“XO, there's still some stuff we need to talk about,” Hunter called through the doors to the shared head that separated his stateroom from the XO's.
Bill Fagan stepped through and took a seat at the small settee that served as the outboard bulkhead of the closet-like CO's stateroom. Hunter remained seated at the small fold-down desk that made up most of the after bulkhead.
The wood-grain Formica-paneled stateroom was a study in compact placement. All of the necessary facilities for the Commanding Officer to live and conduct the day-to-day operations of the complex ship were clustered in easy reach. The settee folded down into a narrow bunk. A large, heavy safe containing classified material and papers sat above the fold-down desk, while the space below the desk contained drawers. Just outboard of the desk were several small electronic panels that displayed vital functions from the ship’s systems. Also included was a telephone handset that allowed him to communicate with key stations around the sub.
“Skipper, sure looks like a mission for the books, doesn’t it?” the Bill Fagan said as he flopped down onto the upholstered seat.
Hunter glanced up from reading the message boards and nodded, “And my last in the Navy. Wouldn’t expect it to be run-of-the-mill. My retirement papers came in today’s mail, effective upon relief.” He paused. “Any word on naming my relief?”
“Nothing official, but scuttlebutt over at SUBPAC has someone in the next Prospective Commanding Officers Class getting the nod. So, you’ve made up your mind?” answered Fagan.
“It's time to go,” Hunter sighed. “I want to be there as the girls finish growing up. I’ve already missed too much.
Hunter slowly shook his head, “When I started this business, we were deep in the Cold War. We were scared, but we knew the mission.”
He removed his reading glasses and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Now it’s worse. At least then we had a threat that we could see. We knew that their leaders were logical. Now it's all these terrorist groups and religious fanatics. Don't even know where it's coming from." Hunter sighed. "I don’t mind telling you that I’m scared.”
After a pause to change topics, Hunter said, “Anyway, we need a list of the problems and how to deal with them. The first thing that comes immediately to mind is security. I sure didn’t like what the Commodore was saying about possible security leaks here on the Islands. The group that knows the total picture is small; you and I on the boat, the Commodore at the Squadron, Admiral O'Flanagan and his special intelligence officer over at SUBPAC.
"The larger risk is someone piecing information together. There’s not much more that we can do about hiding our underway. I want to dive as soon as we are clear of the buoy Papa Hotel. We'll then head due south for a day before we start to head west. SUBPAC is bringing CHICAGO around to delouse us. Anything after that, we’ll just have to deal with as it comes along.”
Hunter stood and rummaged in his safe. “Let's not brief the wardroom on any part of the operation until we are submerged. Until then, they'll think that this is just another weekly op. We’ve done enough exercises with the SEALs so the crew might buy it for a little while. The Navigator, communicator and the leading radioman will have to be told something about what to expect, at least where we are headed. Let’s get them in the wardroom right after the pre-underway briefing.”
“OK, Skipper, I’ll set that up,” the XO acknowledged.
Hunter continued, "And remember, XO, nobody’s to know about the smallpox. That's the really important thing. Remember the SUBPAC briefing. They think the terrorists stole a genetically engineered form from some Australian research lab. A very deadly new cousin to smallpox with no known vaccine. A real panic in the making if any word leaks out. Even to the crew and even after we are underway."
Just then the Weps knocked and stuck his head past the dark blue curtain covering the doorway and reported, "Excuse me, Skipper, XO. All pre-underway checks, up to two hours before departure, are done. The ship’s divers have completed their security swim of the hull and the maneuvering watch team members are all mustered in the wardroom for the briefing. Nav says the Schulers are dampening as he expected."
6
25 May 2000, 2030LT (26 May, 0730Z)
Hunter and Fagan walked down the ladder to the Middle Level Operations Compartment passageway. Not much more than shoulder width wide, it was the sub’s real center of life. The chiefs’ quarters, commonly called the goat locker, and the ship’s office were at the forward end. Along the port side of the passageway were the crew’s berthing and the tiny dual-purpose signal ejector/Doc’s office space. The access to the officers’ staterooms and the wardroom was along the starboard side.
The deck was actually the top of a hydraulically operated ramp that lifted up to mate with the upper edge of the forward hatch. When weapons were being loaded, two-ton torpedoes were gently lowered down this ramp to the torpedo room on the lowest deck.
The passageway ended with the crew’s mess. Both the crew’s mess and the wardroom were really multi-purpose spaces, eating facilities for the crew and officers, as well as a place to study or relax. Both served as meeting spaces for training and briefings.
Hunter stepped into the crowded wardroom
