Clark rolled out of his bunk and climbed around and over the clothes, shoes, and other stuff strewn about by the four men who shared his tiny cabin. Outside, the night was warm and dark; a wide band of stars sprinkled from horizon to horizon. Tommy stopped for a moment and gazed upward. The stars down here were so different from the ones he was familiar with. It was one more reminder that this tropic sea was far from the Malibu beaches below Pepperdine.
He climbed up to the bridge just in time to bump into the captain as he stormed out of the bridge house.
“Damn oiler. If I told the Chief Engineer to clean it once, I told him a thousand times,” the captain muttered angrily, more to himself than to Clark. “Now the main bearing’s gone and seized.”
Clark wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about, but the grizzled old man was a veteran of forty or so years at sea. If he was in this state, it couldn’t be good news.
Clark asked, “This going to delay us long?”
The captain nearly exploded. “If that incompetent idiot really got the bearing ceased, we’re done. Ain’t no way to make the screw go round. I should’a thrown that scum over the side when he first whined his way on to my crew. Damn Flip can’t tell a bearing from his ass.”
“What do we do?” Clark continued. The thought of drifting out here while the crew tried to repair the ship didn’t appeal to him at all.
“We sit here, is what we do. Ain’t no choice. We sit until someone comes along that can tow us to the nearest port. Might be a week or two. Ain’t much traffic this way. Nearest land is that island over to port. Place called Nusa Funata. Chart shows it deserted and restricted by the Indonesian Navy.
12 May 2000, 0510LT (1310Z)
Commander Jonathan Hunter greeted the dawn as he did every Saturday he was in port; by racing to the top of Tantalus Mountain and then over to Round Top and back down to the park at the foot of the mountains. It was his favorite run. There was no one to bother him and no way for anyone to intrude. It was a time to think; to rehash the past week and to plan ahead. And a chance to blow the dust out of his system. Hunter always ran alone on this run.
The night was still black when he climbed out of his car at the entrance to Tantalus Park. The houses up on the left were all dark. It was much too early for anyone to be about. The sparsely spaced streetlights pointed the way up the steeply sloping street. The tall blonde man bent to check his running shoes. Satisfied, he reached into the car and grabbed a water bottle before locking the vehicle.
He headed up the road with an easy loping stride. The first couple of miles were steep city streets. His legs were tight and his lungs burned from the exertion. The street snaked back and forth as it wound its way past some of Honolulu’s most exclusive addresses. Somewhere a dog barked in protest at having his sleep disturbed.
By the time Hunter had run a couple of miles, he was warmed up and easily shifted to a faster pace. Up this far, the houses gave way to dense forest. The sharp scent of eucalyptus invigorated his lungs. He raced at top speed, up the center of the dark road. Except for the stars dancing through the leaves, he might be running in a cave.
He didn’t get to do this often enough. It seemed like he was spending thirty hours a day on the boat. There was always more to do than he had time for. Peg, his wife, only half joking called the sub “his mistress” or when she was really exasperated, that “black bitch.” But, to be fair, he had trained his entire life for just one purpose, to command a nuclear submarine. And now he commanded the SAN FRANCISCO.
The eucalyptus abruptly gave way to rainforest at the ridge top. Koa, wild guava, and mango trees were washed by a gentle warm mist pulled from the Westerly winds as they were lofted up over the Ko’olau Mountains.
It always seemed there was something demanding his immediate attention. The crew and young officers to train, making sure the never-ending maintenance was up-to-date. But lately the problem seemed to center more and more around one man. Ever since Captain Calucci had taken command of the squadron, he seemed to go out of his way to make life hard for Hunter and the SAN FRANCISCO. Hunter had seen Calucci’s type before; the ones who would do anything, walk over on anyone, to move up the chain. Calucci was determined to make Admiral, and he didn’t care who got hurt along the way.
Sweat poured from his brow as Hunter raced along the ridge road connecting the two peaks. The road swung around a sharp bend and plunged down off Round Top. He suddenly emerged from the rainforest when the road made around a sharp left turn. A sharp right and the road was clinging to the edge of a steep slope. The mountainside fell away sharply to the Moana Valley, a thousand feet below. The panorama of Honolulu from the Ko’olaus, past Diamond Head, to Pearl Harbor, never failed to take his breath away. Hunter always tried to time his run so that he arrived here as the first rays broke over the mountains and
