The mission planners were back at work in the wardroom, planning re-strikes on all the missions that had been flown just in case they were needed. This time the launch basket would be much closer to the coast of Nusa Funata to shorten the flight time. There was no need for surprise or simultaneous arrival of several missiles. If the SEALs needed a re-strike, they would need it now. There would be no time for fancy maneuvers.
Hunter looked at the digital time display on the bulkhead behind the periscope stand. The B-2 was airborne by now and 1500 miles into its 9000-mile journey. Could he and the SAN FRANCISCO/SEAL platoon finish the task in time to turn the bomber around before it delivered its awful load?
26
23 Jun 2000, 0930LT (0130Z)
The FFG was steaming away from Nusa Funata. Hunter could see the bow wake it was kicking up. He estimated that it was doing at least twenty-five knots. Hunter lowered the scope.
Chief Holmstad confirmed his guess. "Conn, sonar. Sierra two-five-one has increased speed. Turn count for twenty-seven knots of one five-bladed screw."
Hunter spoke into the open microphone to sonar, "Chief, that equates to the frigate. Agree with the speed increase. His bow wave is half way back his side. Real bone in the teeth. Probably doing flank."
"Conn, sonar, aye.
Hunter turned to Fagan, standing on the starboard side of control with the rest of the fire control party. "Still nothing we can do. He hasn't done anything that constitutes a hostile act. I don't know if he is helping the terrorists or just out on patrol. We'll continue to track him until we know his intentions or we have to help the SEALs."
Fagan nodded. "Yes, sir."
Hunter watched Fagan closely. He appeared to be acting normally. No sign of breaking. Yet.
Time for another check on the frigate. Hunter ordered, "Raising number two scope for a look around."
The flight of four F-14s came roaring over the horizon. The OSPREYs air cover had arrived.
“Conn, ESM. The frigate’s fire control radar has shifted to targeting mode. Looks like they are getting ready to fire on the F-14s.”
Hunter quickly lowered the scope and turned to the fire control party, “That pretty much answers the question of the frigate’s intentions. They’ve locked onto the F-14’s with fire control radar. That constitutes a hostile act. We’ll attack the frigate and we need to be quick, before they get a bird in the air."
Hunter shouted, “Observation, number two scope, on the frigate.”
The litany signaled to everyone in control the Captain was going to be looking at the frigate using the periscope. It was time for absolute silence. The whole cycle of raising the scope from its well, making the observation and lowering the scope back to the well would take less than ten seconds. The scope would be exposed above the water for only about three seconds. It was vital to gather all the available information from that three-second-mind picture without any distraction.
“Up scope,” he ordered as he squatted at the base of the stainless steel ring guarding the hole in the deck that was the scope well.
The smooth greased cylinder of the periscope moved rapidly upward in front of him. As the optics section cleared the ring, he slapped down the two handles, spun the scope around to look down the bearing toward the frigate, placed his right eye to the eyepiece and began to rise with the scope.
As he rose, Jon Hunter’s vision dimmed and tunneled in from the outside. Darkness surrounded him and an incredible feeling of dizziness and disorientation overcame his senses. The tunnel of light in his vision narrowed until all the light disappeared. With a low moan, he slid down the front of the scope to lay prostrate on the deck.
Petty Officer Buell grabbed the 1MC microphone hanging on the bulkhead behind the periscope stand and shouted, “Corpsman, lay to control! The Captain is down!”
A brief moment of pandemonium broke out in control as they all realized that Hunter lay on the deck unconscious.
Fagan reached over to lower the periscope and said in a loud commanding voice, “Quiet everyone. The Skipper is out. Doc will take care of him. We have a target that we need to attack. Engineer, you take over as Fire Control Coordinator. I will do the approach. Carry on.”
Doc Pugh rushed into control carrying his emergency equipment bag. Kneeling beside Hunter, he checked over the downed Captain. Although still unconscious, Hunter's vital signs were near normal. Enlisting the aid of two sailors, Doc carried Hunter out of control and laid him in his stateroom bunk.
Hunter began to slowly regain consciousness, although he was still very groggy. “WWWhat happened?” he questioned as he came around.
“I warned you,” Doc said. “You passed out in control. Too much coffee, not enough rest. It was bound to happen. Something’s lowering your blood pressure and it’s not doing it all the time. You are going to lay there for awhile.”
“Nonsense, I have an attack,” Hunter said as he started to sit up and immediately fell back on the pillow. “Ohhh, dizzy,” he said.
“Now, maybe you’ll do
