Straits of Power

Chapter 13

Jeffrey sat in his stateroom, the closest thing he had to a private office on Challenger. He listened as people talked to him while he thought about something else — and felt torn in more ways than just that.

Bell and Lieutenant Willey, the engineer, were giving Jeffrey reports on the progress of repairs on the damage sustained in the battle. Jeffrey nodded absentmindedly. Through long practice at this sort of thing, he took in their key points even though mentally preoccupied and emotionally drained. His stateroom, with its fold-down desk to one side and a filing cabinet bolted to the deck in the opposite corner, didn’t leave Willey and Bell much space in which to stand and speak; there was only one guest chair — as a courtesy to each other, neither man used it. Both of them looked exhausted.

Willey finished. The shipwide damage was minor, repairs should be easy over the next few hours and days, and he obviously wanted to get back to the work. Jeffrey thanked him, and dismissed him.

Once Willey was gone and the stateroom door was closed again for privacy, Jeffrey studied Bell, standing there in front of his desk.

“How’s morale?”

“Terrific, Skipper. We just scored another two kills. Nothing lifts the crew’s mood faster than that, sir. And you know how quickly word gets around. Everyone’s very impressed by the tactics you ordered. The guys who understood it all explained it to the guys who didn’t. How you went with our strengths. Used our superior sonars and quieting to do that disappearing act, then used our sustained hitting power with a flank-speed charge and those multiple salvos.”

Jeffrey smiled, and felt some renewed energy. “Good. I want you to do double duty as my chief of staff for the task group, XO.”

Bell stood up straight. “Sir?”

“You can start by drafting an after-action report.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A de facto step upward in authority, so you outrank Ohio’s XO.” Which might come in handy soon. “Good experience for you too, which I’ll make sure is appreciated later.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And, of course, the ulterior motive.”

“Captain?”

“Takes more of the paperwork load off me, and dumps it in your lap.”

Bell grinned. “All good things come at a price.”

Jeffrey grew more sober. He glanced at his navigation console. Challenger, with Ohio in company, was beyond the Eastern Seaboard continental shelf now, out in much deeper water. “Have me informed when Captain Parcelli’s minisub is docked. You and I will meet him at the lock-in trunk.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll need maybe twenty minutes with him alone in here. Then we’ll have a classified briefing in the wardroom. Him and me, you, Sonar, Nav, and Weps. Plus our three main guests, Mr. Parker of the CIA, Mr. Salih our Turko-German friend, and Lieutenant Estabo, CO of our embarked SEAL team…. Have COB arrange for a couple of off-watch chiefs to stand guard outside the doors to the wardroom. Everything is compartmented, strictly need to know.”

Parcelli was sitting in Jeffrey’s guest chair. He came alone, except for his minisub’s crew; he’d left his XO in charge back on Ohio. He wore unwrinkled formal dress blues — compared with Jeffrey’s rumpled short-sleeve khakis — suggesting that he expected an argument and meant to win it. His expression was hard and his body language confrontational.

Jeffrey felt reservations about what he needed to do, because this was a first for him. He had to firmly discipline a man who until barely a day ago was his definite senior. And he had to do it in such a way as to not compromise the mission success of Task Group 47.2.

Jeffrey loathed face-to-face hostile confrontations. As commanding officer of USS Challenger, discipline within the ship’s hierarchy was handled mainly by Bell and COB as a standard part of their roles. Challenger had a good crew, so Jeffrey’s need for direct involvement was minimal. In his brief stint as XO of the ship himself, in the middle of a war that had galvanized everyone to do their best, he’d encountered few occasions when a junior officer or enlisted man needed any tough talking to.

Commander Parcelli, CO of USS Ohio, was something else. Jeffrey had no clear precedent to go by. Ohio had almost twice the number of people aboard as Challenger, and also weighed twice as much — which by the navy’s long-standing culture gave Parcelli major clout, and both men knew it. Crew size and ship’s displacement mass defined a standard pecking order, imprinted deep in Jeffrey’s instincts throughout his years of being in uniform.

Jeffrey had to keep all this completely to himself while he dealt with Parcelli. Nothing had ever prepared him for such a trial, and he knew he would have only this single chance to get it right. Despite all the tension and fear involved in combat, Jeffrey found it easier to do battle with enemy submarine captains. An Axis captain doesn’t watch my every physical move, my expression or how I sit in a chair, or how I set my eyes or how I breathe. It’s a clear win-lose situation, enemy action, and the end of the battle provides decisive closure. Everything now is so different from that, and brand new to me.

“Your accusing me of disobeying orders has no basis in fact,” Parcelli stated crisply. “Since the rendezvous had not been made, the task group was not yet constituted. I had full freedom of action, and chose to take the initiative while in independent command.”

“The task group was constituted when the president ordered it activated, and I was made its commander in a meeting both you and I were at. Your rushing off on your own endangered everything. It endangered your ship, it compromised our stealth, it risked failure of our primary mission. Your orders of where to rendezvous, and when, were very explicit. A pair of class Two-twelves pale, utterly pale, in comparison with our main assignment.”

“Nope,” Parcelli said, irritatingly nonchalant. “Every U-boat sunk is one step closer to victory. We need to destroy them faster than the Germans can build more, and you know that perfectly well. The very fact of my stealth, which I chose to compromise, gave me the element of surprise. And the acoustic modems I left for you assured Challenger would come in my support. That’s your job while in the Atlantic, Captain Fuller, to provide me with support.”

“Suppose the modems had malfunctioned? Suppose acoustic conditions had been poorer than they were, and I never heard any modems? What then?”

“I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”

“That entire point of view, that attitude, violates the letter and the intent of our orders. You’re supposed to provide my ship with support in the Med, if we make it that far. And it’s not about your ship or mine, it’s about a task group our ships form together, and a mission, something essential we both need to do in the Med…. You didn’t even realize that a class Two-fourteen was out there.”

Parcelli’s eyes darted about, as if he’d been caught off guard. Good. I can play his game too. But Jeffrey cautioned himself because he had to suppress a smirk. I must keep this from getting personal, no matter how hard Parcelli tries to reduce it to that level.

“Undetected opponents are always a risk,” Parcelli shot back, as dismissively as he could.

“There’s undetected, and then there’s unsuspected. How clearly do I have to spell this out for you to hear the message?”

“What message?”

“That I was put in charge of this task group for a reason…. How many U-boats have you sunk?”