Goliath

There are no days or nights aboard attack subs. Twenty-four-hour clocks become eighteen-hour time frames, six-hour shifts alternating between work, sleep, and training.

Michael Flynn is nearing the end of his work shift when he locates the object.

“Conn, sonar—Skipper, I’ve got a tonal contact, bearing three-zero-five. Range, twenty-eight miles.”

“Sonar, conn, is it the Typhoon?”

“Stand by, sir.” Flynn focuses on his screen as he listens intently to the sounds reverberating in his headphones. “Conn, sonar, I’m confirming twin, seven-blade, fixed-pitch screws. Sonar intelligence cross-references the tonals to a Typhoon-class submarine, number TK-20. Blade rate indicates her speed holding steady at six knots.”

“Nice work, Michael-Jack. Designate sonar contact Sierra-1.” Cubit hangs up the 1-MC. “Helm, plot an intercept course. Officer of the Deck, slow to four knots and bring us to periscope depth.”

“Aye, sir, slowing to four knots, coming up to periscope depth. Steady at sixty feet.”

“Very well. Chief of the Watch, raise number one BRA-34.”

First Class Petty Officer Robert Wilkens raises the sub’s multipurpose communications antennas while Lieutenant Commander Mitch Friedenthal mans the Type-18 periscope, taking a quick scan of the horizon. The Type-18 is equipped with both GPS (Global Positioning Satellite) and radar intercept capability. While Friedenthal looks around, technicians in the Electronic Support Measures (ESM) room use the periscope’s radar signals to search the skies.

“No close contacts.”

“Radio, Captain, contact COMSUBLANT (Commander—Submarine Force Atlantic) and send the message that we’ve located the Typhoon.”

“Aye, sir.” A pause, then the radioman’s voice returns. “Captain, we’re receiving an incoming transmission on the VLF.”

Cubit and his XO make eye contact. “Very well. Commander Dennis, you’re with me. Mr. Friedenthal, you have the conn.”

“Aye, sir,” the OOD repeats, “I have the conn.”

Twenty-three-year-old Communications Officer Drew Laird is a strapping young man with broad shoulders and a baby face to go with his mop of sandy blond hair. There is a look of trepidation in his blue eyes as he hands his CO the folded transmission.

“Easy, Laird, take a breath, you’re turning blue.”

“Aye, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Cubit opens the encoded message and reads it. “Christ.” The captain stares at the paper for a long moment, then rubs the sweat from his face. “XO, take the ship to one-five-zero feet, make your course three-zero-five, ahead one-third. Then give me a few minutes and meet me in my stateroom.”

Ten minutes later, Tom Cubit sits alone in his cabin, rereading the transmission from Naval Intelligence for the fourth time. A knock, and Commander Dennis enters. “Sir?”

“Sit.” He hands his XO the sheet of paper.

“Jesus—this thing wiped out the entire CVBG?” Bo Dennis’s hands are shaking. “I feel like somebody just punched me in the gut.”

“Me too.” Cubit hands him a bottled water. “I’ve been sitting here, thinking. I bet I’ve served with at least a dozen men who were aboard the Jacksonville . Altogether, I probably went to OCS with a hundred of the officers who died aboard those ships.”

“Tom, this attack sub, the Goliath, do you know anything about it?”

“Just what’s in the message. Never heard of a biochemical computer before.”

“I have. My wife works for Hewlett-Packard. They started playing with the technology back in the late 1990s. If it works like it’s supposed to, this sub’s gonna be damn hard to track.”

“Tracking the Goliath is not part of our orders. We’re to shadow the Typhoon, taking all precautions. Have the OOD take us into a sprint-and-drift mode. Alert all sonar technicians to be cognizant of any biologics closing within ten thousand yards of the ship. Have Flynnie access the BSY-1 library. I want him to listen to sonar recordings of Seawolf’s pump-jet propulsor. If we don’t have any, tell him to try the U.K.’s Trafalgar-class, they were the first to use that type of system. Then have the department heads meet me in the wardroom in fifteen minutes.”

“Aye, sir.”

There are several different ways a submarine commander can disseminate information aboard his ship. Some COs prefer to broadcast the news over the 1-MC, the sub’s intercom, while others choose to keep their crew in the dark, allowing the information to leak out slowly through word of mouth. Tom Cubit realized the news regarding the sinking of the carrier battle group could devastate the morale of his men, but he also needed them to remain in a high state of alert if they were to have any chance of surviving a confrontation with the Goliath. After briefing his officers, he allowed them ten minutes to speak to their men before addressing the entire crew over the ship’s intercom.