Piranha: Firing Point

Patton squinted at the page and began to read. “From, Chief of Naval Personnel, to. Captain Jonathan George S. Patton IV, U.S. Navy, subject, permanent change of duty, reference, U.S. Navy regulations, et cetera. Paragraph 1, Captain Patton hereby ordered to report to and take command of USS Devilfish, SSNX-1, en route a classified-operation area in the Pacific Theater. Paragraph 2, Captain Patton shall report to the Supreme Commander-in-Chief, U.S. Pacific Military Forces, Admiral M. Pacino, for duty until specifically detached by said commander. Paragraph 3, these orders effective immediately as of today, 4 November.” Patton looked up at the row of officers, and the group broke into applause.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat as big as a fist The captain’s stateroom was cavernous compared to the old 688-class cubbyhole. It had a bunk that could sleep two, with a full instrument readout and phone station accessible from the bunk. It could be folded up by day, and the space transformed into a high-tech office.

Nearby was a desk with a high-backed leather swivel chair. At a large conference table, the captain’s place faced a soffit above the stateroom door entrance where a row of widescreen televisions was placed. Above the central widescreen was a camera for videoconferencing.

Pacino noted, “We had the lockers stocked with uniforms in your size. We’ll go to control in a few minutes.

Before we do, why don’t you have a seat, John?”

Patton sank into the swivel chair at the head of the table. A sense of unreality flooded him as the deck rolled beneath his feet. Ocean waves were rocking the boat, a submarine that he’d just been given command of. A ship that he didn’t know the first thing about, and here was the admiral-in-command of the entire Pacific military forces sitting him down at his conference table to ask him the question of the hour, which was, what the hell happened out there?

“So, John, are you sure you’re okay? No burns, bruises, cuts, concussions?”

“They checked me out at Yokosuka, sir. I had some burns to my shins and knees and hands, but it’s about as serious as sun poisoning. Byron and I — Senior Chief Byron Demeers, my sonar chief — were dehydrated and suffering from exposure, but nothing a bottle of spring water and a cheeseburger wouldn’t solve.”

Pacino grinned at Paully White, shaking his head. “So, what happened? Did you ever detect the Rising Sun?

Or the torpedo?”

“Neither one. Admiral. I’d slowed down to about five knots, I was in the zone where the surface group went down, and we were doing a max-scan sonar search. Senior Chief Demeers can tell you more about the search plan, but we were at battle stations and maximum sensitivity on the wide-aperature array, hitting broadband spherical hard, and streaming both towed arrays with the onion out, and we heard exactly nothing. Zero point zero. The next thing we knew, an explosion blew us to hell. I was tossed off my feet, and I ordered an EMBT blow. Someone lived long enough to hit the chicken switches, and up we went. Next thing I knew, there were flames and smoke everywhere. By the time I could get to the officers to see if they were alive, the flames had engulfed the room. I ran forward to see if Byron was alive, and when I found him, I pulled him up to the bridge tunnel. By then the entire upper level was on fire, and we went up the tunnel, and the ship began sinking.

Byron saved my life — he pulled me out of the ship and put me on the raft — and the rest is history. The first I knew that I’d been attacked by a sub and not by some reactor casualty was when we were floating on the raft and a periscope popped up, and it was no American or European Union technology. It just looked at us for a few seconds.” “What did you do?” Paully White asked.

“What could I do? I flipped it off.”

Patton looked in astonishment as the officers laughed, exchanging looks and shaking their heads.

“What’s so funny?” Patton asked. “A hundred and thirty men died on my ship, it was my responsibility, and now it’s gone and so are the men.”

Pacino instantly sobered up. “Sorry, John, you’re right. We didn’t mean any disrespect. It’s just that you did what all of us here wished we could have done— give the bird to the Red force commander. Anyway, let’s continue the tour. Maybe by the time we’re aft. Captain Stephens will have the reactor in the power range.”

Patton followed the admiral out of the stateroom thinking that somehow he had just passed one more test, this one as important as the first had been, back in Norfolk so many years ago.

Patton stood in the control room, trying not to rubberneck.