Straits of Power

must keep to a very tight schedule. If Dreadnought’s ready and we aren’t there yet…”

“Even with this diversion, Skipper, we need more than just acoustic-link contact with Ohio to work out the details for passing Gibraltar.”

“Yes, thanks, XO. You anticipated my next point. Two more minisub rendezvous are planned between now and when we reach the Straits. Challenger will have to come shallow enough to respect the crush-depth limits of Ohio’s mini. And for one of these two meetings, I intend for people from Challenger to use our mini to visit Ohio. This will create greater task-group cohesion. Besides, it’s necessary. All of you here on Challenger can best appreciate what Ohio can and can’t do by going aboard her in person…. This wraps up the briefing. You’ll each be fed more info when the time comes. Lieutenant Estabo and his men, and Mr. Salih, will be having briefings and rehearsals among themselves. For security, they’ll need to use the wardroom. The enlisted mess is too public. XO, you and Mr. Parker and Lieutenant Estabo can work out the schedule needs.”

“Right,” Bell said.

“Thanks,” Felix acknowledged.

“So,” Jeffrey said, “everyone, this coming week, pray we don’t hear a Virginia-class hull imploding prematurely. That happens, we know Dreadnought’s diversion effort flopped and put the bad guys on highest alert. We drive on anyway, but our job gets a lot more complicated.”

Jeffrey’s wry comment left a glum silence in the room. He realized his officers’ moods were becoming brittle, a reaction to built-up tiredness and the prospect of yet more overwork.

“Lieutenant Milgrom,” Jeffrey said, “I know you served in Dreadnought. All goes well, we’ll be practically within shouting distance of your shipmates for a little while. Sorry you won’t be able to say hello.”

“I’m sure all will go as planned, sir,” Milgrom answered. She sounded as if she was trying very hard to believe what she said.

“We’ll proceed at ultraquiet, but secured from battle stations until absolutely necessary.”

“Normal watch-standing routines?” Bell asked, hardly believing the good news — and the departure from Jeffrey’s usual workaholic command style.

“Affirmative. I want everyone to make sure to get lots of rest, and plenty of nourishment.”

The feeling in the room lightened noticeably.

“Any questions?”

Sessions raised his hand.

“Nav?”

“Sir, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“You can always ask.”

“Mr. Salih,” Sessions said, “are you at all related to someone else I used to know?”

Sessions, getting into the spirit of this constant need-to-know business, was trying to be cagey. Coming from him, the most laid-back and unflappable of Jeffrey’s officers, it seemed slightly funny — and ominous.

Salih glanced at Jeffrey. “They’ll figure it out pretty soon on their own. Best I tell them now. You think, Captain?”

Jeffrey shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“I’m the same Gamal Salih who had the honor to serve with you before Christmas.”

“But—” Sessions started.

“Plastic surgery, and acting lessons.”

“I think we better wrap this up,” Jeffrey broke in. “Captain Parcelli needs to get back to his ship.” Jeffrey turned off his laptop. “Thank you all for attending.”

He walked Parcelli aft. An enlisted man stood at the watertight hatch to the lock-out trunk, leading up to the docked minisub from Ohio. Jeffrey told him to move out of earshot.

Jeffrey shook Parcelli’s hand. “Thanks for coming.”

Parcelli’s hand was much larger than Jeffrey’s, and the palm was warm and not at all sweaty.

A very self-composed person. I could learn from him.

“I have to admit, Captain,” Parcelli said, “you surprised me back there.”

“Back where?”

“In your stateroom. From things I’d heard, I didn’t expect you to assert your authority so, well, so authoritatively.” Parcelli rubbed his jaw, pretending that Jeffrey had physically slugged him.

Jeffrey decided that the curtest answer was best. “You gained two important lessons today. One about undersea warfare tactics, and one about me. On both fronts, be impetuous, you get hurt.”

Chapter 15

Felix Estabo was busy inspecting Challenger’s captured German minisub. He had to admit it did have important advantages over the U.S. Navy’s Advanced SEAL Delivery System minis. It was faster and had longer range, and the control compartment’s instrumentation and sensors were more sophisticated. The equipment and procedures for docking with a parent submarine, or pressurizing the central lock-in/lock-out trunk so divers could come and go through the bottom hatch, were similar to the American design. The adjustable seats in the passenger compartment in back — room for eight commandos plus their gear — were more comfortable than those on the ASDSs Felix had ridden in before, to and from combat.

Felix paid very careful attention as he examined things. This particular minisub was indispensable to the whole mission. The quick trip to and from Ohio—for a working group on tactics in a few days — would be a useful dry run. This German mini, actually made and exported by Sweden, was the only way to sneak through the Dardanelles Strait and the Sea of Marmara to reach Istanbul, which sprawled along both sides of the Bosporus Strait, just before the Black Sea. The Dardanelles was thirty miles long, but parts were barely three miles wide. The exit into the Marmara was shallow — seventy-five feet — and studded with wrecks. Challenger or Ohio could hardly hope to get through without being detected, and their presence was strictly forbidden by international law. An incursion by the minisub was ticklish enough, from the diplomatic perspective as well as from the navigational one.

“Lieutenant Estabo?” a young voice called from the bottom of the ladder leading into Challenger proper.

Felix stuck his head through the wide-open bottom hatch of the mini. “Yo.” Felix recognized the kid down there looking up at him. A messenger.

“Sir, Captain Fuller sends his compliments, and requests your presence in his stateroom with the two chiefs from your team.”

“Coming.” Both chiefs, Porto and Costa, were in the control compartment, so Felix asked them to follow him. He climbed down the ladder, through the functional gray-painted metal air-lock trunk that connected Challenger’s in-hull pressure-proof minisub hangar to the rest of the ship. Felix and his chiefs came out near the enlisted mess. Between meals now, some men were watching a movie, others studied for their qualifications to earn their silver Dolphins, and two crewmen played very competitive checkers.

Felix admired the ability of the new guys to concentrate despite the sound track of the movie and the chatter in the mess, as they crammed diagrams of hydraulics or electrical or compressed-air systems. He knew they could have used their sleeping racks as study carrels, where things would be very quiet — but many submariners craved company above privacy, enjoyed the constant crowding and found it, if anything, cozy, and soon learned to tune out irrelevant noise.

It’s a unique lifestyle these people lead.

Gamal Salih was standing there, waiting for Felix.

“Feel like a coffee, Gamal?”

“By all means.”