The Virginia class had been built for Littoral operations and was ideally suited for this type of op'.
Their orders were to proceed to the Yellow Sea for a possible pre-emptive strike against Pyongyang and other targets, to maintain strict radio silence, to monitor transmissions on the Korean peninsula, and to identify threats to the US, including but not limited to Chinese assets, Russian Akula submarines, and North Korean warships and submarines.
Russell caught the eyes of his XO. "Pre-emptive?"
"Washington must be getting uptight," the XO replied.
The Chief of the Boat, Harry Cobb, popped his head around the door. He glanced from the captain to the XO. "What's with the long faces?"
The captain showed him their orders, and Cobb grew grim as he read them. "We're on a war footing," he commented.
Russell nodded and stood. "I'm going to the conn to brief the crew. XO, with me please."
"Captain to the quartermaster storeroom."
Russell looked at his XO. "Take the conn, Steve."
"XO has the conn," the COB confirmed.
The captain made his way to the quartermaster's room, where he was greeted with a small cluster of men standing around. Had they no duties to attend to? he thought sourly. Something of this must have showed on his face, because Lieutenant Rawlings spoke quietly: "You'd best look at this, Sir. It's Mahon. He's been knifed from behind."
The captain's anger died and he looked from the body on the floor to Rawlings. "Knifed?" he queried blankly. "Is he…?"
"He's dead, sir," Rawlings confirmed.
"Get the duty corpsman down here on the double," the captain ordered.
"Here he is now, sir."
Doc Smithy went through the throng like they weren't there, kneeling beside the stricken man, and checking for a pulse. He looked up at the captain and shook his head.
"He's gone," he declared.
"Who found the body?" The captain's voice was ominous.
"I did, sir," said Hennessey, somewhat nervously. He was a newbie. Assigned to galley work. Russell knew him to be on the COB's dink list. Which meant the kid had a lot to prove to show he was capable of fitting in somewhere, otherwise he'd be shipped out.
"Did you indeed, seaman?" Russell replied in a non-committal manner. "Was there anyone else around, kid, when you found the body?"
"No, sir."
"Was Mahon dead when you found him?"
"Yes, sir. I checked for a pulse. He was gone."
The captain nodded absent-mindedly, his brain racing.
"You men will need to step up to the plate, if you'll pardon the pun."
"You can rely on us, sir," said Riggs, the youngest of the quartet. He was a small, stocky individual with a scar over his left eye that he had received in a street fight in the Bronx when he was growing up. He was a tough looking kid.
"I'm sure I can," the Captain replied. His face had a pained, puzzled look. "Why anyone would want to kill Mahon in that fashion is beyond me. Were any of you men aware of anyone holding a grudge against him?"
The quartet shook their heads. "He was a hard taskmaster, captain, but we're sorry he's dead. A bit of a 'Sea Daddy', though."
Russell looked at the man who had just spoken. Corby was a hardbitten sailor, with cold blue eyes, and what seemed like a permanent sneer etched onto his narrow face. Russell was aware that Mahon had given Corby a dressing down before leaving port. Still, the words seemed genuine.
The COB approached the Captain.
"What's on your mind, Harry?"
"Have you met Warrant Officer Hobbs yet?"
"Briefly. Why do you ask?"
"She may be able to assist us with this thing."
"Assist us how?"
"Did you know she used to work homicide in the San Francisco PD?"
Russell started. "No, I didn't know that."
"You should talk to her."
"Set it up, will you Cob," Russell ordered. He glanced at his watch. "Perhaps, later this afternoon?"
"I'll see to it, sir."
At a quarter to four that afternoon, fifteen minutes before the first dogwatch of the evening, the COB ushered Warrant Officer Jennifer Hobbs into the captain's quarters and left the two of them alone to talk. Hobbs stood at attention before the captain.
"At ease, sailor," Russell ordered. He stood up and pulled out a seat for her. "Coffee?" he asked her.
"Black, sir. No sugars."
Russell poured two cups from the hob, and added some milk to his.
He sipped his thoughtfully, and smiled at her. "First real chance we've had to talk. How do you like submarine life?"
"It's a challenge, sir. My father warned me it would be."
"Your father?"
"Bill Hobbs. Vice Admiral, retired now of course."
Russell started. "Your father is Bill Hobbs?"
"Do you know him, sir?" she queried, taking a sip of her coffee. The captain liked his coffee strong, she thought.
Russell smiled. "He was my first CO when I entered the service. He was a hell of a commander. Well, if that don't beat all," he enthused.
Jennifer smiled. "He never stops talking about those old days."
"I can imagine," he said, cordially.
He eyed her with new eyes, slim with her father's watchful gaze. Thirty years of age, blond hair cut in a rapunzel fashion, and smart looking in her blue uniform. The poopie suit as they called it. Like every other submariner aboard, she was wearing soft-soled trainers. This minimized noise as the crew moved around.
"I'd have to investigate all personnel, officers included, without fear or favour," she pointed out.
"You'll have my full backing and authority to carry out your investigations in any way that you see fit, provided it doesn't interfere with the smooth running of the Obama. The COB will assist you with all the enlisted personnel, and either myself or the XO will assist you with the officers." Russell remained thoughtful for a few minutes, and then resumed speaking. "No doubt you're aware of our orders, and the fact that this boat has been put on a war footing. That gives me extra powers, so to reinforce matters, I'm giving you an in-field promotion, effective immediately. You're now a Chief Warrant Officer. Any questions?"
"What about radio comms, captain? Should I need to contact base?"
The captain could see that causing problems. "We'll see," he said. "Depends on the urgency of the comms. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Where do you want to start?"
"I think I should see the victim," Hobbs said.
Hobbs examined the body of Mahon with a cool detached eye. She used her smartphone to take pictures of the body, paying particular attention to the entry wound. She examined the man's fingers for defence cuts, but the lack of any such marks didn't surprise her. Mahon had been struck from behind, and probably never knew what had hit him. The weapon used had penetrated the body just once and told Hobbs she was dealing with somebody very ruthless, very deadly.
The captain and the duty corpsman watched her throughout. Eventually Russell cleared his throat. "Any conclusions, Jenny?"
"He was likely killed with a narrow bladed weapon. Something like a stiletto or a commando's dagger," she pointed out. "It has to be aboard somewhere?"
"I'll organise a search," he decided. "Trouble is there's a million and one places it could be hidden."
Hobbs was continuing to process the crime scene. Like the captain, she was puzzled as to who would want to harm Mahon. Though only aboard the Obama a short time, she had liked the big chef. He always had a smile for her whenever she was in the canteen.