“How long to the Labrador Sea?”
“By the morning, sir. Are you going down?”
“I think I will.”
“Good night, sir.”
Phillips put the phone back, and without opening his eyes peeled off the poopysuit and got under the covers.
He yawned and fell asleep before he shut his mouth again. In his dreams he wore a sombrero and carried a machine gun, a bandoleer of bullets hanging off each shoulder.
“VLCC Petersburg, this is US Navy flight leader. Do you copy?”
Finally the captain of the Petersburg spoke up, his speech clear and understandable through his Russian accent. “This is the captain of the Petersburg. What do you want?”
“Sir, you are standing into danger. You are two miles from the exclusion boundary set up by the United States of America. Japan is now under blockade by forces of the US Navy. You are ordered to reverse course and turn away from Japan. Do you read me, sir?”
Silence on the radio.
“I say again, you are standing into danger,” Galvin repeated. Still no answer.
“VLCC Petersburg, I am warning you that you are now one point five miles from the exclusion boundary. You are running the blockade set up by forces of the US Navy. You are ordered to turn back now. If you fail to turn around and reverse course our nuclear submarines will be forced to fire on you. Do you read me?”
“This is the captain of the Petersburg. I am within my rights under international law. I am turning off this radio.”
Galvin continued to try to radio the Petersburg for several minutes, but finally the supertanker crossed the line of demarcation of the exclusion zone.
Galvin switched his radio to the tactical-control frequency. “Uncle Joe, this is Aunt Sue, over.”
“Go ahead. Sue.”
“We’re unable to win the game. Over.”
“Roger, Sue, we’ll clean up. You can leave for backstage now. Out.”
Galvin dipped his wings and turned to the right, flying his formation away from the supertanker, far enough away to see it clearly as the twilight got darker.
The scrambled satellite UHF secure-voice circuit, the NESTOR, was piped into the conn on a red phone handset.
Commander Keebes had the red phone on his ear, the conversation playing on the overhead speakers for the crew to hear.
“Cousin George, this is Uncle Joe, over,” the speakers crackled.
“This is George, over.”
“Cousin George, Uncle Joe, authorization bravo six delta reading victor, mike, tango, five, four, mike, I say again, authorization bravo six delta reading victor, mike, tango, five, four, mike. Break. Commands from Grandfather Pete as follows. Immediate execute — Cousin George to clean up the garage, I say again. Cousin George to clean up the garage. Break. Over.”
Keebes read back the transmission to the phone from the notes taken by Jensen. The transmission ended after the other end confirmed that the message was correct.
Keebes looked up at Jensen. Two officers walked in with the sealed authenticator packet and opened it on Keebes’s orders. The B6D packet had a piece of paper inside reading VMT54M, the authentication on the radio transmission.
“It’s valid. Okay, attention in the firecontrol team. We’ve just been ordered to shoot the supertanker. We’ll do this with a periscope approach. Horizontal salvo, tubes one and two. Carry on.” Keebes looked around at the crew. “Captain on the periscope.”
Frank Becker stepped away from the periscope. “Zero nine zero relative, sir, low power on the horizon.”
Keebes put his eyes on the periscope eyepiece, the rubber of it warm and slick with Becker’s sweat.
Through the crosshairs and range marks he could see the supertanker. Target One. He rotated the right grip, increasing the power to high. The bridge of the supertanker grew to giant size, the windows shining warm yellow light out, the navigation lights of the tanker still illuminated.
“Observation, Target One,” Keebes called.
“Ready.”
“Bearing, mark!” Keebes called, and punched a button on the periscope grip.
“Bearing one seven five,” Jensen called.
“Range mark, six divisions, high power. Angle on the bow port ninety.”
“Range, two thousand yards.”
“Firing point procedures. Target One,” Keebes called from the periscope. “Horizontal salvo, tubes one and two, one minute firing interval.”
“Ship ready,” Frank Becker reported.
“Solution ready,” Jensen said, bending over the consoles of the attack center.
“Weapon ready,” the weapons officer reported.
“Final bearing and shoot,” Keebes ordered, his periscope crosshairs on the supertanker’s midsection.
“Bearing… mark!”
“Bearing one seven six,” from Jensen.
“Range mark, six divisions, high power. Angle on the bow, port ninety five.”
“Two thousand yards and set,” Jensen called.
“Standby.” The weapons officer took the torpedo firing trigger to the nine o’clock standby position.
“Shoot!” Keebes ordered.
“Fire!” The weapons officer took the trigger to the three o’clock firing position.
The detonation slammed Keebes’s eardrums, the highpressure air venting inboard from the torpedo firing mechanism two decks below.
“Tube one fired electrically, sir.”
“Tube two, final bearing and shoot,” Keebes ordered.
The crew went through the same routine for the second torpedo, the air pressure pulse slamming Keebes’s ears as the torpedo left the ship.
“Tube two fired electrically. Captain. Both units are active and homing.”
“Very well, energizing periscope videotape.”
Keebes kept the supertanker on the periscope, waiting for the torpedoes to impact.
“Sir, the American submarine just launched a torpedo.”
“Confirm it’s not aimed at us.” Tanaka said.
“No, sir, it would appear he’s shooting at the merchant tanker.”
“Let’s take it up to mast-broach depth.”
“Sir, we have Nagasaki torpedoes one and two locked onto the American. Should we prepare to fire?”
“No. We’re not authorized, Mr. First.” Tanaka mounted the steps to the periscope-control stand, seated himself in the periscope-control chair. The assembly looked almost like a motorcycle, the front wheel replaced by the optics module and the pole of the unit.
“Ship control, mast-broach depth.”
“Sir.”
The Winged Serpent came up slowly, the deck inclining, the hull creaking as the ship came up shallow.
“Second torpedo launch from the American submarine, sir.”
“Periscope coming up.” Tanaka hit the control-function key and the stainless steel pole came out of the fin, the light piped into the hull by fiber optics and reassembled in the optic module. The actual mast did not penetrate the hull of the ship, yet with the fiber-optic transmission, the view looked good enough, as if he were looking out an old-fashioned optical periscope.
The view was dark, only a faint glow coming from the waves far above. Tanaka hit the fixed function key to rotate the control seat and the view above began to rotate just as his seat rotated on a circular track on the platform. The shimmering glow on the waves grew nearer, the moonlight coming down from above, until finally the glow got closer, individual waves now clear in the view. Tanaka rotated more quickly, needing to see the surface as soon as the periscope cleared.
The periscope suddenly broke through, the horizon showing up, if still blurry, from the rotation of the platform.
Tanaka slowed the rotation and looked out for close contacts. There were none, only the supertanker in the distance, heading away to the southeast as it made its way to Japan.