"And what are we going to do with those fuckers when we find them?" I ask.
Lambert winks at me. "Let me ask the doc if you can get out of bed. I have something to show you."
THELMSR is Military Sealift Command's newest class of ship and provides afloat prepositioning of a heavy brigade's equipment and a corps' combat support, as well as surge capability for lift of a heavy division's equipment from the United States. LMSRs can carry an entire U.S. Army Task Force, including fifty-eight tanks, forty-eight other track vehicles, plus more than nine hundred trucks and other wheeled vehicles. The ship carries vehicles and equipment to support humanitarian missions as well as combat missions. The new construction vessels have a cargo carrying capacity of more than 380,000 square feet, equivalent to almost eight football fields. In addition, LMSRs have a slewing stern ramp and a removable ramp that services two side ports, making it easy to drive vehicles on and off the ship. Interior ramps between decks ease traffic flow once cargo is loaded aboard ship. Two 110-ton single-pedestal twin cranes make it possible to load and unload cargo where shoreside infrastructure is limited or nonexistent. A commercial helicopter deck is used for emergency daytime landing, which was how I was brought aboard. The Fisheris a prime specimen of an LMSR.
After the doc removes my IV and clears me to leave sick bay, Lambert leads me through a dozen passageways and hatches to one of the storage decks. Aside from an assorted allotment of military vehicles, I see three strange-looking contraptions that look like wet bikes from the future. Lambert speaks to a crewman, who turns on some lights so we can examine one of the devices up close.
"This is what the U.S. Navy calls a CHARC," Lambert says, pronouncing the word as "Shark." "Or, to be more specific, a Covert High-speed Attack and Reconnaissance Craft. Have you heard about it?"
"I vaguely remember reading about it being developed," I say. "Tell me more."
"Lockheed-Martin designed and developed it to protect the navy's surface vessels from high-speed armed boats and submarines. Ideally the CHARC will help provide a lethal response for some of the emerging littoral threats that face naval forces today, including small-boat swarm attacks and diesel-electric submarines. Remember what happened to the USS Cole? The creation of the CHARC is a direct response to that incident."
"It looks awesome," I say. And it does. The CHARC is about twelve meters long and consists of two levels of hydroplanes topped by the actual boat in which one or two men can ride. "I imagine it's portable?"
"That it is. The entire thing can be collapsed to fit into a 3.6-by-3.6-by-12-meter box and transported on deck or in a cargo hold. Think of it like an attack helicopter, only it's in the water on a high-speed platform that uses SWATH, or Small Waterplane Area Twin Hull, technology. It's small and stealthy and is plated with bulletproof material. It can attack on a moment's notice using an array of Hellfire missiles, twenty-millimeter guns, forty-millimeter grenade launchers, and torpedoes. We added drop-mines that will sink to the bottom of the sea and knock out anything in their paths. The navy will use it to loiter, patrol, and attack in shallow littoral waters. What's really nice is that it sits low in the water for long periods and can then pop up and dash to suspected threats when speed is needed. And it's fast, too."
I run my hand along the side of it. "Very nice," I say.
"Now here's where it gets interesting," Lambert says. "The designers installed several intelligence-gathering tools that are helpful to us. For one thing it has mine-hunting capability--it'll sniff out and destroy mines as it encounters them in shallow water. By the same token it can detect other objects and zero in on radiation. The Geiger counter and sonar equipment will let the rider know when he's on top of dangerous material or even vehicles."
"So it'll find the MRUUVs."
"Precisely. Another cool feature is the homing beacon. The pilot wears it in his belt, so if he leaves the CHARC for any reason, such as a dive, the CHARC will follow him along the surface on automatic."
"Damn, it's like a loyal dog. Great, let me at 'em," I say. "You have the owner's manual handy?"
"Whoa, hold on, Sam. You're not well enough to do this. I was just showing you--"
"What do you mean I'm not well enough? Are you out of your mind?" He can't keep me out of the fight. Not now. Not after what I've been through.
"Sam, we have some Navy SEALS aboard. They're going to pilot the CHARCs."
"I'm a Navy SEAL, too, Colonel. You know damn well that I have to do this. I needto do this."
"It's been more than twenty years since you were a Navy SEAL, Sam. And you just got up from a hospital bed. Be realistic! We're going to have to launch these things at sunrise. That's only four hours from now."
"Oh, come on, Colonel! You know I can do this. I'm fine. I feel great. You know me." I didn't feel great but I wasn't about to let someone else do this job.
"Sam, if we find the MRUUVs, it's going to take someone to dive down there and disarm the bomb. That means scuba gear and the works. You're just not up for it. You're not healed. The mission is too important. I'm sorry, Sam."
I don't know what to say. I'm so angry I could slug the guy but of course I'm not going to do that. Deep down I know he's right. If I were in his shoes I'd make the same call. With a sigh I simply nod my head and walk away.
"Sam . . ."
"It's okay, Colonel. Just have someone show me to my quarters, if I have any."
Aloud knock on my compartment door disturbs my sleep. At first I think the bulkhead is collapsing but then my senses spin me back to reality. I turn on the overhead light above my bunk and say, "Come." The digital clock tells me I've been asleep for two hours.
Colonel Lambert takes a step into the small quarters and says, "Sorry to disturb you, Sam. May I come in?"
"Sure." I sit up and rub my eyes. "What's up?"
Lambert sits on the end of the bunk and replies, "I've come to eat crow. And apologize."
I wait for him to go on.
"One of our Navy SEALS . . . he . . . well, hell, he's got goddamned food poisoning. Or something. He's throwing up every half hour and is running a temperature. Doc says it's either food poisoning or a stomach virus. That, uh, leaves a vacant seat on one of the CHARCs."
I'm suddenly wide awake. "Are you telling me . . . ?"
"The job's yours if you still want it, Sam."
"Of course I still want it!"
"Get dressed and meet me on the same deck where we were earlier. You'll suit up in diving gear and we'll run you through the basics on how to operate the CHARC. We're an hour outside of Los Angeles so we'll be launching as soon as we can." He stands and goes for the door. "I just hope I don't regret this."
"Don't worry, Colonel," I say. "And thanks."
THEtwo Navy SEALS are young guys--well, young compared to me--named Lieutenant Junior Grade Max Carlson and Ensign Ben Stanley. When I walk onto the deck I can feel the skepticism oozing from them. They look at me as if to say, "Who the hell is this old guy?" I introduce myself and shake hands with both of them and they reply politely, but I can tell they are not happy about me joining the team.