Causey reached for the laptop and toggled through programs. A small window moved from the background to the foreground showing a grayscale rendition of the Australian’s face under short dark hair. “I can see you now, Mister Cahill.”
“Great. If you’ll enable your laptop’s camera, I’ll be able to see you, too.”
The Indiana’s commander worked through a settings menu and clicked the checkbox enabling the lens. “Any luck?”
“Yeah. I see you. Now then, if your divers have standard five-pin RMK-to-RG-59 coax video cables, they can plug into the cable that’s connecting our ships. Then we’ll both be able to see what they see when they’re out there. I’m told the bandwidth on our cable allows up to three video inputs.”
The divers both nodded.
Causey stooped towards the computer. “We’ve got the cables.”
Twenty minutes later, a new laptop had appeared beside the others on makeshift stands, giving three screens. One showed the Australian on the Goliath’s bridge, and the others showed views from the cameras of the deployed dive teams. While the swimmers scanned the water for cetacean threats, the views were uninteresting shots of flashlights probing the darkness.
As one pair of divers completed a lap around the Indiana, Causey saw a huge school of tiny fish jetting in random but unified directions between long strands of kelp on his ship’s starboard side. Beyond the brief view of undersea life, he saw only darkness, and he made a command decision. “Let’s have them swim around the Goliath, too.”
“Right, mate. Good idea. I’ll shut down me MESMA plants while they swim, but we’ll need to coordinate port and starboard. Me battery is tiny for a ship of this size.”
“No need. They’ll stay above your intakes.” Causey glanced at the burly lieutenant.
The young officer nodded. “That’s right, sir.”
“Right, then, commander. Send them over.”
Thirty minutes passed as the divers circled the transport vessel and searched the silent darkness. Convinced of his tenuous but intact stealth, Causey was ready to put his submarine into the Australian’s care. “My divers are coming back to circle the Indiana. I recommend proceeding with loading.”
“Agreed, mate. Let’s get it done.”
“What’s the process?”
Cahill moved sideways, allowing his second-in-command to step into the screen. “Mister Walker will handle the systems for me while I oversee your loading. We’ll do all the adjusting here on the Goliath. Your job will be to maintain a constant angle, course, and speed.”
“I assume you need me to lift my stern.”
“Right. I’ll need at least ten degrees to give this a go. If you can give me twenty, that would be best. Any more, and me screws will break the surface. Any less, and I can’t get underneath you enough.”
Causey considered the torques and moments of shifting water throughout his submarine. “I’ll see what I can do.”
With the opportune sense developed over decades of submarining, the large-headed chief of the boat appeared when his commanding officer needed him. “I heard you’re getting ready to have us loaded, sir?”
Causey scoffed. “I’ve been doing that for an hour. It’s a slow process, but your timing’s perfect. I want one phone-talker up here connected to the sonar team, and I want the executive officer stationed with the sonar team. I also want one phone-talker here connected to maneuvering. You know what… take out a pad and write this all down.”
The Cob chuckled as he withdrew a pen and pad from his cotton jumpsuit. “You want one phone-talker with the sonar team, one with maneuvering, and the executive officer stationed with the sonar team.”
“I also want local manual control of the trim pump and every trim and drain valve that’s within reach. I want communications with all those stations through a phone-talker here. And I want all three phone-talkers on different circuits.”
“Local manual control of the trim pump and every accessible trim and drain valve with a phone-talker. Three different circuits. Got it. I’ll get help from the auxiliary division chief.”
As the Cob stepped away, Causey leaned towards the nearest laptop. “Mister Cahill, I’m stationing my men to create the angle on my ship. I’ll need at least fifteen minutes to get this evolution going.”
Tension crept into the Australian’s voice as time ticked away their chances of remaining hidden. “As long as we don’t hear any Iranian ships or see any of their dolphins, we’re good.”
The Indiana’s commander recognized a risk of fratricide. “What about your team’s dolphins? What if they show up here and we attack them by mistake? Is that deemed an acceptable loss?”
“That’s already decided, mate. Your guys are to kill any dolphins that show up. They wouldn’t have time to tell the mongrels’ dolphins apart from ours, unfortunately.”
“Understood.”
“Right, then. We’re ready when you are.”
Fifteen minutes later, an entourage surrounded Causey.
A second-class petty officer he recognized from the auxiliary division wore a headset and lowered the sound-powered phone’s speaker. “Sir, the trim and drain system’s lined up to pump the after tanks overboard.”
“Very well. To the trim pump operator, start pumping the after tanks overboard.”
The petty officer repeated and relayed the order.
Causey faced a first-class petty officer from the sonar division. “Find out if sonar team hears anything abnormal with our pumping operations.”
After the petty officer relayed the request, he announced the answer. “Nothing abnormal, sir, but the chief reminds you that our hydrophones are being dragged through the mud.”
“Understood.” Causey looked to the display showing the Australian’s face. “Mister Cahill, can your team hear our trim pump?”
“We hear it, but our towed array’s in the mud, too, and I don’t have a bow-mounted system. The conformal arrays aren’t showing an alarming sound power level from you, but me ship’s much louder than yours.”
“I’ll keep pumping.” Unsure if he discerned a gentle shift in the deck’s angle, Causey looked at a first-class petty officer from his engineering staff. “Ask maneuvering what our angle is.”
The sailor obeyed and reported. “Five degrees down, sir.”
“We started at two-degrees down. This is taking too long.” Causey thought of a way to accelerate the movement, waved his hand in the air, and raised his voice. “All phone-talkers, have the chief of the boat report to me.”
Thirty seconds later, the large-headed master chief petty officer arrived. “Sir?”
“Round up every spare body and have them muster as close to the reactor compartment bulkhead as you can squeeze them.”
The chief of the boat blinked.
“To help with the ship’s angle.”
“Oh. I see. I’ll round them up, sir.” The man turned to walk away.
“Cob?”
Stopping, the chief of boat swiveled his large head. “Yes, sir?”
“Quietly. Soft footsteps and minimal talking.”
Five minutes later, one hundred men crowded the engine room’s forward-most spaces. Murmurs flowed up and down through the three levels.
Along with those of his crew who faced sternwards, Causey leaned forward onto the balls of his feet. “How’s my angle now?”
The engineering staff’s petty officer queried maneuvering. “Nine degrees, sir. The engineer thinks mustering the crew forward helped.”
“Good.” The Indiana’s commander spoke into the laptop. “Did you hear that, Mister Cahill? We’re nine degrees down.”