Sea of Shadows

willpower only went so far. Her energy reserves were running low, and she’d have to put in some major sack time in the not-too-distant future.

But she was all right for now. Or, rather, she would be after a little nap.

She looked up at the big red digits on the CIC battle clock. She and the sonar watch teams were due for turnover at 2145—in a little less than thirty minutes — and that nap was starting to look better all the time. With any luck, the subs wouldn’t show up during the watch turnover, the way they had the last time.

She slurped the last swallow of coffee and made a face when the cold, sludge like liquid hit her taste buds. She was in the process of picking stray grounds off the tip of her tongue when it hit her. She stared dumbly at the CDRT for several seconds with her tongue still sticking out. Last time, the subs had struck during the watch turnover. But what about the time before that?

Her tongue retreated into her mouth. She punched keys on the CDRT, calling up a history of encounters with the German submarines. The data she was looking for came up quickly. The subs had tangled with the Antietam SAU at 2152, right in the middle of watch relief for the 2200–0200 watch. The day before, in the Gulf of Aden, they’d nailed the Kitty Hawk strike group at 0647, during the turnover for the 0700–1200 watch.

The pattern fell apart when she looked at the attack on the British ships in the Straits of Gibraltar. That one had taken place at 0348, and the Brits wouldn’t have been turning over the watch then.

Or maybe they had been …

In the late 1990s, in response to reduced manning, the U.S. Navy had shifted from six watches a day to five. Instead of the traditional rotation, with six four-hour watches per day, the Navy now ran a five-section rotation, with four five-hour watches and one four-hour watch — the 2200–0200.

What if the Brits were still running an old-style six-watch rotation?

That would put the Gibraltar Straits attack, which had occurred at 0348 hours, right in the middle of the 0400–0800 watch turnover!

The chief stared at the list of attacks on the CDRT and shook her head slowly. “Every time,” she said softly. “You crafty bastards hit us during watch turnover every single time. Right when we were at our most disorganized. And you were even smart enough to account for the differences between our watch rotation and the British rotation.”

She glanced up at the battle clock above the Aegis display screens again. The large red digits read 21:22. The early birds would start trickling in about ten minutes from now, but the majority of the reliefs would show up at about 2140. She keyed her mike. “TAO — USWE, I think I know when the subs are planning to attack, sir.”

The Tactical Action Officer on watch was Lieutenant Nylander, the Operations Officer. His voice sounded as tired as Chief McPherson felt.

“USWE — TAO. Practicing a little black magic over there, Chief?”

“No, sir. Just your run-of-the-mill crystal ball. And if you’ll step over here to the CDRT, I’ll show it to you.”

“On my way,” the TAO said.

* * *

Two minutes later, he keyed his mike. “Bridge — TAO. Call away GQ.”

“TAO — Bridge. Say again?”

“Bridge — TAO. Call away General Quarters. Do it now! We’re about to be attacked. I’ll give you the details in a minute.”

“Bridge, aye!”

The raucous growl of the General Quarters alarm began to blare from every 1-MC speaker on the ship. After a few seconds, the alarm was replaced by the amplified voice of the Officer of the Deck, “General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations. Set Material Condition Zebra throughout the ship.”

The alarm and announcement were repeated, and as soon as the speakers fell silent, the TAO keyed into Navy Red. “All units, this is SAU Commander. Post-mission analysis of every encounter with the hostile submarines shows that the Germans have attacked during scheduled watch turnovers on every single occasion. I say again — the Germans have shown a preference for attacking during scheduled watch turnover. Recommend all units set General Quarters and prepare for USW action, over.”

The ship’s standard for manning battle stations and setting material condition Zebra (all watertight doors and hatches closed) was seven minutes. It was just a few minutes before taps, and a goodly portion of the crew would be asleep already. They’d be lucky to do it in twelve or fifteen minutes. The TAO decided to try to speed things up by getting the crew’s attention. He keyed into the 1-MC and spoke to the entire ship. “This is the Tactical Action Officer. We have reason to believe that the ship will be attacked by hostile submarines within the next ten to fifteen minutes.

This is the real thing, people. Get to your stations now! The safety of this ship depends on it.”

* * *

The XO made it to CIC in about two minutes, followed by the captain about three seconds later. They were both still zipping coveralls and tying shoes as they gathered at the CDRT. The XO rubbed his left eye. “What have you got, Brian?”

The TAO nodded toward Chief McPherson. “Chief? It was your idea, you tell them.”

Chief McPherson pointed to the flat screen display. “The Germans always attack during watch turnover, sir.”

The CO ran a hand vigorously over his hair several times. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir,” the chief said. “They’ve done it every single time. With us and with the British Navy.”

Seats were filling all around CIC, as watchstanders in various stages of battle-dress took their stations. Over the 1-MC, the Damage Control Assistant’s voice said, “This is the DCA from CCS. General Quarters time — plus four minutes. All stations expedite setting Zebra.”

The captain looked up at the battle clock. It read 21:31. “Well, Chief, we’ll know if you’re right in the next fifteen minutes or so.”

* * *

CCS reported that all stations were manned with material condition Zebra set at 2135. The TAO nodded. Eight minutes was not bad, considering the circumstances.

* * *

A couple of minutes later, Benfold reported ready for battle, followed by Ingraham a minute or so after that.

* * *

The critical moment, 2145, came and went with no sign of the submarines. By 2155, everyone was stealing glances at the clock. At 2158, Chief McPherson said, “Come on … I know you’re out there …”

Another minute passed. The chief was about to say something when a message came in over Navy Red. “SAU Commander, this is Ingraham. Contact report to follow. Time, twenty-one fifty-nine Zulu. My unit holds passive broadband contact, bearing three-one-five. Initial classification: POSS-SUB, confidence level low, over.”

Chief McPherson looked at the CDRT. “Three-one-five? That’s on the other side of the formation. How in the hell did they slip past us?”

The TAO keyed up Navy Red. “SAU Commander, aye. Your contact designated Gremlin Zero One. My unit standing by to launch Firewalker Two-Six when contact is localized. Request you confirm your Gremlin is northwest of formation, over.”

“SAU Commander, this is Ingraham. Affirmative. Gremlin Zero One is behind the formation and outside the straits. Believe contact has penetrated our barrier. Request permission to break formation to pursue, over.”

“Ingraham, this is SAU Commander. Stand by, over.”

The TAO looked at Captain Bowie. “What do you think, sir? Do we let Ingraham break formation?”

The captain turned to Chief McPherson. “How about it, Chief? Did those subs sneak by us?”

Blue lines of bearing were beginning to appear on the CDRT, angling away from