“I won’t say anything to anyone, Chief. You know that. Everything stays right here for now.”
“He thinks Captain Newell’s the one who’s flipped. He says the captain’s refusing to listen to him and then wanting custody of those tapes are because he knows that was Alaska and Nevada we sank.” Sanford pushed his hair back again before looking sadly at Makin. “I don’t know what else to say, sir. I don’t know what to do.”
“You just did it. It’s the best you could do for both of them. See what you can do to keep Lott under wraps for the next couple of hours. Better yet, I don’t want to hear about him until I’ve had a chance to sit down again with the captain. Now go on — get out of here,” he said with a half smile.
A telltale click preceded the hum of Pasadena’s IMC system as Chief Sanford moved off down the passageway. “This is Captain Newell speaking. As you all know, we anticipate contact with the next Soviet boomer within twenty-four hours or less. We know the limits of her sector, but she could be anywhere within it. Pasadena is privileged, perhaps one of the most honored submarines in American naval history. While we don’t have the necessary backup information to confirm this, it appears to me that we have been singled out for a vital mission that all of us hoped would never take place. To date, we have performed professionally and with highest honor. I want each of you to know that I am unable to put into words the pride I’ve experienced in serving with you.”
Makin nodded to himself. The captain knew how to control an audience with simple words.
“My purpose now is to let you know that I understand exactly what each of you is going through. I am experiencing the same doubts as you … even the same fears for my family ashore. But there have also been some advantages. I don’t think any single event brought us so closely together as that final Pasadena cookout before we got under way. You met my family and I was honored to meet each member of yours. I was just in my stateroom looking at the picture of my wife Myra and those two beautiful kids of ours, Charlie and Kathy — even my pooch, old Jack Tar — and I got to thinking about your families in the same instant.”
Dick Makin found himself staring at the speaker in the corner as Wayne Newell’s evenly modulated voice flowed calmly into his stateroom. The man sure as hell had a talent — a silver-tongued orator! And timing? His timing was superb. He understood how tension was building. Hell, the two of them had been talking about it just hours ago. But Newell must have sensed the sudden increase … must have known the men were looking for something.…
“I’m not sure why we were singled out to perform this duty, but I like to think it’s because we’re the best boat in SUBPAC. And I don’t mind telling you that I’ve told Admiral Arrow time and again that I had the finest crew in the entire Navy. Anyway, it seems that our mission is to protect the mainland United States during our nation’s most crucial moments. We have responded twice, and both times we have been victorious. We faced one of the most devious inventions in modern warfare, a device that would convince us that we were firing on one of our own. Only through the brilliance of our intelligence branch were we forewarned.
“If we hadn’t known of that insidious masking device that imitates our boomers so perfectly, I can promise you that Pasadena and each one of us would be at the bottom of the Pacific right this moment.” Newell drew a deep breath, audible in each compartment, before he added, “And our cities right now might have been smoking rubble, our nation driven to its knees by the Russians. I like to think that our homes remain intact because of Pasadena’s actions.”
Makin was surprised to find himself hanging on each word, acknowledging each statement as if he’d said those very words himself. He understood Newell’s motivation, even agreed how vital it was at this moment. And he knew that if he were captain of Pasadena, it would have been unlikely that he could have employed either the timing or the sense of drama to put across such a speech. After what he’d just experienced with Wally Snyder, and the conversation with Tim Sanford, there was no doubt that Newell’s amazing sixth sense was operating perfectly.
“My reason for this overly long speech is not just to congratulate you or build your egos. You know now how I feel, and each one of you should consider himself a king among kings. My purpose is to warn you against complacency — to say that there’s two down and one to go. But that may not be the case. There may be more than that, The next Soviet boomer that we encounter may be the one that hears us first. There is no room for mistakes in our world.
“I also must caution you against rumor. Too often we are willing to accept secondhand information as gospel. Let me assure you that the intelligence received from Admiral Arrow’s office just before our departure indicated that we might encounter this Soviet masking device on this patrol. The XO will concur with that. The intelligence report given to us was very slim. There was nothing to explain how the device worked or even what it might sound like. Perhaps COMSUBPAC’s intelligence people hoped it might be a poor imitation. All they knew was that it existed, and they had to warn us of its existence. Luckily, they were able to tell us when it would be used. When we get back to Pearl, I’ll damn sure tell them it’s a devilish instrument that could beckon the best of us to our death. Although it was intended only for the eyes of the captain and the executive officer, I will be happy to explain as much as I can to any member of this crew who feels the need to know more about it. As a matter of fact, I’ll show you the exact report.
“It is important to understand that our worst enemy could be ourselves if we fall victim to doubts about the identity of solid sonar contacts. We have been assigned the ultimate mission any one of us might ever hope for, and we must perform as if the existence of our country depended on each man aboard Pasadena. I sincerely believe it does.”
Dick Makin picked up the phone as soon as the hum of the IMC clicked into ominous silence. He couldn’t depend on Chief Sanford to keep Tommy Lott under wraps. It had just become the job of the executive officer.
“I hope everyone realizes that if we were a destroyer plodding along in a sector like this, we could have a cookout on the fantail.” Buck Nelson’s voice was loud, intentionally so. He was demanding the attention of everyone in the control room. Outside of the common courtesies when he entered, they had all responded like so many bumps on a log — the drudgeries of patrol, no different from the last, or the next, could quickly make sleepwalkers out of professionals! Every commanding officer was aware of the problem. Breaking this almost hypnotic sensation of boredom had never been complex.
The helmsman was the first to respond. “Any beer at your cookout, Captain?”
“Don’t I wish.” Nelson chuckled. “No, even the skimmers don’t get it at sea, regardless of what they might tell you,” he said, referring to the surface navy. “They’re just like us. They can’t break out the suds until they’re on the beach.”
The quartermaster of the watch grinned at Nelson. “Would this be just a hot dog and hamburg cookout, Captain, or something a little special?”
“Well, what do you guys think? There’re some terrific steaks in the reefer waiting to be thawed, I’m told. I figure if Florida ever has a chance, this crew deserves nothing but the best. Hell, this would be a real barbecue — steaks, maybe ribs, if the cook could whip up some Texas-style sauce and find some good smoke.” Nelson leaned on the chart table and looked back over his shoulder at the OOD, who was watching him with amusement. “What do you say, Jeff, you know good barbecue. Think it could be done?”