“Well, what was your sense of the conversation?” Ray Larsen inquired. He was making a reasonable attempt at nonchalance. His arms remained folded, and he made a point of looking at other objects in Neil Arrow’s large office. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting back to Robbie Newman.
For his part, Newman was comfortable with himself, comfortable because he felt he’d handled himself well during his phone conversation with the President, especially because his ideas had been taken seriously by the White House. Robbie Newman also experienced pleasure in the CNO’s anxiety. The man’s curiosity was barely held in check. “The President was both cordial and open to my suggestions. When we discussed the probability of Florida’s survival, he explained that if orders must be issued to even the score, we make the target selections here. But the launch message and the orders to sink any of their SSN’s will originate directly from the White House.”
“But we will be able to pick the targets?” the CNO insisted.
“Correct. He would like to have our recommendations within the hour since he and the General Secretary essentially have an open wire.”
Larsen’s eyes fell on Mark Bennett. “I assume you have some suggestions.”
“San Francisco picked up one of their boats off the Japanese coast and she’s been trailing it for more than a week. And the Jack’s been on the ass of one of their Victors off Iceland for four days. She’s been around long enough that she deserves a final crack at something like this.”
“Prepare the messages and have them forwarded to the White House,” Larsen said matter-of-factly. “The bastards deserve more than they’re going to get.”
“There’s another part of the deal,” Newman said quietly. “While the President also agreed that there’s only one way we can prove to them that Florida is safe and functioning, there are limitations. He made it absolutely clear that we can’t select any heavily populated civilian area.” His gaze settled on Ray Larsen. “Can’t touch major commands either.”
Mark Bennett’d had little he really wanted to say in the past few hours. The strategic theories he’d believed in had failed to an extent. Yet his submarines were actually being used for a specifically designed purpose. Bennett had passionately believed missile submarines were a deterrent to be retired after their useful life without ever firing a shot — that was their sole function. Attack submarines had always been intended to keep their Soviet opposites neutralized — high-tech quality competing with Russian numbers, so that a torpedo would never be fired in anger.
Even if the President succeeded in accomplishing a meeting of the minds with the Kremlin to avoid a missile exchange, this use of offensive weapons signaled a new era. To Mark Bennett, it was also as blatant a message as possible that men like himself and Ray Larsen, perhaps even Neil and Robbie, should retire. It would take a new generation to comprehend the complexities of the decisions that had been made that day, to envision new strategies that would avoid the possibility of war. The old ones now had them at the edge.
Bennett stood up. “With your concurrence, I will select an appropriate target.”
Larsen opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
“Thank you, Ray. I think you understand my purpose.” Bennett walked to the operations room then turned back toward the table. “I’d like it if you’d all join me in this.”
Neil Arrow finally said what they all knew Larsen had been thinking. “And if Florida isn’t available for this mission?”
“Then I suppose the President has no other choice available,” he remarked softly. “That would mean that one arm of our Triad has been pretty much neutralized and he has to reevaluate everything we’ve considered.”
The sonar wave from Pasadena rolled over Manchester with an ominous note. There was just one ping, no more. Each man knew it was all that was necessary for their enemy to establish an accurate range, feed that figure into their torpedo solution, and shoot at them.
“That’s it,” Steel said. “Ping them, David. Stand by for a range,” he called over to Peter Simonds.
“Torpedos appear to have been exchanged with the boomer,” Chief Moroney announced. “Target accelerating. He must be turning away from the boomer’s shots.” The reports came in a matched cadence seemingly too fast to digest. Sonar picked up the sound of two water slugs. “Launch transient again on target bearing.” A pause, no more than seconds, more like minutes to those in hearing range, until, “Looks like these have our name on them.”
“Range — ten thousand yards.”
“Got it.…” Another pause from the executive officer. “Solution is ready.”
“Tube number one, shoot on generated bearings,” Steel called out, surprised at how his voice seemed to echo back and forth through the control room.
The water slug from tube one jolted the ship.
“Boomer’s winding it up. I’ve got noisemakers on his bearing. Our unit’s running correctly.”
“Evade, Captain?” Peter Simonds asked.
“Negative. Not yet. We’re not running from them yet. Tube number two, shoot on generated bearings.”
“Target’s got it wound up,” Chief Moroney reported. “Can’t tell if he’s evading or not. He’s got a problem with torpedoes coming at him from two directions. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s coming right down our throat.”
“Illuminate him again,” Steel answered. “No secrets out here anymore.” None at all, he thought. When you’re fighting your own kind after a lifetime of training to fight the other guy, how do you suddenly change everything you’ve been taught in a split second?
Pasadena had the same idea. Another sonar wave struck Manchester.
“Both our units running correctly, Captain.”
“Eighty-five hundred yards, closing rapidly.”
Peter Simonds’s eyes were closed as the figures raced through his head. “That torpedo is closing at three thousand yards a minute. Captain, as long as we hold course toward them … about three minutes if we don’t change course.” Why the hell were three American submarines shooting at each other like this? How did they…? ”About four minutes and we’ll be waving at each other.” Fifteen years in the Navy and I’m killing my own.…
“Wire continuity is good on both torpedoes.” There was a split-second pause before he added, “He’s got noisemakers everywhere. He’s got to turn away from both of us.”
“You’re right, Peter. And I know what you’re thinking,” Steel said to his XO. Then, “Take her down to six hundred feet. Left full rudder. Fire noisemakers. Put up a wall. Tell you what we’re going to do, Peter. We’re going to drive like a sports car and try to get around behind him for another shot. No matter what he does, remember, we were ordered to help out that boomer. That means getting between them if it’s possible.”