2. (S) USS VERMONT INTERCEPTED OUTBOUND FREIGHTER “SARGASSO CAUSEWAY” CARRYING TARGETED NARCO-SUB 1000Z12MAY22. FREIGHTER OPENED HULL DOORS AND LOWERED TARGET SUBMARINE INTO CARIBBEAN SEA.
3. (S) USS VERMONT ESTABLISHED COVERT AND UNDETECTED TRAIL OF TARGET SUBMARINE. TARGET SUBMARINE STEAMED NORTH SUBMERGED WITH A RAISED SNORKEL MAST AND PERISCOPE. TARGET SUBMARINE WAS SNORKELING ON HER DIESELS AND PRESUMED TO BE CHARGING BATTERIES BEFORE SHIFTING TO SILENT RUNNING ON BATTERIES.
4. (S) SITUATION BECAME COMPLICATED WHEN FREIGHTER RECONFIGURED HULL DOORS AND COMMENCED STEAMING TOWARD TARGET SUBMARINE AND USS VERMONT. INTENT UNKNOWN BUT BELIEVED THAT FREIGHTER WAS GOING TO ESCORT TARGET SUBMARINE PART WAY OR ALL THE WAY TO TARGET SUBMARINE’S DESTINATION. THIS WOULD CAUSE MISSION FAILURE BECAUSE WHEN TARGET SUBMARINE SURFACED, IT WAS EXPECTED THAT FREIGHTER WOULD RENDER AID AND INTERRUPT MISSION.
5. (TS) USS VERMONT LAUNCHED MOD EMP KAKIVAK AT FREIGHTER. EMP DETONATION SHUT FREIGHTER DOWN. SHE LIES DEAD-IN-THE-WATER OFF SANTA MARTA.
6. (S) USS VERMONT TRAILED TARGET SUBMARINE, MATCHED SPEED, DEPLOYED SEAL TEAM TASK GROUP 80. SEALS INCAPACITATED TARGET SUBMARINE WITH NET OVER TARGET SUBMARINE’S SCREW. TARGET SUBMARINE SURFACED. SEAL FORCE AWAITED PERSONNEL COMING TOPSIDE TO TROUBLESHOOT PROBLEM. A HALF HOUR LATER, NO ONE HAD COME OUT OF THE HULL.
7. (TS) SEAL TASK GROUP 80 COMMANDER ENTERED HULL AND DISCOVERED THE TARGET SUBMARINE WAS AN ENTIRELY COMPUTER-CONTROLLED VESSEL. THERE WERE NO ACCOMMODATIONS FOR PERSONNEL. THE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE ABOARD TARGET SUBMARINE EXAMINED SEAL COMMANDER’S FACE AND PRESUMABLY CONCLUDED IT DID NOT MATCH ANY FACES IN ITS DATABASE. TARGET SUBMARINE IMMEDIATELY IGNITED SCUTTLING CHARGES. SEAL TASK GROUP 80 PROMPTLY WITHDREW AND WERE SUCCESSFULLY RECOVERED ABOARD USS VERMONT.
8. (S) TARGET SUBMARINE SANK IN CARIBBEAN SEA OVER 1,000 FATHOMS DEEP, EXACT POSITION TO BE RELAYED IN OFFICAL PATROL REPORT.
9. (S) MISSION CONSIDERED CONCLUDED. USS VERMONT EN ROUTE WINDWARD PASSAGE AND REQUESTS FURTHER ORDERS.
10. (U) CDR. T. SEAGRAVES SENDS.
//BT//
“Jesus,” Catardi muttered. A goddamned ultra-secret warshot Kakivak EMP missile, tossed at a civilian freighter by a covert submarine, which after that was no longer covert and could have left American fingerprints on the botched operation. What if it had been a dud? Then the bad guys would have a copy of their most secret weapon system. Catardi manipulated the tablet to take him to the Vermont’s patrol report. It was a fleshed-out version of the situation report, but with charts and images of the chart output and the periscope display. There was a video, a long one.
