Attack of the Seawolf

The depth indicator felt the pressure increase of the water as the unit sank, the pressure rising as it fell to ten meters, twenty, thirty … At a depth of forty-five meters the depth-indicator output matched the limits set by the processor’s set point and the detonation circuit software logic interlock was satisfied. The detonator went off, exploding the depth-charge warhead in an underwater fireball. The shock wave of the explosion traveled outward, seeking the hull of a submarine.

Which it did not take long to find.

WASHINGTON, D.C. WHITE HOUSE

The White House basement’s situation room was walled with painted cinder block, full of Formicatopped tables and cheap carpet. An entire wall on the west side was lined with communication and crypto gear. The east wall was filled with television screens, some of them selected to cable feeds from Langley, CIA Headquarters; Ford Meade, home of NSA; or the Pentagon. But two were selected to CNN, since the open media often got stories as quickly as CIA, DIA or NSA. The north wall of the room was reserved for charts and maps, in this case the Go Hai Bay. The south wall had a table filled with stale sandwiches and donuts and another one with a large coffee urn on it. Coffee cups filled the waste cans and cigarette butts were piled high in the ash trays. A door in the east wall led to the situation room’s conference area, lined with curtains, where the President would meet with the National Security Council. The press or the White House photographer often captured the NSC in situation-room meetings, the conference table neat, the curtains pressed and clean. But this morning, the table was strewn with top-secret briefing papers and the curtains were drawn.

Secretary of Defense Napoleon Ferguson stood in the conference area, chewing on a tasteless donut and washing it down with cold coffee, waiting for President Dawson and Secretary of State/ National Security Advisor Eve Trachea to arrive. He had been in the situation room all night. He had hoped he could catch Dawson’s ear when Trachea wasn’t around, but that seemed more and more difficult in recent months. Trachea was apparently becoming Dawson’s favored advisor, and Ferguson had begun to wonder why the hell he continued in the job. He had begun to feel Trachea’s guiding philosophy was to disagree with anything he wanted, which tempted him to argue for what he did not want and count on Eve to disagree. But now Dawson relied so heavily on Eve Trachea’s guidance that often Department of Defense personnel weren’t invited to meetings. NSC meetings had grown less frequent, as had Cabinet meetings.

When Dawson and Trachea arrived, Ferguson checked his watch, then sat down. He only took a few moments updating them on the situation in the Go Hai Bay, ending with his request to allow the Reagan’s air wing to overfly the bay and escort the subs out.

Dawson seemed inclined to go along, but then Trachea spoke up:

“Mr. President, this course of action would be an all-out attack against the Chinese fleet. Our agreement with your admiral was to use the Seawolf to get out the spy sub. Now there’s pressure to escalate. Why does that sound so familiar. Secretary Ferguson?

“Just give us a few troops now,” you say, and later it’s ‘we need to support the troops we already have.” We cannot commit to a killing air war …”

Ferguson looked from Trachea to Dawson, who clearly was unhappy with his choice.

“She’s right, Napoleon. I only authorized the use of force for the Seawolf. The country can’t go to war over this …”

Ferguson pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket, spread it on the desk and smoothed it out before handing it to Dawson. Dawson began to read, with Trachea, who sat next to him, reading along with him. The paper was the message transmitted from the Tampa describing the torture the men had undergone when the Chinese had taken the ship. Dawson’s face went pale at first, then changed to the flush of anger.

“These are the people we’re dealing with,” Ferguson said.

“Is it possible this is exaggerated, Napoleon?” Dawson asked, the certainty on his face from a moment before seeming to evaporate.

Ferguson tried to control himself. Somehow he needed to find something to shock this well-meaning but misguided president into unleashing the aircraft.

But what …

USS SEAWOLF

“Chief of the Watch, prepare to emergency blow all main ballast tanks,” Pacino ordered, his eye on the chronometer.

“What are you doing?” Morris asked.

“Sonar, Captain, report the splash of the SS-N-14 as soon as you have it.”

“Captain, Sonar, aye.”

“We’re going to surface,” Pacino finally told Morris.

Morris began to protest when the overhead speaker blared out the report from sonar:

“SPLASH FROM THE MISSILE DIRECTLY ASTERN!”

“Emergency blow fore and aft!” Pacino shouted.

“Take her up, ten degree up bubble! All stop!”