Attack of the Seawolf

“What’s your plan again. Eve? Apologize for the incident” Donchez spoke up before she could answer. This sort of wrangling was getting them nowhere. The main issue was losing out. He looked directly at President Dawson.

“What if I get the ship out in complete secrecy, sir?”

“If you could do it fast enough I’d consider it.

What’s your plan?”

“Insert a submarine right next to the pier where Tampa’s held. It’ll be no problem getting her in. I’ll send the Seawolf, the quietest, most stealthy submarine there is. When she’s there we’ll insert a team of SEAL commandos to board and liberate Tampa. The sub will break away from the pier using her own power, which is more than enough to part those lines holding her, and out she goes, the Seawolf escorting her.”

“What about the fleet piers at Lushun,” Kent asked, “where the P.L.A has its Northern Fleet Headquarters, including antisubmarine surface ships and choppers?

They’ll be waiting for your subs at the Lushun/Penglai Gap. You could lose both submarines.”

“Seawolf will get through,” Donchez said quietly, intensely.

“She’s so quiet, our own surface ASW ships can’t detect her. She’ll get through and in the process create a diversion — perhaps even surface and resubmerge. The Chinese fleet goes after her, and meanwhile the Tampa goes right by. Net result — we get the submarines back, with all their intelligence, with no American loss of life and only a few Chinese. And the media, with luck, may never hear about it.”

“What if the SEALs fail. Admiral?” President Dawson asked.

“Then, sir, you authorize the fleet’s firepower to … give the Chinese something more to think about.”

“General Bevin?” Dawson looked hard at the general.

“I agree, sir. And suggest giving the Navy first crack.”

“Eve?” Dawson said to Trachea.

Her answer reflected her dual role as National Security Advisor and Secretary of State.

“I’ll go along, sir, but if the SEALs fail, the Seawolf must withdraw. And no shooting. I also suggest this affair should be a lesson for future adventures of this kind, Mr. President.”

Dawson noted her skating on both sides of the ice.

“Okay, Admiral Donchez,” he said, rising from the table, “get the Tampa out using the SEALs. Tell your sub commander to avoid shooting and explosions, if at all possible. I can’t tell you not to shoot if you absolutely have to, but minimize it. If the mission goes sour, and you can’t get the Tampa out of there, for God’s sake, get the Seawolf out of the bay.”

Donchez stood.

“I’ll keep you informed of our timing.

My aide will bring over the Penetration Order request for the Seawolf in an hour.”

WASHINGTON, D.C. PENTAGON E-RING — U.S. NAVY FLAG PLOT

2110 EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME/0210 GREENWICH MEAN TIME

Admiral Donchez unwrapped a Havana and fished in his tropical white uniform trousers for his USS Piranha lighter. With three efficient puffs, the cigar’s tip glowed red, the smoke creating a cloud around the admiral. Captain Fred Rummel, Donchez’s aide, a heavyset officer in his fifties, coughed in the smoke.

Over their last decade together, since Rummel was a lieutenant commander and Donchez a rear admiral, the men had worked together, and Donchez had always smoked and Rummel had always coughed. It made the relationship comfortable, familiar, Donchez thought.

Donchez looked up at the electronic wall chart of the western Pacific, showing the blue dot in the Go Hai Bay labeled USS TAMPA SSN-774. The usual status indicator, either SUBMERGED OPERATIONS or SURFACED TRANSIT, was missing, there being no protocol for a status line when a submarine asset was held captive. The position of the dot was not just Top Secret, it was special compartmented information, and was shown only when Donchez and Rummel were in Flag Plot. At the moment, they were the only people in the room other than a crypto technician and a senior chief radioman. But the Tampa was not the blue dot they were looking at. It was a second blue dot that concerned them, a dot a hundred miles south of the island of Japan in an area of the Pacific marked YOKOSUKA OP AREA

The dot was labeled USS SEAWOLF SSN-21 SUBMERGED OPERATIONS (SEA TRIALS).

“Take a message to the Seawolf, Fred,” Donchez said, the cigar still clenched in his teeth.

“Classification Top Secret, personal for commanding officer. Priority immediate.”

“Who’s the captain, sir?”

“Duckett, Hank Duckett,” Donchez said.

“You ready? Paragraph one: USS Seawolf to make port at Yokosuka Naval Station immediately. Paragraph two: commanding officer and executive officer will be flown to Washington, D.C.” by Navy transport for conference.

Paragraph three: Purpose of trip is to testify before the Armed Services Committee about the value of the Seawolf submarine class. Be prepared to discuss ship capabilities in detail. Trip duration, approximately three weeks. Paragraph four: Admiral R. Donchez sends. That’s it.”

“Sir, before this goes out, may I ask what you’re doing? Isn’t Seawolf going to do the rescue mission?”

“She’s the one.”

“So … why are you recalling her skipper?”