“Fuck, how many subs are there?”
“More than a dozen.”
“All within Havana Bay?”
“All within Havana Bay.”
“What the fuck are they doing?”
“Eavesdropping maybe. But frankly with all the pinging I just don’t see how anyone can listen.”
“Juvenile dipshits. This ain’t the time or place to grope each other. Isn’t that why we got the Barents Sea… must be the Rear Ass Admirals… the groping and ass grabbing never gets old for those pervs.”
Jim Borland pondered a bit before making his next move. Someone had to stop Russia and this Primakov guy from pulling off these fast stunts. With Undersecretary McAllister’s support he had gotten the go ahead from his bosses up the chain. The Pentagon after a lot of hand wringing had acquiesced and given up the junkyard bound USS Bellingham.
“Langley… we got a feed of the transmission between the subs… seems like trash talk… you want to listen in?”
“Why the hell not? Play it.”
“Ok, here goes… ‘I am on your starboard side moron’… ‘I’m looking… there is nothing’… ‘well don’t look… ping’… ‘ok I just pinged… still nothing’ ‘Oh wait… the other starboard… your other starboard side…’… ‘You mean your starboard?’… ‘No. Your starboard side, but like…like… your other starboard side’…. That was between the Ohio and the Arihant. This next one is between an Akula and a Yuan, ‘Yo you work at subway…?… ‘Hmmm’… ‘Coz you just gave me a footlong. Haha… now do me, do me…’ ‘Well…ok… what is looong hard and fooooll of seamen?’…. ‘haha… why remaster the classics…’”
Jim Borland swore, “See? This is the type of shit these bums specialize at. I never trust these submerged things you know… Once they go down there, lord knows what they are up to. I mean, come on, a hundred, two hundred dudes stuck together for months in an airtight tube… nothing good can come out of that… you see what I am saying…”
“Oh, we get it Langley. Half our business is because of these dude filled subs.”
“That’s why you know, I have been a strong advocate of unmanned subs. Hopefully, this AutoCaptain will catch on.”
Without manned subs, there won’t be any sunk subs. Without sunk subs, Trondheim would have to revert to the low margin treasure hunts in the Atlantic. Without hefty margins, how could they maintain the crayon colored, triangle headed row houses of Trondheim? Trondheim Engineering shuddered at the apocalyptic world without manned subs.
“Oh wait… Langley, we got a lock,” Trondheim said triumphantly.
“You sure it’s the USS Bellingham?”
“Positive. Los Angeles Class.”
“Well, the AutoCaptain system should do the rest.”
“Right… and it just positioned itself right above our pod….”
“Trondheim… lets rock ‘n roll.”
“Copy that, Langley.”
Jim Borland heaved a sigh of relief.
Bottom of Havana Bay
The bottom of the Havana Bay was quickly turning into a mosh pit. A few subs had stuck to pinging, as they were there ‘just for the experience’. But then as usual there were these other subs who took things too far. Things went sour when an Ohio had gotten up in the hull of young Yuan. There was even an instance of the notorious tail swatting between an Akula and some German U-boat. Within minutes the binge-pinging had descended into full scale pushing and shoving.
The USS Bellingham’s AutoCaptain was going nutzzz. The 1 GHz processor was never gonna cut it. Soft thump… contact — hull to port side… more pinging….
Trondheim’s balloon pod was also having a hard time trying to stay locked to the USS Bellingham. Every few seconds the lock was broken due to shoving.
But at the last moment Trondheim’s pod got a solid lock and it was time for action.
Havana, Cuba
The Big Boeing was gliding in at 100 Knots.
“Cidudad Retarded, speed is 100 Knots,” reported Captain Willy.
“Big Boeing, for the last time… its Ciudad Libertad not retarded…,” said Espinoza the ATC dude.
“Haha… sorry… gets me every time…”
“Big Boeing, whats your altitude?”
“Ciudad Libertad, can’t you just see and tell?”
“Big Boeing, repeat altitude?”
“200 feet… Cidudad Retarded…hahaha.”
“That’s it. That does it. We are revoking your permission to land. No landing for you,” thundered Espinoza the 18 year vet.
“Uh oh… hahaha… hahaha…oh no… no Toyota for you… no Coke for you… and definitely no Chipotle for you… hahaha…”
“… and no Xbox…” added the copilot.
“Big Boeing, I repeat, no landing for you.”
Hearing the Chipotle exchange, elite members of the Cuban Republican Guard burst into the Air Traffic Control Tower and proceeded to beat the lights out of Espinoza.
The Big Boeing’s pilots heard some cracking… perhaps wood… then some shouting… lots of shuffling… One moment, Espinoza had been verbally affronting the Americans, and the next he had only 18 teeth. And his pants were missing.
“American plane, you are cleared to land. Land wherever you want. Park wherever you want,” announced the thundering yet pleading Commander of the Cuban Republican Guard.
A stunned Captain Willy finally said, “Hey, what happened to your other guy?”
“Every revolution needs some blood.”
“Damn… you sons of bitches must really want that Chipotle burrito…”
“You have no idea, Senor.”
Havana Bay, Cuba
The big Boeing descended over Havana Bay as it approached the runway. Its big nose was pointing slightly upward. From their vantage point on the upper deck, the Big Boeing’s pilots saw tons and tons of sweet cloud free sky.
“Jet seconds from landing #Cuba #retrorevolution #chipotlediplomacy,” live tweeted Jizzer.
The hot tamales paused or at least slowed their sashaying in anticipation. The Cuban receiving party stood up, warming their palms to clap.
Inside the Big Boeing’s big cockpit, there was pandemonium. Red flashy lights, klaxon noises, bleeped out four letter words, etc. Seconds ago the aircraft’s proximity alert system had gone bonkers.
“Gear Up. Warning. Gear Up,” warned the calm automated voice.
“I checked every bleeping thing…” said Captain Willy as his men checked out the dials and their digits.
“Gear up. Warning. Gear Up.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Means we are very close to the ground… but the altimeter says…”
“Captain maybe the system is broke.”
“Gear up. Warning. Gear Up.”
“Captain should we abort and pull up?”
Unbeknownst to the human beings, something broke the surface of Havana Bay.
Initially it rose slowly. But then exponentially faster with every passing millisecond.
It was long, hard and full of seamen.
To the viewers catching Calamity News… the big black hard mass seemed to jump right out of the water. According to Russkies, the state-of-the-(soviet)-art Yasen Class submarine was 140m long, 15m wide and weighed at least 9000 tons.
The fully loaded Big Boeing, clocked in at 300 tons which was about 1/30th of the tonnage of the Russian sub. International laws governing the conservation of momentum waited in anticipation.
Seconds later the Big Boeing, T-Boned the Russian leviathan’s port side.