The city lights were on all the way north up the coast, from Yokosuka itself to Kawasaki to the vast, illuminated sprawl of Tokyo over the horizon. The gleam and glow of brightly colored lights caught the moving waters of the bay in dancing shimmers of reflected illumination, a magnificent sight.
"Bridge, Conn," a voice called over the 1MC. "Pilot tug reports they are ready to guide us out."
Garrett could see the tug, standing off astern and to starboard, one of the ugly, chunky powerhouse workhorses of any naval facility. She was accompanied by a harbor patrol boat that would escort them clear of Tokyo Bay.
"Conn, Sail. Acknowledged." Captain Lawless turned and looked at Garrett. "Well, Mister Garrett," he said, emphasizing the title. "You have the conn. Take us out, if you please."
"Aye aye, sir," he acknowledged. "I have the conn."
It was possible that the captain's use of "Mr. Garrett" was a calculated insult, a way of forcibly reminding him that he was Seawolf's executive officer and operating only under the captain's orders and at his sufferance, but Garrett didn't care, couldn't care one way or the other. He was in command of a submarine once again… and what a submarine! The Seawolf, SSN-21. He could almost feel the quiet, steady hum of power running through the soles of his shoes and the tips of his fingers, ready and responsive to his direction.
He touched a switch on the comm console in front of him. "Deck party!" he called. "Make all preparations for getting under way. Secure the brow! Line handling parties, fore and aft, stand by the lines."
"Secure the brow, aye, sir" came back from Chief
Boatswain's Mate Sterling, in charge of the deck crew below. In moments the ramp connecting Seawolf's aft deck with the pier to port had been swung away and secured on the pier. Line-handling parties fore and aft, each man wearing a bright orange life jacket over his dungarees, began queuing up, ready to release the Sea-wolf from the dock.
Back in the old days, all of a submarine's surface maneuvers were conned from the weather bridge atop the sail. Now it was possible to conn a sub in or out of port from her control room, but there remained an air of tradition, of rightness in skippering the boat away from the dock and out onto the high sea from the bridge. Garrett had only rudimentary instrumentation to rely on — a compass and bearing indicator, a speed indicator, the intercom link with the control room and through the headphones of the men bossing the deck details.
"The brow is cleared away, sir," Sterling said over the 1MC.
"Very well. Single up lines fore and aft. Prepare to cast off."
"Single up lines fore and aft, aye aye, sir."
"Lookouts, check astern."
"Clear astern, sir!"
The crew, Garrett was pleased to note, was moving with crisp efficiency. They were well-trained and they were good. They worked together to clear away all of the lines holding Seawolf to the pier, save for a single line off the bow, another off the stern. A diver in full rig stood ready on the deck in case anyone fell in. This was a dangerous evolution, given the submarine's smooth, wet deck, and with the safety rails taken down and stowed. A misstep could mean disaster at worst, embarrassment and delay at best.
He took a last look around. The water was clear astern and to starboard. Behind him, Seawolf's two lookouts continued scanning the area, checking for anything, from drifting trash that might foul the screw to the sudden appearance of an aircraft carrier that might threaten the boat's maneuver.
"Maneuvering, Bridge. Rudder to starboard. Come aft, dead slow."
"Bridge, Maneuver. Rudder to starboard, come aft, dead slow, aye aye."
Gently, gently, Seawolf's stern edged away from the dock. The line handlers aft let the line out, bracing themselves against the movement.
"Cast off aft."
"Cast off aft, aye!" A moment later Chief Sterling's bull voice bellowed out, "Aft line handlers! Cast off!" The line astern flipped over to the pier, where it was caught by shore-side handlers.
Garrett watched the angle between Seawolf and the straight slash of the pier growing larger. When her blunt prow almost touched the pier, he called out, "Cast off forward!"
"Cast off forward, aye aye!"
"Conn, Bridge. Give me three blasts on the horn."
"Bridge, Conn. Three blasts on the horn, aye." Sea-wolf's horn shrilled, three sharp honks echoing across the bay, signaling that she was backing down.
"Maneuvering, Bridge. Bring rudder amidships. Maintain aft revs for dead slow."
"Bridge, Maneuvering. Rudder amidships, maintain aft revs, dead slow."
Slowly, the 331-foot bulk of the Seawolf slid backward through still, black water, edging away from the pier. The tug gave a mournful blast from her whistle, answered by the patrol boat. Garrett leaned over the combing of the weather bridge, watching carefully to make sure that the bow planes safely cleared the pier, that no stray lines—"Irish pennants" — were trailing in the water, that no one in either the deck or shore parties had fallen into the water and was in danger of being run down. The remaining tatters of light in the sky were failing fast, and though the dance and sparkle of harbor lights reflected on the water grew more intense by contrast, visibility overall was quickly fading.
Seawolf's nose was well clear of the end of the pier now. The sailors in the shore working party stood in small groups, watching the submarine slowly back into the bay.
"Maneuvering, Bridge," he said. "Make revs for ahead, slow. Helm, bring us to port, four-five degrees."
"Bridge, Maneuvering. Make revs for ahead, slow. Helm to port, four-five degrees, aye aye, sir."
Seawolf gave a slight bump in the water as her screw stopped, then changed direction, nudging her gently forward. Her helm came over and she began swinging sharply to port, putting the pier and the watching sailors ashore to starboard.
"Maneuvering, increase speed. Make revs for eight knots."
"Make revs for eight knots, aye, sir."
The breeze freshened in Garrett's face. God, it was good to be here again. He'd missed the sea, and he'd missed driving a sub. He turned to Lawless, who was leaning against the side of the weather bridge, staring out across Tokyo Bay.
" I've seen better," Lawless said with a gruff lack of enthusiasm. "You could've made the break past the end of the pier sharper, more crisp."
"Yes, sir." Garrett had already made up his mind that he was not going to let Lawless's attitude ruin this moment.
"All in all, though," Lawless admitted, "not too shabby."
"Thank you, sir."
A blast from the horn of the harbor pilot boat, cruising up ahead, interrupted any further exchange.
"Civilian small craft," the port lookout called out, "five points off the starboard bow!"
Garrett raised his binoculars to his eyes, peering into the gathering gloom in the indicated direction. There… hard to see in the twilight… but he could make out a civilian boat — a cabin cruiser, it looked like — just beyond the harbor boat. A number of people were crowded into the aft well deck or hanging off the boat's flying bridge, and some were waving bottles. Several held a large cardboard sign over the side, crudely lettered NO TO NUKES!
"What are they, Greenpeace?" Lawless asked.