Chief Tyler reported that the IFF was operating and had today’s crypto installed.
Warran Jacobs reported, “No close contacts."
There were no surface ships inside four thousand yards.
He spun the scope around more slowly, carefully searching the horizon, “No contacts on initial low power search.”
The afternoon sun beat down on the calm blue waters. A few white, puffy clouds danced across the sky. Everything was peaceful.
“Wait, I have an airborne contact. High power. Low on the horizon. Bearing three-one-zero. Shifting to twenty-four power. Looks like a P-3 down low. Estimated range thirty thousand yards. He is headed this way.”
Chief Tyler reported, “Captain, I have Alpha Xray on Satcom. Patching it to the conn.”
Hunter picked up the red telephone handset and noted that the green light was lit, signifying that it was operating in the secure mode. “Alpha Xray this is SAN FRANCISCO. Status report follows. Over,” he said in the curious flat tonality that seemed to be reserved for military radio communications.
“SAN FRANCISCO, this is Alpha Alpha. Jonathan, this is Admiral Smith. What the hell is going on out there?”
The NIMITZ battle-group commander, Alpha Alpha, had pre-empted his ASW commander, Alpha Xray, to get a direct report. He wanted to know what was going on and fast.
“Admiral, presently on the surface. Have sustained a loss of propulsion lube oil and seized main engine bearings. Unable to make way on the mains. Initial inspections in progress.
“We took out the KILO. Have a P-3 closing us rapidly. Request you have him mark on top and then take station to provide us some air cover. Also, sure would be nice to have a surface escort,” Hunter reported.
“Jon, the P-3, call sign Xray Papa Three, has your mode four squawk. He holds you visually. He has sighted an oil slick about 10,000 yards from your position and has a stationary magnetic anomaly below the slick. We will confirm your KILO. Good work,” Admiral Smith replied
He continued, “I will detach LAKE ERIE to make best speed to rendezvous with you. His ETA is twenty hours from now. Will you require a tow?”
“I hope not. I won’t know until the inspections are completed. My best speed with the outboard is two knots. But we are making preparations to receive a tow as a precaution,” Hunter replied.
“Roger, keep me updated. Alpha Alpha out.”
Hunter replaced the handset and turned toward Jacobs.
“Well, Nav, you heard him. Tell the COB to break the towing gear out of the sonar sphere and have it ready. I really don’t relish the idea of being pulled backwards all the way to Darwin. That looks like the nearest friendly facility that could work on us,” Hunter ordered.
“Radio, switch me to the P-3’s frequency.”
“Captain, radio. You are on the P-3’s freq. Clear voice. Our call sign is Foxtrot Four Tango.”
With a nod, Hunter said, “Xray Papa Three this is Foxtrot Four Tango, over.”
“Foxtrot Four Tango, this is Xray Papa Three. Hold you visually. Have received instructions from Alpha Alpha to stay in the neighborhood. Over,” the P3 pilot replied.
“Xray Papa Three, thank you. Request you establish patrol area twenty miles around charlie-charlie. Charlie-charlie will advance corpen two-six-five, speed two. Going sinker. Will stay at papa delta and monitor this freq. Over.”
“Foxtrot Four Tango, roger. Establishing patrol area now. No contacts to report. Six hours on station time. Will have hot relief from Xray Charlie Two. Monitoring this freq.”
“Radio, Captain. Station a man monitoring the P3 freq continuously.”
“Radio, aye,” came the reply.
“OK, Officer of the Deck, submerge the ship to periscope depth,” Hunter ordered.
Jacobs immediately ordered, “Diving Officer, submerge the ship to six-two feet,” initiating the well-rehearsed ritual of turning the wallowing surface target into an undersea warrior again, if a very slow one.
The diving officer responded, “Chief of the Watch, “Dive, dive” on the 1MC and two blasts on the diving alarm.”
The Chief of the Watch stood and grabbed the microphone. His voice blared from 1MC, “Dive, Dive!” He pushed the operating lever on the diving klaxon. “Aooogha, Aoogha". He then reached forward and flipped up the switches marked Vents Forward and Vents Aft. The green bar lights above the switches changed to amber circles. He reported, “All vents indicate open.”
The diving officer ordered, "Full dive on the fairwater planes, ten degrees down angle on the stern planes."
Warran Jacobs rapidly looked for the blast of mist rising from the forward and then the after main ballast tank vents to confirm that water was rushing in the bottom of the ballast tanks, forcing the trapped air out the top. “Forward group venting. After group venting,” he reported.
“Three-six feet, three-eight feet, four-zero feet” the diving officer called out.
Jacobs reported, "Decks awash," followed quickly by, "Decks under."
Slowly the great ship slid beneath the waves. “Five-four feet, five-six feet. Zero angle on the stern planes. Zero the fairwater planes."
“Six-two feet and holding,” the diving officer reported.
Hunter stepped off the conn and headed forward. He found Fagan sitting quietly in his stateroom. He had washed his reddened face and changed into a fresh pair of blue coveralls. His head hung down as he wrote on a piece of paper at his desk.
"OK, XO, just what the hell happened out there?" Hunter asked.
"Skipper, I froze, I panicked. I was so scared that I couldn't do anything," Fagan replied plaintively. He didn't look up from his desk.
Hunter answered hotly, "We were all scared. Do you think that I wasn't scared? Everyone else
