Attack of the Seawolf

After Pacino had met the officers and chiefs, he went to the end of the table and pulled a set of papers from his shirt pocket.

“Gentlemen, I’ll read my orders: “From NAVPERSCOM, Washington, D.C.” to Captain Michael A. Pacino, U.S. Navy (Retired). You are hereby reactivated to active duty at the rank of Captain and ordered to report for temporary duty as commanding officer of USS Seawolf, SSN-21. You will relieve the acting commanding officer and retain command for an undetermined period for execution of a classified operation.

Upon completion of said operation you will stand by to be relieved of command, at which point you will return to your previous assignment.”

” Pacino looked up from the papers, turned to the navigator, Greg Keebes.

“Lieutenant Commander Keebes, I am ready to relieve you, sir.”

“I am ready to be relieved.”

“I relieve you, sir,” Pacino said, saluting, the staged ceremony signaling that he had just assumed the burden of command, the mantle of total responsibility for the USS Seawolf. Keebes saluted back.

“I stand relieved.”

Pacino looked at the men in the room for a moment.

“Nav,” he said to Keebes, “as of now you are the acting executive officer.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Very well, then, XO. Station the maneuvering watch.”

Pacino found Admiral Donchez waiting for him in his stateroom.

“Well, sir, what have you got for me?”

“SEALs will be here any minute, Mikey. Commander Lennox, the Tampa’s XO, will be coming on with them. As soon as they’re aboard, get underway and make max speed to Point Hotel.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And, Mikey, listen to me. I picked you for this mission because you’re a damned good captain. And because you know Murphy and I know you’ll give this rescue OP everything you can to make it succeed.

Now, I know you want to get Sean Murphy out of there. But remember, this ship and her crew are as important to us as the Tampa. If anything happens that threatens the survivability of this ship, get the hell out. Murphy would understand, so will I. I don’t want to have to pull your broken hull off the bottom of the bay because you got pissed off at the Chinese. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir,” Pacino said, annoyed in spite of himself.

Donchez stared at him for a moment, and reassumed an easy smile.

“Well, I’ve gotta run, Mikey.

Good luck. Good hunting. I can find my way out. Get your ass to the bridge and get this sewer pipe out of here.”

Pacino stretched out his hand to the admiral, who took it and gripped it, nearly crushing Pacino’s hand.

“Thanks, sir. For everything.”

Donchez nodded, then vanished out the door and up the ladder, the bridge communication box soon sputtering over the ship’s Circuit One PA. system:

“COMMANDER IN CHIEF, UNITED STATES PACIFIC FLEET … DEPARTING!”

Pacino took up the blue baseball cap on the stateroom’s table, the one Keebes had left for him. The brim had the scrambled eggs for the captain, the gold submariner’s dolphins, and the block letters reading USS SEAWOLF SSN-21. Pacino put on the cap, shut the door of the cabin and headed forward to the bridge-access trunk, ready to drive the submarine, his submarine, to the open ocean.

CHAPTER 11 FRIDAY, 10 MAY 0145 GREENWICH MEAN TIME

YOKOSUKA NAVAL STATION, PIER 4

USS SEAWOLF

1045 LOCAL TIME

Captain Michael Pacino climbed the rungs of the bridge-access tunnel ladder, the light from the bridge above shining down from a distance. The tunnel was almost twenty feet tall, going from the upper level passageway outside the crew’s mess to the cockpit at the top of the sail. At the top of the ladder Pacino’s passage was obstructed by the metal grating that formed the deck of the bridge cockpit. The officer of the deck swung the grating open. Pacino grabbed a handhold and lifted himself up to the cockpit. Once he was on his feet, the grating was dropped down.

“Good morning. Captain,” Bill Feyley said. Like Pacino, Feyley wore cotton working khakis and a khaki jacket, binoculars around his neck, a Seawolf blue ball cap and aviator’s wire rimmed sunglasses.

“You’ll be conning us out, Weps?”

“I’m the OOD,” Feyley said.

“But Mr. Joseph will take the conn as Junior Officer of the Deck.”

“Where is he?”

“Topside talking to the line handlers

Pacino looked up and saw the tall, skinny youth walking topside. Jeff Joseph, the communications officer, was an oddball, Pacino thought. Smart, personable, funny, also maybe the ugliest officer he’d ever seen, bug eyes and buck teeth. Still, according to the reports Pacino had read, the kid was showing himself to be a champion ship driver even though he had been aboard only a few months.