Sea of Shadows

survivors.”

The admiral nodded. “Bowie’s a good man. Drop what you’re doing and get on the horn to OPS. I want a dive team in the air ten minutes ago.”

Moody smiled. “I’ve already taken the liberty, sir.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be airborne just about now. In the meantime, the Towers and a couple of the helos have set up a defensive screen around the rescue operations, but Captain Bowie is asking for a relief force. He’s eager to get back to the hunt.”

The admiral nodded. “I’m working on that. One way or the other, we’ll have somebody down there to cover for them before tomorrow morning. Then we have to figure out how to get Antietam towed back in to port. Or what’s left of her, anyway. Any further sign of the subs?”

Commander Moody shook his head. “Not yet, sir. But Ingraham’s helo did a fly-by of the area where they thought one of the German submarines went down. They found a field of floating debris, an oil slick, and a half-dozen bodies. No survivors. Looks like Antietam’s helo got a kill after all. And that makes us even, again. Three ships — three subs.”

“Even isn’t good enough,” the admiral said. “It’s not nearly good enough.”

Moody nodded. “Understood, sir.”

Admiral Rogers leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “You’ve got two folders there, Troy. What’s in the other one?”

Moody opened the green folder. “It’s an incoming Personal-For message from Captain Whiley, sir.”

The admiral opened his eyes. “I told Captain Bowie to keep Whiley on bed rest until we can arrange to helo him and his crew back to shore. He’s in no shape to be up and around.”

Commander Moody shrugged. “Apparently Captain Whiley doesn’t agree with your diagnosis, sir. He’s asking you to put him back in command of the SAU.”

The admiral sat up. “Is he fucking crazy?”

“I have no opinion on that, sir.”

The admiral leaned back and closed his eyes again. “Drop that message in the burn bag, son. I’m not even going to dignify it with an answer.”

CHAPTER 36

USS TOWERS (DDG-103)

STRAITS OF HORMUZ

SUNDAY; 20 MAY

0700 hours (7:00 AM)

TIME ZONE +4 ‘DELTA’

The executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Tyler, was the last to arrive. He nodded in the captain’s direction and took a seat at the wardroom table. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Just got in a message from USNS Arapaho,” he said. Arapaho was the ocean-going tug that was rigging the battered remains of the Antietam for towing. “The last of Antietam’s casualties have been evacuated to Bahrain. They’re continuing search and rescue operations in the surrounding waters, but they don’t expect to find any more survivors.

That’s the bad news. Here’s the good news: the team of rescue divers you requested finally arrived. They’ve completed their initial survey of the wreck, and you were right; there are survivors down there. The dive team has located two groups of survivors. Somebody in one of the groups is communicating with the divers by tapping out Morse code signals on the hull. There are eleven people in that group. The other group, unfortunately, doesn’t have anyone who knows Morse. They’re banging on the hull too, but the divers can’t make heads or tails out of what they’re trying to say. So they can’t tell how many people are in the second group.” The XO smiled tiredly. “The situation looks good for getting both groups out.” He shrugged. “And the divers may get lucky and find more survivors down there who haven’t been able to communicate.”

Chief McPherson shuddered involuntarily at the thought of being trapped in the hull of a sunken ship. The emergency battle lanterns would only last a few hours, and then would come a darkness blacker than anything she could imagine. After a while, the small volume of air trapped in the pocket would become stale, and then foul, and finally impossible to breathe. And the air pocket might not even hold. The unstable wreck could shift, bleeding precious air out through some newly formed crack.

The water might gradually find its way into the space, slowly flooding the compartment until all the air was gone. The chief swallowed heavily and tried to push these thoughts from her mind.

Captain Bowie nodded toward the XO. “Thanks for the update, Pete.”

He looked at the team of men and women assembled around the table.

“I’ve already said a few prayers for the crew of Antietam—the unharmed ones, as well as the injured, and the missing, and the dead. I intend to say a few more. I know that you all have different religious beliefs, and that some of you don’t believe in God in any form. But I would take it as a personal favor if you would find the time over the next few days to say a few words of prayer for the crew of Antietam.”

Every head around the table nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” the captain said. “Now, I’d like to turn this meeting over to Chief McPherson.”

Chief McPherson stood up. “Thank you, Captain.” She walked to a pair of charts that had been taped to the wall. The first was a navigational chart of the Arabian Gulf region. The second was a geographic map of the world. She nearly smiled; her visual aids were a far cry from Captain Whiley’s whiz-bang computer graphics. She pointed to the chart of the Arabian Gulf. “We are currently steaming through the Straits of Hormuz at thirty knots. Our sonars are degraded by our speed, and we are generating quite a bit of noise, which makes us vulnerable to submarine attack. But it’s a calculated risk, and the captain has decided to take it.

The German Type 212B diesel submarine has a maximum submerged speed of only twenty knots.” She pointed to the northern end of the Straits of Hormuz on her chart. “The idea is to outdistance the submarines and establish a choke point at the northern end of the straits, before the subs can get there.”

“Works for me,” the XO said. “Then what?”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to figure out, sir. The next time we encounter those subs, we have got to give them something unexpected.

And therein lies the problem. Whatever it is can’t look like something they’re not expecting.”

Ensign Cooper frowned. “I’m not following you, Chief.”

“Look at it like this,” the chief said. “In the three battles that have occurred so far, the German submarines have met only with variations of NATO tactics. By now, they are probably convinced that the U.S. Navy is too hidebound by doctrine to try anything creative. Hopefully, that means they’ll be expecting more of the same. Therefore, whatever the SAU tries should break the rules of NATO tactical doctrine without looking like it’s going to break them.”

The XO’s eyebrows went up. “So we have to hit them with something that’s not in the NATO tactical doctrine, but it has to look like something that is in the NATO doctrine?”

Chief McPherson nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I think everyone’s got the idea, Chief,” the captain said. “Move on.”

“Yes, sir. If the subs run flat-out at their top speed of twenty knots, the earliest they can possibly reach the choke point is 1100. At thirty knots, we can be on station nearly forty minutes ahead of them — more than enough time to get in position to intercept.”

The chief pointed to a series of penciled X-marks on the world map.