Sea of Shadows

Ingraham. SAU Commander has taken damage and cannot respond via Navy Red. You are next in seniority. Are you prepared to assume SAU Commander at this time, over?”

The reply took nearly a minute. Rachel Vargas must have been tearing her hair out over there. No commanding officer ever wanted to turn down a position of command, especially in the heat of combat, but her bridge was knocked out and most of her weapons and sensors were off line.

When she finally answered, the frustration in her voice was palpable.

“Ingraham, this is Benfold. I’d love to take the ball, but I’m in no shape to run with it. This one is all yours, Mike. Good luck, over.”

“Ingraham, aye. Break. All units, this is the commanding officer of USS Ingraham. I am assuming SAU Commander at this time. I say again, I am assuming SAU Commander at this time, over.”

He released the mike button and scanned the tactical plot. He didn’t have much of a SAU left to work with. Benfold was out of it for the moment and so was Towers. That left Ingraham and Towers’ helo, Firewalker Two- Six. His own helo, Gunslinger Four-One, was at Ready Five. He could launch it in a matter of minutes if he had to. He decided to hold off on that for the moment. So far, helicopters hadn’t faired very well against the submarines. It wouldn’t pay to risk both of the SAU’s remaining air assets at the same time.

He keyed up Navy Red. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is SAU Commander. Say your current status, over.”

“SAU Commander, this is Firewalker Two-Six. My fuel state is three hours plus zero two minutes. Three souls aboard. My load-out is one Mark-54 torpedo and a mixed rack of sonobuoys. I am currently monitoring passive buoys, tracking one POSS-SUB contact, designated Gremlin Zero Three, over.”

“SAU Commander, aye. Do you have a firing solution on contact Gremlin Zero Three, over.”

“SAU Commander, this is Firewalker Two-Six. That’s affirmative. I’ve got this guy tagged and bagged. Give me batteries released, and I’ll bring you his head on a plate, over.”

Captain Culkins thought about this for a few seconds. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is SAU Commander. You have batteries released. You are authorized to drop below two thousand feet only long enough to make your attack. Your approach and return are to be made above Angels Two, over.”

“This is Firewalker Two-Six. Copy all. Out.”

Captain Culkins swallowed. The Navy had sent helicopters after these submarines three times, and three times the helos had been blasted out of the sky. He hoped like hell he hadn’t just ordered Firewalker’s air crew to their deaths.

* * *

Firewalker Two-Six:

The pilot’s name was Lieutenant Clinton Brody, or just Clint to his buddies. He scanned his instrument panel and keyed his inter-phone.

“Start your weapons check-off list,” he said to the Sensor Operator. He looked over at his copilot, Lieutenant (junior grade) Julie Schramm.

“Here’s the plan, Jules. We stay above Angels Two for the approach. As soon as we start our attack dive, you launch a pair of flares. My guess is the sub will pickle off a heat seeker with our name on it the instant he detects our rotor wash. The flares will give the missile something to play with. As soon as our weapon is away, we bank hard to port, climb like hell, and you pop off two more flares. Got it?”

His copilot nodded. “Piece-o-cake, boss.”

“Good. Now, go ahead and make your reports.”

The copilot keyed her radio. “SAU Commander, this is Firewalker Two-Six. I am prepping for my attack run, over.”

“SAU Commander, aye. Good hunting.”

About a minute later, the Sensor Operator reported that the weapon was ready to drop. “Standing by to launch on your order, sir.”

“All right, let’s do this,” the pilot said. He nudged the stick forward, pitching his aircraft into a dive. “Weapon away on my mark”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

The copilot punched a button. “Flares away.” Two brilliant flashes of light appeared at the edges of their peripheral vision and rapidly fell away behind the aircraft.

In the darkness the ocean was invisible. But it was down there all right, rushing up to meet them at breakneck speed.

“Stand by …” the pilot said, watching the numbers on his altimeter unwind. “Launch — now, now, NOW!”

The Sensor Operator smashed his thumb down onto the firing button, and the aircraft lurched as the torpedo dropped clear. “Weapon away, sir!”

The pilot pulled back on the stick, and the helo began to climb. “Pack a bag, kids, ’cause we are out of here!”

The copilot punched another button. Two more flares ignited and fell away into the darkness. “Flares away!”

“Here it comes!” the Sensor Operator shouted. “Missile-emergence, bearing one-three-six!”

“Holy shit!” Lieutenant Brody said as he jogged his aircraft into a sharp bank to the left, still fighting for every inch of altitude he could get. “The welcoming committee doesn’t fuck around!”

Something caught his attention at the lower threshold of his hearing.

His copilot was mumbling something. Her words were very soft, and he had to strain to make them out over the hammering of the rotors. “Hail Mary, full of grace … Hail Mary, full of grace … Hail Mary, full of grace…”

He looked over his left shoulder. “Where’s the missile?”

“I don’t know, sir!” the SENSO said. “I lost it!”

“Well find it!”

Below them, a circle of the night sky flashed yellow-white as the heat-seeking missile homed in on one of the flares and detonated.

“See that?” Lieutenant Brody said. “No big deal when you fly with the pros.” His cocky tone of voice gave no hint of the fact that he’d just been hit by a nearly overpowering urge to urinate.

The SENSO held his headphone closer to his ear. “We’ve got weapon startup, sir.” A few seconds later, he added, “Looks like good placement, sir. The weapon has already acquired.”

For the briefest of instants, a patch of ocean two thousand feet below lit up like daylight.

“Bull’s-eye!” the Sensor Operator shouted. “Loud underwater explosion with multiple secondaries! I think we just bagged us a submarine!”

“Outstanding!” Lieutenant Brody said. “Now comes Miller Time …”

His copilot looked at him. “Now comes what?”

“Miller Time,” the pilot said. “You know … the old beer commercials…”

Lieutenant (jg) Schramm shrugged. “Must have been before my time, boss.”

The pilot raised an eyebrow. “It all becomes clear, now. You’re the brilliant young Jedi apprentice, and I’m the toothless old codger who must educate you in the ways of the Force.”

“I don’t know about the toothless part,” the copilot said, “but the rest of it sounds dead on the money.”

“Uh … sir?” the SENSO said. “I hate to interrupt all that official pilot talk, but I think I’m getting a sniff on the third submarine.”

The pilot stared over his right shoulder. “Get out of town, kid.”

“I’m not joking, sir. Buoys three and four are coming up hot. I’ve got narrowband tonals consistent with a Type 212 diesel submarine. I think the other member of this wolfpack is about to crash the barrier.”

“You’re not shitting me?”