bothered by this little technicality? Safety comes from doing what works. Well, we know what works, and we are damned well going to do it. I am NOT going to jeopardize four United States Navy warships,
Chief McPherson got to her feet. Every eye in the room snapped to her. “Captain? Request permission to speak, sir.”
Breathing heavily, Captain Whiley stared at her for a few seconds.
“What is it?”
Chief McPherson swallowed and tried with limited success to still the trembling in her knees. “May I show you something, sir? It will illustrate an important point that needs to be taken into consideration, no matter whose search plans get used.”
“Very well,” Whiley snapped. “But make it fast. We don’t have time for much more of this nonsense; those submarines are getting closer every second.”
The chief nodded. “I understand that, sir. In fact, what I have to say hinges on that very thought.” She reached across the table toward the captain. “May I borrow your laser pointer, sir?”
Captain Whiley glared at her, and for a half-second he seemed to consider refusing to give her the pointer. But apparently he couldn’t think of an even remotely viable reason for refusing such a simple request, so he dropped the pointer into her outstretched palm.
“Thank you, sir.” The chief flicked the power button on the pointer and directed the beam toward the all-but- forgotten video screen. The computerized projection was nearly washed out by the fluorescent overhead lights, but enough of a ghost image was visible to make out the Straits of Hormuz and the neat black arcs and lines that represented Captain Whiley’s assessment of the tactical situation.
In the lighted room, the dot of the laser pointer appeared more pink than red. Chief McPherson maneuvered the pink dot back and forth in a semicircle, tracing and retracing a curved black line on the captain’s programmed projection.
“As I understand it, sir, this is the farthest-on circle for time fourteen hundred local. Is that correct, sir?”
“Yes,” Captain Whiley said. “Yes, it is.”
“And you computed it using the formula for diesel submarines found in standing Navy USW doctrine?”
“Of course I did.”
The chief swallowed again. “Sir, with all due respect, it’s not only wrong, it’s not even in the ballpark.”
The captain grabbed a stack of hardcopy printouts of radio messages lying on the table and began to rifle through it. “You sound pretty sure of yourself, Chief. Am I to assume that you have better access to satellite intelligence data than I do? I assure you that my data is up to the minute!”
“I’m certain that it is, sir. But you’ve calculated the rate of travel for the subs at fifteen knots for the first hour and five knots for every hour after that.”
The captain nodded. “In accordance with tactical doctrine, Chief.
Now, will you please make your point?”
“Captain, those speed figures are based on the fact that a normal diesel submarine operating on batteries can only sprint for about an hour before its batteries begin to go flat. After that, it has to slow down drastically, or it won’t have enough battery power to run even basic systems.”
The captain crossed his arms. “I know this, Chief. In fact, I’d venture to say that every person in this room knows it. That’s just about the first thing the Navy teaches you in Surface Warfare Officer school. But I’m sure we all appreciate the refresher training.” He reached for his pointer.
“Can we continue, now?”
The chief took a breath. “Captain, that theory doesn’t apply to the Type 212 diesel submarine. The 212s are equipped with an air-independent propulsion system. Basically, they’re a modified version of the hydrogen fuel cells used on the space shuttle. They can produce about 300 kilowatts of power for … well, never mind that. The point is, sir, the 212Bs can do nineteen or twenty knots submerged for days at a time.” She directed the laser pointer back toward the screen and drew a huge curve, far outside the captain’s neat black arc. “If we recalculate the farthest- on circle for a continuous speed of twenty knots, it will fall way out here somewhere.” She flicked the laser pointer off and handed it to the captain.
“Sir, those submarines are already outside of your containment area. If we go looking where doctrine tells us to, we’re going to be searching where those subs have already been. We
Captain Whiley stood without speaking, and for nearly a minute the room was silent. Then Whiley’s eyes focused on Chief McPherson, and he nodded. “Thank you for pointing out the error in my calculations, Chief.
We will, naturally, recompute the farthest-on circles using speeds appropriate for the 212 diesel submarine.”
Commander Bowie said, “Captain, with regard to the rest of the standing doctrine …”
“With regard to the rest of standing doctrine, there will be no change.”
“But sir …”
“But nothing, Commander. A single miscalculation is hardly sufficient cause to dump the entire body of our Navy’s accumulated knowledge of Undersea Warfare.”
“Sir,” Commander Culkins said, “the Germans will be able to predict our every move.”
“So what?” Whiley snapped. “Every baseball team in America plays by the same set of rules, from the same book. No secret strategies. No tricky little surprises. But somebody loses and somebody wins, every single time. Same rules. Same bases. Same ball. Because one team is faster, and better trained, and better coached, and — most important — they
He obviously didn’t expect any questions, but Commander Culkins raised his hand. “What kind of backup can we expect on this mission, sir?”
“Backup?”
“Yes, sir. Can we get P-3 assets? How about a friendly sub to run interference?”
Captain Whiley shook his head. “There will be no backup. We have been ordered to complete this mission utilizing only assets organic to our four ships. No P-3s, no friendly submarines, no cavalry. We’re on our own, here.”
Commander Bowie frowned. “Can we go back to Fifth Fleet and ask them to rethink this one? USS
Captain Whiley leaned over the table. “Admiral Rogers assures me that my orders come from the president himself, through the Chief of Naval Operations. I intend to follow those orders to the letter. And
He waited several seconds. “Good. You are dismissed. Return to your ships and make ready for combat!”
As they filed out of the wardroom, Chief McPherson leaned near her skipper and whispered, “We’re all going to die, sir.”
CHAPTER 30
