He could feel the tension in the compartment ease slightly. Then the next explosion came, this one farther away than the previous ones. Another, then another, all walking away from the boat. He heard a collective sigh issue out from ten pairs of lungs, and said a silent prayer to the god that watches over submariners that he had been right. Finally, the explosions were muted, more like the far-off rumble of an undersea earthquake than what they really were.
“How many years has it been since anyone used those?” his executive officer said, his voice still low and soft. “We don’t even carry them in the inventory.”
Tran shook his head. “Maybe we ought to. It might be effective as a scare tactic against someone who didn’t have our technology.”
“Are we still holding contact on that diesel?” Tran asked.
“Negative, Captain,” the chief said. “A lot of noise still in the water right now, though. We might pick her up any second.”
“Find her and hold her.” Tran’s voice was grim. “It’ll be payback time soon enough.”
“Captain, I’m a little bit worried about this,” his XO said, handing him a scribbled damage control report. “Structurally, we’re fine, but radio thinks we might have lost the ELF. Do you want to give it a try now?”
Tran studied the message for a moment, working out how that would affect their mission. With no ELF communications, they would have to come shallow and trail an antenna to query the satellite for other messages. Coordinating the attack with the carrier battle group — and eventually there would be an attack, of that he was certain — would be a hell of a lot trickier. And more dangerous. “Give it another half an hour, and let’s see if we regain contact on the diesel. I know she can’t track us off an ELF transmission, but I don’t want her hearing any extra noise in the water right now. None of them.”
They would have to come shallow in a while, let the battle group know that their ELF capabilities were damaged. Maybe it was just the receive side — they’d try a transmission over ELF, and see if they could get confirmation by return satellite message.
But what good would that do them, simply to be able to transmit? It was receive capability that was critical to coordinating their attack with the battle group, not the transmit side of the house. And the odds that one capability had survived on the single antenna when the other had not were small.
Still, he would have to find out. He told the XO to draft the casualty report and have it ready to go out in two hours. Already a list of tasks was arranging itself in his mind, prioritizing itself as a checklist. First, locate the submarine. Second, assess the extent of the damage. Third, check the area for other contacts. Fourth, when it was safe to do so, come shallow and transmit the casualty reports of the battle group.
“We’ve got her back, Captain,” the sonarman said. “I have a firing solution.”
“Good. Hold contact, weapons tight, and wait for my order.” Tran’s voice was grim. “We’ll teach them just how big a mistake it is to take on an American submarine.”
SIXTEEN
Jack Simpson stared at the khaki-clad Navy doctor leaning against the bulkhead. “I’m not willing to agree to that.”
The doctor shook his head patiently. “I’m sorry, but it’s standard procedure. You and your wife took a pretty nasty spill out of that boat. I’m going to insist that you stay in Sick Bay at least overnight.”
Jack glanced over at Adele and could see that she was starting to do a slow burn. Despite their weariness, they’d come through too much, done too much, to be confined to sick bay now.
“If there’s nothing wrong with us, then we’re not staying here,” Adele said firmly. She started stripping off the hospital gown they’d put her in as soon as they’d arrived in sick bay and reached for her own wet clothes. “I’m not injured, I’m not taking up a bed. And that’s, that.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Mrs. Simpson,” the doctor said slowly. “I know you’re not on active duty, but you are on board a U.S. warship. And, in my judgment, your failure to agree to a reasonable request is just further evidence of your mental instability at this point. Under the circumstances, I have no doubt that the admiral will support me in this.”
“Who’s the admiral?” Jack demanded.
The doctor gazed at him thoughtfully. “Admiral Wayne commands the battle group. Admiral Magruder has just arrived on board to take charge of the joint staff.”
“Tombstone Magruder?” Jack asked. A slow smile spread across his face. “Tomcat jock?”
“Admiral Magruder is a naval aviator,” the doctor said stiffly, “and I believe his aircraft of choice is the F-14 Tomcat.”
Jack’s smile broke into a broad grin. “Not so fast with that hospital gown, honey.” He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Then he looked over at the doctor and pointed at the pile of wet clothes on the deck. “Have someone take those down to the laundry, do a freshwater rinse on them, dry them, and get them back up to us. Either that or route us out the appropriate uniforms from the lucky bag,” he said, referring to a slush fund of clothes normally maintained by the welfare and recreation committee. “And let Admiral Magruder’s chief of staff know immediately that Commander Jack Simpson and his new wife are on board and, at his earliest convenience, would be honored if they could pay their respects in person.”
The doctor paled slightly. “You know Admiral Magruder?” he asked, deep suspicion in his voice.
Jack nodded. “That I do. And believe me, if it’ll get me bailed from this joint, I’m not above capitalizing on it. The admiral and I spent a fair amount of time together at the flying club — he owns a Pitts Special, I believe.”
No, I don’t believe at all — I’m damned well certain of it. Stony and I have gone around too many times just admiring that baby for me to be mistaken about that. “Let’s get a move on, Doc,” Jack said briskly. “I’m not going to want to keep the admiral waiting.”
Lobo shot Hot Rock an ugly look full of venom and distaste. “How the hell did I ever let you talk me into this?” she demanded.
Hot Rock shook his head and smiled at her. “You’re loving it, and you know it, babe,” he said easily. “Hold on, let me settle another one of these around your shoulders.” He hefted a twenty-pound tie-down chain, doubled it, then settled it firmly over her neck draping down her front. “Too much?”
“Fuck you, Hot Rock,” Lobo said, venom dripping from her voice. “I’ll match you tie-down chain for tie-down chain any day of the week.”
Hot Rock patted her affectionately on the shoulder. Weighted down with a hundred extra pounds of sheer iron, she probably wouldn’t be able to catch him if he had to make a run for it. “There, there, little girl. We’re just doing our part to win the war, aren’t we?”
He could hear her teeth grinding over the noise on the flight deck. Two F-14s were already taxiing up to the catapult, and the noise was deafening.
He surveyed her slim, muscular form, now clad in a nondescript coverall rather than the Nomex flight suit he usually saw her in. With her hair tucked up under a cranial, goggles over her eyes, and no rank or name insignia anywhere on her coveralls, she was one of a dozen sailors hustling gear belowdecks. A damned fine attractive woman at that, but still just another sailor on the flight deck.
He ran his hands down his front, felt the oily fabric under his fingers. Well, they had to look the part, didn’t they? After all, it wasn’t like they were going to go flying anytime soon.