Once they settled in the wardroom, the captain explained the escape plan. “I want you two to man SF-1 and prepare for launch. We’ll prepare SF-2 to provide propulsion, but keep it mounted on the deck.”
“Mounted on the deck, sir?” asked the XO.
“That’s right. Mounted on the deck.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
The captain unrolled an undersea chart of the waters south of Cape Horn. “We are going to make our passage as quietly as possible along this line — here.” The captain pointed to an east-west line extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. The enemy attack boats are lined up in a north-south line approximately — here. There’s no way we can get through that line without eliminating at least two of them. You know what to do — any attack boat that moves into firing range of the Louisiana gets its screw tied in a knot, courtesy of SF-1, and earns an all-expense-paid trip to the surface. Got it?”
The XO glanced nervously at MacKenzie. “You up for this, Mac?”
“Yes, sir! I’m pumped — ready to go!”
Just then Seaman Olsen stuck his head in the doorway. “Excuse me, Captain.”
“Yes?”
“We have the identities on the two Virginia-class attack boats: the northernmost boat is the Texas and the third boat in the line is the Hawaii, sir.”
“Thank-you, Seaman Olsen.”
Olsen disappeared back down the passageway toward the control room.
The XO looked up from the chart and noticed a strange look on George’s face. “Something wrong, Captain?”
“No, no, just wondering about the crews of the Texas and the Hawaii.”
“Well, it brings up a good question about the Rules of Engagement, sir. Any of the attack boats are fair game?”
The captain thought for a few moments. “It raises some interesting issues, doesn’t it?”
“I’ll say!”
“I hate to have to attack fellow Americans. We may know some of them and may have served with them in the past. We may consider some of them as friends. But at this point, they’re our most capable adversary — so tactically, it makes sense to take them out.”
“Well, at least we’re not really ‘taking them out,’ Captain. We’re just rendering them ineffective.”
“That’s true. In reality, who we take out — I mean render ineffective — depends on where they are positioned in the defensive line. You need to create a hole wide enough for us to get through undetected.” Pointing to the chart, the captain continued, “Based on our intended track, we’ll probably pass between the Kilo to our north and the Hawaii to our south. The Texas is positioned north of the Kilo, somewhere up here, and the Alpha is down here south of the Hawaii. I would recommend hitting the Kilo first. It would be the quietest while submerged, so it would do us the most good to have it out of the picture. After you hit the Kilo, one or both of the Americans may reposition to narrow the gap. You’ll need to hit whoever moves closest to our track.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“Pappy, here’s that chance you’ve been waiting for to be a fighter pilot!”
“Yes, sir! I won’t let you down, Captain.”
“We’re in SF-1, Mac,” said the XO. “Let’s man up!”
The captain returned to the control room. “All stop. General quarters. Rig the ship for silent running.” The captain grabbed the intercom switch, “Engineering, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shut down the reactor and switch to emergency battery power — we’re going to eliminate all noise from the primary and secondary coolant pumps.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“Shut down all nonessential electronic equipment,” ordered the captain. “We’ll be running on emergency battery power for the next eighteen hours or so. SF-1, are you ready to go?”
“We’re manning up now, sir,” came the response over the intercom.
“Then launch and arc way from our track. When you hit twenty thousand yards, start intermittently going to full SQID mode. You know, do it as if you’re fishing and trying to get a bite. Hopefully the cavitation will lead these attack boats away from us. I’m passing coordinates to you for our rendezvous point. See you there in six hours.”
“Aye-aye, sir. How did you know I like to fish?”
“Just a wild guess, XO.” The captain turned back to the conn. “Start SF-2. Go to maximum thrust without cavitating. Let’s keep her mounted to the deck and see how fast she can move us along.”
After closing all hatches, Pappy settled into the pilot’s seat next to MacKenzie as they started the preflight checklist.
“Sonar power — on.”
“Check.”
“Weapons systems — armed.”
“Check.”
“Navigation — on.”
“Check.”
“Propulsion system — operational.”
“Check.”
“Speed — five knots. Disengage locking lever.”
MacKenzie grabbed the locking lever and pulled it to its upright position. “Disengaged, sir.”
“Applying power,” Pappy said as he eased the throttle forward and the impeller, with a slightly increasing but almost imperceptible hum, started to move SF-1 forward. The fighter gently lifted off the Louisiana and as they rose above the deck, Pappy began a banking turn to the port side away from the conning tower and increased the power. The surge of the propulsion system pushed both Mac and Pappy into their seats, yet there was hardly any increase in noise. The balance of the impeller was almost perfect.
“Man, what an incredible machine!”
MacKenzie already had his headset on, and was tweaking various sonar dials.
“Mac, our targets were about ninety thousand yards west-southwest of our position ten minutes ago. Let’s head south until we’re twenty thousand yards from the Louisiana, and then we’ll hit the SQID drive a few times to see if we can get a bite from any of those bastards. I’m pushing her up to fifty knots, which means we’ll hit that twenty thousand yard point in about four more minutes.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve already started listening, and so far I have several contacts. I’ll continue to monitor.”
Pappy was all business now. Like the mind of every fighter pilot coming in for a night landing on a carrier, his brain had shifted to a higher level of concentration. The next few hours would be decisive. He would either eliminate the threat, thereby enabling the Louisiana to pass through the defensive line, or he would fail, and the future of mankind would be placed in jeopardy. You could call it superconcentration or being in the zone, but whatever you called it, Pappy and the machine he was flying had become ONE.
The fighter was moving with virtually no noise at fifty knots due south. After four minutes, the XO warned MacKenzie, “SQID drive — watch your ears!” MacKenzie pulled the sonar headphones off while the XO hit the SQID drive for two seconds.
“Wow!” MacKenzie exclaimed. “Without these ear cups sealing against your head, that SQID drive is deafening! I think I’ll leave them on next time and just turn down the volume on the sonar!”
“Hey, live and learn.”
After several activations of the SQID drive on a southerly heading, SF-1 turned west toward the defensive line of attack boats blocking the path of the Louisiana.
“Mac, what have you got?”
“I have good positions on three of them, sir, but I can’t find the Kilo yet.”