The high-rise apartment, erected just weeks after the missile tracks had been laid out from landfall to the antenna farm, had not been taken into account. If the building had been five feet shorter, the Tomahawk missile would have over flown it. It wasn’t. The hastily constructed structure collapsed when the missile struck it dead on and snuffed out the life of Ekaterina Baknov and the other occupants.
Chapter 15
Eric Danis had been there and done that enough times to make it harder to explain to Captain Tim Hopper, the Pitstop wasn’t prepared yet to fill his requests, repairs beyond the means of ship’s force, clothing, mail, and most importantly, salad, the first commodity to expire after leaving port. Last salad served to Hopper’s crew had been sixty days ago.
Danis said, “I wish I had better news, Captain.”
Captain Hopper, the Commanding Officer of the Trident submarine USS Idaho, The latest arrival at the Pitstop after eighty days submerged in the emptiness of the Pacific Ocean, said, “Thank you, Commodore. We’ve had time to accept the probability that most of our families did not survive the attack on Bangor. But still, it’s overwhelming. Getting back brings it all up again but we’ll deal with it, sir.”
Almost at a loss for words, Danis forced a smile, nodded and said, “Captain, I don’t envy you your job right now.”
Hopper attempted to put Danis at ease. “I guess it’s not the best time to ask for groceries but we are a little low. Right now, anything but dry stores would be like Thanksgiving for us.”
“That we can handle. The food supply around here is great. I’ll have Commander Carter get right on it.”
“What are chances of getting my troops ashore, sir? I know this operation is anchored out and your hands are full. But my guys have been a long time at sea.”
“Of course we can. Forgive me for not thinking of that.” For an instant, Eric’s many happy homecomings flashed through his mind and he knew the Idaho crew could not find what they hoped for, however, Danis thought even a little change of atmosphere might help. “We’ve got eight to ten boats a day running between here and Hoquiam. I wouldn’t exactly call it the big apple of the West Coast but I think your troops will find it lively enough.”
Hopper asked with reservation, “I guess there’s no chance of replacements?”
“No, Tim. My orders are to turn you around and get you out of here in a week. Hopefully, we’ll scrape up a relief crew and call you back later. But for now, tea and sympathy is the best we can do.”
“I understand, Commodore,” said Captain Hopper as he rose to leave then extended his hand.
Danis took it warmly and said, “Congratulations to you and your crew on an outstanding patrol, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll pass it along to them.”
After Captain Hopper left, Danis summoned Gerry Carter. “What can we do for these guys, Gerry? They’re really down. Eighty days sealed up in that overgrown sewer pipe and then going out for eighty more after a week ashore. That’s damn near inhuman. Hopper’s the first officer I ever spoke to that I couldn’t look in the eye.”
“Commodore, you can’t do anything for them.”
For the first time the laid-back Eric Danis raised his voice to the chief staff officer. “What the hell do you mean, Gerry?”
Gerry responded quietly. “I mean exactly that, sir. We’re in a war now and it makes a personal hell for everyone. There are no more carriers so I won’t get to do what I trained for all my adult life. Young Reynolds is damn lucky to get a command back and wouldn’t have if it weren’t for you and Zane.
“Commodore, at the risk of sounding like the script from a grade-B war flick, you can’t take on the personal problems of everyone that comes in here. You’ll be overwhelmed. You got too damn many problems of your own. Trust me, sir. These guys are big boys and can take care of themselves. War makes ’em grow up fast.”
Eric Danis smiled and doing his best impression of James Cagney playing Captain Flag in the World War I film, What Price Glory said, “Why am I so hard on ’em? Because I love ’em, that’s why.”
Both men laughed.
“You got it, Commodore.”
Finally up and about, Woody Parnell spent a lot of time in the Attack Center learning the duties of a conning officer. A strong youngster, his wounds healed quickly and he took on light duty, mostly learning details of running a conning watch. He enjoyed the new hero status resulting from his minesweeper action and basked in the awe of younger crewmen.
Life aboard an attack submarine in the forward areas has only moments of excitement; the rest is passed waiting for something to happen. Consequently, many of the off watch crew hung out in the Attack Center. If anything happened, it broke there.
Gary Hansen also spent much of his off watch time there to gain a better understanding of how the boat drivers used the information he sent them from Sonar. This helped improve his personal efficiency at his end of the 21MC.
Sounding a bit like a complaint the young petty officer said, “Here it is mid-May and the baseball season’s six weeks old. And we don’t know a thing. Wonder how the Twins are making out?”
The helmsman asked, “Are they even having a baseball season with war ’n everything?”
Woody muscled his way into the conversation. “Sure they are. Didn’t stop ’em during the last one.”
Another troop volunteered, “But that wasn’t a nuclear war, Mr. Parnell.”
“Well neither is this one,” Woody said. “At least not anymore.”
Hansen expressed his wish for a bit of major league baseball news. “I, for one, would sure like to get the ball scores once in a while. Twins made some good trades over the winter and oughta be doing pretty good. And I got a high school buddy supposed to move up from the farms this spring.”
Woody offered, “Hansen, I can get the scores.”
“You can, sir? How do we do that halfway on the other side of the world?”
With a matter-of-fact voice Woody said, “SATACBAK BRAVO, that’s how.”
Hansen shook his head. “Never heard of that, Mr. Parnell.”
“It’s a radio term, Hansen, Satellite Tactical Backup, Bravo. Never gets used because it’s a backup circuit. They have to test it, though, so they’ll send almost anything. Sports scores mostly, ’cause it helps morale.”
“Why don’t we get ’em, sir?”
The rest of the watch troops in the Attack Center also expressed interest with enthusiastic anticipation.
Woody shook his head. “Can’t. SATACBAK B is a surface ship system. But maybe with the right parts, I could modify one of our receivers to copy it.”
Hansen exclaimed, “You could, Mr. Parnell? What do you need? They might be in our spare parts bin.”
“Yeah, Hansen. Actually, it wouldn’t take much, resistors and capacitors mostly. I’ll make you a list.”
Within a day, Woody had the list. The enterprising Hansen found everything except one component among the sonar spares. Hansen made his way from stem to stern, trying to trace down a resistor with unusual power tolerances and finally found it in the communications’ electricians bin. It cost him two Penthouse Magazine back editions, fair exchange in his view for getting the ball scores.