“Even whales seem to be better than us. Some marine biologists say that whales can stun their prey with sound pulses. I’ve heard recording of these supposed sonic pulses from whales and they sound like gunshots.
As we know from basic research in the field, if sound energy could be focused, then a beam of the focused energy could be transmitted to any metallic or crystalline object at a harmonic frequency that would vibrate the object violently, with catastrophic results.”
“So what happens?” said Messinger.
“If the right frequency is transmitted, the object will literally explode. You probably remember the commercials that Ella Fitzgerald made for that audio tape company, where a recording of her reaching a high note shattered a crystal goblet.”
“Wow.” Wright sank into one of the chairs in the command module.
“Why is it attacking us?” said Messinger.
“If it’s Russian, they may be trying to destroy the station. For what purpose, who knows? When I was in the nuclear Navy, we would play cat and mouse games. Sometimes we would even bump, but nothing like an overt attack. This is weird, especially given the changes in the Soviet Union, or should I say the Newly Independent States. It could also be from some other country, I suppose.”
“Maybe they were attempting to infiltrate American waters and came upon this installation and decided that we had to be eliminated,” said Wright.
“This is a big ocean,” said Messinger. “We would have never noticed them if they hadn’t attacked the Watch Station.”
“What if it isn’t Russian or some other nation?” said Wright.
“What do you mean, Jerry?” said Messinger.
“What if it’s from the Rock?” Wright said with a worried look on his face. He used the unofficial tag that all young CSAC personnel used to describe the Sentinels. A term that more senior officers frowned upon.
“That, Mr. Wright, is very scary,” said Messinger. “What do you think our course of action should be, gentlemen?”
“Our primary mission in a case like this is to defend the Watch Station against any attack,” said Diaz. “However, as we have seen, we may not have the firepower to accomplish that mission.”
“Let’s get an update from Takeshita,” said Messinger as he picked the intercom microphone. “Command to Benthic Ranger Two. What is the present status?”
Over the loudspeaker in the command module, the three officers could hear Takeshita’s report.
“Captain, she’s just sitting there like some cat watching a mouse. As far as I can tell, the vehicle has not been damaged by a direct hit with a uranium torpedo or a blast from the laser cannon. It’s just sitting there.”
“Can you tell anything more about this thing?”
“Sir, it appears to be about twice the size of a Benthic Ranger. I can’t tell if it has any windows or ports, it’s a little too far off for me to tell. I can’t tell if it has any external propulsion.”
“Jamie, keep a watch on that thing. If it makes a move, holler.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“We could wait this out, Captain,” said Diaz.
“Wait a minute, this thing — whatever it is — has already killed four of our crew. What’s to prevent it from taking the rest of us out?” said Wright.
“For one thing, the attack on Benthic Ranger One could have been a defensive action,” said Diaz. “After all, Benthic Ranger One did fire a torpedo at the thing and blast it with the laser cannon. We’ve already sent the S.O.S. buoy off. Help should be coming any time.”
“That doesn’t explain the unprovoked attack on the Watch Station,” said Messinger. “However, I agree with Mr. Diaz. As long as the thing is standing off and not making any overt moves, we should sit tight.”
The wait was excruciating. Under normal conditions, life on board Watch Stations was not a holiday. Under unexpected wartime conditions, the stress easily became unbearable. The remaining crew sat silently. There was nothing to do but wait.
“Men, this is Captain Messinger. We’ve decided to wait this one out for the time being. As I’m sure you may have guessed, whatever is out there has destroyed Benthic Ranger One. Benthic Ranger Two is still on the docking pad. Jack Christensen, could you come forward to the command module? All others assemble in the transfer module. Be prepared for immediate evacuation.”
Jack Christensen, sonar mate, first class, was Watch Station Three’s top instrumentation and computer technician.
“Yes, Captain,” said the young black seaman as he reported to the command module.
“Jack, we have to be prepared to abandon the Watch Station at any time. I want all data copied to floppies in case we have to leave in a hurry. Also, I want the destruct sequence for all our instrumentation and computer memory initiated, but with a pause command.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Christensen, as he snapped off a salute.
“Gentlemen, now we wait,” said Messinger to Diaz and Wright.
“Admiral, you’d better come downstairs immediately, sir. We have an emergency.”
“Be right there,” said McHugh.
McHugh hurried to the stainless steel elevator that would drop him into the subterranean world of CSAC Operations. Marine guards snapped to attention as he hurried down the narrow corridors toward the elevator.
At the elevator, McHugh gave his identification card to one of the Special Operations Group airmen, who ran it through the reader on the door. The stainless steel doors of the elevator slid open silently and McHugh stepped in. As the doors of the elevator opened into the heart of CSAC, McHugh hurried to the Situation Room. As he approached the Situation Room, he noted an unusual flurry of activity, given the normal low key manner of operations at CSAC.
The stainless steel doors of the access way to the Situation Room slid open and McHugh entered. Because of the emergency, McHugh was admitted to the Situation Room immediately, not stopping to adjust to the red light environment. McHugh hurried into the room, noticing that the wall monitor displayed an enlarged map of the location of Watch Station Three.
“Joe, what’s going on?” said McHugh.
“We’ve received an S.O.S. from Watch Station Three,” said Captain Joseph Mannington, McHugh’s deputy chief of operations for CSAC. “The Watch Station released the transponder buoy at approximately 1530 hours. The transmission was picked up by one of the CSAC communications satellites in geosynchronous orbit. The message was delivered about 10 minutes ago.”
“Have we tried to raise them on ELF?”
“Yes, sir. No response,” said Mannington. “When we ran an analog check on the system, we discovered that the communications link had been rendered inoperative.”
“How soon can we be on station?”
“The support ship, the U.S.S. Thomas Morrow, could be on station by late tomorrow morning. It is presently at Port Hueneme, taking on stores for the Watch Station.”
“Forget the stores; get that ship on its way as soon as possible. Get the nearest Coast Guard Station to send some Sea Stallions on site to search for survivors and get a Coast Guard cruiser on its way as well. Get me the Commandant of the Coast Guard.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Mannington. “Yeoman, get the Commandant, U.S. Coast Guard, immediately.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the yeoman’s mate, who immediately dialed the number of the commandant’s office on the classified scrambler telephone.