Chapter Eighteen
Gibraltar trans-Atlantic shipping lanes:
“What do you have, executive officer?” Brody asked from the captain’s chair in the Miami’s control room.
“Sir, we presently hold sierra thirty-seven, the USS Colorado, at twelve thousand, five hundred yards, just over six miles,” Parks said. “Course and speed haven’t changed.”
“Got it. Thanks for covering things last night. I needed the rest.”
Brody had hardly slept while hunting Jake. He questioned if his friend had gone insane, but with the bitterness of his failing career, he also wondered if the Navy might have done something to set him off. Frustrated that he might deliver judgment without knowing the truth, Brody had only been able to sleep after giving in to exhaustion.
“Sir,” Parks said. “Some of the guys say you know Slate pretty well.”
“I do. Or at least I thought I did.”
“He’s your friend?”
“Yeah?”
“You want to talk about it?” Parks asked.
Brody felt Parks studying him. Despite the temptation of oblivion gnawing at him, he had kept the bottle at bay while underway, but he sensed Parks’ suspicion.
“You’ve got something on your mind, Pete?”
“You’re under enough stress already, sir. I can’t imagine what it’s like having a friend of yours go nuts and all. Then being tasked to kill him.”
“We don’t have to kill him,” Brody said.
“Come on, sir. The brass back home wants a flowery ending where we figure out who’s behind this theft and recapture the Colorado in one piece, but you and I both know there aren’t a heck of a lot of scenarios where everyone gets out of this alive.”
Brody feared Parks was right but clung to the optimism that he needed to stay in balance. He wouldn’t let Parks upset that.
“It’s entirely possible, Pete. And don’t you for a second abandon the idea that it isn’t.”
“Well, sir,” Parks said, “it’s just that...”
“You think I’ve gone soft because I know Slate?”
“Just volunteering the possibility, sir.”
“You just do your job,” Brody said. “And unless I ask, don’t bring it up again.”
For the first time while Parks was his executive officer, Brody thought he saw defiance in his face. The vision unsettled him.
“Okay sir,” Parks said. “I have a recommendation.”
“Go ahead.”
“I think we should open range.”
“Why?”
“To avoid counter-detection.”
“Our orders are to keep our thumb on Slate,” Brody said. “If we drift too far behind and can’t hear him, then we could miss something. I don’t want to risk that.”
“The sound propagation environment supports hearing him out another three thousand yards.”
“He’s got a skeleton crew and can’t hold a constant alert state. He’s not looking hard over his shoulder.”
“I think we don’t lose anything by backing off, though, sir.”
Brody wasn’t sure if he refuted Parks’ advice for tactical reasons or to keep his executive officer in check.
“No. We’re staying right where we are.”
*
Jake noticed that the Frenchman’s eyes were puffy from sleep.
“Have you considered doing a baffle clear to see if someone is trailing us?” Renard asked.
“It’s too noisy. But we could deploy the thin line towed array.”
“You have another towed array sonar?”
“We hardly use it,” Jake said.
“Is it inferior to the towed array sonar we have deployed now?”
“It’s better, actually, except you’ve got to slow below five knots to make good use of it, and if you go above fifteen knots it gets sucked into the screw. Design flaw.”
“It’s worth deploying this and slowing, do you not think? We’re not in a hurry. Our rendezvous is still a day away.”
Jake summoned McKenzie to deploy the thin line array. Thirty minutes later, McKenzie returned from the engine room with the task complete.
“Are we ready then?” Renard asked.
“Let’s go to the sonar room,” Jake said. “We have to view the thin line readout on a special monitor.”
Jake flipped a switch and a screen came to life. He noticed a new, faint trace toward the back portion of the acoustic field of view.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said. “Looks like a sixty-hertz tonal in our baffles.”
“All American vessels run sixty-hertz electric plants. It could be a distant merchant,” Renard said.
“In our baffles, with no other tonal noise?”
“I was trying to be optimistic.”
“We’ve got company. Stay close to me and speak up if you think I’m doing something stupid,” Jake said.
