Five hundred feet beneath the ocean’s surface, Captain Murray Wilson felt the vibration through the submarine’s deck as he leaned over the Navigation Table in Control, examining the ship’s progress toward their new operating area. The main engines were straining, pushing the eighteen-thousand-ton submarine forward at ahead flank speed, through the Luzon Strait into the Philippine Sea. During their transit, Wilson had slowed every twelve hours to proceed to periscope depth to check the broadcast for new messages. No new orders had been received, expounding on their original, ambiguous proceed to designated operating area.
Wilson checked the clock in Control. It was midnight and Section 2 had just relieved the watch. The watchstanders were settling into their routine in the chilly Control Room, and the Fire Control Technician was wearing a green foul weather jacket to keep warm. A few years earlier, his face would have been illuminated by the green combat control display, the hue of his features matching the color of his jacket. Tonight however, a myriad of colors played off his face.
Although Michigan was a Trident submarine, it was a far different ship today than when it was launched over thirty years ago. When the START II treaty went into effect, reducing the allowable number of ballistic missile submarines from eighteen to fourteen, the Navy decided to reconfigure the four oldest Ohio class submarines as special warfare platforms, replacing the Kamehameha and James K. Polk, which were approaching the end of their service life. Even better, in addition to carrying Dry Deck Shelters with SEAL mini-subs inside, Michigan and the other three SSGNs could be configured with seven Tomahawk missiles in twenty-two of the submarine’s twenty-four missile tubes. Only seventeen of the tubes held Tomahawk missiles on this deployment, however. The two Dry Deck Shelters covered four of the twenty-two tubes, with Unmanned Aerial Vehicles in another.
During the conversion from SSBN to SSGN, Michigan and her three sister ships received a slew of other modifications. The combat control consoles were now the most modern in the submarine fleet, as were Michigan’s new Sonar, Electronic Surveillance, and Radio suites. Michigan’s old legacy combat control system—green screens, as the crew called them—had been replaced with the advanced BYG-1 Combat Control System, the dual multicolor screens on each console reflecting off the operator’s face.
Wilson turned his attention to the electronic navigation chart and Petty Officer Second Class Bill Coates, on watch as Quartermaster. The young Electronics Technician was busy analyzing the ship’s two inertial navigators for error.
“How’re we doing, Coates?”
The petty officer looked up. “Good, sir. Both inertial navigators are tracking together.” Coates reviewed the ship’s projected position as Michigan continued its northeast advance. “Will we be staying at ahead flank the entire way, sir?”
Wilson nodded. “That’s the plan, except for excursions to periscope depth. How long until we reach our operating area?”
Coates mentally converted the distance to their destination into time based on the submarine’s ahead flank speed.
“Ten hours, sir.”
The lighting in Control shifted to Gray, catching Wilson’s attention. The watch section was preparing to proceed to periscope depth, and the Officer of the Deck’s eyes would need time to adjust to the darkness above. The Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Kris Herndon—one of three female officers aboard—was standing on the Conn between the two periscopes. She called out an order to the Helm, and Michigan began to slow and swing to starboard, checking its sonar baffles for contacts behind them. A few minutes later, the lighting was extinguished, drowning Control in darkness aside from the glow of red, green, and blue indicators on the submarine’s Ballast Control and Ship Control Panels. Another order from the Officer of the Deck, and Michigan returned to base course.
Lieutenant Herndon stopped next to Captain Wilson. “Sir, the ship is on course zero-two-zero, speed ten knots, depth two hundred feet. Sonar holds three contacts, designated Merchant, all far-range contacts. Request permission to proceed to periscope depth to copy the broadcast and obtain a navigation fix.”
“Proceed to periscope depth.”
* * *
The ascent to periscope depth was uneventful, and Michigan was soon tilted downward, returning to the ocean depths. After the lighting returned to Gray, then White, a Radioman entered Control, message clipboard in hand, stopping by Captain Wilson.
“New orders, sir.”
Wilson flipped through the message, reading the pertinent details. Michigan’s Tomahawks were being held in reserve. It looked like her SEAL detachment would get a workout instead.