“Ten minutes,” the TAO announced. “Bird Dog says he’ll roll out to the south, and he’ll need a tanker when he’s done. He’s also asking for the latest update on any SAM sites.”
“What does Lab Rat say?”
“Lab Rat says,” a voice said behind him, and Batman turned to see his intelligence officer standing there, “that there’s a good chance they’ve fielded some portable units in the immediate vicinity. A high probability, at least.” Lab Rat shoved some satellite surveillance photos at Batman. “This is how they did it, sir. And I’m betting there’re some SAM sites that are concealed the same way.”
Batman studied the sequence of photos, showing the remarkably clear figures of men frantically scraping and shoveling an otherwise unremarkable stretch of sand. The next photo caught the glint of sun on metal, as the steel missile door was partial exposed. The final shot showed the cover fully retracted, and a blur of motion as the first missile launched. “Damn them,” Batman said softly. “You’re right — how the hell did they set this up without our knowing about it?”
“We did know about it, sir.” Lab Rat saw the look on Batman’s face, and added, “We, as in the Navy, sir. Not me personally. Evidently the powers that be decided that the information was too sensitive to release to the fleet. It’s only after the fact that they’re passing it on.”
Batman swore quietly. That’s the problem they always had with intelligence. The really good stuff was so sensitive that you didn’t get it when you needed it. He could understand reasoning — it was the same problem that the British faced with Coventry. Do you evacuate the city, and tip your hand to the Germans that you’ve broken the Enigma code, or do you sit by and watch your own people killed in order to protect the greater secret? It was a decision that Batman had never had to make — and he wasn’t so sure how he would’ve reacted if he had been in charge of deciding Coventry’s fate.
“So if they’ve got this concealed underground, they’ve probably got others as well.” Lab Rat shuffled the photos back together, and handed them off to an assistant. “I’m pinging on them as hard as I can to make them release the information, sir. But nobody is saying for certain — or maybe they just don’t know. At any rate, my best guess would be that if they can do this with one facility, they can do it with others.”
Batman turned to the TAO. “How many of those Tomcats are carrying HARMs?”
“Only one, sir.”
Batman nodded. “That will have to be enough.”
The HARM missile, an antiradiation homer, was designed to execute a kill against enemy radar facilities. The later versions of the missile locked on to the emissions and even if the enemy shut down the facility, it would remember the location and take it out anyway. It was a fire and forget weapon, and a high priority weapon for the battle group.
“Tell Bird Dog he may have a problem getting it,” Batman said. He listened to the TAO relay the details to the Tomcat flight.
Then another circuit snarled to life. “
“I’ve got a few problems of my own right now,
But
“I can see that now, sir. Bad timing, is it?”
“Understatement.
“Roger that, sir.
“Wonder what she wanted?” Lab Rat asked, a worried expression on his face. “I didn’t like the sounds of that at all.”
Batman turned back to the tactical screen. “Whatever it was, it will have to wait.”
Bellisanus replaced the microphone in its holder and turned to his XO. “Get us out of here. You see what’s going on.”
And indeed, the XO did. The details that were unfolding on their now updated tactical screen were truly horrifying. The missile attack on the cruiser, the air thick with fighters — no wonder the admiral hadn’t wanted to talk to the submarine, absent a report that they were sinking.
“Right full rudder, flank speed,” the XO said to the officer of the deck. The order was repeated to the conning officer, and then again to the helmsman, who echoed the orders and reported his compliance with them. The submarine started to pick up speed.
“Conn, Sonar. We’re making a lot of noise, sir.” The concern in Jacobs’s voice was evident. “If there’s a sub in the area, there’s no way she won’t hear us. We’re generating flow tones over the damaged sonar dome like crazy.”
The XO swore quietly. The hull might be intact, but the damaged sonar dome resonated to the flow of water over it. As the water passed over the jagged edges, it generated sounds a bit like blowing on a Coke bottle. No competent antisubmarine warfare person could possibly mistake the sound for anything else.
“Sonar, Conn, aye. There’s nothing we can do about it right now, Jacobs. We’re noisy as hell, but be grateful we’re not sinking. Just keep your eyes peeled for any unfriendlies in the area.
“Will do, sir, but we’re putting so much noise in the water that it’s hard to see much of anything. We’re not only noisy, but our own detection capabilities are degraded.”
“Roger. I want to do a high-speed sprint and then we’ll slow down. You let us know when we quit generating the flow tones, okay?” the captain said. He then turned to the XO. “Five miles, that ought to give us a head start. I’m open to suggestions.”
He was open to suggestions. After the one time he left the control room and the XO had run the sub into a pipeline. A feeling of unworthiness swept over the XO. If he could just come up with the right answer now, just find some way to… wait. That was it.
He thought it through a second time, then turned back to the captain. “Sir, I recommend we return to the area where we struck the pipeline. If they’re not paying attention, they may mistake our flow tones for current rushing over the broken pipe. Additionally, it’s going to take a while to shut down the oil flow. I bet it’s still pumping. That will foul up the water enough that there won’t be any chance of a visual, and will also reduce the acoustic propagation characteristics of the area. It’s the best place to hide right now.”
The captain’s face was unreadable. “Downside?”
“Fresh water,” the XO said. “There’s a real danger it will foul our sea chest, and that could mean serious trouble. But not as bad as being detected right now, I suspect. We can deal with the fresh water problem later.”
The captain’s face relaxed slightly. “I agree completely. Make it so. And pass the word to the crew — we’re on strict water hours until I say otherwise. No showers, no flushing. I know, I know, it’s going to get pretty foul. We can’t waste a drop until we’re certain we can clear the area safely.”
The XO nodded, gratified that the captain had approved his suggestion. “Come right, steady on course zero three zero.”
Bellisanus watched his orders translated into action. Yes, they’d clear the area all right — of that he was confident. But at what price? How long could Seaman Harding hold on without advanced medical facilities? He felt the pain deep in his gut as he forced himself to acknowledge what he was doing. Yes, Harding desperately needed to be medically evacuated to the carrier, and if he’d asked anyone in Harding’s family — or most civilians, for that matter — he suspected the reaction would be the same. Surface, insist that the carrier send a helo immediately for
