Engage at Dawn: First Contact

by Edward Hochsmann

  A thoroughly alarmed Bobby Moore roused Sam, and the two sped to the hospital, James joining them from Manhattan an hour later. The three men sat together in frightened silence in the waiting room for more than four hours while the neurosurgery team did their evaluation and response. When the doctor emerged, he reported they had put Gabby into a medically induced coma until her brain swelling went down, but the prognosis was good. Near weeping in relief, the men agreed to take shifts standing by with Sam remaining for the first watch while Moore escorted his father home.

  Gabby’s youth and good health paid off. She regained consciousness within a day and a half and went home in three. Although reasonably fit, she had no memory of the accident or even the party. After seeing her safely home with temporary live-in medical care, Sam and Moore began inquiries into the accident and the actions law enforcement intended to take.

  Paul vanished for several days, then reappeared, completed unscathed. Sam was convinced he hid out to make sure whatever party drugs he had taken were well clear of his system before he encountered the police. A cursory investigation resulted in charges of misdemeanor reckless driving for Paul, and he escaped with a fine. It was rumored Paul’s father had dealt with issues like this before and had contacts in the local police and district attorney’s office. Paul’s father quietly made right on Gabby’s medical costs, and, as far as he and James were concerned, the matter was closed.

  Sam was furious at this result. He had taken the time to visit the Coast Guard station where the two petty officers were stationed to thank them and offer them a reward, which they politely refused. They told Sam of the events that night, including the driver fleeing the scene. Sam was convinced the fix was in after learning they had also contacted the police the following day to offer statements and been summarily rebuffed.

  His anger only increased after a confrontation with his father. Sam was astounded he would go along with a slap on the wrist for the man who had recklessly put his daughter in mortal danger and then abandoned her to die. James was not unfeeling about the incident. But, in his view, more significant business issues were at stake, and he told Sam to put the matter behind him. He then left the task of calming down his son to his trusted adviser Moore and returned to work, a decision that only added more strain to a fragile relationship between father and son.

  The situation simmered for several weeks. Sam and Paul returned to their studies at Wharton but did not share any classes where they would cross paths. Finally, a chance meeting occurred outside the library. Sam nodded at Paul in passing. Paul took it as a sign of acceptance and submission—an enormous mistake. Sam couldn’t remember what Paul had said, only that after he said it, his world went red. By the time Sam was pulled off, Paul was on his way to the hospital with two broken ribs, among other injuries.

  It took all the “fixer” juice Moore had to keep Sam clear of a felony assault charge. Paul and his father agreed not to file charges after Moore arranged the payment of Paul’s medical bills and made subtle threats about Paul’s known drug use and other activities.

  James, on the other hand, was apoplectic at his son’s behavior and the threat it created to the family business. In a showdown shortly afterward, he told his son in no uncertain terms to “get with the program” or get out.

  The ultimatum proved the final straw for Sam. He hated the cutthroat environment of high finance presented by his father and school but strove to succeed out of a sense of duty to his family. This incident made it clear to Sam that in this world, business came first and family a distant second. He often thought of the two men who saved Gabby’s life after the accident. They hadn’t hesitated a second to plunge into a freezing river to rescue a young woman they’d never met from a sinking car. That was the world Sam wanted to join.

  After a sleepless night and a long talk with Bobby Moore that didn’t dissuade him, Sam visited the Coast Guard Recruiting Office in Philadelphia. He completed the required entry forms and tests and signed up to report to recruit training at Cape May the following January. The recruiter could not believe what he had in hand between Sam’s aptitude test scores and top-of-the-line undergraduate degree. He frankly explained Sam would have an excellent chance of acceptance to OCS or even a direct commission as a finance officer if he were to apply. He just followed protocol in this, as highly educated recruits could be problematic when they found enlisted life to be less intellectually challenging. Sam insisted, and the recruiter accepted his application for enlistment and administered the oath. Sam chose Operations Specialist for his desired rating. His test scores and background qualified him to go straight to the Operations Specialist A-school on graduation from boot camp without the usual period as an apprentice seaman.

