The officer dropped the sound-powered phone and leaped back into the bridge, clearing the combing this time handily.
“Ensign Carter, set Flight Quarters. Roust those helo smart-asses out of their racks. I want that bird turning in fifteen minutes.”
The ensign nodded, then turned to the boatswains mate of the watch. “You heard the lieutenant. Set Flight Quarters.”
As the first announcement blared out shipwide over the 1MC, the OOD called his CO, Captain Daniel Heather.
“They had to come up sooner or later,” Gator declared. He pointed at the small symbol now blinking red on the tactical display. “A partly cloudy night, being held down by the helosman, he’s probably running low on battery power.”
“Helicopters or S-3’s?” his assistant watch officer asked.
In answer, Gator picked up the Batphone that connected him with the TAO in CDC. After a brief discussion, more of a confirmation really, Gator turned back to the watch officer. “Both. This time, that little bastard’s not getting away.”
“I know I should have gone to the carrier,” Lieutenant Commander Rando Spratley grumbled. “You fly the F bird, you go to the carrier and get a dipper. None of this two-crews-and-one-helo bullshit you get on a cruiser.”
He sighed, looking at his copilot for sympathy. “If we were on the carrier, we’d be pulling Alert 15 every fourth daynot every fifteen minutes.”
“So you say. But you sure as hell wouldn’t be officer in charge of a helo detachment. At best, you’d be the senior lieutenant commander in charge of coffee. And pulling a whole lot more duty-standing than you do now.
“Yeah, well.”
In truth, Rando wouldn’t have traded his tour on board the cruiser for duty on the bird farm. No way. Out here, it was just the Shiloh and her two helos, an eight-person aircrew detachment with support personnel along. They went alone and unafraid, and were capable of killing damned near anything that was looking to paint the profile of an Aegis cruiser on its conning tower.
Moreover, much as he hated to admit it, Rando drew a fair amount of satisfaction from his interactions with the black-shoe crew. Surface sailors were a different breed of people, that much was true. But they had their good points as well.
“Get our head back in the game,” his copilot chided. “That submarine went sinker fifteen minutes ago. I don’t know about you, but I want him bad, real bad. He’s a damn sight too close to my stereo for my comfort.”
“And just what the hell do you think I’m doing out here, playing with myself?” Rando snapped back. “If anybody would bother to give me a decent fly-to point, we might manage to get this mission started.”
“Coming at you now.” The copilot transmitted the location for the first sonobuoy to the pilot’s console.
“You’re righttoo damned close,” Rando said. His voice was markedly more serious than it had been a few minutes ago. “Think that lookout really saw something?”
“No doubt in my military mind,” the copilot answered. “Besides, it wasn’t only the lookoutthe OOD saw it as well.”
“And we’ll see it last.” Rando put the helicopter into a hard turn and headed for the first drop point.
“So why don’t we have him yet?” Batman asked. “People, I need answersnot excuses.”
Gator spoke up, his voice cool and level in contrast to the admiral’s. “Sir, the water gradient is for shit. There’s a strong negative sound-velocity profile. That’ll pull all sonar signals straight down to the bottom. And with as much garbage in the water as there is out here, the bottom’s going to soak up most of the sound energy. Active sonar, sounds coming from the submarine itself.” Gator shook his head. “This is a horrible ASW environment.”
“Like I saidno excuses.” Batman’s voice was ragged from lack of sleep. “If you think the water conditions suck, try living with them in your stateroom.”
Tombstone took one step forward and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could donot here, not in front of the watch team. Yet he knew too well the edge on which Batman was operating. Events were moving fast, too fast, and there were no decent explanations coming out of anyone. The crew, both on the ship and in the air wing, was getting jumpy.
But at least the aircrews could alternate Alert 15 watches. There was no relief for the admiral in command of a battle group, not really.
Tombstone had experienced that all too often during the days when he commanded Battle Group 14. And now, even though he was on board, his presence provided no relief for Batman. It was his battle group, his ship, and his air wing. Not Tombstone’s. To have offered to take off part of the load, to alternate in some sort of watch schedule with him, would not only have been tactically unsound, but would have amounted to an expression of no confidence in Batman’s abilities.
I’m Sixth Fleet now. Sixth Fleet. This entire body of water and everything that surrounds it belongs to methe carrier too, only because it’s within my sphere of responsibility. The carrier from the outside.
Everything inside and everything that leaves its deck is his.
Tombstone pulled his hand back, satisfied that he’d managed to restore Batman’s perspective, at least for the moment. There were no long-term answers, and it was entirely possible that his own presence on board simply ratcheted up the pressure on Batman one notch higher.
But where else was he to go?
His own flagship was an electronically gutted hulk, still underway to Gaeta for extensive repairs. A year, maybe twohis uncle had made it clear that he wouldn’t be there that long.
Nevertheless, he hoped that his relief at Sixth Fleet got a better deal than this was shaping up to be.
“All right,” Batman said finally. “Look, peopleyou know your jobs.”
He shook his head wearily. Then his expression softened. “A diesel submarine close to Shiloh, that’s a tough target. I know you’re doing everything you can, as are the aircrews we have out there now.”
He jerked his thumb in Tombstone’s direction. “The admiral and I are going to go grab a cup of coffee.”
He glanced over at Tombstone, and saw the confirming nod. “If you see any indication of hostile intent or hostile acts, shoot the bastard. If you have a question, shoot first and call me later. If he’s outside torpedo range when you regain contact, put everything you’ve got right on top of him. The second he ventures within torpedo range or makes any other threatening movehell, if its captain farts too loud, you kill him. Got that?”
Gator nodded. “Aye, aye, Admiral. We’ll get him.”
Batman led the way out of TFCC with Tombstone close behind. He paused outside in the empty conference room, sagging against one chair, holding onto the back of it for support. “I almost blew it, Stoney,” he said softly. He shook his head ruefully. “As many times as I’ve been on the receiving end of it, you’d think I’d know better than to lose my temper like that. Hell, they’re doing all they canthey’ve got tricks up their sleeve that weren’t even dreamed of when you and I were in their spots. They’re running ragged, and I let off steam at’em, just because I’m short a little sleep.”
“Get a hold of yourself, Admiral.” Tombstone’s voice was cold and sharp. “You did the right thing in therebut only after you fucked things up.”
Batman recoiled as if Tombstone had taken a swing at him. “I suppose you never lost your cool when you were in command?” Batman demanded, his voice rising again. “Dammit, Stoney-“