at all?
No. Tran decided to keep the information to himself. “It’s all part of a plan,” he temporized, not entirely comfortable with the withholding of the information, but certain in his heart it was the right thing to do. This was what he was paid for, to carry the burden of knowing such secrets without allowing them to distract his crew.
That was evidently enough for his chief. He nodded, then pointed to the attack console immediately to his right. “Firing solution, Captain, anytime, anywhere.” A quiet smile betrayed the pride behind his voice.
“Captain — she’s increasing speed. Look.” Jacobs pointed out some acoustic components on the display, then tweaked an automatic gain control knob. “I hold they’re headed directly for us, sir, although she’s still shallow.”
“She can’t know we’re here,” Tran said confidently. “Maintain firing solution.”
“And now she’s turning away,” the chief said softly. Not that he needed to announce the fact — the downward shift in the submarine’s frequency had already told Tran she was maneuvering.
Nothing about the submarine’s conduct had made much sense thus far, and this high speed charge was just the latest anomaly. Creeping in too close had put
“Sonobuoys!” the chief said, his voice marginally louder than it had been before. “Who the hell is — ”
Suddenly the sonarmen ripped off their headphones as a violent explosion rocked the submarine. It was too far away to do any real damage, but the downward force from the explosive rolled the submarine slightly, an odd sensation for those used to working on a virtually motionless platform.
Tran had it on the speaker now, the faint
A second, then a third, a fourth explosion, each one progressively closer to the submarine. Captain Tran’s mind was racing.
Even though his cold intellect advised silence and waiting, every atom in his body screamed for speed. As the explosions came faster and closer, he had an overwhelming sense of the vulnerability of the steel hull that protected them from the deep. Most of the time, he was simply unconscious of it. He lived in the submarine, and everyone else did that you knew, too. No big deal — that’s just where you were.
But now, hearing the violent echoes crash against his hull, he felt a sense of vulnerability and frailty. Around him, he could hear the uneasy stirrings of the crew, as their iron discipline cracked slightly under the strain of the noise.
“Not sonobuoys. Depth charges,” he said. Tran stepped to the middle of the control room and raised his voice slightly. “They’re guessing.” He looked around the room, careful to catch each gaze, willing his confidence in his own abilities out in a stream of courage to each of them. “They’re guessing — they don’t know where we are.”
He could feel the tension in the compartment ease slightly. Then the next explosion came, this one farther away than the previous ones. Another, then another, all walking away from the boat. He heard a collective sigh issue out from ten pairs of lungs, and said a silent prayer to the god that watches over submariners that he had been right. Finally, the explosions were muted, more like the far-off rumble of an undersea earthquake than what they really were.
“How many years has it been since anyone used those?” his executive officer said, his voice still low and soft. “We don’t even carry them in the inventory.”
Tran shook his head. “Maybe we ought to. It might be effective as a scare tactic against someone who didn’t have our technology.”
“Are we still holding contact on that diesel?” Tran asked.
“Negative, Captain,” the chief said. “A lot of noise still in the water right now, though. We might pick her up any second.”
“Find her and hold her.” Tran’s voice was grim. “It’ll be payback time soon enough.”
“Captain, I’m a little bit worried about this,” his XO said, handing him a scribbled damage control report. “Structurally, we’re fine, but radio thinks we might have lost the ELF. Do you want to give it a try now?”
Tran studied the message for a moment, working out how that would affect their mission. With no ELF communications, they would have to come shallow and trail an antenna to query the satellite for other messages. Coordinating the attack with the carrier battle group — and eventually there would be an attack, of that he was certain — would be a hell of a lot trickier. And more dangerous. “Give it another half an hour, and let’s see if we regain contact on the diesel. I know she can’t track us off an ELF transmission, but I don’t want her hearing any extra noise in the water right now. None of them.”
They would have to come shallow in a while, let the battle group know that their ELF capabilities were damaged. Maybe it was just the receive side — they’d try a transmission over ELF, and see if they could get confirmation by return satellite message.
But what good would that do them, simply to be able to transmit? It was receive capability that was critical to coordinating their attack with the battle group, not the transmit side of the house. And the odds that one capability had survived on the single antenna when the other had not were small.
Still, he would have to find out. He told the XO to draft the casualty report and have it ready to go out in two hours. Already a list of tasks was arranging itself in his mind, prioritizing itself as a checklist. First, locate the submarine. Second, assess the extent of the damage. Third, check the area for other contacts. Fourth, when it was safe to do so, come shallow and transmit the casualty reports of the battle group.
“We’ve got her back, Captain,” the sonarman said. “I have a firing solution.”
“Good. Hold contact, weapons tight, and wait for my order.” Tran’s voice was grim. “We’ll teach them just how big a mistake it is to take on an American submarine.”
SIXTEEN
Jack Simpson stared at the khaki-clad Navy doctor leaning against the bulkhead. “I’m not willing to agree to that.”
The doctor shook his head patiently. “I’m sorry, but it’s standard procedure. You and your wife took a pretty nasty spill out of that boat. I’m going to insist that you stay in Sick Bay at least overnight.”
Jack glanced over at Adele and could see that she was starting to do a slow burn. Despite their weariness, they’d come through too much, done too much, to be confined to sick bay now.
“If there’s nothing wrong with us, then we’re not staying here,” Adele said firmly. She started stripping off the hospital gown they’d put her in as soon as they’d arrived in sick bay and reached for her own wet clothes. “I’m not injured, I’m not taking up a bed. And that’s, that.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Mrs. Simpson,” the doctor said slowly. “I know you’re not on active duty, but you are on board a U.S. warship. And, in my judgment, your failure to agree to a reasonable request is just further evidence of your mental instability at this point. Under the circumstances, I have no doubt that the admiral will support me in this.”
“Who’s the admiral?” Jack demanded.
The doctor gazed at him thoughtfully. “Admiral Wayne commands the battle group. Admiral Magruder has just arrived on board to take charge of the joint staff.”
“Tombstone Magruder?” Jack asked. A slow smile spread across his face. “Tomcat jock?”
