Terminal Run

Battlegroup Three had formed up in the Bo Hai Bay and was sailing for the Lushun-Penglai gap on the way out into the Yellow Sea. McKee’s submerged unit Lexington had been ordered to make a maximum-speed run for the mouth of the Bo Hai as soon as the crisis had erupted, but there hadn’t been enough time for her to make it there. She would probably be too late to ambush the third Red fleet, and would have to settle for an intercept in the northern East China Sea. Unless Battle group Three slowed down. The intelligence digest went on to describe the land mobilization of the Reds, but McKee would save that for later reading.

The next message was from Admiral Ericcson. He transmitted that he was abandoning his orders to enter the Indian Ocean and had turned his fleet to the East China Sea to intercept and engage Battlegroup Two directly, and requested additional submarine assets to help him — which was no problem, because McKee’s orders from Patton to support The Viking had resulted in the deployment of the Virginia-class submarines Orion and Hornet in-theater to kill the second surface force, and the Essex had maneuvered to the Formosa Strait.

The final message was a situation report from the Piranha. She was ahead of schedule on her flank run to intercept the Snare, and would set up a barrier patrol off the African coast to ambush her as the robot submarine came south. McKee drummed the table, thinking about Patch Pacino’s son embarked aboard the Piranha. The battle was coming, and he’d always intended to get the Pacino kid off the ship before she sailed into the Indian Ocean, after the action against the Snare. McKee had full confidence in Catardi and Piranha, and knew deep in his heart that they would sink the Snare, but what he didn’t know was how much damage Catardi would take in sinking the robot sub. Could McKee sit back and allow Patch’s kid to go into the battle? Was there some way to evacuate him that wouldn’t endanger the Piranha or give away her position? He’d put the issue to Karen Petri. It was hard to be objective about the father of the modern submarine navy, McKee thought, or his only child.

McKee left the table, Karen Petri getting up to follow him. In the V.I.P stateroom he drafted a message to Ericcson, telling him he could enter the East China Sea without worries, but leaving out specifics. The second message he wrote to Rob Catardi onboard Piranha, tasking him with evaluating the feasibility of a helicopter evacuation of Midshipman Pacino, with the young midshipman leaving the submarine by a submerged scuba lockout. The Hammerhead slowed from her flank run to return to periscope depth for the second time in that hour to transmit McKee’s messages, the time spent at slow PD speed holding the ship up from her rendezvous with the Snare. Deep again after the radio transmission, the Hammerhead sped back up to flank, the deck vibrating frantically once again.

The Piranha had come up to periscope depth during Pacino’s and Alameda’s mid watch Now that they were back deep and flanking it, the pad computer had been brought in. Catardi read the last transmission from Admiral McKee. What the hell? Catardi thought. The admiral wanted to pull young Pacino off the ship right before the Snare attack. That would depend on the weather — with the ship rolling at PD, it was probably nasty topside — and on the tactical situation. But it would be a damned shame to let the midshipman go, Catardi thought. Patch was a few days away from a submerged OOD qual board, and he was a good luck charm. When he left the ship, lady luck might leave with him. Catardi sniffed at the last thought, thinking that such lunacy only contaminated his thinking when he wasn’t fully awake. He buzzed the conn.

“Officer of the Deck,” Alameda said in her deep iron in control-of-it-all voice.

“OOD, Captain, send the messenger for the pad computer and route it to the navigator, and have him make a recommendation to me by zero eight hundred. ComUSubCom wants a feasibility study of the idea of locking out Mr. Pacino in a scuba rig, having him float for an hour or two while we clear datum, then having him picked up by helicopter. Somehow somebody at HQ thinks that will be safer for him than having him go into battle with us.”

“Aye, Captain,” Alameda said flatly.

Catardi pulled the covers over his shoulders and turned off the desk lamp, the door cracking open as the messenger took the pad computer and quietly left. Catardi was back asleep before the door was fully shut.

In the control room, Lieutenant Alameda looked at Midshipman Pacino. “Looks like you’ve got a ticket home,” she said.

“USubCom wants you off the boat, and that will probably happen sooner than later, because we’re due to intercept the Snare’s track before evening meal.”

Pacino looked back at her, hoping his face didn’t betray his emotions. “Bad idea,” he said. “The sea state is too strong for a personnel transfer.”