compartment, but that Iran had not been willing to allow foreigners to attempt a rescue. They’d left their own men there on the sea floor to die of asphyxiation, drowning, or injury.
What must it have been like, assuming the rumors were true? To live out your last few hours, knowing that your military had abandoned you, left you to die? Had they cursed their leaders in the end, finally seen things for what they were? Or had they kept to their faith, knowing that they were dying as martyrs assured of a place in heaven? Every time Bellisanus checked the chart and noted the penciled-in correction adding the hull of the El Said as a hazard to navigation, he wondered about the men left down there to die.
“We’ll have eight hours to conduct the sanitization,” Bellisanus said. “Then the carrier will move into the safe haven, and her assets will take over keeping the subs at a distance. We’ll move slightly north, not too far from our launch basket.”
“Steak and lobster tonight?” Powder suggested.
“Sure.” While submariners ate far better than their surface counterparts, the steak and lobster was always a favorite. “At least you might have a shot at filling Pencehaven for once. I swear, the supply officer has to recalculate all our provisions since he came onboard.”
“Worth it, though,” Powder said.
“Yep.”
Sonarman First Class Otter Pencehaven had arrived onboard just five months before the cruise began. If Bellisanus had been pressed to describe him in one word, he would have called him the original blithe spirit. Nothing in the world seemed to bother him; if the submarine ever, God forbid, sprang a critical leak, the captain suspected that Otter would be seated at his console, having a little snack — snacks were important to Pencehaven — that ineffable smile on his face as he stared off into space and invented the one device that would save the submarine from certain disaster.
Pencehaven was a tall, lanky man, without a spare inch of flesh on his sparse frame. His tall form was topped by a smiling, cherubic face at odds with the rest of his body. He was skilled in all areas of sonar operations, but passive acoustics proved to be his true strength. The other men swore that he could find black holes in the ocean.
Shortly after Pencehaven arrived, he was followed by Sonarman Second Class Renny Jacobs. Jacobs was a good eight inches shorter than his friend, and sported a stocky frame. If Pencehaven was a brilliant theorist, Jacobs was the engineer that made his friend’s ideas work. Together, they made a formidable team in sonar. They had served together onboard the
The one thing the detailer had not told Bellisanus about however, was Pencehaven’s formidable appetite. He easily ate as much as three men would, and the captain even worried with the doctor that he might have a tapeworm. But the doctor laughed, assured him it was just the blessing of the strong metabolism, and suggested that the supply officer stock up.
“They’ve got a bet on, you know,” the XO said. While gambling was not allowed on Navy ships, wagers that challenged the professionalism of crew members were quietly allowed.
“On who detects the submarine first?” the captain asked.
The XO shook his head, a smile crossing his face. “Not exactly. They’re betting on who misses it first.”
And that, the captain reflected, was his exactly how the two operated. Each one was superbly and unshakably confident that he would make the first detection. There was no point in betting on a sure thing. Allowing for the possibility that they might simultaneously detect the submarine, they elected to wager on who would screw up first.
“Some of the other sonarman are making side bets as well,” the XO said. “The chief is keeping an eye on them to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”
“Who did you bet on?” the captain asked.
Now the XO did grin. “Sworn to secrecy, Captain.” He leaned forward, his voice quieter. “But if you’re a betting man, the only safe option is to bet on both of them. That way you at least won’t lose money.”
NINE
The cruiser loitered just outside the Straits of Hormuz, on antiair picket patrol. Using her SPY radar and the AWACS aircraft circling further to the southwest, she had a complete and comprehensive picture of the entire Gulf area.
Threat conditions were normal, if anything could be said to be normal in this part of the world. After decades of Mideast patrols, the real lesson learned was to be ready for anything.
Captain Henry strolled into Combat, his ever-present cup of coffee in his hand. He walked over to his TAO and tapped him on the shoulder. “How’s it going?”
LCDR Norfolk jumped. He had been concentrating on the voices in his headset, monitoring the progress of the undersea game being played out inside the Gulf. While it was not the cruiser’s primary mission, she did have ASROC torpedoes available that she could use to assist if necessary.
“They got her pinned down, sir,” he said, using his trackball to circle around the enemy submarine symbol on his screen. “With two helos, there’s no way she’s getting away, not in these waters.”
The captain nodded. “I don’t believe they’ll need our help, but we’ll stand by. I see you already got that under control.”
The TAO was mildly gratified to have the captain notice his preparedness. “Yes, Captain. We’re ready.”
The captain studied the tactical plot again, thinking over the TAO’s words. Yes, they were ready, but for what? Over the last several days, there had been several indications and warnings of increased preparedness on the Iranian’s part. Nothing hard, other than the new shore station springing up in the desert. Nothing you could really point to and say
Yet, even though he couldn’t articulate his reasons, the captain was certain that was exactly what was about to happen. He had done too many patrols in the Gulf area himself not to have a deep-rooted suspicion of anything out of the ordinary.
The Middle Eastern nations were given to grandiose tactical schemes, on par with the time they tried to set the Gulf on fire by breaching oil pipelines. Although they had not stated that was their intention, the captain was quite certain that’s what they had meant to do.
The captain pointed with his free hand toward the symbol indicating the new shore base. “You have them keep a real close watch on that area. There’s something about it—”
“TAO, Track Supe! Launch indications from Intell — launch indications.”
Just then, the new symbols popped up on the screen. The captain swore violently and sloshed hot coffee over his hand. “General quarters — now!”
The distances and times inside the Gulf are so truncated as to allow virtually no reaction time. Even as the missile symbols rose up from the new shore station located near the Straits, the TAO flipped the Aegis cruiser into full auto. While reaction times of the humans who inhabited her might be too slow to deal with every threat, the computer was not. “If it flies, it dies,” the Captain said. “No questions — weapons free — now!”
Within the depths of the computers system, tactical decisions were already being made. The computer weighted each bit of radar information and matched that detection with the previous ones over previous seconds, generating track data and linking detections into contacts. Then it evaluated altitude, speed, and course to decide whether or not it posed a threat to the ship or to the battle group. This took just microseconds.
If the threat parameters were met, the computer automatically designated weapons to each track. The ship
