Exit Plan

we egress together. I also signal Commander Mitch — I mean the XO — that we are feet wet. After we are back on board the ASDS, I’ll check our guests for hypothermia, just to be safe.”

Jerry finished. “Higgs and I will keep the ASDS at periscope depth with both masts exposed, about a foot of mast out of the water. Once we receive your signal we’ll move in to meet you as water depth allows. Once the swimmers are close by, I’ll broach the ASDS to allow access to the upper hatch. After everyone is back aboard, we get as deep as we can and retrace our route back to Michigan.”

Lieutenant Ramey nodded approvingly. “That’s the plan. Now, last chance. Any more thoughts on the last- minute change?”

Jerry replied first. “Doubling the distance is still well within the margin for the batteries. The usage curves on the exercises we ran were close to the manufacturer’s specs. The only issue was the power surge during the last run. Alex, have you been able to run that issue to ground?”

“We think so, sir,” replied Carlson. “We replaced a motor controller on one of the aft thrusters that had an intermittent ground. We’ve checked both the new motor controller and the batteries with three diagnostic runs and they’ve come up green each time.”

Fazel chimed in and said, “I’ve already raised my concern. If there are casualties, it doubles the time until they’re treated.”

Captain Guthrie answered, “If you need to get back aboard quickly, I’ll bring Michigan in to meet you. Of course, I’ll have to get permission, but we’ll have a mast up, and line of sight to the RC-135 if the SATCOM doesn’t work.”

Ramey nodded politely, but didn’t look reassured. “If we’ve been shot at, sir, there may be pursuit.”

“Not a problem, Lieutenant. We’ve got to rendezvous submerged, and the IRGC Navy has no ASW capability at all, either with planes or their surface craft. As long as we can avoid visual detection, we’ll be able to rendezvous safely.”

“And since the rendezvous will be after dark,” Jerry added, “they’d have to be right on top of us even to see Michigan while at periscope depth.”

“And if all goes according to plan, sir, we won’t have to ask.” Ramey looked around the space. “Anyone else? No? Then we muster here at 1515 hours for final checks.” He grinned. “And remember to pee! There are no rest stops along the way.”

5 “ABANDON SHIP!”

3 April 2013

1615 Local Time/1315 Zulu

USS Michigan

Jerry and Guthrie emerged from the captain’s stateroom and walked casually to the ladder well that led up to the control room. Jerry had traded in his dark blue coveralls for a set of desert cammies. Other than the pixelated combination of tan, brown, gray, and olive drab colors of the Type II Navy Working Uniform, there were no rank insignia, nametag, warfare patch, or anything else that could identify the wearer as belonging either to Michigan or the U.S. Navy. He was also armed. The SIG Sauer P226 pistol rested in a paddle holster on his right side; while four fifteen-round magazines were on his left. At first, Jerry had protested that this was a bit over the top. After all, he was just piloting the ASDS, nothing more. Ramey and Higgs were adamant that Jerry be armed. But it was Alex Carlson who broke through when he pulled his XO aside and said, “Just wear the damn thing, sir. I would if I were going.”

“Status, Mr. Simmons,” barked Guthrie as he entered control.

“We are on station, hovering, Captain. Depth is one three zero feet with forty-eight feet beneath the keel. We’ve had twelve sonar contacts. Four are classified as tankers and are well to the west and south of us in established shipping lanes. Six are classified as fishing trawlers, heading toward either Bandar Kangan or Dreyyer. They are all past CPA and opening. The last two were probably patrol boats, as they were moving quite fast. One was headed in the direction of Lavan Island. We just lost the other as it headed north into shallow water. No contacts are estimated to be within eight thousand yards, and ASDS launch stations are manned and ready.”

“Well done, Isaac,” Guthrie complimented his navigator. Then, with a touch of sarcasm he added, “See, it wasn’t that hard.”

Simmons laughed wearily. Jerry knew the junior officer had been doing port and starboard watches to ensure that they made the deadline, without being detected or running into something. And with the exception of one rude surprise, the transit to the launch site went off without a hitch.

“Thank you, sir. But I don’t think I need that many gray hairs just yet,” replied Simmons, visibly relieved.

“Nonsense! It suits you. Besides, you need those occasional surprises to add spice to your life.” The captain was clearly in a good mood, although he was just as surprised as everyone else when the loud THUMP, THUMP, THUMP of a ship’s propeller had been heard through the hull.

Two hours ago, a large ship, probably a supertanker, had passed very close to Michigan, and none of the submarine’s sensitive sonar arrays had heard a thing until it was right on top of them. Looking at the ship’s course as it passed by, it became clear that the bow of the tanker had been pointing directly at Michigan. Even a large noisy ship, normally easy to detect, can become a ghost if a sonar array is looking straight at the bow. The phenomenon, called a bow null, occurs when the ship’s structure and cargo absorb the noise from the propulsion plant at the very back. Simmons had turned pale when he estimated that there might have been as little as fifty feet between the tanker and Michigan.

“Sir, surprises like that lead to heart attacks,” Simmons countered heartily.

Guthrie shrugged his shoulders as he reached over to the intercom. “Sonar, Conn. Report all sonar contacts.”

“Conn, Sonar,” responded Lieutenant Junior Grade Andy Buckley, Michigan’s, sonar officer. “We currently hold eleven sonar contacts. Sierra seven eight is classified as a tanker. He bears zero nine eight and has just dropped anchor. Sierra eight zero bears one two two and is heading southeast at high speed. Classified as a patrol boat. Sierra seven nine and eight two are tankers, bearing two one zero and two five six. Both are heading northwest. Sierra eight three, also classified as a tanker, is currently in our baffles. Contact is tracking to the southeast. The remaining six contacts are all fishing trawlers off our port bow, heading home to either Deyyar or Kangan. No close contacts.”

Guthrie took in the report as he quickly glanced at the fire control display’s tracks for the eleven contacts. Satisfied that his people had good situational awareness, he hit the intercom button again. “Sonar, Conn. Woody, we’re coming up for an observation. With us at a dead stop, keep a sharp ear.

“Conn, Sonar, aye.”

“Mr. Simmons, bring her up to eight zero feet,” Guthrie ordered.

“Bring her to eight zero feet, aye, sir.”

While Simmons had the ship’s diving officer and chief of the watch bring Michigan to periscope depth, Guthrie turned to Jerry and said, “We’ll take a quick look around and if all’s clear, we settle back down to a hundred and thirty feet and get you and the SEALs on your way.”

“Sounds good to me, sir. I’d like to get this excursion started,” replied Jerry with a smirk. “The SEALs are beginning to get that trapped animal look, and I was afraid they might start chewing off limbs to escape.”

“Long stays on a boat are agonizing for SEALs,” stated Guthrie. “They tolerate it just as long as there is a meaningful reason for being here. For them, it’s all about being down range and in the thick of it. They think we’re absolutely crazy for staying in a steel sewer pipe for seventy-five days at a crack.”

“Yeah, well, anyone who intentionally leaves a perfectly good submarine isn’t all there in my book, Skipper. And yes, I’m including myself in that category.”

Guthrie chuckled at Jerry’s comment. “Well, just get in and out as fast as you can. I’d like to let the SEALs off before one of them pops a gasket. I think Holt has managed to imprint his forehead on just about every piece of kit above the six-foot mark.”