“So you managed it without me, huh, XO? I knew you would, especially with the able assistance of our esteemed weapons’ officer. So tell me, did Lieutenant Hartman get much sleep while I was away?”
“You know better than that, Skipper. From the very beginning, the good lieutenant took on this project like it was his responsibility alone. He’s on it day and night, and nothing gets done without Hartman’s personal okay.”
“We’re very fortunate to have a guy like Ed Hartman aboard the Cheyenne, Bob. I know that he can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but his attention to detail can really make the difference if we’re ever called on to launch those fish of his.”
“I hear you, Skipper. But I still think that the guy has to lighten up some. You know what they say about all work and no play.”
Suddenly aware of the time, Steven Aldridge grimaced.
“Speaking of the devil, I’ve got a date over at the Old Mermaid to keep. Would you care to join us?”
“It sounds like it would be fun, Skipper, but we’re due at a formal reception at city hall.”
“Well, make me proud, XO,” said Aldridge as he prepared to convey his goodbyes to Admiral Hoyt and their Scot host.
“And I’ll see you back on the ranch sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
By the time Steven arrived at the pub they had picked for lunch, the creamy head on the pint of beer his wife had ordered had long since disappeared.
Yet the lukewarm lager was tasty all the same, and the thirsty fifteen-year navy veteran managed to empty the pint in three lengthy swigs. Their fish and chips were as delicious as ever, and only after stops at both the bakery shop and the fishmonger’s did they return to their cottage overlooking Hunter’s Quay.
Later that evening, long after Sarah was tucked warmly in her bed and while Susan was still busy packing, Aldridge slipped on his overcoat and went outside. The wind that had been with them all afternoon had turned icy. Pulling up his woolen collar to counter these frigid gusts, he glanced up into the sky and found a myriad of twinkling stars shining forth from the crystal clear heavens. Pleasantly surprised by this breathtaking sight, he looked around him. From his current vantage point, he could see the entire length and breadth of that inlet of water known as Holy Loch. Having supposedly gotten this auspicious name several centuries ago when a sailing ship bound to Glasgow sunk here with a load of soil from the Holy land in its hold, the loch was currently home to a U.S. Navy submarine base. A major component of the base itself could be seen floating on the choppy waters of the loch. This ship was the sub tender, USS Hunley. Inside the Hunley was stored almost everything that a submarine would need to continue extended operations. This included food, spare parts, fuel, and even weapon reloads.
It took a trained eye to spot the minuscule red light that lay amidships, near the waterline of the Hunley. Also bobbing with the swells, this light was the only visible evidence of Aldridge’s present command.
It belonged to the sail, or conning tower, of the USS Cheyenne. During its current refit, the Cheyenne was berthed beside the Hunley, their hulls separated by a line of hard rubber fenders.
If there was more light present, Aldridge knew that he would also see the upper portion of his boat’s black hull. Three hundred and sixty feet long from the tip of its conical bow to its tapered stern, the Cheyenne was almost as long as the massive tender, though the majority of his command’s mass lay perpetually hidden beneath the inky waters.
127 men made this vessel their home. Designed primarily to hunt other submarines, the Cheyenne was powered by a single pressurized, water-cooled nuclear reactor that drove geared steam turbines. A single shaft could propel the ship at speeds well over thirty knots, while its specially welded, high-yield steel hull allowed it to attain a maximum diving depth of some fifteen hundred feet. The sub was also fitted with the latest in digital electronic sonar and fire-control systems.
In addition to carrying a full complement of MK 48 torpedoes, the Cheyenne was also equipped with Harpoon anti-ship missiles, the Tomahawk cruise missile, and with the completion of their current refit, the SUBROC antisubmarine rocket. All of these advanced weapons were designed to be launched from one of the vessel’s four twenty-one inch midship’s torpedo tubes, thus giving Aldridge an incredibly diversified arsenal of firepower.
Altogether, the Cheyenne was one of the most awesome warships ever built. Proud to have been picked to lead her into harm’s way, Steven Aldridge could visualize his men at work inside its cylindrical hull.
Only a spartan crew would currently be manning the control room. This space would be completely lit in red to protect their night vision. The majority of action would be taking place in the forward torpedo room, where the modification to their fire-control system would go on throughout the entire night.
Ever vigilant in this portion of the ship, Lieutenant Edward Hartman would be doing his best to insure that the work was being done correctly. Most likely the bleary-eyed weapons’ officer would be sipping on one of the innumerable mugs of hot black coffee that he had already downed today, counting the minutes remaining until the refit was scheduled to be completed.
Hartman was a consummate worrier and a stickler for detail, two traits that made him one of the finest young officers in the entire submarine force.
Back in the Cheyenne’s engineering spaces, a full detail would be on duty monitoring the ship’s reactor.
This was Lieutenant Rich Lonnon’s exclusive realm. The brawny New Yorker was a graduate of MIT. Highly intelligent, Lonnon was never afraid to get his hands dirty along with the rest of the enlisted men. He also put in his fair share of work hours, and was most likely on the job at this very moment, insuring that all was well with Cheyenne Power and Light.
The ship’s galley would also be open at this late hour. By its very nature submarine duty could be boring, tedious work, and Petty Officer Howard Mallott and his devoted crew made meal times something to look forward to. Right now the Cheyenne ‘s brightly painted mess would be rich with the scent of perking coffee. A variety of fresh sandwiches would be available, along with an assortment of other suitable late night snacks. Only recently, Mallott had managed to bring a corn popper on board, and was proud of the fact that he could serve the crew piping hot popcorn at fifty fathoms. This snack was also greatly appreciated when the Cheyenne’s very own movie theatre was operational.
One of the few compartments that would most likely be empty at this hour would be the sonar room, or as it was affectionately called, the sound shack. Recently the Cheyenne had been lucky enough to get the services of one of the best sonar men in the business. Petty Officer First Class Joe Carter had previously been an instructor in his arcane art at the San Diego Naval Facility. Blessed with ultra sensitive hearing and an uncanny degree of intuition, Carter was versed in every aspect of their BQO, — 5 sonar suite. Such a system was incredibly complex, and the twenty-six-year-old, black St.
Louisan made the most out of its large active passive spherical bow sonar, conformal passive hydrophone array, and PUFFS fire-control system. He was also responsible for the boat’s BQR-23 towed sonar array.
Designed to allow pinpoint spotting of the enemy, without having to be distracted by the inherent sounds of the Cheyenne’s own signature, the array was housed in a prominent fairing that ran almost the length of the hull. The winch that deployed it was located between the bow itself and the forward end of the pressure hull. Thus the Cheyenne was equipped with the state-of-the-art when it came to the critical sonar functions, that were, after all, the eyes and ears of the boat whenever they were submerged.