17
12 Jun 2000, 0653LT (11 Jun, 2153Z)
“SAN FRANCISCO this is Alpha Alpha. Jon, you were right. Chief of Staff was sitting on four Queens. You saved me a bundle. Someday you have to tell me what is going on. You are clearly doing something other than just escorting the ESSEX ARG. I picked up the phone with COMPAC Fleet to tell him your crazy idea and the next thing I know, the whole Pacific Air Force is scrambled to get you not one, but two bearings. They are inbound to NIMITZ now. An OSPREY is onboard and ready to deliver them to you. I’m sending you a couple of cases of beer for your crew. They’ve sure earned it. ETA over SAN FRANCISCO in one hour.”
“Thanks Admiral. The crew will appreciate the beer. Wish I could tell you what we are doing. I know you understand the security and ‘need to know’ associated with this. All I can tell you is that the orders start out with the words “matters of highest national priority.” We should have one main available in four hours. Estimate another eight hours for both engines. SAN FRANCISCO out”.
12 Jun 2000, 0830LT (11 Jun, 2330Z)
The dark gray painted twin-engine aircraft flew low and fast just above the placid sea. The grotesquely over-sized propellers kicked up a trail of mist and spray behind it. Just before passing directly over the surfaced sub, the plane executed a maneuver impossible for any other aircraft. The pilot rotated the plane’s twin turbo prop engines, located at the ends of stubby wings, until the huge propellers became overhead rotors. In seconds, the fast moving aircraft had been transformed into a hovering helicopter. The large rear ramp rumbled down and a net filled with several boxes was lowered by a single line to the waiting submarine’s deck.
As the OSPREY came to a hover, four blue coverall clad sailors emerged from the submarine’s deck hatch into the brilliant morning sunshine. The downdraft from the hovering OSPREY tore at their poopie suits. They were quickly drenched from the spray.
The sailors unloaded the boxes from the net and lowered them carefully down the open hatch. In less than five minutes the exchange had been completed. The OSPREY resumed normal flight and disappeared over the horizon as the submarine slipped below the waves. Not even a ripple remained to show that anything had happened at this lonely point in the ocean.
12 Jun 2000, 1810LT (0910Z)
“Alpha Alpha, this is SAN FRANCISCO. All repairs are complete. Answering bells on both main engines. Able to answer all bells. Will be running deep and fast to next op area. Out of communications for next 20 hours. Will be standing by for any bell ringers for tasking changes. Detaching LAKE ERIE to return to battle group and the P-3 escort to other duties. SAN FRANCISCO out.” Hunter placed the red phone back in its holder.
Turning to the Jeff Miller, who peered out the periscope, Hunter directed, “OK Officer of the Deck. Let’s go deep and fast. We have a rendezvous to make. Make your depth eight hundred feet and answer ahead flank.”
Turning his attention to Warran Jacobs, bent over the chart table checking their progress, Hunter asked, “Nav, how does it look to get there on time?”
“Well Skipper, the Eng cut it real close. If we run at flank and only come up to copy the broadcast every twenty four hours, we should just skid in on time,” Jacobs replied, looking up from the chart for a second.
Finally free of the restricted waters of the Torres Straits and able to fly once again, SAN FRANCISCO lunged ahead. They raced through the Arafura and Timor Seas, out into the Indian Ocean. Altering course to the Northwest , they headed toward the Sunda Straits, the only passage deep and wide enough to allow them submerged access into the Java Sea without the fear of being detected.
14 Jun 2000, 0330LT (13 Jun, 2030Z)
Bill Fagan sprang up, wide-awake. Normally a light sleeper, especially at sea, and troubled by the recent past, he was instantly jarred from his slumber. The lights in his tiny stateroom suddenly blinked on.
No one else was in the confined space. Grumbling under his breath, he walked over to the switch and flipped it. Nothing happened. He flipped it again and still nothing. The lights stayed on. Damn it, what was causing this?
He picked up the MJ phone and selected the OOD’s station. When Sam Stuart answered, he requested, "Officer of the Deck, have the auxiliary electrician report to my stateroom to check a faulty light switch."
Within minutes, the young electrician was at his door. Bill Fagan explained, "The light came on by itself and I can't get it to turn it off." He stepped aside to give the AE room to investigate. The electrician reached over and flipped the switch. The lights went out. Another flip of the switch and they came back on.
The petty officer turned to the XO and said, “Switch seems to work fine. Must be MES. Magic Electric Shit.”
As the AE left, Chief Jones peeked around the corner and smiled.
CDR Hunter yelled through the doors that connected their staterooms, “XO, read this “Personal for” from SUBPAC. Do you believe this! What a tangled tale.”
Hunter was sitting at his desk, reading the message
