It was a giant.
The hull was painted light blue, with big thick black letters announcing that it was owned by MAERSK LINE. Stacks and stacks of shipping containers filled the deck, six stories high. A long, thin glass walkway towered one hundred feet above the water. It was the bridge. And their target.
Plug said, “Honestly, I’m surprised that we’re doing it too. But we asked the only guy on the ship who had any idea whether it would work, and he thought there was a chance. I mean, no one had any better ideas on how to hide from a submarine. I really just got the idea from a movie. But Senior Chief ended up throwing some big words in there, like broadband acoustic interference and all that. Next thing I know, everyone thinks I’m a genius. I think I’m going to start asking Senior Chief to sit next to me at bars when I talk to chicks. He can make me sound good.”
Juan shook his head. “A genius? Is that what you think you are?”
“No way, man. After today, I would describe us as more like pirates.”
Juan shook his head again. “I can’t believe we’re going with your plan. If we don’t get sunk, I owe you a beer.”
“Amen, brother. Alright, I’m coming into a hover right above the port bridge wing. AWR1, are the Marines ready?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send them down with the rescue hoist once we get into position.”
Plug said, “Alright, I’m making my call. Here goes nothing.” He flipped his communications switch to the external frequency known as bridge-to-bridge, which all mariners used to communicate on.
“Maersk Atlanta, Maersk Atlanta, this is US Navy helicopter 471, come in, please.”
After a moment, the reply came in a thick New England accent. “Navy helicopter, this is Maersk Atlanta, we read you loud and clear. How may we be of assistance, sir?”
“Maersk Atlanta, it is my duty to inform you that under the Merchant Marine Act of 1936, your vessel has been declared an asset of the US Navy. Please prepare to be boarded. We’ll be sending down a few advisors on your port bridge wing. Thank you for your help.”
Plug then unkeyed the mike and said on his internal comms circuit, “Arrr, mateys. Commence the boarding.”
AWR1 said, “Sir, you’re in a good hover. Come forward two… one… stead. Alright, lowering the hoist.”
After a few moments, three members of Captain Darby’s MARSOC team were standing on the top of the container vessel’s bridge. They began climbing down a white metal ladder.
Juan saw a door to the bridge open, and the Marines entered. A few moments later, the radio came on again. “Navy helicopter, this is the captain of Maersk Atlanta. We have just had a conversation with the Marines. I don’t think that the Merchant Marine Act covers this particular situation. However, I have decided to alter my navigational heading to match up with your Marines’ recommendation.”
“Roger, Captain, your country thanks you.”
Juan kept shaking his head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Plug nosed over the helicopter, gaining airspeed. “Alright, let’s head back to Mom and get our next batch of pirates.”
Victoria walked down the passageway from the wardroom to Combat, carrying her thermos of strong coffee. It was five in the morning. She had only gotten about four hours of sleep, and even that had been interrupted by several phone calls from the tactical action officer.
As she passed various members of the crew, she noticed the different way they looked at her. A new level of respect.
“Morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning.”
“Morning, ma’am,” said the next.
“Good morning,” she replied as she continued to march along in her steel-toed boots.
Vigorous nods, solid eye contact. The way they used to treat the captain, she realized.
The first time she heard them refer to her as captain was when she entered Combat.
“Captain in Combat.”
For a brief second, she thought to chastise the junior officer who had said it. But she found herself instead saying, “Status update.”
The TAO walked over to her. “Hey, boss.”
“Hey. Have our friends snuggled up next to us yet?”
“Affirmative. We now have two US-owned merchant ships in a very tight screen next to our ship.”
“Excellent. Any pushback so far?”
“Nope. I think it helps having armed Marines over there. You sure you don’t want to inform Strike Group?”
Victoria thought about that. She shook her head. “I think this is one of those ‘better to beg forgiveness than ask for permission’ moments. Besides, we already did it. No point in asking now.”
The anti-submarine warfare officer stood over nautical charts next to the chief sonar tech. The ASWO was an ensign who had been a college student at Notre Dame a year ago. Now he was tasked with overseeing a division of enlisted men who would locate a Chinese submarine and prevent it from sinking their ship.
The ASWO said, “Good morning, ma’am. Long story short, we still don’t have contact with the sub. We had a few sniffs last night, but they turned out to be false alarms. The helo launches at zero six hundred, and they’ll begin spitting buoys in certain areas, performing passive searches for us here, and here.” He pointed to a few locations on the chart.
Victoria said, “Alright. What else?”
“OPS asked me to tell you that—”
“Ma’am, Pelican 434 just checked in. On-station time is six plus zero zero.”
“Copy, thanks.” Victoria looked at the tactical display. She turned back to the ASWO. “You were saying?”
“OPS asked me to tell you that he was trying to get us a P-8. Looks like it just checked in.”
“Good, let’s have the P-8 clear out a path for us.”
The P-8A Poseidon was the Navy’s newest maritime patrol aircraft. Primarily used for anti-submarine warfare, it had replaced the aged P-3C Orion. The P-8 was essentially a Boeing 737 outfitted for Navy missions. It could carry thirty percent more sonobuoys than the P-3, as well as torpedoes, infrared cameras, electronic sensors, and even anti-ship missiles.
Most importantly, it was reliable. The 737 airframe was one of the most successful of this generation. The older P-3 had been notorious for breaking down in the chocks. But if the P-8 was scheduled, it would show up ready to fight.
One hour later, the P-8 had placed sonobuoys all along the Farragut’s intended track. In addition, the destroyer used its own sonar to listen for the Chinese submarine.
She nodded to the team in Combat and walked up to the recently repaired bridge. The repairs were being conducted all day long, but only a skeleton bridge team was up there now.
The bridge crew stood in a pitch-black environment. Dawn wasn’t for another few hours. Their eyes were adjusted to the low light. They needed to be able to see the most minor detail on the horizon, and any light on the bridge would hurt their night vision, diminishing their ability to see contacts.
“Air boss on the bridge!” someone yelled. That announcement was normally reserved for the captain. The ship’s new navigator, who was standing officer of the deck, walked up to her. “Morning, ma’am.”
Victoria looked at her watch. It was 0200. She needed sleep. Her head was groggy. “I guess it is morning, isn’t it? How’s the ship?”
“Doing better, ma’am. They’ve got all the navigational and bridge helm controls fixed. But there are still a lot of electronics, windows, and parts of the hull that need repairs.”
The sound of billowing wind filled the spacious bridge, as many of the windows and doors had yet to be repaired from the missile attack.