  January came, and the farewell was a hard one. James failed to appear, refusing to talk to Sam until, as he told Moore, “he returns to sanity.” The thought of not having Sam close at hand depressed Gabby. They had grown closer since the accident and his fight with Paul. Although fully recovered physically and getting back in rhythm at school, she still had mild post-traumatic stress and occasionally leaned on him for support. Sam assured her he would keep in touch and that Moore could get word to him in any emergency.

  Bobby Moore was another hard farewell. Moore did his best to talk Sam out of joining at James’s request. However, he was privately relieved he failed, and proud the boy he had helped raise was stepping up for service. He assured Sam that Gabby would be looked after, and he’d work on his father as best he could, providing Sam relief that at least the home front was well-covered. On that fateful day, Moore drove Sam and Gabby down to Cape May. There, the young man joined a sizable group of apprehensive young people making tearful goodbyes from their families and moving to a new phase in life.

  Gabby turned out all right. She finished school, met and married a decent man, and, with her father’s financial help, set up a successful art studio in Manhattan. Sam had to give his father credit: he really stepped up to become more engaged and supportive of his daughter after Sam’s departure. Moore continued in his role as Sam’s surrogate father and family overwatch. He remained a close and most trusted friend to this day. In fact, Jo and Sam named their first child after him, Robert Eduardo Powell.

  ◆◆◆

  Ben sat back in wonder as Sam finished the story, deeply moved by the trust his friend had shown in sharing some truly private parts of his life. He found it difficult to think of something to say that didn’t sound trivial by comparison. After a brief pause, he asked, “Whatever happened to Paul, did he stir up any more trouble?”

  Sam smiled grimly. “Bobby went harder at him on the second try and applied some ‘Russian grade’ menace. He stayed well clear of Gabby and me since then. The big merger planned with the Griffiths’ company fell through, of course, which pissed Dad off even more. But it worked out better in the end since their company tanked in the subprime lending catastrophe. The last I heard, Paul and his father fled the country with a bag of cash and the Securities and Exchange Commission hot on their heels. Good riddance.”

  Ben nodded and scratched his head. “Sir, it sounds like everything worked out great. So, what’s the continued beef between you and your father?”

  Sam shook his head. “No beef on this end. Dad’s been invited to every event, and we made every effort to let him know he’s welcome in our lives. His main beef is he can’t accept that someone of my ‘breeding’ and education would want a job among the hoi polloi, making a hundredth of what I can working for him. I think there’s a bit of grudge nursing too since, in his view, I told him where to stick it right after he went to the mat to keep my ass out of jail.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d agree he had a legitimate gripe back then. Pride can be an ugly thing sometimes, and I don’t exclude myself from that indictment. Bobby is still hard at it; maybe someday he can get us back together.”

  “Amazing, and what about Gabby?”

  This time Sam looked down sadly. “Things have cooled off with Gabby. She’s stil
l part of that world, and she and Jo never took to each other. They put on a brave show for my sake, but it’s a strain on both of them when they’re together, and we try to avoid it.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Ben frowned in sympathy.

  “Well, that’s the way it goes. You can see how that’s still an open wound for me. The good doctor surprised me enough this morning to generate a psychotic break.” He smiled maniacally. “But I’m much better now!”

  Ben rocked his head back and laughed. “Roger that, sir, I’ll put your Prozac dose back in the safe then. I’ll keep Doc Simmons’s on hand for a while, though.” He winked, then stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for sharing all this, sir.”

  Sam stood and grasped Ben’s hand in a firm shake. “It was easier than I thought, thanks for hanging in there while I bared my soul. Trust is vital for us, Ben, particularly now. I want you focused on the job and not worrying that I will go postal and throw our guest overboard.”

  As Ben turned and stepped out, he said, “Yeah, get in line, Boss.”

