Sea of Shadows

NORTHERN ARABIAN GULF

TUESDAY; 22 MAY

0328 hours (3:28 AM)

TIME ZONE +3 ‘CHARLIE’

The noise was incredible. Steaming at her maximum (damaged) speed of twenty-three knots, the Towers was generating an unholy racket. True to the Chief Engineer’s prediction, the port screw was howling like a banshee, but the damaged propeller wasn’t the only voice singing in the choir. Every pump, every fan unit, and every piece of engineering equipment was running at maximum speed. And (where possible) the acoustic suppression systems had been disabled. On the bottom of the hull, the masker belts, which were designed to inject low-pressure air into the sea to acoustically decouple the ship’s engine noise from the water, had been turned off. The prairie air system, which performed a similar function for the ship’s propeller signature by injecting air through tiny capillaries in the propeller blades, had also been turned off. In the galley, the garbage disposal was running continuously, as were the paper shredders in Radio Central. The decibel level was so high that the Chief Hospital Corpsman had asked the captain to issue an order requiring all crew members to wear earplugs.

The noise levels in CIC were slightly lower, but only slightly.

“So much for that stealth bit,” the TAO said.

The captain cupped a hand to an ear and shouted, “What?”

The TAO opened his mouth to repeat himself, but the captain held up a hand. “Just kidding. I heard you.”

“Do you think this is working?” the TAO asked.

The captain shrugged. “Hard to say. We haven’t gotten our asses blown off, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself, sir,” the TAO said. “And then I catch myself straining to hear the sound of high-speed screws. Sometimes I think I can hear a torpedo approaching, but it always turns out to be my ears playing tricks on me. Maybe it’s caused by the same portion of the brain that makes you think you hear the phone ringing every time you climb into the shower.”

“It won’t be much longer now,” the captain said. “We’re almost close enough to the Siraji coast to start our search.”

“It can’t come a second too soon,” the TAO said. “I never appreciated how wonderful silence could sound.”

Navy Red began to warble with an incoming message. The captain reached up and cranked the volume to maximum so that he could hear the radio over the noise.

“Towers, this is COM Fifth Fleet. Have your Charlie Oscar stand by for the president, over.”

Navy Red was patched into the overhead speakers, so everyone in Combat Information Center heard COM Fifth Fleet’s voice. Eyebrows went up all over CIC. President? The president? And he wanted to talk to their CO?

The captain turned to the TAO. “Slow the ship down and try to cut down on some of the racket. I’d hate for my first and probably only conversation with the commander in chief to be a shouting contest.”

The TAO nodded. “Aye-aye, sir.” He keyed his own mike and began issuing orders.

But the noise level was still largely unabated when the captain keyed up Navy Red. He spoke a little louder than usual, in the hopes that his raised voice would carry over the clamor. “COM Fifth Fleet, this is the Charlie Oscar of Towers. I am standing by for the president, over.”

The noise began to ease off as crew members rushed to silence the offending pieces of equipment.

After a few seconds, the president’s trademark baritone came over Navy Red. “Am I speaking to Captain Samuel H. Bowie?” Even through the modulations of the encryption software, the voice was instantly recognizable.

“Yes, sir, this is Captain Bowie, over.”

“Let’s dispense with the radio jargon, shall we, Captain? I don’t know much about it, and this is hardly the time to learn.”

“Yes, sir,” Captain Bowie said. “By all means.”

“Good,” the president said. “Now, may I call you Sam?”

“Um … I don’t really answer to that, sir. Most people call me Jim.”

The president’s chuckle came over the line. “Was Colonel Bowie a relation of yours?”

“Not as far as I know, sir. But I grew up in San Antonio, so the nickname was pretty much inevitable.”

“It’s a good name anyway,” the president said. “Your namesake was a warrior and a patriot. It’s a compliment to have your name associated with his.”

“I’ve always thought so, Mr. President,” the captain said.

The president paused for a few seconds. “Now Jim, as you’ve probably guessed, I don’t make it a habit of calling my Navy captains at sea. You don’t call me in the Oval Office, and I generally try to return the courtesy.”

He laughed briefly at his own attempted joke. Then he chopped it off, and the humor was gone from his voice. “So the fact that I’m calling you in the hour before battle must tell you something of how important this is.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said.

“I know that this mission has personal importance to you. The lives of your crew are at stake, and — obviously — your own life as well. The recent loss of the USS Benfold is also, no doubt, on your mind — as it should be.

Your comrades-in-arms have fallen at the hands of the enemy that you are set to face, and if there is an element of vengeance in your thinking, I don’t believe that anyone could criticize you.”

“I must admit that it’s a factor, sir.”

“If you said otherwise, I’d be inclined to doubt your word,” the president said. “But there is a larger picture here, and the stakes are greater than you perhaps imagine. If Germany manages to deliver that submarine despite the concerted efforts of our Navy, it will seriously damage the credibility of our naval deterrence. It will also prove to many of the nations who are watching that German military hardware, and German military tactics, and German military training are the equal to — if not superior to — our own. To say that this will alter the balance of power in Europe would be a gross understatement. But even that is not the worst of it. I’ve spoken at length to Prime Minister Irons, and she makes no secret of the fact that she is preparing for war with Germany. I don’t believe I need to remind you of what happened the last couple of times England and Germany went to war with each other.”

“No, sir.”

“We may have a chance to prevent that war,” the president said. “If you can send that last submarine to the bottom, we can paint this whole thing as a military disaster for Germany. Really rub the German government’s nose in it: in the United Nations, in the media, and in the eyes of the man on the street. If we can do that, I think I can talk Prime Minister Irons into accepting a symbolic defeat of Germany, in lieu of the real thing.”

The noise level was dropping rapidly now, and that was a good thing, because the president’s voice became softer. “I hate to put the pressure on you, Jim, but this may well be the most important naval engagement of our time. It’s the bottom of the ninth, and you’re our last batter.”

“We’ll do our best to put it over the back fence, Mr. President,” the captain said.

“I know you will, Jim. May God bless USS Towers and all who sail in her. Good luck and good hunting.”

The speaker warbled again, and Navy Red dropped sync. The president was off the line.

CIC was silent for nearly a minute, and then Captain Bowie clapped his hands together. “TAO, let’s get Firewalker airborne. Then tell the engineers to drop the port screw off line and set Quiet Ship.” He looked around CIC. “It’s show time, folks. Time to kill us a submarine.”