“Roger, Mother, we have visual on Sugarloaf Eight. She has impacted water. Wait one.” Several seconds later, the speaker roared to life once again. “I count three lights in the water. Confirm souls on board?”
The ATE continued her vectoring and direction to the rescue effort as the remainder of Combat followed the ASW wrap-up.
Spruance, this is Hayler. Let’s go active and sweep the area.”
Both destroyers activated their sonars and began active pinging of the area. Dangerous techniques because they also revealed the location of the destroyers to the enemy submarine making them vulnerable to a counterattack.
On the holograph plot a flashing “Man Overboard” symbol overlaid the Sugarloaf Eight symbol identifying the location where the helicopter had crashed. The NTDS operator entered the “Man Overboard” symbol on his system, transmitting the information to the other members of the battle group.
The underwater explosion appeared on the waterfall of the SQR system.
The submarine was reflected as splitting in half on the holograph plot.
“Undersea explosion confirmed. I repeat, undersea explosion confirmed by SQR.”
The captain grabbed the handset. “OTC, this is Hayler; we have sunk sub at location.” And then he broadcast the geographic coordinates to the battle group.
On the NTDS system the enemy sub symbol blinked as the operator took course and speed to zero. The symbol would re main there for some time — a computerized monument to their success.
“ASW, this is the captain. You still have that little blip that gave away the submarine?”
Calhoun looked at the waterfall as it resumed its normal, boring run of the undersea noise environment. “No, sir, Captain, it’s gone.”
“Roger.”
“OTC, this is Hayler. My intentions are to rescue Sugarloaf Eight and then rejoin battle group. We will lay additional sonobuoy patterns after rescue operations completed. For the time being, will continue at General Quarters.”
“Roger, Hayler,” Ellison replied. “Attack results?”
“Commodore, I would like to report detected sub; sank same.” He knew the commodore had heard the earlier report, but suspected the man just wanted to hear it again. He grinned.
“Roger, Hayler. Well done to everyone. Yorktown, request you close battle group. Spruance, take point position and conduct sanitation evolution on your way.”
“I’m going to the bridge,” the captain of the Hayler announced. “Call me if anything appears that suggests he may have gotten away.”
“Aye, Captain. Will do, sir,” the TAO answered as the captain scrambled up the ladder to the bridge. “Captain out of Combat,” the TAO said as the door shut behind the Old Man.
Probably, if Sugarloaf Eight had not crashed, the ASW formation would have done a more thorough scrub of the area to ensure the submarine was sunk. Everything pointed to the enemy sub being hit and sunk. No contact, no noise, no counterattack. Already the boatswain mates on the Hayler were cutting silhouettes to paint a submarine on the bridge wing.
Two hundred meters down the Algerian Kilo drifted helplessly, its props bent and rudder gone. Several leaks were quickly stopped. The explosion had caused complete loss of steerage, and with the props bent, there was no way to move the ship. Thirty minutes later the Al Nasser’s targeting module showed the two American warships departing the area. Ibn Al Jamal would keep the Al Nasser drifting here, beneath the sound layer, until he was sure the Americans were gone. Then, he’d blow ballast, surface, and radio Algiers for help. He had completed his mission even if he had failed to sink anything. The Americans were pulling away from the Algerian coastline.
The emergency lights went out as the generator came back on-line. He grinned. It seemed to release the tension in the cramped compartment.
Everyone started laughing.
They were alive.
Ten miles away, an undetected submarine slowly turned to a southwesterly course away from the scene of action. Its crew relaxed as the distance between the A/ Nasser and the American battle group grew, but the skipper of the unidentified submarine remained at battle stations. His mission required avoidance, not confrontation. His mission waited ahead. The submarine steadied on a course toward the Algerian coast. He would surface later, when it was safer, for an update on the location of the signal guiding his mission. He only hoped the resupply ship would be at the rendezvous point when he started back.
CHAPTER 8
“The USS Roosevelt enters the Red Sea today. The Egyptian government has approved her northbound transit through the Suez Canal for tomorrow. She should enter the Mediterranean from the east about the same time the USS Stennis enters it from the west,” Roger Maddock said to President Crawford. “That’ll put two aircraft carriers in the Med.”
“I’m surprised,” Franco Donelli, the national security advisor, said.
“The Islamic Republic of Egypt isn’t exactly pro American. In fact, they’ve been awful quiet during these events.”
“Our ambassador in Cairo reports that everyone of any importance in the Government has suddenly become unavailable,” Bob Gilfort, the secretary of state, said. “He is having a tough time getting a pulse on what the Egyptians are thinking. The Egyptian newspapers call the Libyans heroes for their military actions against us, and then, in the same article, call them heroes for executing the ones who did it. Go figure.” Gilfort shook his head. “I have a hard time trying. Bottom line, Mr. President, is we think Egypt will remain on the sidelines until they see how events in Libya, Algeria, and Morocco unfold. But we need to keep a close eye on them; even a moderate religious republic is a radical one.”
“Okay, I want an update tonight, as usual,” said Crawford. “I would like to know when the two carrier battle groups have entered the Mediterranean. Roger,” he said, pointing at the secretary of defense.
“Schedule a video teleconference for me to address the Navy once they’re together. It’ll give me a chance to express my admiration for their position and let them know how much the American people are behind them. If our military is going to go into action, they deserve to hear the voice of their president. I want to assure them that the American people are one hundred and ten percent behind them.”
“Yes, sir. we can do that.”
“Roger,” Franco added. “Let’s work together in arranging the video teleconference so we can fold it into the president’s schedule.”
Roger nodded, picked up the cup of coffee in front of him, and glanced sideways at the diminutive man sitting on the couch with him. Franco would make sure the president said just the right thing in the right politically correct way. Christ, President Crawford could help his administration if he’d get rid of this sawed-off Napoleon he called a national security advisor. The only things Franco advised had Franco’s health and welfare written all over them, and Franco was more concerned about his legacy after Crawford left this second term in office than the president’s. Well, Franco wasn’t the only one who could play that game. Roger sighed. Of course, Franco was a pro at it, and Roger was only an amateur. But sometimes, even amateurs win.
“This morning’s intelligence brief reported Korean military elements have moved into position along the border,” said President Crawford.
“The question I need answered is, what are their intentions? Right now, no one knows and this mobilization makes me nervous.” He took a bite of a Dunkin’ Donut twirl before walking back to his desk.
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. U.S. and South Korean troops have reinforced the DMZ, and if the North Koreans cross, we should be able to contain them for the few days needed for additional troops to arrive,” Roger Maddock answered. He glanced at Donelli, waiting for the diminutive asshole to rebut him again. Surprised when he didn’t, Roger continued. “South Korea started calling up their reserves yesterday. We may have to consider mobilizing if another Korean War materializes.” Roger saw Franco jerk his head up. Here it comes, he thought. Donelli can’t pass this one up.