Attack of the Seawolf

“Venting aft. Decks awash,” Turner announced, returning to a slow periscope search, the water’s surface slowly climbing higher in the television monitor’s view.

“Five five feet, sir,” Chief Deitzler called from the diving officer’s seat.

“Very well. Dive, get us down.”

“Six zero … six five feet, sir, sail’s under.”

At the call of “sail under,” the ship was no longer visible on the surface. Only her periscope protruded above the waves. Seawolf was now officially submerged.

“Eight three feet, Off’sa’deck,” the Diving Officer called.

“Scope’s awash,” Turner sang out as the foam covered the periscope view, the lens hitting the waves.

“Scope’s under.”

Turner trained the periscope view upward with the left scope grip. The undersides of the waves were silvery, reflecting the light from the deep back down.

The waves receded, until finally they were obscured by a dark blue haze. The surface high above had vanished.

As if to acknowledge this Turner snapped the control grips up and rotated the periscope’s hydraulic control ring, lowering the scope into the well. The optic module disappeared and the stainless steel pole of the scope came down and clunked to a halt.

For ten minutes the Diving Officer and Chief of the Watch pumped and flooded tanks with sea water and transferred the water to variable ballast tanks. Finally the ship had achieved a neutral trim, perfectly balanced, neither heavier nor lighter than the surrounding water.

“Sir, the ship is submerged to one five zero feet with a good one-third trim. Request permission to take her deep and increase speed.”

“Offsa’deck, take her down to eight hundred feet, course two four five, all ahead flank. And rig ship for patrol quiet.”

“Aye, sir, eight hundred feet, course two four five, ahead flank, and patrol quiet.”

The deck became steep as Diving Officer Deitzler ordered a twenty-five-degree down angle to take the ship to eight hundred feet.

The hull creaked and popped, responding to the increased sea pressure at the deeper depth. For a moment Pacino missed the clicking of the old bulletproof digital depth indicator of the rust bucket Piranhaclass submarines, the ships he had cut his teeth on, but then realized the progress was for the better. After all, hadn’t they happily ditched diesel power for nuclear and moved forward?

Sure, except Pacino couldn’t help wondering what would happen to the delicate computer systems in battle — would one depth charge make them all useless?

“Helm, all ahead flank,” Turner commanded.

The Circuit One announcing system blasted Turner’s voice throughout the ship: “RIG SHIP FOR PATROL QUIET.”

The ship leveled out, now at eight hundred feet beneath the waves, the speed indicator on the ship control panel showing ship’s speed increasing. Pacino waited for the deck to vibrate with the energy of 52,000-shaft horsepower back aft pushing them through the ocean. But there was no vibration. He watched as the speed numerals steadily increased—36 knots, 39, 41, finally steadying at 44.8 knots. Fortyfour point eight, in the inscrutable digital accuracy of the computer, and the deck was as steady as if the ship were hovering, smooth as a Rolls. Amazing.

Pacino realized Turner was looking at him, realized he was no longer needed in the control room and to stay any longer would violate Turner’s turf as Officer of the Deck.

“I’ll be in my stateroom,” Pacino said to Turner.

“Give me fifteen minutes, then send in Commander Lennox, Commander Morris, and Mr. Keebes.” Now that the ship was on her way to Go Hai Bay, Point Hotel, it was time to lay out the mission.

Even running at flank speed, they would not arrive on station at Point Hotel for another two days, but Pacino wanted his men to be mentally ready for the mission and think about it for the entire two days. That meant two days of intensive periscope-recognition training, in which the officers would learn to tell each class of Chinese ship with just a half-second glimpse from a water-level periscope view, and know by memory each ship’s armament and threat level.

Pacino rolled the tall-backed swivel chair up to the head of the conference table, the end facing the view of the television monitors. A row of buttons set into the table controlled the televisions on the centerline bulkhead. Pacino changed the aft monitor’s setting from TY-20 to NAV and the end TV screen on the left came to life, a color-coded chart of the sea lighting up the screen, with their track and their estimated position illuminated on the chart, the flashing position showing them skirting the southeast coast of Japan.

Their future track was also shown, heading around the peninsula of Korea and north into the Korea Bay.

A knock sounded from the centerline passageway door and Morris, Keebes and Lennox came in. Keebes and Lennox had changed into blue submarine poopy suits. Morris, still unshaven and ponytailed, was in green fatigues and shiny black combat boots.