The launch was powered by an outboard engine, and they smoothly pulled away from the Hewitt and headed seawards. All too soon, the destroyer was swallowed by the fog, and a ghostly silence prevailed, broken only by the steady growl of the engine and the lapping of the water against the launch’s rounded bow.
Lieutenant Kelso was their navigator. With the assistance of a hand-held compass, he guided them on a southwesterly course, through fog so thick that even the immediate sea around them was veiled.
Ten minutes passed, and Moore was just about to ask where they were headed, when Kelso signaled the helmsman to cut the engine. The weapons officer put a whistle to his lips and blew a series of three long blasts.
This signal was answered by two short whistle blasts that emanated from a point nearby, though Moore could not determine the exact direction because of the fog. On Kelso’s orders, the helmsman restarted the engine, and they inched forward at a bare crawl.
Seconds later, a dim, blinking red light cut through the murky twilight. Moore anxiously sat forward upon spotting an immense, black, rounded hull less than ten yards in front of them. He knew in an instant that it was a submarine, though he still couldn’t determine its exact class. A duplicate version of their launch was positioned beside this submarine, beneath its massive sail. The launch was vacant, though several sailors were visible on the sub’s deck, huddled aft of the sail.
Two of them assisted Lieutenant Kelso as he threw them a nylon mooring line.
“Any sign of anyone yet?” asked the weapons officer as the two sailors pulled the launch forward and secured its mooring line to one of the submarine’s deck cleats.
“Negative, Lieutenant. Captain Stanton’s just about to pop the forward access trunk,” replied one of the seamen, who lowered a rope ladder over the submarine’s side.
“Then we’ll know what in the hell’s goin’ on here.”
Lieutenant Kelso turned to address Moore.
“Looks like we got you here just in the nick of time, sir. Be careful on your way up that ladder.”
Moore left the launch, and climbed up onto the deck of the submarine without incident. He could tell now from the distinctive bulged casing that extended aft of the sail that this was an American, Benjamin Franklin class ballistic missile submarine. He was certainly no stranger to such a class of warship, since several were based out of Holy Loch. What bothered him though was the fact that the only American ballistic missile submarines supposedly assigned to the Pacific were the newer Trident class vessels, based out of Bangor, Washington.
Lieutenant Kelso joined him on deck and pointed towards the sub’s bow.
“That’s where we’ll find the skipper, sir.”
Moore needed no more prompting to begin his way forward. As he passed by the sail, he halted for a moment upon spotting an accumulation of seaweed hanging from the vessel’s hydroplanes.
“Lieutenant, what in the world happened to this submarine?” he questioned.
Kelso pointed towards the group of individuals gathered on the deck before them.
“You’ll have to ask the captain, sir. I have absolutely no idea.”
Moore reached up and pocketed a sample of the seaweed before continuing forward. There were six individuals in all, kneeling around the closed access trunk. Two muscular chiefs were in the process of unsealing the hatch, with a pair of wrench like tools, especially designed for this task. A distinguished, grey-haired officer wearing a blue windbreaker stood beside them, supervising their efforts. He alertly looked up upon noting the approach of a newcomer.
“Ah, you must be Commander Moore. I’m Captain Edward Stanton, CO of the Hewitt.”
Moore acknowledged this greeting with a nod.
“Captain Stanton, I didn’t think that we had any Benjamin Franklin class SSBN’s in the Pacific.”
“Neither did I, Commander Moore,” replied Stanton.
“Unfortunately, she has no hull markings, so we still don’t know exactly which boat she is.”
“What about her crew?” continued Moore.
“Would you believe that we’ve yet to hear a peep out of them,” observed Stanton.
“Therefore I’m afraid the outlook for them doesn’t look good. Were you briefed at all before you arrived here. Commander?”
Moore shook his head that he hadn’t been, and Stanton continued.
“The vessel was originally discovered a little over nine hours ago, by a Japanese squidder.
They notified the Japanese Maritime SelfDefense Force, and that’s when we were called in to investigate.”
“We’ve penetrated the first seal. Captain,” interrupted one of the chiefs, who had been working on opening the access trunk.
This news caused Stanton to turn his attention back to his men.
“Step back. Chief, while Doc lowers the dosimeter.”
A tall, bespectacled officer stepped forward carrying a spool of wire with a small gauge attached on one end. As he lowered the wire into the partially open trunk, Stanton explained what was going on.
“Our medical officer jury-rigged a dosimeter to determine if we’ve got a radiation problem down there.”
Moore thoughtfully nodded, and watched as the Hewitt’s doctor unravelled a good twenty feet of wire before retrieving it. All eyes were on the medical officer as he bent over and carefully read the small gauge attached to the end of the wire.
“It’s in the safe range, Captain. I show absolutely no abnormal indication of radiation inside the inner hull.”
“Can you test for chlorine?” asked Moore.
“I’m afraid not,” answered the medical officer.
“We’re going to have to rely on our noses for that.”
“I think that they had a fire down there,” offered Stanton.
“Most likely, all of them were asphyxiated before they could get off an SOS.”
“Shall we go ahead and open up the trunk. Captain?” questioned the senior chief.
“Do it, sailor,” ordered Stanton.
As the two chiefs went to work on the trunk with their tools, Stanton beckoned Thomas Moore to join him further up on the foredeck.
“Commander Moore, I understand that you’re affiliated with the Naval Investigative Service. Because of your specialized training. Command wants you to lead the search party once we go down below. For discretion’s sake, I believe that it’s best if we keep this initial group to a minimum.
“I agree,” concurred Moore.
“Since we still don’t know what we’re dealing with down there, I think it’s best if we leave everything just like we find it.”
“You’ve got it,” returned Stanton, who turned around when one of his men called out behind him.
“The trunk’s open, Captain!”
“I guess the moment of truth’s upon us,” reflected Stanton.
“Shall we see what all of this is about, Commander?”
Thomas Moore’s gut tightened as he followed Stanton back to the access trunk.
“The initial search party will consist of Commander Moore, myself. Doc, Lieutenant Kelso, and Chief Daley,” instructed Stanton.
“Everyone else is to remain topside, with absolutely no one going below except for an emergency.”
“I hope someone brought along some flashlights,” said Moore, who curiously peered down into the darkened recesses of the open trunk.
“It’s pitch black down there.”
“Break out those lanterns and two-ways. Chief,” instructed Stanton.
“And for all those going below, don’t touch a thing without my permission. If you come across anything suspicious, use your radios and let me know about it.”
Moore soon had a battery-powered torch in hand, as well as a compact, two-way radio. With a minimum of ceremony, he stepped into the trunk and began his way downwards.