the F-14 Tomcat."
Jack's smile broke into a broad grin. "Not so fast with that hospital gown, honey." He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Then he looked over at the doctor and pointed at the pile of wet clothes on the deck. "Have someone take those down to the laundry, do a freshwater rinse on them, dry them, and get them back up to us. Either that or route us out the appropriate uniforms from the lucky bag," he said, referring to a slush fund of clothes normally maintained by the welfare and recreation committee. "And let Admiral Magruder's chief of staff know immediately that Commander Jack Simpson and his new wife are on board and, at his earliest convenience, would be honored if they could pay their respects in person."
The doctor paled slightly. "You know Admiral Magruder?" he asked, deep suspicion in his voice.
Jack nodded. "That I do. And believe me, if it'll get me bailed from this joint, I'm not above capitalizing on it. The admiral and I spent a fair amount of time together at the flying club-he owns a Pitts Special, I believe."
No, I don't believe at all-I'm damned well certain of it. Stony and I have gone around too many times just admiring that baby for me to be mistaken about that.
"Let's get a move on, Doc," Jack said briskly. "I'm not going to want to keep the admiral waiting."
Flight Deck
USS Jefferson
1410 local (GMT-IO)
Lobo shot Hot Rock an ugly look full of venom and distaste. "How the hell did I ever let you talk me into this?" she demanded.
Hot Rock shook his head and smiled at her. "You're loving it, and you know it, babe," he said easily. "Hold on, let me settle another one of these around your shoulders." He hefted a twenty-pound tie-down chain, doubled it, then settled it firmly over her neck draping down her front. "Too much?"
"Fuck you, Hot Rock," Lobo said, venom dripping from her voice. "I'll match you tie-down chain for tie-down chain any day of the week."
Hot Rock patted her affectionately on the shoulder. Weighted down with a hundred extra pounds of sheer iron, she probably wouldn't be able to catch him if he had to make a run for it. "There, there, little girl. We're just doing our part to win the war, aren't we?"
He could hear her teeth grinding over the noise on the flight deck. Two F-14s were already taxiing up to the catapult, and the noise was deafening.
He surveyed her slim, muscular form, now clad in a nondescript coverall rather than the Nomex flight suit he usually saw her in. With her hair tucked up under a cranial, goggles over her eyes, and no rank or name insignia anywhere on her coveralls, she was one of a dozen sailors hustling gear belowdecks. A damned fine attractive woman at that, but still just another sailor on the flight deck.
He ran his hands down his front, felt the oily fabric under his fingers. Well, they had to look the part, didn't they? After all, it wasn't like they were going to go flying anytime soon.
After pitching their case all the way up the chain of command, Lobo and Hot Rock had finally given up. The admiral was too pissed at them, too terminally pissed, to ever consider any promises they could make to be on their best behavior in the air from now on as worth anything at all. In fact, the CAG had informed them, they'd be lucky not to face a board of inquiry and have their wings stripped. As it was now, they were both off flight status, at least pending resolution of the current hostilities.
And after all, it wasn't like the battle group really needed them right now. There was to be no anti-air activity over the island, and the Jefferson's, flights thus far had been limited to CAP and ASW. There were more than enough pilots-pilots willing to obey orders, Batman pointed out coldly-to fill the required slots. So, until further notice, the admiral had suggested that Hot Rock and Lobo, along with their RIOs, get their sorry little asses out of his stateroom and find some way to make themselves useful.
It hadn't taken them more than three hours of pacing the passageways of the ship to feel utterly useless. All around them, activity continued at a heightened tempo, everybody seemingly hurrying to an operationally important task. Only the four aircrew were walking slowly and looking for something to do.
Finally, after three hours, Hot Rock had come up with this. He'd purloined four sets of dirtied and weathered
coveralls from the maintenance chief, presented them to them, and made his pitch.
"Listen, we're not going to be flying," he began bluntly. "I think that should be pretty obvious to all of us. So, the question is do we sit on our hands and be pissed about it or find something to do?" With that, he held up the coveralls.
"Flight deck?" Lobo asked. "Come on, you want me to be a plane captain?" She laughed incredulously.
Hot Rock shook his head. "Nope. We've got qualified plane captains. What we need to do is some of the other stuff that you don't have written quals for. There's no way the handler would let us on his flight deck as a plane captain. We don't have the sign-off card."
"So we wander around incognito?" Lobo said.
"We work incognito," Hot Rock corrected. "You know how much there is to do up there-or maybe you don't," he corrected. "If you don't, it's about time you found out. Believe me, an extra pair of hands shows up to do unskilled labor, there aren't going to be too many questions asked."