Jake called his skeleton crew to the control room. He read concern in their faces.
“We may have a submarine behind us,” Jake said. “Scott, take Mister Jaguar and load countermeasures into the three-inch launchers. Gant, join Bass and get the plant ready for an emergency pump start to all ahead flank.
“Mister Cheetah and Mister Tiger, take seats at the control stations,” Jake said. “Shift stern plane control to Mister Tiger. Keep the rudder and fairwaters with Mister Cheetah. Mister Lion, stay here. I want you on the circuit with maneuvering.”
Jake turned the ship and returned to the thin line display in the sonar room where he conferred again with Renard.
“See that trace in our tail area?” he asked. “Now that we’ve turned, I’m looking for it to move. It’ll shift relative to our ship’s direction, but I’m looking for its geographical bearing to stay the same. But if it moves and passes back into our baffles, we have a problem.”
Ten minutes later, the Colorado had settled on a new course, and Jake pointed to the thin line screen.
“The sound trace is moving back into our baffles,” he said. “It’s close, whatever it is.”
“Merde! We’re being trailed.”
“Let’s try one more thing. Let’s steady on our original course and see what the trace does then.”
“Exactly what I would have done with the Amethyst,” Renard said.
Ten minutes passed as Jake watched the trace settle in the baffles again.
“We’ve got to break trail,” he said. “We’ll slowly speed up and try to open distance – get a little breathing room while our trailer doesn’t notice. Then we’ll hit the all ahead flank bell, launch countermeasures, and change course.”
“I agree. Our trailer may already suspect that we’ve counter-detected him.”
“I need you to handle this,” Jake said.
“You would entrust this to me?”
“I have to. I need to supervise the reactor plant. Starting coolant pumps is a rapid introduction of cold water. That’s going to excite the core, and if we screw up, the reactor trips offline.”
“I’ve developed an adequate sense for the way this vessel handles under normal conditions, but nothing near the limits of its performance.”
“Do you remember the acceleration times and turning rate of the Amethyst?”
“I will never forget them.”
Jake yelled as he slid down the ladder.
“Whatever they are,” he said, “double them for this pig!”
Jake passed through the circular hatch to the engine room, reached maneuvering, and greeted Bass. He then called Renard and told him he was ready. Seconds later he heard the Frenchman’s voice over the loudspeaker.
“Breaking trail!” Renard said. “All ahead flank. Scott, launch the three-inch launcher.”
Jake faced the reactor panel. David Bass stood one panel over at the steam flow controls.
“Partial scramming rods,” Jake said and twisted a partial scram switch. A pneumatic drive system thrust neutron-absorbing control rods into the core. Power gauges dipped low.
“Starting pumps. Answer ahead flank!” he said.
Jake shifted the Colorado’s reactor coolant pumps to top speed as Bass twirled a throttle wheel. The hiss of steam ringing through pipes filled the engine room, and the deck plates rumbled.
The phone rang, and Jake picked it up.
“Maneuvering,” he said.
“Jake,” Renard said. “We should launch a weapon.”
“What? And piss off whoever’s chasing us?”
“No, distract them. Make them worry about an incoming weapon so that they lose sight of us.”
“I don’t want to kill an innocent submarine.”
“It would be unlikely,” Renard said. “We would need abnormal luck.”
Jake felt events happening too fast to analyze them to his satisfaction. Under duress, he found merit in the Frenchman’s argument and followed his advice.
“Launch the weapon,” he said.
*
Butterflies fluttered throughout President Lance Ryder’s stomach as his aide handed him his speech.
“Mister President, the NSA told the press yesterday that they are not going to get detailed answers from you today. They want the truth, but they’ll settle for a show of confidence. Your demeanor will tell them everything. You will buy the time you need to see this to its end.”
“Thank you, Derrick,” Ryder said.
“Remember, sir. This speech is short but important. Milk it.”
Ryder walked from behind a curtain into the briefing room. Never before had the lights seemed so burning, the camera flashes so caustic.