  10

  Ghost

  U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Kauai, Gulf of Mexico, 19 nautical miles northeast of Key West, Florida

  0701 EST, 16 January

  “All hands, set Flight Quarters Condition 1, clear the foredeck for UAV launch,” Ben announced through the ship. Flight quarters on Kauai proved to be a low-key operation compared to his previous ship. On Dependable, the activities associated with launching a helicopter and standing by in case of crash and fire tied up dozens of crew members for hours. Ben watched as Morgan walked out with his toolbox, one of the seamen following with the separated Puma fuselage and wing. Turning aft, he saw the ready boat crew moving to stand by the RHIB in case the immediate recovery of the aircraft was needed. He turned back inside when Deffler arrived from his check of the ground control antenna and began setting up the control station.

  Ben pulled and reviewed the laminated card Hopkins had prepared the previous night and completed the pre-flight checklist. Ben put the card back in its holder and picked up his binoculars to make his final survey of the area around the boat. Returning inside, he called Sam to let him know that checks were complete for launch.

  “Very well, OOD, carry on,” Sam said.

  “Very good, sir,” Ben replied. Simmons had arrived and pulled up a stool next to Deffler for the flight. The two consulted using the annotated chart extract Hopkins had provided, showing the likely anchorages on the first two targets. After a brief time, Deffler paused and touched his earpiece.

  “OOD, Flight Control, pre-flight checks complete, request Green Deck for UAV launch,” he announced.

  “Very well, Green Deck.”

  “Yes, sir. Green Deck, Mike,” Deffler spoke into the headset. “Let me know when you’re ready for the count.” He activated the battery-powered engine, “Standby, three, two, one, launch.” The Puma arced over the side and began its climb. “Flight operations normal, camera operating, climbing to three hundred.”

  About 40 minutes later, Bondurant appeared on the Bridge to make his rounds in preparation to relieve Ben of the OOD for the Forenoon Watch. When satisfied with his understanding of the current situation, he stepped up to Ben. “XO, I’m ready to relieve you. Do you have anything to pass?”

  “No, Boats. Just monitor our aviation detachment there. Expect they’ll bring the bird back about 1100.”

  “Got it. I relieve you, sir,” Bondurant stated with a smart salute.

  Ben walked over to the chart table where Simmons and Deffler were gazing at the video displays. Simmons looked up after a moment. “Heading down for some sleep, friend?”

  “I wish. Hopefully, I can coax Chef to turn out one last breakfast ration. Then it’s on to my three least favorite things: paperwork, paperwork, and paperwork. Will you be sitting there watching the screen all day?”

  “From time to time. “Frankly, I don’t expect to discover anything this way. The previous searches would have picked up whatever we see. We’ll have a better chance letting the analysis team’s machine learning algorithms paw through the imagery. They will process the visual and hyperspectral in half-hour blocks.”

  “You don’t have machine learning on the earlier stuff?”

  Simmons shook his head. “No, the resolution’s too low, and the atmospherics are problematic. The clouds and junk in the air confuse the algorithms.”

  “Right. How do you plan to get the imagery to the analysts? You have satellite comms through that thing?”

  “Not exactly,” Simmons replied, his voice dropping. “Also very hush-hush, please. We have a High-Altitude UAV doing communications relay throughout this operation. They are getting the imagery the same time we are through high-bandwidth UHF.”

  “Wow. OK, I’m off. Can I send anything up for you guys? Coffee?”

  “No, I’m good,” Simmons turned to Deffler. “Fritz?” and received a head shake in reply as the airman concentrated on the screen. “Thanks anyway, friend, see you later.”

  “Later,” Ben replied, turning to leave.

  A couple hours afterward, Ben and Sam were going over the drafts of operational reports in the cabin when the phone rang. Sam hit the speaker button. “Captain.”

  “Captain, OOD here, could you come to the Bridge, please, sir?” Bondurant’s voice came from the speaker.

  “On the way,” Sam hit the hang-up button, and he and Ben stood up to make their way to the Bridge. Half a minute later, they arrived and walked over to Bondurant.

  “Captain on the Bridge,” Bondurant announced.

  “Carry on. What have you got, OOD?”

  “We have a visual on a surface contact heading slowly in this general direction, sir. It appears to be a sloop under sail, but it is not showing up on radar.”

  Sam frowned. “Show me.”

