Piranha: Firing Point

The Lincoln pulled away from the hangar and sped out Coral Sea Road to the west gate, not the normal way of getting to Pearl Harbor. They came in the Ewa Beach gate to the Pearl Harbor Naval Reservation, the driver waving and roaring past the gate that opened just in time, then closed behind them. The Lincoln raced to a pier where a waiting boat was tied up. As White and Pacino boarded the boat, the diesel exhaust brought back memories from his youth, at the academy when they’d driven the yard-patrol diesels. Two sailors brought their bags and briefcases and joined Joanna as the boat engine throttled up. The boat sailed out of the West Loch past the Waipio Peninsula to Pearl City Peninsula, where the new Unified Submarine Command West Headquarters building was located.

“Roundabout way to get to the office,” Pacino remarked to Joanna.

“You’re the man of the hour. Admiral,” she said, looking at him strangely. “They all want to know what your submarines are going to do to keep the backup RDF out of the drink.”

Pacino grimaced at her. “So do I. Come on, let’s get to work.”

A jeep at the peninsula pier took them the half mile to the USUBCOM building. The white three-story edifice looked like it had been built in the Hawaii of 1905, complete with columns and small windows, yet inside it was equipped with the latest technology. Pacino’s office had the only large window, looking out over the East Loch toward the submarine piers, now empty. The office had a feeling of tropical airiness, and on the light, knotty pine plank walls were framed photographs of nuclear submarines, old friends standing next to the sails of their subs, a picture of Pacino the day he took command of the Seawolf, a picture of Donchez standing by his ancient Piranha, and a photo yellow with age, of Anthony Pacino and his young son standing next to the sail of the Stingray.

Facing the window was a huge desk made of the timbers of the USS Bonhomme Richard, John Paul Jones’ ship from over two centuries before. The desk had two lamps and a dozen photographs of young Tony Pacino.

On one side of the desk was a black glass conference table used for videoconferences and meetings. On the other side was Pacino’s oak library table, where he did most of his work.

He threw his hat on the library table and sank into the chair, already thinking.

“Chart display,” he said, snapping his fingers. Paully White found the large electronic chart computer display and put it on the empty table. Pacino punched into the large menu and configured the display to show the East China Sea, then the sea between Hawaii and Japan. He studied it for some time, then looked up at Paully.

“I’m ready. Joanna, get the videoconference set up, then get with Emmitt Stephens and Colleen O’Shaughnessy.

Tell them they’ll be on next in about ten minutes. Then when we’re done with them, get Dick Livingston in here.”

Paully White and Pacino sat at the glass videoconference table and waited for the screen to come up.

“What are you going to do, boss?” White asked quietly as the presidential seal flashed on the large video widescreen.

“Just watch,” Pacino hissed. Warner’s face appeared, her eyes glazed and tired, her hair — for the first time in Pacino’s memory — not perfectly coiffed. Next to her was an equally tired-looking Dick O’Shaughnessy.

“Admiral,” Warner said, smiling. “Let’s get to it.

Have you thought about what we’re going to do with your submarines? And how to escort in the backup RDF? And will these Red submarines be penetrating the deep Pacific to get the RDF? And when will we be able to come ashore in White China?”

She still didn’t understand, Pacino thought. If he was going to win this submarine war, he would need to control it all, including the timing, the surface force, the media, and the president herself.

“I’ve thought about all that, ma’am. And the answer is good. Madam President, I have a plan to clear the East China Sea of these Red submarines and get the backup RDF to shore with no losses. We can win this thing, ma’am. And I can make that happen for you.” “Okay,” Warner said, one eyebrow lifted. “And exactly how do you plan to do that?”

“Believe me. Madam President, Admiral O’Shaughnessy, the plan is solid. I’m sure you’ll find out just how solid when General Baldini comes ashore with every single man of the force behind him.”

Warner scowled, unused to having her questions evaded.

“Admiral Pacino, what is your plan?”

“My plan is to take full command of the U.S. Naval Force Pacific, including all elements — the. Unified Naval Air Command, the Unified Surface Naval Command, the Navforcepacfleet, including the backup Rapid Deployment Force. All force commanders will report to me, and I will have absolute authority over the entire operation.