I took the message, already ashamed of my own peevishness. It wasn't Wilson's fault ? in all probability, I would've been very annoyed in a few hours if he hadn't woken me up. 'When did this come in?'
'Four minutes ago,' he answered. 'Like I said ? I thought you would want to see it immediately.'
I nodded, almost completely awake now. It's a skill you learn onboard a ship, the ability to go from dead asleep to awake. 'You did exactly the right thing.'
Thirty seconds later, I was dressed and trotting down the passageway to CVIC.
The message had been clear ? the USS John Paul Jones was holding contact on a U.S. nuclear submarine. Against all odds ? and all intelligence ? we had one in the area. The more I thought about it, the more it started to piss me off. Captain Smith, Batman ? hell, even Tombstone ? didn't any of them realize that the only people we were supposed to keep secrets from were the bad guys?
Somebody knew that we had U.S. submarines in the area. Knew, and didn't bother telling us about it. No matter that I've got gear classified to the highest levels in the nation, that I've got safes, security, steel doors, and a background investigation that's like getting an enema on your entire life ? no, someone hadn't wanted to trust me with this information.
SUBLANT knew, of course. Who else? USACOMM? Probably.
How about the subliaison on the Jefferson? Maybe. Not likely. Once he was attached to the carrier and not to an underwater brotherhood command, he'd be out of the loop. Tainted, I guess.
Captain Smith? Batman? Both of them? Now, that was a real probability. Even SUBLANT wasn't stupid enough to have subs prowling around an aircraft carrier without telling someone in the area.
And why wasn't that someone yours truly?
When I finally got to CVIC, the spaces were already filled with intelligence specialists, the regular watch section augmented by an additional team of acoustic specialists.
'Where is she now?' I asked as I burst into the room.
The lieutenant watch officer was right on top of things, as well he should be. He was seated at the consoles. He looked up as I came in, then returned to his task.
'What's happening?' I asked, sliding into the chair next to his. He finished two keystrokes, then turned to me.
'Good morning, Commander. Six minutes ago, one of the S-3B torpedo bombers, Hunter 701, gained active sonobuoy contact on an unknown submarine. Given the location, they initially called it a Russian boat. A few minutes later, they gained passive contact as well, and reclassified the contact as a U.S. submarine. The J.P. Jones is holding contact also.'
I studied the display of slanting lines and swirls in front of him, not trying to pretend that I understood every bit of data. I didn't ? not really. Translating the details of a lofargram was an arcane science that my enlisted technicians spent years learning to do.
'How close is she?' I asked.
'Not far,' Wilson supplied. He pointed at a narrow white space between two contact positions. 'I make it less than five miles. And closing.'
'And it's not a Russian ? it is one of ours.' The watch officer looked away.
'We don't…' I stopped, suddenly realizing what the uneasy evasion I'd gotten from the admiral meant. We did have submarines in the area.
And only he knew about it.
For a moment, my temper flared. What was the use of having an intelligence officer if the intelligence officer didn't even know the locations of our own ships? Sure, I understood security ? there might have been very good reasons to tell Batman about our submarine and not me.
Intellectually, I could understand that. Nevertheless, it pissed me off.
'Shit,' Wilson said softly. He had an ear cocked in the direction of the loudspeakers mounted on the forward bulkhead. 'And that's not all.'
The noise of the radio circuit speakers is so much of a part of life onboard the ship that you tend to tune them out, focusing only on what you need to know right then. Absorbed in the question of what the hell a U.S. submarine was doing in the area, I had not been paying attention to the USW control circuit.
Hunter 701's TACCO was screaming bloody murder. His sensors were showing three new submarines within fifteen miles of the carrier. They were all making flank speed, headed directly for us and the datum of the U.S. submarine we had just located.
I picked up the internal telephone system to call CAG. The title CAG is actually a misnomer. When aircraft first started going onboard ships, the man in charge of all the squadrons was called commander, air group. In modern naval aviation, the correct title is commander of the air wing.
However, since those initials spelled out CAW, it's unlikely to ever catch on as the acronym.
The CAG is always a senior Navy captain, an aviator by trade. He owns all the aircraft assigned to the carrier. In conjunction with the ship's captain, also a senior naval aviator, he provides the aircraft and mission scheduling necessary to fulfill the carrier battle group commander's wishes ? in this case, Admiral Wayne. The aircraft carrier's captain owns the repair facilities, the deck space, and the support crew that runs the flight deck. The CAG owns the squadrons themselves.
'Tell the officer of the deck to come around,' I added. The OOD would be responsible for maneuvering the aircraft carrier in order to generate wind across the deck. With this many submarines in the water, the admiral was going to want wall-to-wall S-3B and helo operations in progress until we sorted out the good guys from the bad guys.
I could hear the announcement now, coming out of the 1MC, the ship's general announcing system. Then the feet pounding down the decks as sailors and officers scrambled for their assigned positions. Within a couple of minutes, I knew, the control tower looming ten decks above the water level would be fully manned.
Getting additional aircraft and helicopters in the air was the ship's problem. Mine ran a good deal deeper than that. I left CVIC and headed down the passageway to see Admiral Wayne.
I found the admiral in his flag plot, studying the large-screen display that dominated the forward part of the room and conferring with his tactical action officer. The cause for their concern was clear ? symbols indicating hostile submarines and subsurface contacts cluttered the large blue display. Another symbol, labeled Hunter 701, was orbiting overhead.
I could hear the engines of more aircraft spiraling up above as the ship launched more USW aircraft.
'My people say one of those is ours,' I said. I studied the display for a moment, trying to determine which one it was. I had the uneasy feeling that it was the one in the center of the pack, and not the submarine closest to us.
There's no money to be made in expressing your annoyance to your admiral. It's called a collar count ? the one with the most weight wins.
Always. No matter how right I might be, how justified in the civilian world in being annoyed, this was one battle I would always lose.
But an experienced officer knows how to express his displeasure without being disrespectful. It's all in keeping your voice carefully neutral while letting the words convey the difficulty of fulfilling one's duties when operating under less than full information. I knew Batman would get it ? he's been playing this game far longer than I have.
'Looks like one of ours,' I said. Batman would know I was thinking about our earlier conversation, the one in which he'd assured me there were no U.S. submarines accompanying us.
He got it ? I could tell immediately from the look on his face ? a slight stiffening of his cheeks and the twitch of the corner of his mouth.
But still, he said nothing.
I took a step closer, and lowered my voice. 'What do you want me to tell SUBLANT ? if anything?' I was referring to the top secret circuits, cleared for the most sensitive information around, that I had access to in CVIC.
'Nothing ? for now,' the admiral answered quietly. 'Anything we know, they know.'
'Including the fact that their submarine may be in trouble?' I asked.
I pointed at the large-screen display. 'I don't think she was counting on that much company.'
Batman shook his head, his face still impassive. 'They knew what to expect, coming up here. We'll give them