  Bondurant led the two officers to the SeaWatch console and pointed at the screens. “Lookout picked it up first; then, we locked on with the camera. You can see it’s definitely under sail and hull-up, I would say 9000 yards right now. But check out the radar plot: nothing. And nothing’s wrong with the radar. You can see we have a good trace on Snipe Point here.” He pointed at the screen.

  Sam picked up his binoculars and trained them on the bearing. After a brief search, he picked up on the distant object, barely visible through the haze, a smallish vessel under sail. “Can they see us, you think?”

  “If they have radar, yes sir. Otherwise, I doubt it in this haze.”

  “Hmmm. XO, what do you think?” Sam whispered, keeping his eyes on the boat through the binoculars.

  “Captain, a few days ago, I would have shrugged and said, let’s check it out. After yesterday’s adventure, I’d rather send the UAV in first.”

  “Agreed. Doctor, could you come here, please?” Sam called across the Bridge.

  “Yes, Captain?” Simmons said when he stepped up.

  “Doctor, take a look.” Sam handed him the binoculars. “We have a large sailboat that’s not showing up on radar. Do you know anything about this?”

  As he peered through the binoculars, Simmons replied, “Definitely not.” He handed back the glasses and looked Sam in the eye. “I presume you’d like the UAV to go investigate before we close on it.”

  “I would indeed, Doctor. Can you break off the survey, or do we need to launch the other bird?”

  “We’re at a good breakpoint. Fritz, what’s the fuel state?” he called over.

  “One plus five-five.”

  “OK, bring her up to one thousand and head her back this way. Get the Ghost ready.”

  “Cool! Turning to 335, leaving three hundred for one thousand.”

  “Ghost?” Ben asked.

  “Compass Ghost System. It’s one of our spook add-ons to the basic aircraft. I’ll wait until it’s almost overhead to switch on so you can get the full effect.”

  “OK, I’m breathless in anticipation,” Sam said wryly. “OOD, let’s keep a parallel course and match speed with the target as be
st you can. Put the radar on standby. Full emissions control, please, except for the UAV—I’d like to stay undetected for now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bondurant issued the orders to the helmsman and selected the settings on the console.

  A few minutes later, the three men stood outside watching the UAV approach from the southeast. At 1000 feet, the nine-foot wide aircraft was small but very visible against the cloudy sky. Simmons turned to Deffler, “Stand by, Fritz. OK, gentlemen, you have the little bird in sight?” Seeing nods in return, Simmons said, “Now, Fritz.”

  Suddenly, the aircraft vanished before their eyes. “Damn!” Ben exclaimed, and Sam startled and then brought the binoculars up to his eyes.

  “Wait, OK, I can just barely make it out. “XO, still not seeing it?”

  “No, Captain,” Ben said in wonder. He glanced at Deffler, now smiling at the three men.

  “Welcome to Compass Ghost,” Simmons stated. “There are sensors on top connected through a processor to LED projectors on the wings and lower fuselage. It eliminates the underside shadow with an approximate representation of the sky color and brightness. It’s not invisibility, but it’s close. Under these conditions, with solid overcast, performance is optimal. Still pretty good against a clear sky, but when there are scattered clouds, it’s not as effective.”

  “Doctor, I’m impressed,” Sam admitted. “Does it affect the performance of the aircraft?”

  “It knocks about 10% off the maximum airspeed and maybe 20% off the endurance if we leave it on for the entire flight. The cameras and designator are unaffected.”

  “Wow!” was all Ben could say.

  “Captain, if I may?” Simmons asked Sam, receiving a nod in return. “Fritz, your contact is about 275 degrees at 4.5, but that’s an estimate. We need a distant, then close survey,” he directed.

  “Roger that, going wide.”

  “Doctor, even if it’s made of fiberglass or composites, we should be able to get a primary radar return on that sailboat from this distance,” Sam began. “I doubt our ‘visitors’ would sail around this vicinity, even if they were inclined to use such a quaint transportation mode. Do the people you tangled with yesterday have a, well, whatever the correct scientific term for a radar cloaking device would be?”