the autopilot and leaned back into his chair.
Taking it all in, Jerry had to admit that the Advanced SEAL Delivery System was a serious improvement over the old Mark 8 Swimmer Delivery Vehicle or SDV. The Mark 8 was considerably smaller, less than a ton in displacement compared to the sixty-ton ASDS, and could only carry four combat swimmers in addition to the pilot and navigator. The ASDS could carry eight fully equipped swimmers along with a pilot and copilot. The SDV also had shorter legs, only about half the range of the ASDS, and was slower when fully loaded. But by far and away the biggest difference was that the Mark 8 was a “wet” platform, meaning the passengers and crew had to use scuba systems to breathe, and they were exposed to the elements. While riding was much better than swimming long distances, cold water saps a swimmer’s strength over time. The ASDS provided the SEALs with a dry environment, which meant they reached the beach at peak performance.
All in all, the ASDS was clearly a superior platform — at least in theory. In reality, it had been dogged by numerous technical problems. Initial testing showed significant design flaws with many of the onboard systems, the original propeller was too noisy, and the rechargeable silver-zinc battery wasn’t providing the required power. The attempts to fix the problems took time and, more importantly, money — lots of money. In the end the program was canceled after huge cost overruns and seemingly unending reliability problems. While the Navy hierarchy reevaluated its plans, they took the lone remaining minisub and continued to work on improving its performance. The well-proven and safer silver-zinc batteries were traded for cutting edge lithium-ion batteries to solve the power issue.
Even after all of these fixes, the ASDS continued to experience equipment failures that made the minisub a maintenance nightmare.
After twenty minutes, jerry stifled an urge to yawn. Absolutely nothing was happening. The autopilot was faithfully executing its orders and all systems were operating within spec. This was the part of the mission where one person could handle both jobs, largely because there wasn’t all that much to handle.
“Any sonar contacts, Mr. Higgs?” Jerry asked. He knew his copilot would have said something if there were, but he needed some interaction to help stay alert.
“Negative, XO, but then we don’t have the same ‘Dumbo’ ears that
“Oh, ho, ho, you might want to consider your words a little more carefully, Mr. Higgs. Woody wouldn’t take it kindly you talking trash about his gear.
“I can handle Buckley, XO,” Higgs replied confidently.
“True. Of that I have no doubt, but it’s not Woody I’d be worried about. All he has to do is mention that you’re doing an under-hull survey and somehow one of his guys will not only forget to red tag the fathometer out, but they’ll forget to turn it off! Not that I would condone such negligence, mind you.” Jerry fought hard to maintain a dispassionate expression.
Higgs winced at the thought of being underneath a fathometer when it transmitted. He’d suffered that unpleasant experience once in his career. A diver has little warning that a fathometer is actively pinging since the beam points directly downward. If you can hear it, you’re too close. Unfortunately, the acoustic pressure wave has an impact similar to that of a fast moving baseball bat, and it hurts, a lot. There were procedures in place to prevent this, but it depended on people doing what they were supposed to.
Undaunted, Higgs returned fire. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to be busy when it comes time to do the next under-hull security sweep. Besides, you wouldn’t rat on me now would you, sir?”
“Absolutely not!” said Jerry with feigned sincerity, but then after a slight pause, he added, “Well, maybe. But my silence can be bought, and at a reasonable price.”
“How magnanimous of you,” grunted Higgs. Both men laughed.
It grew quiet again as Jerry and Higgs went through their monitoring routine, looking at the status of all the systems on board. Nothing was amiss.
After several minutes, Higgs broke the silence with a loud yawn, stretching. “Yea-uh-ahh. This is the part I hate, XO. The destination promises to be exciting and sexy, but the trip there is boring and a pain in the ass. I feel like one of my kids, Are we there yet?’ “
“Please don’t go there,” Jerry groaned, as unpleasant memories of his childhood flashed into his head.
“Hey, XO, we’ve still got a long way to go. Do you want me to take the conn, while you get up and stretch a bit? Not that you can do a whole lot of that in this overgrown sardine can.”
Jerry immediately took Higgs up on his suggestion. “Yeah, I think I will take a little break. Thanks, Vernon.” He unbuckled himself and vacated the pilot’s position. Higgs was seated before he had a chance to turn around. Arching his back, Jerry stretched while at the same time carefully avoided hitting one of the internal frames with his head. Looking aft, he caught a glimpse of the other SEALs through the windows in the watertight doors. He hadn’t seen them when he’d climbed aboard, and dropping by to say “hi” seemed like a good idea. Besides, he was curious to see how they were going to lug all the equipment that had been talked about during the mission planning.
“Mr. Higgs, I’m going aft to the transport compartment. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Understood, sir.”
Jerry stepped into the lockout compartment and closed the watertight door behind him. The compartment was a great big ball in the middle of the ASDS and had a hatch in both the overhead and the deck. Separated from the operator and transport compartments by hull-strength watertight doors, it could be flooded to permit the SEALs to leave or return while the ASDS remained fully submerged. Entering into the transport compartment, Jerry saw Ramey, Lapointe, Fazel, and Phillips going over the operation plan yet again.
All were in the same Type II desert camouflage uniform that Jerry was wearing, but there the similarities ended. Each SEAL was completely covered in gear from head to toe. There were literally encased in wires, tubing, electronics, scuba tanks, respirators, ammo magazines, weapons, and numerous bulging pockets on their uniforms and chest harnesses. With their black wet-suit hoods and gloves they looked a lot like Borg drones from
Each member of the team had a variant of the Special Operations Forces Combat Assault Rifle as his primary weapon. Known by its quaint acronym, SCAR, it had replaced the older M16A2 and M4A1 as the weapon of choice for U.S. Navy SEALs and other Special Forces personnel. During the mission-planning stage, Ramey had taken Jerry to the armory in missile tube five and gave him a quick introduction on how a SEAL unit selects its weapons for a particular mission. Ramey also made sure Jerry was familiar enough with the SCAR to use it if he needed to.
Right up front, the platoon leader stated that they were looking to go “light” on this mission. Since they weren’t looking for a fight, the emphasis was on self-protection and not a pitched battle; so heavier weapons with a longer reach weren’t as necessary. And because they had to swim in, weight was a key consideration. Grabbing a SCAR from one of the racks, he handed it to Jerry and explained that he and Phillips would carry a stock standard Mark 16 SCAR-Light, while Lapointe would have the same weapon fitted with a 40mm grenade launcher. Fazel, on the other hand, would be armed with the heavier, but longer ranged, Mark 20 SCAR-Heavy sniper rifle. By the end of their conversation, Jerry was convinced that a properly outfitted four-man SEAL element had the firepower of a small army. He also had to admit that their definition of “light” differed drastically from what he had in mind. In looking again at the four men, and seeing all the equipment they were carrying, he wasn’t certain that they wouldn’t just sink to the bottom after they left the ASDS.
“Hey, XO,” greeted Fazel. “What brings you to the economy section?”
“Just seeing how you guys are doing. We’re near Point X-ray, but you still have an hour and half before we get close to the beach.”
“Understood, sir,” Ramey responded. “We’ll be ready to go when you give the word.” His tone and mannerisms were all business.
“Yes, sir.” Ramey spoke in an almost mechanical manner, with little or no facial expression. The hair on the back of Jerry’s neck stood straight up as he returned to the operator compartment. There was a stark difference between the man in the transport compartment and the platoon leader he had gotten to know on