“My fellow Americans, for three days the media has been telling you that a Trident submarine, a very powerful weapon, is missing.”
His tone remained strong, his poise intact.
“The Colorado is presently engaged in an operation with details I cannot yet divulge for reasons of national security. I cannot tell you where the Colorado is or why it is there, but I will address your very valid concerns.
“The Colorado poses no danger to America or its allies, nor does it threaten world peace. The nuclear warheads onboard the Colorado are not, nor will ever be outside the control of our nation’s military.
“The secrecy surrounding the Colorado is necessary. I appreciate the concern shown by the nation, and now I ask that you exercise trust. Trust in me and trust in the men and women of your military. I thank you for your understanding and for your concern.”
Ryder exited from the podium, brushing the shoulder of a spokesman who was moving to face the onslaught of questions. He rejoined Banks behind a curtain.
“You performed well, sir,” Banks said.
“We’ll see how the media spins this, Derrick.”
“Well, sir, I need to tell you something. I wanted to wait until your speech was finished. Perhaps you should sit down.”
“No, damn it. Just spit it out!”
“China has launched an exercise attack against Japan. No weapons were launched and no peacetime rules of engagement were violated, but there are enough Chinese naval vessels near Japanese waters to cause concern. We interpret this as a warning to adhere to our policy of not interfering with Chinese affairs in Taiwan.”
“What’s the status in Taiwan?”
“The Chinese aren’t calling it blockade, but that’s what it is. They’re still letting most shipping through, but they’ve proven they can halt fuel tankers and combatants. They disabled a tanker yesterday. They’re flexing their muscles, sir.”
“We’ve got war in the Middle East, a rogue Trident on the run, and now we’ve got China’s tightening the rope around Taiwan. Do you have any good news?”
“No, sir. Just be thankful the Colorado Incident is under control.”
*
Brody heard Schmidt’s voice over a speaker.
“Possible target zig, USS Colorado. Contact is speeding up. We’ve got excessive flow noise – probably water over damaged fairwater planes. We’ve got a ton of power plant transients.”
Brody acknowledged the report and felt his throat tighten. He stood to announce his reaction but Schmidt’s voice rang out again.
“Countermeasures! Compressed gas. We’re blinded in the Colorado’s sector.”
“Any sign of a weapon?” Brody asked.
“Negative, but we can’t hear very – shit! High-speed screws. Torpedo in the water!” Schmidt said.
“Give me a bearing!”
Schmidt announced the bearing to the high-speed screws, and the torpedo alarm, triggered by hydrophones on the Miami’s hull, chimed. Brody silenced the alarm and verified that it agreed with Schmidt’s assessment.
“Torpedo evasion!” he said.
Brody turned the Miami and ordered it to its fastest, flank speed. The ship shook, and the control room fell silent until Schmidt cut through the tension.
“Weapon is drawing aft,” Schmidt said. “We’re clear.”
“Secure from torpedo evasion. Get me a bearing to the Colorado,” Brody said.
“Still blinded in their sector,” Schmidt said.
“I’m going through.”
Brody turned the Miami toward the Colorado and punched through the wall of noise created by its countermeasures to listen for the fleeing Trident.
Although the sprinting Trident rattled a cacophony of noises, Brody saw only fuzzy lines on his sonar display. The Miami’s sonar system was deafened by its own high speed. Brody slowed his submarine.
A trace to the north appeared on the sonar screen, but chasing after that noise at top speed would cost the Miami’s ability to listen to it. Brody could either listen to the Colorado or chase it. He could not do both.
He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.
*
Brody sprinted after the Trident for hours. At the end of each sprint, he drifted and listened, but he never regained the Colorado.
He marched into his stateroom and slammed the door, leaned back in his chair, then grabbed a phone.
“This is the captain. Get me the executive officer,” he said.
“Parks here, sir.”
“Lieutenant Commander Parks, station yourself as the Command Duty Officer and assume my duties. With the exception of weapons release, you have full authority. Until I say otherwise, you’re running the show.”