Attack of the Seawolf

Murphy realized that his face was touching something cool and hard. The room looked odd in the darkness lit only by the light of the ship-control panel gages. Someone turned on a battle lantern. Murphy could hear voices around him but couldn’t make out any of the words, just pieces of phrases: loss of depth control … can’t keep her down… jam rise on the bow planes … … losing speed, you can hold… coming up … broach depth, our sail’s coming … ballast tank vents are jammed shut … Captain? … must have blown gases into the ballast tanks … flooding in the forward … who’s reporting … goddammit … can’t get the vents open … manual override the … steam leak isolation … fuck the bow planes shift to emergency on the stern … we’re on the goddamned surface … Captain? …

CHAPTER 5 WEDNESDAY, 8 MAY 2216 GREENWICH MEAN TIME

GO HAD BAY TWENTY-SIX MILES SOUTH OF SHALEITIAN DAO

USS TAMPA

0616 BEIJING TIME

Murphy found a handrail on the periscope stand, pulled himself to his feet, ears ringing, vision receding into a black-edged tunnel. He stood up, dropping his head low to keep from passing out, felt Tarkowski’s arm pulling him up. The lights in the room came back on. The room was rocking gently and it wasn’t Murphy’s shaky condition, it was actually rolling to port and coming back to starboard.

Which could happen only if they were on the surface.

“What happened?” Murphy asked Tarkowski.

“You were out of it for a minute or so, Captain.

The last blast caused a jam rise on the bow planes maybe blew some gases into the aft ballast tanks. Plus, the damned vents jammed in the shut position. We still can’t vent aft. All that blew us up to the surface.

With no reactor or steam plant, jammed bow planes and stuck vents, I don’t think we can get deep. Not to mention, firecontrol and sonar are dead. Likewise the nav systems.”

“Colson, check radio,” Murphy snapped to the Pos One officer, who was still at his dead firecontrol console.

“Get out a transmission that we’re under hostile fire by a Chinese surface force. Send it as an OP REP3 PINNACLE, straight to the White

House. And tell them I intend to do a ship selfdestruct if we’re boarded. When you’ve got that out, get back here.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Colson replied, ripping off his headset and running aft.

“XO, get on the line to maneuvering. See if we can shift propulsion to the EPM and check battery discharge rate. And check if we lost any cells. Get the engineer to report on the steam leak — if we can restart on one side of the engine room

Tarkowski pulled off his headset and grabbed the phone handset to call maneuvering.

“Griffin, get down to the torpedo room and see if we can still manually program and launch a Mark 50.

I want to use as many of those fish as I can.”

Griffin hurried forward and down the ladder.

“Diving Officer, try to resubmerge the ship. Chief of the Watch, get an auxiliary man working those damned vents. Get the vents open as soon as you can. Lookaround number-two scope,” Murphy said, rotating the periscope control ring in the overhead, the same ring his head had connected with moments before. Slowly the periscope came out of the well, thunking to a halt as the six-foot-tall optic-module came out of the well.

Murphy snapped the grips down and rotated the scope, finding the surface vessels almost immediately. They were close, within five hundred yards, closing quickly, all three of them headed directly for the Tampa.

Murphy saw Tarkowski hang up the phone to maneuvering.

“Sir, the Eng can’t find the leak but he’s still looking.

We’ve got propulsion on the emergency-propulsion motor but at one-third speed, there’ll only be twenty minutes on the battery.”

“Helm, all ahead one third, course east,” Murphy ordered.

“XO, the Eng has got to find that damned leak, it’s our only chance to get out of here.”

“If anyone can get this plant back. Lube Oil Vaughn can.”

“It may be too late,” Murphy said.

“Greg, I’m putting you in charge of doing a classified-material destruct. Burn it all, everything.” Murphy pulled a key off a chain around his neck and held it out to Tarkowski.

“This is the key to the small-arms safe. Get the classified material bonfire going, break out and distribute the pistols and M-16s, then station a team of armed men at each hatch.”

Tarkowski turned and left the room.

“Captain,” the Diving Officer said, “we can’t get down at this speed with the vents stuck. We’re still on the surface.”

“Get those vents open. Chief of the Watch.”

“Stanton’s working on it. Captain.”

Murphy turned back to the periscope. The first Chinese destroyer, the Ludaclass, was gliding to a halt only a few yards away, pulling up on the port side.

Sailors were manning her rails, heavy manila ropes in their hands. On the starboard side a Udaloy had pulled up close and had her own lines ready. The Tampa was to be taken into port — a hostage.

Too bad NAV SEA had banned ship-destruct explosives on U.S. submarines. Murphy thought. At least it would keep Tampa out of Chinese hands.