On the first pass they found nothing. Murdock signaled for them to do one more sweep, and they moved two hundred feet toward the shore, working slowly through the deep blue water. Murdock sent a signal to surface at the end of the two hundred feet. On top they pulled out their mouthpieces and talked.
“Might not be the right spot,” Lam said. “The eyewitnesses could be wrong.”
“Usually they are,” Murdock said.
“How about moving back toward shore fifty yards more and try it again at seventy feet down,” DeWitt said.
“Wish we could,” Murdock said. “But not with these Draegrs. We’ll do another run at fifty.” They pushed the mouthpieces back in and duck-dived, heading down to fifty feet, each man keeping in touch with his buddies on both sides.
The long line of SEALs went to work again. They had only begun their next sweep through the clear waters off Oahu when something large and dark came at them head-on. The SEALs parted and watched the tiny submarine motor past them. Murdock saw it close up.
He signaled the men to the surface and they compared notes.
“Yeah, a two-man submarine,” DeWitt said. “Looked like some of those the Italians designed. North Korea had a whole shit-pot full of them a few years ago, more than fifty.”
“That sumbitch wasn’t no more than fifteen, maybe twenty feet long,” Murdock said. “Hell, we’ve got torpedoes almost that big.”
“Where was it going and what is it doing here?” Dobler asked. “Was it Chinese? I didn’t see any flag painted on it.”
“Out of here,” Murdock said, and began a strong crawl stroke toward the shore. Once there he stripped out of his Draegr and headed for the chopper. It wasn’t back yet from the Hummer run. He yelled for Holt.
The radioman quickly set up the SATCOM and positioned the fold-out antenna. The beep came, showing the antenna was aligned correctly.
“Murdock to CINCPAC.”
“Yes, Murdock. Any progress?”
“Ran into a strange little visitor. Looked like a North Korean two-man submarine. Did the Chinese buy some of them?”
“Our people know nothing about the Chinese having or using any two-man subs. What’s it doing?”
“It’s where we think the bomb dropped. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s looking for the bomb just as we are.”
“See any viewing ports in the sub?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how could it be looking for the bomb? It can’t have anything very sophisticated electronically on board. How long was the vessel?”
Murdock looked at his men, who had gathered around.
“Twenty feet,” Mahanani said.
“Twenty-five,” Ching suggested.
“Twenty, maybe twenty-five feet,” Murdock told the handset.
“We have four antisub chaser choppers at the Marine base there. I’ll get two of them in the air within five minutes. They can drop sonobuoys and pen him in. Which way was he headed?”
“Heading into the bay last thing we saw of him, but we don’t know where he went after that.”
“Stay out of the water, the choppers have lifted off. They are maybe five minutes from you. They will stay on this TAC frequency.”
“That’s a Roger, CINCPAC. We’re out.”
The SEALs watched the sky to the southwest, where the Marine base was situated. Seven minutes later they heard the birds coming. Two choppers in formation.
“Seahawks, the SH-60,” Dobler said. “Prime antisub hunters. This should be fun to watch.”
The choppers parted and the SEALs could see something dropping out of them.
“Sonobuoys,” Dobler said. “They drop them in two lines and wait for one of the sensors to pick up a signal of the sub. Reads out on board.”
The birds dropped another line of sonobuoys, and created a box about half a mile square.
The big choppers worked the area slowly, sometimes hovering at two hundred feet.
“If they get some readings on that sub, can they triangulate and pinpoint him?” Khaki asked.
Canzoneri, their Torpedoman’s Mate First Class, snorted. “Hell, they can do better than that. They can tie down where that sucker is within fifteen feet.”
“Yeah?” Jefferson asked. “So what do they do then?”
Canzoneri laughed. “Like shooting fish in a bucket in here. The Seahawk drops in a Mark 46 homing torpedo. It hits the water and looks for the mass of metal out front, tracks it, and boom, no more miniature sub.”
Franklin looked worried. “So what happens to the nuke out there in the water? Does the blast set off the nuke?”
Canzoneri shrugged. “How’en hell would I know?”
Murdock saw nobody else was answering. “Most nuclear weapons are ultimately safe around explosions and jolts and bombs and earthquakes. They need a special fusing and that fuse has to be activated in a certain way. A strong explosion near nukes can shake up their insides so the firing mechanism might not work right. I’ve never heard of a nuke being set off anyway but by the established trigger and resulting procedure.”
“Now that, Cap, keeps me happy,” Tony Ostercamp said.
They watched the choppers again. They seemed to be concentrating on one section of the bay two miles from the shore.
“Something’s cooking out there,” DeWitt said. One of the choppers had moved in, then backed off and moved up again. They all cheered when they saw a longish object dropped from the chopper.
“That would be our old reliable Mark 46,” Canzoneri said. “The party is almost over for that mini-sub.”
An explosion came a few seconds later. The shock came through the ground, then a distant sound. Then the surface of the bay erupted in a twenty-foot geyser of boiling water.
Holt turned on the radio and tried two channels before he picked up the pilots.
“Bird Nest, this is Low Flyer One. We have made contact and it looks like a hit with a forty-six. Standing by for eval on the water surface.”
“Roger that, Low Flyer One. Confirm, then return to base.”
The water calmed and both helicopters flew over the spot, hovered, then worked a slow circle.
The SATCOM speaker came on again. “Bird Nest, we have confirmation. Lots of debris in the water, and an oil slick. Our sonobuoy readouts have lost the target. That’s a kill.”
“Return to base, Low Flyer One. Good shooting.”
The two Seahawks turned and headed back southwest toward their field.
“By the book,” DeWitt said, dropping onto the grass beside Murdock. “Now where is that minesweeper?”
“Not due for two hours?” Murdock said. “Be dark by that time.”
Murdock stretched out on the grass of the small roadside park. “I’m catching some bunk time. You’ve got the con, JG. If the guys come back with the Humvees, have them park them and wait. I hope these search guys on the sweeper know what they’re doing with their high-tech equipment.”
DeWitt waved at his CO and checked the squads. Half of the men were sleeping. The others cleaned weapons or talked about the operation. It was getting dark fast then.
“Hey, JG, we gonna get any leave time over here?” Ron Holt asked. “I could spend a few days on the beach just watching them bikinis wiggling past.”
“Sounds like a good idea, Holt. We’ll wait and see how this mission turns out. We hope there’ll be a Honolulu left to visit.”
Less than a half hour later, their private chopper came back and settled down on the grass thirty yards from the SEALs. DeWitt talked to the pilot.
“Yeah, we found them. I waited to be sure that both of the rigs started and could drive. They should be back here in less than an hour.”
DeWitt took a walk along the side of the bay. He wondered how Milly was getting along. If this settled down, he’d send an E-mail to their home computer. A sound caught his attention. Then he saw a boat powering toward them. It was a small-class patrol boat and came straight for the point, then turned a little toward the SEALs. Chow time.