"Like what?" Lobo asked.
Hot Rock shrugged. "I don't know. But whatever it is, it beats sitting on our asses down here, doesn't it?" He surveyed the other two faces, then nodded. "I thought so. Come on, let's go find something to do."
As soon as they'd made their way out to the flight deck, they'd noticed a group of sailors near the stern hustling tie-down chains. They'd been on deck earlier to secure the aircraft during the weather but were now just cluttering up deck space. Each sailor carried four tie-down chains, approximately eighty pounds
of extra weight. A few of the larger men carried six to eight tie-down chains.
"Where are they taking them?" Lobo asked, as Hot Rock unceremoniously draped the first tie-down chain around her shoulders.
"Just follow the crowd," he said. "Just follow the crowd."
The crowd, as it turned out, was heading down three ladders to the line shack compartment for an S-3 squadron. No one questioned the appearance of four extra non-rated sailors helping out with the workload, although the leading petty officer did seem faintly surprised at how quickly restowing the tie-down chains went. He stared at Hot Rock for a moment, started to ask something, and then was overcome by another crisis almost immediately.
The four made their way back up to the deck. "Well, what next?" Hot Rock said, looking around the flight deck for more opportunities. "Let's face it, guys, if we ain't flying, we ain't qualified to do shit up here, are we?"
Flag Conference Room 1430 local (GMT-IO)
Tombstone stared at the bedraggled figure standing in front of him. He surveyed the wet hair slicked back from the broad, smiling face, the freshly scrubbed though haggard face, and then swept his eyes to the woman standing next to his friend. He took two steps forward and held out his hand. "You must be Jack's wife. Tombstone Magruder-pleased to make your acquaintance."
She took his hand gravely, and he noted how cool it felt. "I've heard a lot about you, Admiral. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, although I'm sure we both wish the circumstances could be different ."
"Of course." Tombstone shook his head, bemused. "If I'd had any idea it was you and Jack on that boat, life would have been a lot simpler."
"The question is, what can we do now, sir?" Jack asked, a sudden shift in his voice indicating this was now a question posed by a junior officer to a very senior one.
Tombstone studied them both for a moment longer, then glanced at the doctor standing next to them. "Status?"
"As I told the Simpsons, I'd like to keep them overnight in Sick Bay. Just to make certain," the doctor started. Jack and Tombstone exchanged a cynical look. "After what they've been through . . ."
"We weren't in the water that long, Admiral," Adele broke in. "We exited the vessel before the impact, and there's certainly no danger of hypothermia in these waters." She left unspoken the other very real threat, that of sharks.
Batman spoke up then. "Admiral, that situation we were discussing-do you suppose .. . ?" He broke off, and shot a significant look at the Simpsons.
"Just so," Tombstone said. "Very well, then-Commander Simpson, I do have one mission that you and your wife might be especially suited for. Things are about to get real busy out here. You can imagine the constraints we're operating under." Briefly, Tombstone sketched in the restrictions on air combat and missile employment. "Now, I notice that civilian traffic has fallen off some, but there's still a number of lookie-loos out in the harbor, trying to figure out what's going on. The Chinese don't seem to be doing anything about them. If you're willing, I have a boat that you could take-the same one that brought me in, the Lucky Star. Civilian marked and pretty damned fast, for all that she might have a bit of a gimpy engine. But at least she's not a military vessel. Any chance you could cruise over by the Chinese battle group and take a look at what's going on?" He pointed at Lab Rat. "Commander Busby can fit you out with an- other cell phone so we can stay in contact."
"Of course, sir," Adele said.
Lab Rat held up a cautionary finger. "Admiral, there's every chance that the Chinese took note of the markings and the hull configuration of the vessel that brought you to the carrier. And they were pretty damned intent on shooting it while you were enroute. I'm not so certain it would make an effective spy boat."
"There's that." Tombstone gazed levelly at the Simpsons. "There's some risk, to be sure. And you'd be operating as civilians, not military prisoners of war. But I think that the Chinese are probably a little too busy to keep any permanent records of that engagement, not with the air battle that was going on. If you look out in the harbor, I think you'll see another ten or fifteen boats that could be mistaken for this one. So there's some risk, but I don't think it's that substantial."
"Neither do I," Adele said. Both carefully ignored the fact that Heaven Can Wait had been shot out from under the Simpsons. "In truth, Admiral, we welcome any opportunity to get back into battle. And if this is how you think we can most effectively support the battle group, we'd be honored to undertake this mission."
