“It will matter if they’re in the way of us fighting to keep Sea Base afloat. So do me the favor of one E-9 to another; get them belowdecks and out of the way.”
Willard watched Jacobs leave. Lou Thomas ran up to him, the man’s mouth open to speak.
“Are the next two ready, Lou?” Willard asked before the technical sergeant could say anything.
“Chief, our aircraft are always ready.”
Willard held up one finger.
“With the exception of 223,” Thomas added reluctantly. Willard looked at the pilots milling about to the rear of the flight line. One thing he liked about the Air Force was how officers knew when their advice was needed and when they needed to stay out of the way. Well… most times. Christ! He’d hate to be in the Navy where you got advice all the time. He watched Jacobs’s back as the Navy master chief hurried across the runway portion of Sea Base.
“Lou, get our people into life vests.”
“Why?”
“Why! Because I said so.”
“Okay, Chief,” Thomas replied, glancing behind Willard. He opened his mouth, but shut it. “I’ll go get them into life vests, Chief. They aren’t going to like it. It’s hot enough out here.”
“Lou, is there something else bothering you?”
“I’m going to get them into the life vests, Chief. What about the other people problem we’re getting here? I got more people than I need and the officers are starting to get antsy. They want to fly and fight.”
“You know something, Sergeant Thomas? You are right on target. Tell the officers to get on their life vests or go wait in the Ready Room. Tell them how valuable they are and all that other stuff they like to hear. Then, tactfully — you know that word: tact? Then, tactfully, suggest they wait in the Ready Room rather than sweat up their flight suits beneath the life vests.”
“Ah, come on, Chief. Why should I ask them? You’re the chief master sergeant.”
“Everyone accounted for?”
“Everyone but Sergeant Norton. She didn’t show up for muster and no one has seen her since four o’clock.”
Willard nodded, his lower lip pushing into his upper. “She’s new. Most likely she’s locked up somewhere in some passageway wondering why the Navy kidnapped her. I don’t think she’s fallen overboard.”
“The bridge is asking for muster reports, do I report her UA?” Willard nodded. “Well, she is, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, but…”
“No buts. Just report her UA. She won’t be the only one the Navy is missing. Never pass up the opportunity to do what is right, Lou. In the long run, you’ll sleep better at night.”
“And the officers? You’ll talk to them? They won’t listen to a tech sergeant. Everyone listens to a chief master sergeant.” Willard uncrossed his arms and shook his head. “Flattery will get you promoted, Lou, one of these days. All right,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll tell them the choices.” He glanced at the gaggle of pilots. “We’ll send four down; keep the next two pilots to launch up here.” He sighed again, reached out, and touched Sergeant Thomas. “I’ll take care of them. I doubt all of them will go belowdecks, but I’ll convince Captain Nolan to lead some back to the Antares.”
“Thanks, Chief. You’re one swell guy.”
“Sergeant Thomas, eat my shorts. Now go get the crew into life vests before the Navy comes back.”
EIGHT
“They’re gone, Senior Chief. They’re gone!” Bernardo shouted, whipping around in his chair to stare at Agazzi for a second before returning his attention back to the display. “They’re gone,” he said in a quiet voice. “One moment they were there, heading toward us, and the next they just poof— disappeared.” Bernardo threw his hands up spreading his fingers. “Just poof.”
Agazzi leaned over the shoulder of the petty officer, his eyes squinting as he searched the rainfall display trying to find the noise trace of the torpedoes. The passive noise spikes of the four Chinese submarines were there on their respective lines of bearing. The eight fast-moving torpedoes disrupting the rainfall display of noise were gone. Nowhere to be seen. The last trails of their tracks were disappearing at the bottom edge as the rainfall display continued its slow move down the screen.
“Can you hear them?”
“That’s just it, Senior Chief. One moment, the noise in my ear set matched the visual trace on the console. Then — poof!” Bernardo flicked his fingers into the air again. “The sound of the torpedoes’ propellers turning and the trace on the console disappeared — ceased at the same time.”
“Could they have gone beneath the layer?”
Bernardo reached up and hit several buttons. “Here are the returns from the dipping sonars beneath Sea Base, Senior Chief. See? Nothing. I’m telling you they’re gone.”
“Maybe they were fired too far out and ran out of steam?” Calvins said.
Bernardo grimaced and shook his head. “They weren’t in the water long enough to run out of fuel, and when torpedoes run out of fuel, what do they do?”
“Explode?”
“Nope.” He made a circling motion with his finger. “They start circling as they sink, hoping for a last-minute target to strike. And when they start sinking, the motion of the water hitting their propellers keeps them turning so they still make a signature. This didn’t do any of those things, Senior Chief. They just stopped.”
“I don’t know either,” Agazzi admitted, a slight chill going up his spine. The good news was the torpedoes were no more. The bad news was he had no idea why. Whys bothered him. Was this some new technology? Maybe the torpedoes were still inbound, but running so quietly the passive sonar was unable to detect them.
“It wasn’t one, then two, then three disappearing in a row, Senior Chief. All eight disappeared at the same time — in unison — as if coordinated somehow.”
“If they were coordinated to switch to a different type of propulsion…” Agazzi thought aloud.
“I don’t think so, Senior Chief,” Bernardo said, shaking his head, his long hair cascading over his ears. “The sound signature was of the newer YU-6 torpedo, and what we have on that shows it has a long-range capability exceeding forty kilometers, single screw, electrically propelled. It should still be running.” Petty Officer Keyland leaned over the safety rails running along the top level. “Maybe they’re designed to drift.”
“Drift?” Bernardo said, frustration showing in his voice. “What do you mean drift? Torpedoes don’t drift. Most are wire-driven as far as possible, then once the wire breaks, they become fire-and-forget weapons.”
“Unless they turn back toward you. Then, I bet you remember them,” MacPherson said.
“Oh, eat shit and die, Jenkins. This isn’t funny.”
Agazzi put his hand on Bernardo’s shoulder. “Stay calm. We’re as perplexed over this as you.”
“By drift I mean, what if you had a torpedo that was meant to be launched…”
“All torpedoes are meant to be launched,” MacPherson interrupted.
“… and after the torpedoes reached a certain distance from the target, they were programmed to stop.” Keyland made a chopping motion with his hand. “If the targets were warships, then the submarine would know they detected the torpedoes. When the torpedoes seemingly disappear from Sonar, then everyone relaxes. Later…”
“How much later?” Bernardo asked.
Keyland shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud — voicing alternatives as to why you lost the torpedoes.…”
Bernardo spun around in his chair. Poking his thumb in his chest, he growled, “I didn’t lose them. They disappeared.”
“Watch the console,” Agazzi said.