The Duty Intelligence Officer went back to his stack of reports and didn’t give the fishing boats another thought.
Four hours later, the on-coming Plot Supervisor examined the master tactical plot as part of his preparations for assuming the watch. He pointed to the track history for Lieutenant Commander Fisk’s fishing trawlers.
“What the hell were these guys doing?”
The off-going Plot Supervisor shrugged. “Fishing, probably. The intel officer got a bug up his ass and made me put them on the plot.” He laughed. “Why? Do you think they’re fishing in a manner that poses a threat to the security of the United States of America?” The last part was in an exaggeratedly masculine voice that was obviously meant to mimic the overly histrionic narrators used in Navy training videos.
The on-coming Plot Supervisor didn’t smile. “I don’t think they’re fishing at all,” he said. He pointed to the track history. “Look at all these course changes, like they were weaving a blanket, or something. If they were fishing, they ran over their own nets at least a dozen times. Where are they now?”
The off-going Plot Supervisor yawned and stretched. “They pulled back into Zubayr about forty minutes ago. Why? What do
“You’ve got me by the short and curlies,” the on-coming supervisor said. “But you can bet your ass it wasn’t fishing.”
CHAPTER 42
Captain Bowie addressed the small group of men and women gathered around the wardroom table. “I apologize for calling this meeting at such a late hour, but we may very well be in combat again by tomorrow morning, and that means we have to make our preparations tonight.” His eyes lit on the commanding officer of USS
“I’d like to thank Commander Vargas, and her USW Officer, Lieutenant (junior grade) Sherman, for accepting my invitation to join us tonight. I know that they have personnel casualties and damage-control issues to deal with back on their own ship, and I can appreciate how difficult it must have been to tear themselves away.”
Commander Vargas nodded. “I’m glad to be here, Captain. This really isn’t an easy time to leave my ship, and I have to confess that I was tempted to send Lieutenant (jg) Sherman by himself. But I have a top-notch exec, and I’m certain that my ship is in the best of hands. Still, I had to do some soul searching before deciding to come. Here’s what made up my mind … Our SAU is down to two ships now, both of which are damaged. We have a tremendous amount of firepower at our command, but very little of it can be brought to bear against a submerged submarine, which tells me that we probably can’t outrun this guy, and we certainly don’t outgun him. If we’re going to sink that submarine, we’re going to have to out-think him.” She looked around the table. “And since this is where most of that thinking is going to take place, this is where I need to be tonight.”
Captain Bowie nodded. “Well said, Commander. Well said.” He looked at the XO. “I’ve asked my executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Tyler, to kick us off with an outline of our current status. Pete?”
The XO nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He paused for a second and briefly consulted some notes that he’d made on a yellow legal pad. “The torpedo hit that we took on the port side did a number on us. We have a hole in the hull, to the port side of the keel. We’ve estimated its size at about twenty feet by fifteen feet, but we don’t know the actual dimensions of the hole, because the compartments that it opens onto are all flooded to the overheads. If we had time, we could ask for a team of divers to conduct an underwater survey of the damage, but time is the one thing we haven’t got.
However large the hole is, we know that it’s added four inches to our draft in the aft end of the ship, and it’s given us a five-degree permanent list to port. We considered counter-flooding some compartments on the starboard side, to balance out the list and improve our stability, but we’re already hauling around enough flooding water to slow us down.
“To make matters worse, the hydraulic oil power module for the port shaft has at least a dozen leaks from shrapnel damage. We can’t control the pitch of the port screw, and right now it’s set pretty close to zero. We can spin the port shaft, but, without pitch control, it’ll just thrash the water and make a lot of noise; it won’t actually give us any headway.
“Between the weight of the flooding water and the loss of the port screw, our top speed is reduced to about eighteen and a half knots. Our engineers are working their asses off to restore pitch control to the port screw, but we can’t count on it being ready in time to be of use.”
He glanced at his legal pad again. “Personnel casualties, thank God, have been surprisingly light. Three dead, three reasonably serious injury cases — none of them life-threatening — and a couple of dozen minor injuries … sprained ankles, broken noses, and superficial lacerations, that sort of thing.”
The captain touched the bandage over his left eye and gave a grim smile. “Easy for you to say, XO. They’re only superficial when it’s not
The XO reddened. “Of course, sir. The point is, we have a few personnel shortages, but we’re not cut so short that we can’t steam or fight.” He checked his legal pad one last time. “That’s about it for now, sir. We’ve taken some lumps, but we’re not out of the fight.”
The captain nodded. “Thanks, XO. Commander Vargas, could you give us a quick rundown on your own status?”
“Of course, Captain,” Commander Vargas said. “I didn’t bring my notes, but I think I can wing it.” She thought for a few seconds. “I’m afraid that our personnel casualties were a bit heavier than yours. The rocket attack killed all six members of my bridge crew. The Helmsman was still alive when our stretcher team got to him, but he died on the way down to Sick Bay.” She paused again before continuing. “Our Ship Control Console is totally wrecked, but we’ve worked out a system of steering from the bridge. The Conning Officer has to relay his course orders to the Secondary Control Console in After Steering, and his speed orders to Propulsion Control Console in CCS. It’s awkward, but it works.
The explosion blew out most of the windows, so the watch team is constantly getting about twenty knots of hot desert wind right in the face. Not pleasant, but they’re dealing with it.
“Let’s see …” she said. “What else?”
“The helo,” Lieutenant (jg) Sherman said softly.
“Right,” said Commander Vargas. “Thanks. Since
“Thank you, Commander,” the captain said. “I guess we’re ready for the tactical part of the brief. Ready, Chief?”
Chief McPherson unrolled a navigational chart of the Arabian Gulf and laid it on the table. “Yes, sir.” On the chart, in colored marker, she had drawn a series of lines and symbols describing the current tactical situation. The last known position of
Based on the submarine’s maximum submerged speed of twenty knots, this dashed line — or farthest-on circle — represented the farthest that it could have possibly traveled in two and a half hours.“This chart is already time-late,” Chief McPherson said. “A contact moving at twenty knots will travel two thousand yards in three
