The President had just boarded Air Force One when he received the word about the errant Japanese missile and the ensuing conflagration on Kitty Hawk.
He and Scott Eaglehoff had sequestered themselves in the communications compartment while the big Boeing took off and turned on course to Anchorage.
Refusing his usual evening cocktail, the President opted for a Pepsi while they waited for a conference call with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the civilian Secretaries of the armed forces, the National Security Advisor, and prominent members of the security council. He also wanted to confer with his Vice President, who had been on an extended visit to European countries.
"Sonuva-bitch," the President swore to himself and shoved his glass out of the way. "Accident?" he posed a question and then answered it himself: "Bullshit!"
"Sir," Eaglehoff began cautiously, "we've seen a number of accidents at sea over the years. It's possible that this catastrophe was accidental. Men and machinery sometimes fail, and I think we have to take it at face value."
The President glanced at his closest adviser and scowled in his unique way. "You can never take the Japanese at face value," he half-muttered and tapped his fingers on his desk.
Eaglehoff let the uneasy silence settle over the compartment before he spoke. "I think we have to remember the Stark incident, the Iowa disaster, the Vincennes debacle — people make mistakes and things fail.
"I sure as hell remember the Forrestal and Enterprise fires," Eaglehoff asserted. "I was on the Forrestal when it happened."
Both aircraft carriers suffered devastating fires during the Vietnam War when Zuni rockets attached to F-4 Phantoms accidentally ignited during prelaunch conditions.
The President brushed off Eaglehoff's remarks. "Do we have a casualty list yet?"
"No, sir. It's too soon to get anything that's accurate."
A buzz interrupted the President's response. He lifted the receiver and began issuing orders to the men and women gathered in the War Room at the Pentagon.
The ship was dead in the water as flames and dense smoke spewed from the flight deck and the aircraft elevator doors leading to the hangar bay. Her escorts, except for the cruiser Chancellorsville, were alongside the mammoth carrier.
"It's fine," Isaac Landesman insisted as the ship's senior physician adjusted the sling for the Admiral's left arm. Although his wrist was broken, he wasn't going to sick bay for further treatment until the carrier was out of danger.
The weary doctor mumbled a few words and hurried below to help the multitude of burned and injured sailors and officers. The ship's hospital and dispensary were filled to capacity, forcing the medical team to use nearby spaces for the overflow of injured men.
Landesman surveyed the flight deck and felt sick to his stomach. The fire was still raging on the aft section of the deck, and damage-control reports indicated the blaze had spread to berthing compartments and the hangar bay from the last expansion joint to the fantail.
Although many aircraft had been shoved over the side of the ship, Landesman could see the charred remains of eighteen planes scattered around the blackened flight deck. He also counted twelve gaping holes where bombs secured underneath attack aircraft had detonated.
Forward on the flight deck, he counted thirteen aircraft that were not damaged. Those planes, plus a dozen on the forward section of the hangar bay, were the only salvageable aircraft left from the original eighty-seven planes on board, not counting the aircraft that were airborne when the missile hit Kitty Hawk.
The crews waiting to land had been diverted to Singapore, where they would refuel and provide a constant combat air patrol over the U. S. ships.
Both Independence and Lincoln were steaming toward the strait to offer assistance to the Hawk and her escorts. Aircraft from both carriers would supplement the planes from the damaged ship.
Landesman watched the guided missile cruisers Worden and Leahy while the crew assisted in the firefighting effort. The sailors from the cruiser Cowpens had successfully rescued the men in the water and were also attacking the blaze.
The Hayasa offered help, but was asked to stand clear near the Chancellorsville. The distraught Captain of the Japanese Aegis destroyer had requested an opportunity to meet with the battle-group commander and the Captain of Kitty Hawk. Landesman had approved the request, explaining that he was welcome once the fire had been extinguished.
Landesman peered down at the valiant crewmen who were battling the fire. The wet and exhausted sailors were surrounded by the crushed and burnt fuselages of several aircraft. The significance of the tragedy was difficult to fathom. Landesman lowered his head and said a silent prayer for the safety of his men.
Commander Lamar Joiner turned toward the control-room sonar console and watched a sloping trace appear on the red display screen. He studied the readout for a few seconds and then examined the navigational chart that displayed the north-and southbound Strait of Malacca traffic lanes.
"Sonar, Captain," he said with an edge to his voice. "We've got a contact bearing three-four-zero."
"Conn, sonar, aye," the sonar Chief Petty Officer crisply replied. "The contact is a surface vessel now bearing threethree-zero — seven thousand yards."
"Very well."
The target was passing to the portside and would not be a factor during the ascent to periscope depth.
"Conn, sonar. I hold several faint contacts bearing zero-onezero. Surface screws turning at low RPM."
"Sonar, Captain. Keep me informed."
"Aye aye, sir."
The minutes passed slowly while they proceeded toward the rendezvous with the carrier group. News travels at the speed of lightning aboard a submarine, and the 127 sailors and officers of the nuclear-powered boat sensed that something was amiss. Their normally confident and relaxed skipper was restive and the men noticed the subtle change in his behavior.
Finally, Joiner looked around the cramped control room and exchanged glances with the chief of the watch and the sober-faced diving officer. The helmsman and sternplanesman were strapped tightly to their seats, and the officer of the deck was waiting for his orders. It was time to surface and the CO was moving more slowly than usual.
Checking the inertial navigation coordinates for the third time in ten minutes, Joiner was surprised when another tremor ran through the hull of the submarine.
"Conn, sonar." The pitch of the Chief's voice suddenly changed. "Something detonated bearing zero-one-zero — in close proximity to the sounds of the screws."
"Sonar, Captain," Joiner responded while he tried to hide the ominous feeling that was slowly engulfing him. "Could you tell if the explosion was on the surface or if we're dealing with depth charges?"
"I couldn't tell, sir."
"Very well."
Joiner noticed the looks of concern from everyone in the control room. He wiped a bead of sweat from his temple and turned to face the officer of the deck.
"Let's go to periscope depth."
"Aye aye, sir."
The OOD issued orders to the helmsman and the diving officer, then spoke to the chief sonarman. "Sonar, conn. Ascending to PD."
"Sonar, aye."
A moment later the OOD raised the periscope and stepped aside for the Captain. Whenever Bremerton surfaced, Joiner was always at the primary periscope.
The deck inclined slightly as the fast-attack submarine rose toward the surface of the strait. Working with the precision of a surgical team, the ship-control watch-standers steadied the boat at the prescribed depth. Their reputations were on the line every time Bremerton maneuvered.
"Periscope depth," the OOD announced with a hint of trepidation in his tone. This was the first time he had ever seen his skipper tense.