“A mine,” Brodie said calmly. They were the first words he’d said in nearly three hours.
Everyone exchanged nervous expressions, uncertain whether or not Brodie was guessing or knew this for certain. Graves studied his friend. Normally, the more pressure he was under the calmer Brodie appeared. But not this time. Now Brodie’s usual steady and controlled persona was missing. Instead, he appeared almost Sphinx-like as he stared at the tactical display while more and more North Korean search assets entered the area.
Thirty seconds later, the sonar shack verified the detonation of a mine in or near the channel. “The explosion occurred on the same bearing we were tracking a patrol boat in the channel,” Chief Miller explained via the squawk box.
“Bastards ran into their own mine,” COB offered with a malicious grin. “Serves the fuckers right.”
Graves didn’t like to consider the possible reasons the SEALs were so late. None of the probable explanations were particularly good, and he didn’t need to describe them to Brodie. But he felt they couldn’t afford to sit and wait much longer. The tactical display showed an ever-tightening noose of North Korean aircraft and ships approaching. The longer they waited, the more perilous their situation became.
Graves thought he understood Brodie well — or at least better than anyone else. Brodie was a risk taker and — at times — reckless, whereas Graves was more conservative. They got along so well because Brodie wanted an XO who spoke his mind, and Graves always presented Brodie with a difference of opinion that often worked to temper Brodie’s tendency to take risks. The combination had proved itself quite successful over the years.
“What do you wanna do, Captain?” Graves asked softly, nearly whispering in Brodie’s ear. “We should have picked up something on sonar by now.” They still hadn’t heard any sound from the SDV.
“We wait,” Brodie said coolly, offering Graves nothing else.
“Sir, they’re an hour overdue…. they could have been hit by one of those underwater explosions, the SDV could have broken down, the survivors might be on the surface trying to evade capture….” he inhaled deeply, not liking any of the scenarios. “If they can’t make it to us, there’s no way we can get to them. The longer we wait, the greater danger we’re all in.”
Graves studied his friend’s face for any hint of a reaction, but Brodie appeared to have totally shut down. His face was completely unreadable, except for the stern jaw and the look of deep concentration in his eyes. “Sir?” Graves was about to resume his argument, but Brodie glanced at him briefly. His eyes were like two chips of ice.
“We wait.”
“Aye, Captain,” Graves answered, wishing Brodie would tell him what he was thinking.
There was a lengthy pause as Graves watched his friend. Then Brodie, as if reading Graves’ mind, spoke in explanation, “If they were captured or dead, the Koreans wouldn’t still be throwing hand grenades in the water,” Brodie said reasonably. “And if the SDV was damaged and they had to leave it behind, it could take them hours to reach us. Their LAR-7s can provide breathable air for several more hours yet. And, if they were on the surface and hoping for rescue because they can’t reach us, we would hear their distress beacons.”
It was calm, level-headed, and the kind of reasoning Brodie had always demonstrated in high-stress situations. But even as Graves nodded in agreement, he felt he saw something different about his friend; something making this particular situation more difficult for him. This was hardly the first time Brodie and Graves had sent a team of SEALs onto a hostile beach and then waited hours for them to return. In the past, during such stress-filled times, Brodie had been as cool as if tied up pier side back in Bremerton.
But now, on this operation, Graves could see that Brodie had become all steel eyes and hard angles. Graves knew the EAMs ordering a nuclear attack on Musudan-ri was part of it. But there was more than that. He could see worry in Brodie’s face, something Graves had seldom seen in his friend.
“Con, sonar,” they heard Chief Miller’s voice. “The Tral is pinging with active sonar and is coming awful close, sir.”
The Seawolf was normally exceptionally stealthy. Her hull, with the thick hard rubber anechoic tiles, absorbed sound waves quite well and prevented a good hard return when struck by an active sonar ping. Unfortunately, this stealthiness was somewhat disrupted by the Dry Deck Shelter which was not as well protected against sonar pings as the Seawolf. Plus, with the rear of the DDS open to allow the SDV to enter, the stealthy characteristics of the Seawolf were negated during an active sonar search because the interior of the DDS was in no way designed to prevent active sonar detection.
Graves glanced at Brodie who’d again assumed his statue-like posture and was burning a hole through the tactical display with his eyes. The Tral would soon be close enough to detect them. If that happened, they’d be forced to run for it. Graves thought it prudent to button up the DDS and move away quietly until they detected the approaching SDV. “Skipper,” he said softly. “The Tral is barely two miles distant and coming on awful hard,” Graves reminded him.
Brodie nodded his understanding but made no comment.
“Con, sonar,” Miller’s voice announced. “We’re picking up a submerged contact bearing one-four-eight.” The bearing indicated the contact was in the minefield’s narrow channel. “Very faint, definitely propeller noises. But we’re also picking up other transients.”
Brodie pulled down the microphone. “What kind of transients, Chief?”
“Sounds like metal banging against metal, Skipper.”
“Are you picking up the SDV’s obstacle avoidance sonar?” Brodie asked calmly as everyone was again watching him anxiously.
“Negative, over. Just the propeller and the transients.” Miller then added, “It’s got to be them though, unless the DPRK is sending a mini sub out after us.”
Brodie replaced the microphone and had the Type-18 periscope raised above the sail. He turned to look down the bearing where Chief Miller had reported the contact. Everyone crowded around the single television monitor showing what Brodie was seeing through the periscope. The underwater picture was not good, but as he flipped to an active infrared view, the image showed the rear of the Seawolf with the open Dry Deck Shelter waiting for the SDV to return. “Inform the SEALs in the DDS to prepare to receive the mini sub, and tell them to expedite,” Brodie told Graves. “Also, have Doc Reed standing by to receive casualties.”
“Aye, sir,” Graves answered. He then considered the TLAM-N that was, by order of the National Command Authority, supposed to be loaded in a tube and ready for launch. But, thus far, Brodie hadn’t given such an order. “And the EAMs?” Graves asked.
Brodie glanced over at him, thinking for a moment and then explained, “I’m not about to jump start World War III until I know for certain we have no choice,” he replied simply.
Graves understood perfectly the orders that went along with firing any nuclear weapon. Besides the elaborate safeguards that were meant to preclude either an independent missile launch by a rogue officer, or an accidental launch by some computer foul up, the final check on whether or not the Seawolf could launch would be common sense. If either Brodie or Graves felt their orders made no sense, they had the authority to abort the launch. Of course, they had to have a real reason to believe the orders were erroneous other than just a hunch. But Graves, who didn’t want to incinerate potentially tens of thousands of North Koreans, wasn’t about to argue with Brodie for his prudence.