It was hoped that the new class of attack sub the navy desired would be able to operate such vehicles.
Since this ability would be unique to this class of vessel, the technology involved was expensive. It was up to Alien Long to present a case to Congress detailing the necessity of such equipment.
He would be meeting with the chairman of the Senate Committee on Armed Services in the morning, and was preparing a detailed report on ROVs to present to him. As it turned out, such technology was about to play an important part in a tragedy that had recently befallen the United States off the coast of Ireland. This disaster came to pass when a B-52 Stratofortress collided with a KC-135 tanker during a routine refueling operation. The B-52 had been carrying four nuclear weapons in its bomb bay. All of these devices were believed to have fallen into the sea. The navy was already moving in a variety of ROVs to facilitate the search for these, and he was certain they would soon enough show their worth. Admiral Long was going to make it a point to divulge this information during tomorrow morning’s meeting in the Senate office building.
To ensure that he got a detailed, accurate report on the effectiveness of the ROVs as they were deployed in the Irish Sea, the admiral decided to call in one of his experts. Commander Brad Mackenzie, or Mac, as he preferred to be called, was one of the brightest, most loyal junior officers he had ever worked with. Mac’s current billet was as a troubleshooter with Nose, and the admiral had little difficulty convincing the Naval Ocean Systems Command to reassign him temporarily.
As Admiral Long’s eyes and ears at the crash site, Mac would provide him with almost instantaneous updates on the recovery effort. He would then be able to utilize this information to further convince Congress that the ROV program was well worth the money that would be needed to continue its growth and development.
Mac was still unaware of the reassignment. As Admiral Long checked his watch, he saw that the plane carrying Mac was supposed to have landed at Andrews Air Force base over a half hour ago. He would thus be arriving at the Pentagon any moment now, at which time his new duties would be explained to him.
In a way, the Admiral wasn’t looking forward to breaking this news. Mac had been intricately involved with another project for almost a year now. Recently this assignment had taken him to several locations throughout the Pacific basin on the trail of a mysterious submersible that was believed to be Soviet in origin.
This elusive vessel supposedly operated on Caterpillar-like treads that guided it over the seafloor.
These tracks had been found in such diverse locations as the waters off Karlskrona, Sweden, Sicily, San Francisco, the Marshall Islands, and southern California. In each of these instances, they were located near sensitive military installations.
When a Trident II warhead launched from Vandenberg was lost beneath the waters of Kwajalein Atoll and a DSRV searching for it came across a puzzling set of tracks. Admiral Long recommended that Mac be sent out to identify them positively. At the same time, a hydrophone anchored beneath the seas of the Navy’s San Clemente test range picked up the unusual signature of a mini-sub that appeared to be propelled by some sort of tracked drive system. Suspecting that this could be the culprit responsible for the theft of the Trident II warhead, the admiral had Mac sent to southern California.
A combination of bad luck and a mysterious mine field kept Mac from participating in the capture of this vessel. Seven American sailors died in that incident, and Mac swore to apply all his efforts in finding the ones responsible. Unfortunately his trail was leading him nowhere, and rather than watch him be eaten up by frustration, the admiral decided to reassign him. Besides which, Mac was the best man available for the all-important job at hand in the Irish Sea.
Alien Long came to the conclusion that a radical change of assignment was just what Brad Mackenzie needed. Though he hated to have to pull him away from his family in Hawaii, Mac was a career officer who had long ago learned either to adjust to such absences or to find a new line of work.
Surely Mac would understand the utter priority of this new assignment. The suspected Soviet mini sub would probably be around long after the missing bombs were recovered. Mac would have a chance to help his country by assisting in the recovery of these weapons.
Then he’d be able to go back to work tracking down his nemesis, this time with a clear and open mind to guide him. Certain Mac would see it his way, the admiral found his thoughts interrupted by the shrill ring of his intercom.
“Yes, bowman,” he barked into the transmitter.
“Sir,” his secretary reported, “it’s Admiral Connors returning your call from Holy Loch, Scotland.”
“Excellent,” returned Long as he picked up the red telephone handset and activated the secure line.
“Bart, Al Long here. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. Listen,
I understand how crazed you are over there right now with the recovery operation and all, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to send someone over the pond to give you a hand. He’s a marine salvage expert, Commander Brad Mackenzie, who helped write the book on ROV’s… yeah, the same one … I thought you could use him… sure, I’ll put him on the next flight…. You too, Bart. Stay healthy, and good luck with your mission.”
Alien Long hung up and turned his gaze back to the Potomac. He had set the wheels in motion. Now he only needed Mac to arrive so that he could explain to him his new destiny.
The lights of Dundalk harbor were getting increasingly brighter, and Liam Lafferty knew that his long, arduous voyage was finally about to come to an end. For two long days and a night he had been drifting helplessly, the victim of a malfunctioning engine carburetor.
Since he had no radio to call for help with, the grizzled fisherman was forced to do the mechanical work himself. Thankful for his time spent at his cousin’s garage when he was a lad, Liam had to practically tear down the greasy carburetor and rebuild it, to get the device operating. By the grace of God, his persistent efforts paid off, and with the ancient engine puttering away like its old self, he gratefully turned the wheel toward home.
One stroke of luck was the excellent weather that continued to prevail. His greatest fear was that a gale would strike while the boat was dead in the water. These seas were notorious for such storms, and rarely did two solid days of fair weather pass in a row.
If a storm arrived, he planned to rig a sea anchor and attempt to ride it out. He would also have had to empty out the hold, to make the boat as light as possible.
This would have meant returning to the sea the massive elongated cannister he had recently plucked from the waters. Since Liam worked for nearly six hours dragging this weighty object on board, he didn’t look favorably upon the idea of having to abandon it so quickly. Besides, he wanted to carry it back to Dundalk and have it properly identified. And then who knew what would follow? For if his suspicions were correct, he’d soon be collecting a fat reward for hauling the charred cannister back to land.
It had apparently floated down from the heavens on a parachute soon after the night sky had lit up like day and the resonant explosion had sounded. Though Liam never saw the cannister hit the water, he arrived in time to find it bobbing on the surface, barely supported by a ring of compressed air floats. Its parachute was still wrapped around it, and it would surely have sunk if Liam hadn’t been there to intervene.
With the same block and tackle that he’d used to lift his largest fish-filled nets, Liam brought it on board with the assistance of a straining winch. To keep it from rolling around, he secured it inside the hold. This left him with little room for any additional fish. But the mysterious object would certainly gain him a reward of some sort, and his profit was all but assured.