Terminal Run

Krivak, you said Piranha was under the control of a mutinous crew. Then she goes up to periscope depth, as if she is getting her routine messages. A crew in a mutiny would not do that. Plus, she is lingering in this area. Why would a crew in a mutiny do that? Wouldn’t they go to a tropical island someplace?

“There is more for a submarine to do at periscope depth than obtain messages. They may have to discard trash. Or perhaps blow down the steam generators—”

We would have heard that.

“One, that is not the point! The issue here is that they went to periscope depth. For all we know they are transmitting a message to squadron or to Norfolk with a list of demands.”

Wouldn’t that mean we might have new orders? Perhaps we are doing the wrong thing by shooting Piranha. And if it was a mutiny, it appears there is no danger of Piranha shooting missiles at America or harming another country. This unit has serious doubts about shooting a sister vessel.

Krivak shuddered inside. The mutiny was not on the Piranha, but on Snare, he thought.

“One, my orders were to come here and make sure that Piranha is taken down because of a serious mutiny onboard. Once those orders were given, squadron knew there was no turning back. The orders could not come to you in message form, because if Piranha was taken over in a mutiny, her authentication codes were compromised, and she could transmit false messages that would order us to stand down. Squadron could not take that chance. Piranha is loaded with plasma tipped cruise missiles, One. She could make the East Coast a crater if she is in the wrong hands. If squadron is wrong and we shoot the Piranha, we lose a two-billion-dollar submarine and a hundred crew members. If squadron is correct but we hold our fire, we could lose this ship, and eight plasma-tipped missiles are pointed at Washington with no one to stop them. If you fail to follow my orders, squadron will have you shut down and terminated and I will go to jail. Now, your orders come to you from me, and my orders come from the commodore of Submarine Development Squadron Twelve, and his orders come to him from the Chief of Naval Operations, and his orders come from the President. Are you telling me you will violate orders from the President of the United States?”

Krivak laid it on as thick as he could, but once he had invoked the Commander-in-chief, there was nothing else in his arsenal. Either the machine followed his orders or the mission was through. The next task in that case was to communicate with Wang to disconnect him, and then to scuttle the ship and escape with Amorn aboard the Andiamo before anyone learned about the hostile takeover of the Snare. While he planned his escape, Unit One Oh Seven contemplated his last words. Finally the carbon computer spoke.

Very well, Krivak. You are, of course, correct. This unit apologizes for its unauthorized processing. Please put our conversation behind us. Torpedoes one and two ready in all respects, awaiting firecontrol solution.

He had won, Krivak thought in triumph. In the next few moments they would target the Piranha and as soon as the torpedoes detonated, they would go to periscope depth to call Admiral Chu.

Chief Machinist Mate Ulysses Keating spit into the faceplate of his scuba mask and wiped the spit with his finger. “Keeps it from fogging up, but don’t do that to yours, sir,” he said to Pacino. “It’ll screw up the low light system.”

Pacino looked up the ladder to the escape trunk, wondering if he’d panic when it filled with water.

“Control, Forward Escape Trunk,” Keating said into a coiled microphone from a speaker box “Forward escape trunk ready for lockout.”

“Escape Trunk, Control, aye, wait.”

There were footsteps in the passageway. Pacino turned to see Captain Catardi come up to him, Wcs Crossfield, Astrid Schultz, and Carrie Alameda behind him. He smiled, feeling a deep sadness to be leaving the ship.

“I’m going to miss you guys,” he stammered.

Crossfield and Catardi shook his hand, the captain clapping his shoulder. Astrid Schultz looked like she was holding back tears, but Carrie Alameda had no such luck, a tear streaking down her cheek. She drew the midshipman into a hug and kissed his cheek, then drawing back to look at his face and into his eyes. There was so much Pacino wanted to say to her but couldn’t.

Pacino was afraid his voice would crack or tremble. “Thank you for everything, Captain. Goodbye, XO, Nav. And goodbye, Eng. Carrie. Thank you for helping me on this run. It meant a lot to me.”

“Give your dad our best,” Catardi said. “And good luck to you, son.”

“Forward Escape Trunk, Control. You have permission to open the lower hatch and enter the trunk,” the speaker box rasped.