Catardi linked his tablet to the wide-screen television on the side of the office away from the windows, shut the blinds, and played the video, finding one of the leather club chairs facing the television, deep in concentration as he watched the control room video. When Lieutenant junior grade Pacino suggested launching the Kakivak missile, Catardi froze the frame, thinking about his history with the young man. There was no doubt, that kid was even more crazily ballsy than his old man. Catardi watched the faces of Seagraves, Quinnivan and Romanov as they reacted to the non-qual junior officer’s suggestion. They’d weighed the risks, he thought, and had done what they thought was right. He would have to convince the National Security Advisor of that, he thought. He pressed “play” and watched the video stream from the SEAL commander’s tactical helmet cam.
After the video ended, Catardi went back to his desk and opened his tablet again to the scenarios described by his artificial intelligence decision theory experts. After an hour, Styxx reminded him it was time to meet the officers of the Vermont.
When they arrived at the pier and stationed the in-port duty section, a message came in marked “personal for commanding officer.” Romanov was summoned to the captain’s stateroom, where Executive Officer Quinnivan was already seated at the captain’s small table.
“Have a seat, Nav, and read this message.”
She read aloud the terse message displayed on Seagraves’ tablet. “USS Vermont CO, XO, TAO/NAV ordered to report to AUTEC’s special compartmented information facility 13 May at 1300 for a debrief with ComSubCom Vice Admiral R. Catardi.” She looked up at Seagraves, the tension evident in the lines of his face. She glanced at Quinnivan, who had looked back with a dour expression of disappointment, perhaps even sadness.
“Catardi’s never had us do a debrief before,” she said uncertainly.
“We’ve never had mission failure before,” Quinnivan said, shaking his head slowly.
The words hung heavily in the air. Romanov realized the term mission failure had never been connected with the previously unblemished record of the USS Vermont.
“I know what this is,” Seagraves said. “It’s a ‘comearound.’”
Quinnivan raised an eyebrow. “Pray tell, Captain, what’s a comearound?”
“Listen up, you poor uninitiated personnel. Plebe year at the Naval Academy,” Seagraves began. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his command chair and continued, “plebes being the newly reporting freshmen, found themselves in a harsh prisoner-of-war environment characterized by being forced to memorize huge amounts of information — famous naval sayings, every coach of every Navy sport, the scores of each bowl game played by the Navy football team in all of recorded history, the quarter-by-quarter story of the last three Army-Navy football games, the hometown and birthday of every man-Jack in the company, every officer in the tactical and academic departments, on and on, with more added every miserable day — and reciting said data without hesitation when demanded by the ruthless firsties—first classmen, the seniors acting as drill instructors — at a meeting of the twelve man platoon in the passageway of The Hall—the corridor of the dorm — while standing braced up — a rigid posture of attention with your chin pulled so hard into your neck that you make at least a dozen wrinkles, while keeping your head up, eyes locked in front of you, staring into the far distance, while the firstie would scream at you from an inch in front of your nose at the slightest mistake or hesitation. It was called a comearound.
“Perhaps the most unpleasant half hour you’ll ever spend in your life, and it happened four or five times a day. And it was a verb as well. ‘Come around,’ Mr. Seagraves, a pissed-off firstie would bark, which meant your meeting with the firstie would be one-on-one, for that extra special attention. Now, keep that up for over two months including weekend days, and there you have your introduction to the hallowed traditions of the United States Naval Academy.”
“Jaysus,” Quinnivan said. “Sounds like an abusive little boarding school for wayward boys.”
“Explains why you ‘boat school’ guys are such hard-asses,” Romanov said. “No offense, Captain.”
“None taken,” Seagraves said, almost smiling, but the smile turning back to his dark expression from before. If this meeting were a comearound, it meant the boss was displeased with their mission result. Or as Quinnivan had put it, mission failure.
Commander Seagraves, Lieutenant Commander Quinnivan and Lieutenant Commander Romanov were escorted by a scowling petty officer in blue-gray digital camouflage NWUs, the shapeless Navy working uniform, to a SCIF secure conference room on the ground floor. They entered the conference room’s airlock’s outer heavy wooden door, then a steel door, then finally a heavy composite door with sound-isolation padding on the inside. The petty officer shut the door behind him. The silence in the room after the door closed seemed eerie.