Detachment OIC has tactical control. More information to follow.
A low murmur arose as soon as Guthrie finished reading. Jerry snapped his fingers twice, calling for silence.
“Alright, gentlemen, and lady,” added Guthrie, nodding in Manning’s direction. “We have a no-shit hi-pri mission on our hands, and not a lot of time to get in position or prepare. We are already on course for the Persian Gulf, moving as fast as we can, given the stress limits imposed by the ASDS and the dry deck shelter docked on the turtleback. If you factor in the time for ASDS launch and transit, we have a tad over forty-three hours to get where we are supposed to be. So everyone will have to be at the top of their game.”
Flipping through the paper on the clipboard, Guthrie quickly read from a list of orders.
“Mr. Hogan and COB. Please coordinate with the XO on additional damage control drills.” Lieutenant Daniel Hogan, the damage control assistant, acknowledged the orders, as did Master Chief Eichmann with a terse “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Mr. Zelinski,” Guthrie continued, “I want an updated status report on all ship’s weapons and the UAVs. I don’t expect a fight, but the Iranians don’t always act rationally and I want to be ready just in case they make it necessary for us to defend ourselves.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the weapons officer. “I’ll have it to the XO in a couple of hours.”
“Good. Also work with the XO to schedule some additional battle stations torpedo and strike drills.” Checking off two more items, Guthrie turned toward his navigator.
“Mr. Simmons, I need you to figure out our best avenue of approach once we enter the gulf. I want an optimized plan that gets us to the desired coordinates as fast as possible, while keeping us in the deepest water possible.”
The young African American frowned. He was not happy with this assignment. “Skipper, we are talking two hundred feet of water at the very best, probably a lot less. It’s going to be frickin’ hard to maintain a decent speed without generating a visible wake on the surface. It’s hard to hide a hippo in a swimming pool!”
Jerry had to grin at Simmons’s metaphor, for while it was a little crass to compare
“You don’t see me smiling about this either, Isaac,” Guthrie replied sympathetically. “Just do the best you can, and while you’re at it please avoid shipping lanes if at all possible. I really don’t want to be in a sequel of
The frown on Simmons’s face quickly mutated into a grimace at the mention of the collision between the
Still uneasy, Simmons nodded and said, “We’ll get right on it, Captain.”
“Mr. Frederickson” — Guthrie shifted his attention to the SEAL detachment OIC — ”begin your formal mission-planning process. I want the brief back on the platoon leader order in thirty hours.”
“Understood, sir. Mr. Ramey has that for action.” Frederickson pointed toward Lieutenant Matthew Ramey, Charlie platoon’s leader, as he spoke.
“Very well,” said Guthrie as he checked his list. “One more thing for you and your SEALs to keep in mind when you start putting together your intelligence requirements for reachback support. Every time you want to transmit requirements or receive data, we have to slow down. The masts can’t handle speeds in excess of ten knots. We are operating under a very tight time line for this mission, and we can’t afford losing time for repeated periscope depth evolutions so you can phone home. So as you put together your essential elements of information needs for NAVSPECWARCOM or ONI to fill, please do so efficiently.”
“Understood,” responded Frederickson and Ramey simultaneously.
“Mr. Carlson, I want a complete check of the ASDS systems, particularly the batteries…” Guthrie’s speech came to an abrupt stop as he looked up from his clipboard and saw his ASDS pilot clearly for the first time.
Jerry saw his captain do a double take. He then removed his reading glasses and took yet another look, followed by, “Alex! What the hell happened to you!?”
Carlson just stood there silent, embarrassed.
“Uhh, I did, sir,” replied Barrineau sheepishly.
Guthrie turned toward Jerry, a look of total confusion written all over his face.
“The, uh, medical issue I mentioned earlier, Skipper,” remarked Jerry as gracefully as possible. It’s almost always a bad thing for an XO to let his boss be surprised in public, as this violates one of the primary duties of an executive officer to not let his captain look bad.
A deep calming sigh came from Guthrie. “My bad, XO, not yours. Now what do we do about this unexpected complication?” Facing Manning he asked, “I don’t suppose Alex is medically cleared to pilot the ASDS?”
“No, sir,” the doctor answered. “The fracture is in a very bad spot, just about the wrist, and I had to severely restrict that arm’s range of motion if it’s to heal properly”
“I can do it, sir,” implored Carlson. “Just give me a shorter cast for this run so I can still handle the controls.”
“Absolutely not!” Manning stated firmly. “Your strength in that arm is compromised. Trying to manhandle watertight hatches and other equipment will result in more damage.”
“Alex,” injected Jerry “You’re not going to win this one. Been there, done that, bought the wardrobe.” He bared the scars on his right wrist to emphasize the point.
“I can pilot the ASDS,” said Lieutenant Vernon Higgs. “I’m qualified and can still perform my other duties once the minisub is in position.”
“That’s too risky, Vern,” Carlson countered. “You can’t work the lockout chamber controls and support the diver egress and just let the boat sit there, even anchored, that close to the shore. And we have very little information on the bottom topography and the currents along the Central Iranian coast. Operating that boat with one of your squads going in and out is definitely a two-man job.”
“What other option do we have, Alex?” Higgs argued. “I don’t think we can get another qualified pilot out here in time.”
“Even if the Navy could find one and get him out here quickly, you’re still talking twenty-four hours at a minimum. By that time we’ll be in the Persian Gulf, probably close to the Iranian coast; how do we get him on board without drawing attention to our position? If we divert to a safer location, we’ll lose a lot of time,” Simmons added with growing frustration.
Guthrie listened intently to the brainstorming, remaining silent to allow his junior officers room to freely voice their ideas and concerns. By their expressions and comments, the SEALs all believed that the risk was acceptable for Lieutenant Higgs to perform both jobs. The submariners strongly disagreed.
Guthrie did as well. “I can’t allow Higgs to do the job alone. Too many bad things could happen. But to be honest, I’m not keen on telling my boss that I can’t do my job without help, and I don’t want to do this unless there is absolutely no other choice available to us.”
The assembly grew quiet as two-dozen brains chewed on the problem. After about fifteen seconds of awkward silence, Jerry finally spoke up. “I can pilot the ASDS, Captain.”
Every head in the room snapped in his direction. Guthrie looked quizzical, and intrigued. “Okay, XO, explain yourself.”
“Yes, sir. You know I attended some of the training sessions before this patrol, to get a better appreciation of ASDS operations, and I’ve spent some time on the simulator. I went out with Alex during both the workups and on one of the exercise events. I even managed to get some stick time. I believe I have a good feel for how the ASDS handles, and Vernon can assist with the launching and landing evolutions. I’m also a qualified Navy diver, all of which makes me the closest thing to a spare pilot.”
Guthrie took stock of his peoples’ reactions as Jerry explained his plan; both Higgs and Carlson were nodding their agreement, a good sign.
“Alex can provide some additional training while we’re en route, and Vernon and the others can make sure I understand the SEAL aspect of this mission. This should reduce the risk to an acceptable level,” concluded
