Attack of the Seawolf

That this is more firepower than we asked for in the first place. That torpedoes shot from subs are one thing, that carrier-launched aircraft are another. That this whole thing is turning into the President’s personal flap. He said he was convening a meeting with the President and the national security staff and that he’d make our case. He said he’d contact us in an hour.”

“That could be too late—”

“I know. Get the SAG up here.”

Rummel called the bridge and told them to send the SAG to Flag Plot. It only took a few minutes, during which Donchez hunched over the oversized Go Hai Bay chart.

The door opened and shut behind Rear Admiral Patterson Wilkes-Charles III, the commander of the surface action group, including the carrier, the fleet and the air wing. Wilkes-Charles, a tall, thin blond man, was in working khakis, his only insignia his admiral’s stars and his surface warfare pin over his left pocket. It was unusual for a SAG to be a surface officer, even though the task force was primarily surface ships — usually SAGs were ex-carrier commanders.

Carrier captains were inevitably fighter pilots first, surface ship commanders second. But Wilkes-Charles had commanded a frigate, a destroyer, a nuclear cruiser and Aegis cruiser, as well as a helicopter carrier, just before his promotion to rear admiral. He was the hero of the surface warfare community, living proof that a black-shoe officer could command a carrier group without flying an F-14 fighter first. Wilkes Charles had been marked as a golden boy when he was a midshipman at Annapolis, groomed for command, always the first promoted in his class of officers.

Still, Donchez couldn’t help but wonder why. Wilkes Charles had never been close to combat, had been in Korea during the Gulf War, and had never done anything special during his command tours to justify the Pentagon’s apparent love of him. But then, neither had he run aground, had any serious accidents, gotten divorced, gotten drunk in front of the brass, or any of the other things that could ruin a Navy career. He was competent, personable, friendly, but hardly original or aggressive. Still, he was the SAG, which meant he controlled the operational deployment of the surface and air forces, which in turn meant Donchez would need to go through him to get this operation going.

“Admiral Donchez, good to see you. Should I have some sandwiches brought up, sir? Would you like coffee?” Wilkes-Charles smiled, his even teeth shining even in the red fluorescent lights.

“No thanks. Pat,” Donchez said. He decided to give it to the SAG straight.

“Listen, Pat, we still don’t have authorization from the President to go.”

“We’re at a point of no return, Admiral.”

Donchez looked at him, wondering if he were hoping to avoid a fight over the bay, something that could definitely go wrong, stopping his career-flight to the top.

“Exactly, a point of no return. Which is why we’re going to launch aircraft now. I want you to get your F-14s and F-18s airborne immediately, as well as your EA-6s and a couple Hawkeyes. And don’t forget the Viking ASW jets and all the LAMPS choppers we’re carrying.”

“But, sir, I can’t do that. You just said Washington hasn’t given us permission—” “Washington won’t let us shoot. No one said we can’t fly. Get those aircraft up and keep them fueled with tankers. The minute the President says ‘go’ I want every fighter and attack aircraft crossing the line and mixing it up. Until then our boys will fly to an orbit point this side of the line of demarcation.”

“We’ll launch, sir. But I can’t keep everyone fueled indefinitely. We’ll have to come back sooner or later.”

“I know that. Get going.”

Wilkes-Charles left. Donchez listened to the announcements on the Circuit One ordering flight ops, watched the deck fill with planes as the elevators lifted the jets onto the deck, watched as pilots manned the planes and taxied over to the catapults. The ship turned into the wind at full speed, the steam from the catapults wafting over the ship, half-obscuring the men working on the aircraft. And quickly, the first F-14 Tomcat supersonic fighter was positioned on the number-one catapult. Ready for liftoff.

USS SEAWOLF

“Conn, Sonar, the helicopters have all flown over. All chopper contacts now bear east. I don’t think we were detected.”

“That anechoic coating does a good job against active sonar,” Pacino said, but Keebes’s face remained grim.

“Conn, Sonar, we now have multiple high-frequency transmissions from a helicopter HS-12 dipping sonar, bearing zero nine eight. We think they’ve locked onto Friendly One.”

“They’ve got the Tampa, Skipper,” Keebes said.

“Range to the Tampa?” “Ten thousand yards.”

“Mr. Turner,” Pacino said, “take her up to seven nine feet. Lookaround number-two scope.”