“Belowdecks! This is the duty officer. Belowdecks watchman, can you hear me?”
Jake dug the silencer of his pistol into his belt at the small of his back and tiptoed up a staircase to the control room. The belowdecks watchman, a pudgy, acne-faced teenager, sat at a panel copying data into his logbook.
“Sir?” Seaman Williams asked.
“I know you’re busy, but I need you to come to the crew’s mess,” Jake said.
“The security drill was that bad, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Sir, do you smell gunpowder?”
The residue in my pistol, Jake thought.
Jake raised his fingers to his nose and sniffed.
“Yeah. I think I smell it, too. It’s probably because the duty chief and I ran an inventory of the gun locker after the drill. That locker stinks.”
“I’ll say. What do you need, sir?”
“Finish taking your logs later. Just hurry on down and join the rest of the guys.”
Jake backed down the ladder. At the bottom, he pressed against a wall to keep his weapon hidden.
“Williams, tell the crew I’ll be there soon.”
Jake retraced his steps to Kao and led him down a stairway to the crew’s mess. He overheard his duty chief keeping the duty section under control.
“Look, I know he’s been gone a while, but the belowdecks watchman just said Mister Slate was coming back. Quit whining. I know you’re all tired, but we’ll be able to hit the rack soon.”
Jake entered the mess and stood behind a table that would serve as a barrier against any would-be heroes.
“Where have you been, sir? We missed you,” the duty chief said.
Jake surveyed the duty crew, a fraction of the entire ship’s complement. The fatigue in their faces confirmed their desire to return to their racks to sleep.
“I know you’re mad that I ran the drill,” Jake said.
He waved his pistol over his head. Fifty-six bleary eyes opened wide.
“I’m stealing the Colorado. If you want to live, keep your mouths shut and do what I tell you.”
Jake nodded as Kao slid through a back doorway.
“This is some sick joke, right?” the duty chief asked.
Jake leveled the pistol at the man’s leg and squeezed off a round.
Flesh wounds heal, he thought. Pain and fear will keep them disciplined. Discipline will keep them alive.
“I said, keep your damn mouths shut! You will all remain here under guard while I get the ship underway. If you speak or move without being told, my men will kill you.”
The fear in the crew’s eyes told Jake that they believed him.
“When instructed, you will enter the missile compartment, take the ladder to second level, and then go to the missile compartment hatch,” Jake said. “Once there, you will don life jackets and head topside. En route, you will free the men handcuffed at CAMP.”
Jake tossed the handcuff keys onto the nearest table.
“When you are topside, you will jump overboard and swim to land. The strong swimmers will help the weak and the injured. You may jump overboard whenever you want, but I’ll secure the screw so you don’t get sucked under. A man at every corner of your evacuation route will prevent any stupid ideas of heroism. If you have to use the head, go in your pants.”
Jaguar stepped beside Jake. Leopard and Panther slid behind Kao.
“Remember, keep your damn mouths shut! No talking. Nod your heads if you understand.”
As heads nodded, Jake looked at Kao.
“Let’s get this pig to sea.”
CHAPTER 2
The USS Colorado’s eighteen thousand tons carved a conical swath through the Atlantic Ocean. Seven stories tall at its conning tower sail, the submarine shouldered twenty-four Trident D-5 ballistic missiles, an arsenal of nuclear destruction born of Cold War nightmares.
Few people knew more about the Colorado than the twenty-six-year-old naval officer from Connecticut, Lieutenant Jacob Slate, who preferred that his friends call him ‘Jake’.
Four months prior to his seizing of the vessel, Jake had considered the Colorado a second home and its crew like a family. He had been a model officer, but that was about to change.
As Jake descended a stairwell en route to the Colorado’s wardroom, a lanky, dark-haired man caught his eye. He stared at a grimy face.
“McKenzie, you been playing in the lube oil tanks again?” Jake asked.
“No, sir. Diesel fuel oil tank. Can we talk? In the machinery room?”
Jake followed McKenzie down a ladder.
Electric generators whirred. A refrigeration compressor caged within silvery piping droned. Jake welcomed the familiar sounds that kept conversations private and rested his hand on Scott McKenzie’s shoulder.
“You stupid shit,” Jake said. “Who else knows you’re banging a shipmate’s wife?”
“I’m not banging her. I love her. You don’t understand,” McKenzie said.
“You’ve got a good heart, Scotty. But you’re also a twenty-two-year-old swinging dick.”
A sound like snapping bamboo cracked. A hiss followed. Jake cringed and gazed at a junior mechanic crawling around piping in the back of the room.
“What the hell’s Hicks doing?” he asked.
“Dumping the accumulator on the external hydraulic plant,” McKenzie said.
“I thought we fixed it twice already this patrol.”
“It’s broke again.”
“We’ll check on Hicks in a minute. We still have your problem to deal with.”
“What should I do?” McKenzie asked.
“The last time a guy had an affair with a crewman’s wife they found him left for dead in the bilge. If you stay here, this is going to leak out. We’re going to have to transfer you before the next patrol.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“It’s too late,” Jake said. “Everyone on this old steel pig likes you, and I’m going to miss you, but I don’t want to scrape your corpse out of the bilge.”
“I can’t leave. She needs me. He doesn’t love her anymore. He’s cheating on her and—”
“And banging her is going to make it better?”
Thunder rang from the back of the room. Hicks, the junior mechanic, stumbled through a spray of oil. Jake trotted toward him, stopped at an emergency circuit, and tore the handset from its cradle.
“Hydraulic rupture, machinery room!” Jake said.
“Hydraulic rupture in the machinery room,” the ship-wide speaker said over the hydraulic hiss. “Ascending to periscope depth to ventilate.”
The hissing died.
“I got it!” McKenzie said. “Relief valve shut. Leak isolated.”
“Sir, I was dumping the accumulator when the relief lifted,” Hicks said.
Over the ringing in his ears Jake discerned the chopping of pumps that pounded the hydraulic plant.
“You left the pumps on!” Jake said and reached for a red ‘off’ button.
He saw aging, bent piping bulge just before it ruptured and launched copper shards. His forehead smacked an electrical panel and his shoulder slammed metal.
Lacerations burned deep within him. His knees splashed into a chocolate colored pool of oil and blood. He fell into McKenzie’s arms and slipped into unconsciousness.
Jake awoke under the lights of the Colorado’s wardroom. He felt a tug at his blood-soaked sleeve and heard scissors ripping cotton. Dizzy, he recognized the Colorado’s corpsman.
“It’s not pretty. I’m going to try to patch you up,” the corpsman said.