deck log, as much to protect him as anything else. Had there been any other way, he would have taken it.
Funny that the thought of sacrificing their life in the service of their country was something that every man had already dealt with, at least on some level. Particularly on a submarine, where they were isolated from the rest of the world and knew at some deep, instinctive level the dangers of sailing beneath the surface of the water. Not a single man on the ship would hesitate, if it were necessary — not that they would die eagerly, but they would if they had to. So why was he worried about his XO’s career?
“You understand the tactical situation, XO,” the captain said, his voice unusually formal.
“Yes, Captain. I do.” A determined look crossed Powder’s face. “We’ve got to get into the Gulp to protect the carrier, but the situation has gone to shit. We can’t stay holed up here hiding next to the pipeline.”
“You know what international rules require when we transit the Straits — we have to surface, show flashing light. It makes a lot of sense. The traffic here… they’ll be able to see us. And we have the right-of-way over everyone else, under the same rules.” He paused and saw the XO’s expression grow more determined.
“Of course, Captain. I understand.” The XO waited.
“XO, I’m making this a direct order. It is my intention to log your disagreement in the deck log — no, you have no say over that. This is ultimately my decision, and no one else’s. If subsequent events…” the captain stopped, not entirely sure the phrase covered the consequences that they would face if something went wrong.
When he spoke, the XO’s voice held a note of quiet confidence. “You want to go in submerged, don’t you, Captain?” He nodded, as though the captain had already answered. “I concur completely. And the men are ready for it — we can handle this, Captain.”
A wave of profound humility swept over the captain again. To serve with such a man — how had he indeed been so blessed?
“I do not accept your concurrence, XO,” he said quietly. “Listen to me, understand this… you will face the same decision at some point in your career, and I intend for you to have a career left when this is over. We need people like you commanding these ships. Don’t be a fool, Powder. Do it my way.”
“Not a chance, sir. I concur completely in your decision, as does everyone else on the ship. If you falsify the deck log and indicate that I disagree, I will immediately log a retraction. It’s absolutely necessary to go in submerged, as dangerous as it might be. If we are detected going in, then it makes our task all the more difficult. That’s the whole point of having a submarine here, isn’t it, sir,? To be an undetected force?”
“Dammit, Frankie!” The captain’s voice was full of exasperation. Not that he hadn’t expected this — indeed he would’ve been surprised had his XO reacted in any other way. “This is no time for you to attempt to usurp command prerogatives. When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.”
“Yes, Captain. But the good of the ship comes first. And that includes everything from the material condition to the crew’s morale. Just how do you think it will affect them if we make believe there’s a disagreement between us? Because there’s not, you know. There’s not at all. So, sir, in my estimation, ordering me to log a disagreement with your decision would do more harm to the ship than good. Therefore, I must respectfully decline.”
The captain swore quietly. He had counted on some resistance from Frankie, but not to this degree. How the hell was he supposed to cover for his XO if his XO refused to cooperate?
He wasn’t. Commander Powder was ready for command himself. And one of the qualities that had gotten him to that point was a sense of honor. He would not be party to this — and if he had, the captain knew that it would have struck more deeply at the man’s soul than any later reprimand for what they were about to do. The captain smiled slightly. While it was true that command was among the most lonely positions in the world, there were moments such as this that made it all worthwhile. Yet it was still his decision alone, and he would bear the ultimate responsibility for it.
“Then let’s do it,” the captain said quietly. “XO, take the deck. Take us in.”
Captain Bellisanus watched the numbers on the fathometer roll over silently. The fathometer was a low power, highly directional seminar, virtually undetectable. As the numbers inched their way down, the floor of the Straits crept up to meet them. With each foot of depth they lost, they increased the risk to the ship.
Additionally, the captain had elected to transit at the very edge of the marked channel. With the proper timing, he hoped to be able to fall in with a line of merchant ships, and carefully keep distance between them. They had waited for an hour, watching for just the right spot.
“Conn, Sonar. I think we might have a shot, sir,” Otter said in his quiet, normally sunny tone. “In about five minutes, Captain. Want to take a look?”
The captain stepped back into sonar and looked at the plot Jacobs and Pencehaven were maintaining. Sure enough, it looked like there was a sequence of merchant ships coming up and maintaining station well. There was just enough space to slip in between them, riding the outside of the channel, if they could be counted on to maintain their stations.
Otter pointed at the lead contact. “That one there, she’s riding shallow. So is the one right after her, but the third one in the line looks loaded down. I figure our best bet is to slide in between the two shallow draft ones. That gives us a little bit more clearance in case—” Otter stopped abruptly. He looked over at his captain for encouragement.
“Always good to have a margin of safety,” the captain said mildly. “Any clue as to what they are?”
“Tankers,” Otter said promptly. “The third one is a container ship, probably a RO-RO.”
“Give me a time hack,” the captain said.
“Three minutes at…” Otter stopped and watched the second hand on the chronometer. “… now!” Although their desired target was still five minutes off, Otter had to allow for the time it would take the submarine to build up speed. That much metal in the water doesn’t instantaneously attain the desired forward speed.
Three minutes — a lifetime when you are trying to stay submerged and play a delicate game of follow the leader, sliding your massive submarine into the line of ships moving ponderously. The seconds ticked by, and no one spoke other than Otter to give the deck officer — the XO — time hacks at two minutes, one minute, thirty seconds, and then a countdown from ten seconds on. As Otter reached zero, the captain felt the slightest vibration change under his feet. The XO brought them up to eight knots at standard accelerations to match the speed of the ships. Simultaneously, he moved them slightly to the west, maintaining position just on the edge of the channel.
The captain watched the green lozenges on the sonar plot march closer and closer, advancing incrementally toward their own position. Then, after the XO had started his approach, he held his breath. Once they were in position, it might be easier going, but for the next few minutes, everything depended on Otter’s ability to position the other contacts by passive acoustics alone, and the XO’s skill at steaming in formation.
For a brief moment, the captain considered lighting off the active sonar system. Just one ping, no more. Hard evidence to verify that the geometries unfolding in front of him were correct.
But no, even one ping would be enough to blow exactly what they were trying to accomplish with this dangerous, most certainly illegal maneuver.
It was always easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
The speakers picked up the low rumble of the merchant ship just in front of them. Massive thrashing merchant propellers, probably powered by diesel engines or low-pressure steam turbines, churned up a violent mass of bubbles in front of them. The cavitation was particularly severe because the vessel was so lightly loaded, and her propellers were shallow.
In addition to posing some danger if they did not detect any maneuvers on her part, the noise generated by two large ships close aboard effectively blanked out their detection capabilities any further out. Their world was defined for and aft by screamingly noisy merchant ships who gave no thought to quieting techniques.
“How long?” the captain asked the navigator.
The navigator was hunched over his plotting table, carefully supervising the maintenance of a paper plot to supplement the computerized one. He measured off the distance of the Straits transit with his dividers, and did the quick calculations mentally. “Four hours, ten minutes,” he answered almost immediately.
The captain studied the chart again, although there was no real need to. He had this particular stretch of water memorized. There were no obstructions that he could see ahead, though one could never be certain in these waters.
Otter stared at the scope, his eyes focused, his hands clamped over his headset. To the captain watching