A rare smile split across Tombstone's face. "I kind of figured you'd say that. We've just met, but I've flown with this guy before, and I know how he operates. I figure any woman who could put up with him would have to be twice as ballsy." A slight red flush spread up Tombstone's cheeks as he realized how politically incorrect he'd been. But damn it all to hell, did it really matter? Adele Simpson knew what he meant, knew it was a compliment of the highest order. If some politically correct hack wanted to bitch about an admiral's choice of words under these circumstance, then to hell with him.
"When can we leave?" Adele asked.
The chief of staff spoke up. "Your boat's tied up on the far side of the carrier. I'd like to take about half an hour, get it fully stocked up, let you and Lab Rat work out the coordination and code. That'll give the boson's mate time to run a couple of stripes down it, maybe disguise it just a little bit. So I'd say thirty minutes, no more than an hour."
"We'll be ready," Adele said. She turned to her husband. "Won't we?"
"You'd better believe it."
Forty-five minutes later, the small vessel was ready to go. Under Adele's direction, Jack piloted away from the massive carrier, careful to steer away from the sea chests, the giant suction intake inlets that sucked seawater into the ship for a variety of purposes. Jack appreciated the clean, hard thrum of the engines, the feel of the helm vibrating under his hands. Tombstone-correction, Admiral Magruder-had been right about the boat's qualities. He'd have to keep an eye on the diesel engines, but the mechanics on board the carrier said that they thought they'd corrected the problem.
An hour later, Jefferson was merely a dark smudge on the horizon, while the first outlines of the massive Chinese ship were already visible. As he piloted, Jack kept up a steady scan for any aircraft, but the only contacts he could see were F-14s. A few jump jets made routine takeoffs and landings on the Chinese ship, but evinced no curiosity in the Simpson's boat.
"So how do we look like a pleasure craft?" Adele asked. "It's about time we started trying to maintain our cover, don't you think?"
"Break out those fishing rods and the cooler," he directed. A couple of sailors had raided the MWR compartment to provide them with evidence of their reasonable cover story. Jack backed the boat off to a more than reasonable ten knots, and felt the motion of it change as the swells took it more heavily. He maneuvered around to get the waves on the quarter bow, then set the small boat on autopilot. In the stern, Adele cast out the first line.
"The way the set and drift is running right now, we should start easing up on her," Adele said as she reeled in the line and rebaited her hook. "Let's keep an eye on the rest of the boats, see what they're doing. We'll make like fat, dumb and happy tourists, out for a little fishing and a good look at the invaders. Just look at them- nobody looks like they're taking this too seriously, do they?"
From what Jack could tell, there was very little evidence that most of the boaters took any notice of the invasion at all.
"Something's happening," he said suddenly, staring uneasily at the massive ship. "Something about the stern-hold on, where are those binoculars?"
Adele handed the binoculars with a cautionary, "Watch the angle of the sun, and get down behind the cowling-no point in their seeing us staring at them with binoculars."
"I'll bet most of the boaters are, though," Jack muttered, but still ducking down behind the cowling. He tweaked the binoculars into focus, and stared at the stem of the ship. Something about the angle ... "A well deck," he said. "Get on the horn,
let Lab Rat know-that damned thing is not only an aircraft carrier, it's an amphibious assault ship as well."
"How long have we got?" Adele asked as she punched the speed dial button for Lab Rat's direct line.
"If it's anything like an American ship, it will take them at least thirty minutes to get the well deck flooded
and the ships deployed. Maybe less-we don't know what technology they're using. But I'm betting it will take them even longer, since we're dealing with a converted merchant ship of some sort."
He studied the ship and watched her settle in the water while he listened to Adele report their facts to Lab Rat. If the Chinese were sending troops ashore, it was going to be damned difficult to dislodge them once they were in place. With a sinking feeling, he found himself wondering just how long this siege would last.
CVIC
USS Jefferson
1442 local (GMT-IO)
"You're certain of this?" Lab Rat said, his expression mirroring the doubt in his voice. "An amphibious ship?"
He listened carefully while Adele Simpson ran through the details of what Jack was observing. Finally, he said, "Stay on the line for a moment-I'm going to get the admiral on the other circuit." Still holding the cell phone against one ear, he picked up the white phone and punched in the number for TFCC.
Batman's reaction was even more incredulous than his own, but the wealth of detail in Adele Simpson's report quickly convinced both of them. Batman heard Lab Rat put the call on the speakerphone, then the dark, somber tones of Tombstone Magruder joined in the conversation.
"Tell them to get the hell out of the way," Tombstone said finally. "If we let those troops go ashore, it will be like trying to dig out gophers dislodging them from the island. Whatever else, we've got to stop those transports."
Carrier - Joint Operation Book 16 Page 16