“TAO — Bridge. Lookouts are reporting a fireball on Samurai Seven-Nine’s last bearing. I concur with the Air Supervisor; Samurai Seven-Nine is down.”
Captain Bowie slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “Damn it! What the hell were they doing below two thousand feet? They had specific orders to stay high enough so the subs couldn’t hear their rotors.
If they had followed their orders, they’d still be alive.”
The TAO looked up at the Aegis display. “All right, guys. We need a break here …”
As if in answer, the Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the net.
“USWE — Sonar, we have weapon start-up. It’s a Mark-54. Looks like Antietam’s helo managed to get off a shot, sir.”
Chief McPherson nudged Ensign Cooper’s elbow. “Ask them if it’s acquired, sir.”
The ensign nodded. “Sonar — USWE. Has the helo’s weapon acquired?”
“USWE — Sonar. Affirmative, sir. Sounds like it locked on right after it started up. They must have dropped it right on top of the target.”
Ensign Cooper gritted his teeth and held up his fingers to show that they were crossed.
The Sonar Supervisor’s next report came over less than a minute later.
“USWE — Sonar. We have a loud underwater explosion, bearing two-eight-two. Sounds like secondary explosions on the same bearing. I think Antietam’s helo got themselves a submarine!”
“USWE, aye,” Ensign Cooper said. “I hope you’re right, but we don’t have any confirmation yet. But even if you are right, there are still three hostile submarines out there somewhere. This engagement may not be over, so stay sharp!”
“Sonar, aye!”
But the engagement was over. The ships continued searching, even while they were rendering assistance to the stricken Antietam, but the submarines had disappeared again.
CHAPTER 35
Commander Moody stood at the foot of the admiral’s desk with a yellow folder in one hand and a green folder in the other.
Admiral Rogers looked up at the clock. “What do you suppose would happen if we actually knocked off before midnight some night?”
Commander Moody’s eyebrows went up. “One of us would turn into a pumpkin, sir.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’d have to check the duty roster. But I think it’s your turn.”
“Figures,” the admiral said. He sighed. “What have you got for me, Troy?”
Moody opened the yellow folder and flipped through several pages, scanning rapidly. “The latest SITREP from USS Towers, sir. Per Captain Bowie’s orders, Benfold and Ingraham are continuing to render assistance to Antietam. The fires are out. They’re still pulling people out of the water. Dead, mostly, but every once in a while they come across another survivor. So far, they have forty-one confirmed dead, but it’ll probably be quite a while before we get an accurate casualty count. There are still over a hundred missing. Captain Bowie also thinks there may be air pockets trapped in the sunken part of Antietam’s hull. There could be survivors down there. He’s requesting a team of emergency divers to survey the wreck and conduct rescue dives if they locate any survivors.”
The admiral nodded. “Bowie’s a good man. Drop what you’re doing and get on the horn to OPS. I want a dive team in the air ten minutes ago.”
Moody smiled. “I’ve already taken the liberty, sir.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be airborne just about now. In the meantime, the Towers and a couple of the helos have set up a defensive screen around the rescue operations, but Captain Bowie is asking for a relief force. He’s eager to get back to the hunt.”
The admiral nodded. “I’m working on that. One way or the other, we’ll have somebody down there to cover for them before tomorrow morning. Then we have to figure out how to get Antietam towed back in to port. Or what’s left of her, anyway. Any further sign of the subs?”
Commander Moody shook his head. “Not yet, sir. But Ingraham’s helo did a fly-by of the area where they thought one of the German submarines went down. They found a field of floating debris, an oil slick, and a half-dozen bodies. No survivors. Looks like Antietam’s helo got a kill after all. And that makes us even, again. Three ships — three subs.”
“Even isn’t good enough,” the admiral said. “It’s not nearly good enough.”
Moody nodded. “Understood, sir.”
Admiral Rogers leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “You’ve got two folders there, Troy. What’s in the other one?”
Moody opened the green folder. “It’s an incoming Personal-For message from Captain Whiley, sir.”
The admiral opened his eyes. “I told Captain Bowie to keep Whiley on bed rest until we can arrange to helo him and his crew back to shore. He’s in no shape to be up and around.”
Commander Moody shrugged. “Apparently Captain Whiley doesn’t agree with your diagnosis, sir. He’s asking you to put him back in command of the SAU.”
The admiral sat up. “Is he fucking crazy?”
“I have no opinion on that, sir.”
The admiral leaned back and closed his eyes again. “Drop that message in the burn bag, son. I’m not even going to dignify it with an answer.”
CHAPTER 36
The executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Tyler, was the last to arrive. He nodded in the captain’s direction and took a seat at the wardroom table. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.
“Just got in a message from USNS Arapaho,” he said. Arapaho was the ocean-going tug that was rigging the battered remains of the Antietam for towing. “The last of Antietam’s casualties have been evacuated to Bahrain. They’re continuing search and rescue operations in the surrounding waters, but they don’t expect to find any more survivors.
That’s the bad news. Here’s the good news: the team of rescue divers you requested finally arrived. They’ve completed their initial survey of the wreck, and you were right; there are survivors down there. The dive team has located two groups of survivors. Somebody in one of the groups is communicating with the divers by tapping out Morse code signals on the hull. There are eleven people in that group. The other group, unfortunately, doesn’t have anyone who knows Morse. They’re banging on the hull too, but the divers can’t make heads or tails out of what they’re trying to say. So they can’t tell how many people are in the second group.” The XO smiled tiredly. “The situation looks good for getting both groups out.” He shrugged. “And the divers may get lucky and find more survivors down there who haven’t been able to communicate.”
Chief McPherson shuddered involuntarily at the thought of being trapped in the hull of a sunken ship. The emergency battle lanterns would only last a few hours, and then would come a darkness blacker than anything she could imagine. After a while, the small volume of air trapped in the pocket would become stale, and then foul, and finally impossible to breathe. And the air pocket might not even hold. The unstable wreck could shift, bleeding precious air out through some newly formed crack.