As the minutes stretched out, though, it became clear that the enemy sub was not pursuing its momentary advantage. If it was still out there, it was staying very quiet indeed.
Garrett knew, though, that there would be another confrontation. As soon as Virginia was ready to resume the hunt, they were going to track the enemy submarine down, and when they caught him, they were going to nail his metaphorical hide to the metaphorical wall.
And Garrett was going to take a great deal of personal satisfaction in doing just that.
18
Virginia continued to ride on the surface, the rough seas giving her hull an unpleasant corkscrewing motion. Her diesel had been switched on, which added to the discomfort; the engine had been rigged to draw air from the smoke-filled torpedo room and vent through the diesel exhaust port atop the sail. When the compartment was more or less clear, the boat had been rigged for surface ventilation. The stink of diesel fuel continued to linger, however, along with traces of smoke. Added to the uncomfortable pitch and roll, the combination could bring the hardiest sailor to the point of seasickness.
Garrett met Lieutenant Halstead in the passageway outside of Virginia's sick bay. "Captain," the SEAL said, nodding. "What's up?"
Halstead put a hand out to brace himself against the roll of the deck, and shook his head. "Just came down to see how the kid was doing. Jesus, Captain. That was the gutsiest damned thing I've ever seen."
"Coming from a SEAL, that's high praise. What happened, anyway?"
"He seemed to figure out where that fire was in the bulkhead before anyone else did. Went right to the spot. Then when they had the access panel open and were trying to fight the fire, a big glob of molten plastic spilled out onto one of the torpedoes. I guess the kid thought the fire was going to light off the torp's warhead or fuel or something. He just reaches down, scoops up the burning gunk with his bare hands, and drops it into a bucket of water, slick as you please."
"Shit. Something like that wouldn't have set off a Mark 48. It would have had to be a real conflagration."
"Maybe he was afraid it would become a conflagration, Captain. I don't know. All I know is… that kid's got it where it counts."
"On that I agree completely." He started to move past the SEAL.
"Oh… sir?"
"Yes?"
"I might as well ask you now. The guys've been speculating about where we go from here. Back to
Japan?"
"Negative. The mission comes first."
"But… didn't that fire trash your weapons system?"
"I've got my best people going over the damage now. With luck, they'll be able to jury-rig something that will let us shoot back next time… if there is a next time. Meantime, though, we have a mission and we're going to carry it out, whether we can shoot back or not."
"I understand, sir. Thank you."
"Not a problem. Tell your people that we will be in the vicinity of Small Dragon Island sometime tonight. We'll go in after dark, have a look-see by UUV, and decide how we want to play it after that."
"I'll pass that on, Captain. Thanks."
Garrett opened the sick-bay door and stepped inside. Virginia's sick bay was small, with only two beds, both occupied. RM1 Padgett had fallen during Virginia's spectacular ascent and broken an ankle, so he was confined to one of the racks. Wallace lay in the other one, both hands heavily swaddled in white gauze and surgical tape. Five other men had been injured in the fun and games with the torpedoes that morning, but, fortunately, only two had to stay off their feet for a while — a badly twisted knee on one, a sprained ankle on the other — and both could stay in their own racks until they could be transferred off the boat.
Virginia's doctor — Lieutenant Colbert — and HM1 Wilkins, the corpsman, were next to Wallace's rack.
"How is he?" Garrett asked.
"Doped up on drugs right now, Skipper," Colbert replied.
"Is he going to be okay?"
"Ah, sure. First- and second-degree burns on his hands? He's young. He'll heal up in no time. We do need to get him and several other men off the boat, however. I'd like to see them back at Naval Hospital Yokosuka, stat."
"I know. Some other small matters come first." Like restoring Virginia to full combat capability, he added as an unspoken thought.
He took another look at Wallace, who appeared to be sleeping. Possibly, his sacrifice hadn't been necessary; it was pretty hard to set off a torpedo accidentally. On the other hand, though, it was possible he'd just saved the Virginia. How the hell did a nineteen-year-old kid rise to a challenge like that?
The same way, he decided, that teen-aged kids had been rising to challenges since the Peloponnesian War. War all too often was started by politicians, but endured and resolved by kids like Wallace.
"Keep me posted," he told the doctor. "Let me know when I can talk to him."
"Aye aye, sir."
Garrett's beeper chirped. He was wanted in the control room. He walked to an intercom speaker on the sick-bay bulkhead and hit the switch. "Garrett."
"Captain?" Jorgensen's voice replied. "Eng reports the air quality in the torpedo room is now at acceptable levels."
"Very well. Secure the diesel."
"Aye aye, sir."
"What's the status on the repairs?"
"The damage repair party has secured tube two, Captain. The fish never triggered."
"Good." As he'd thought.
"Repairs to the firing controls are under way. Weps estimates fifteen hours."
A long time. Too long to wait. He braced himself as the deck heaved again beneath his feet. "Let's get the hell off the roof," he said. "Take us down to two-zero-zero feet. Have Nav set a course for Small Dragon Island."
"Submerge to two-zero-zero feet. Set course for Small Dragon Island. Aye aye, sir."
"I'm on my way up."
He'd only just begun his trip back to the control room when he felt the deck tilt beneath his feet. Almost immediately, the rolling, pitching sensation ceased, as Virginia entered once again her true domain.
The hostile sub had vanished… a very good thing, since Virginia had been making enough noise during the past couple of hours to wake the dead, much less an enemy sonar operator. He was ready to bet his career that the hostile had been a Russian-built Kilo, a boat slow and limited in range compared to Virginia, but nearly as quiet when running on her batteries. Finding her would be a hell of a challenge, but he knew how to narrow that hunt somewhat.
Sooner or later, the hostile would show up at the Chinese base at Small Dragon Island.
And then he would take her down.
The rain was coming down in sheets, and visibility was only intermittent and brief between each sweep of the windshield wipers. Zaki leaned forward, trying to pierce the rain. He thought he could just make out the gray loom of the Chinese sea base ahead.
"The prisoners," Muhammad Jabarrah was telling him, "will be extremely useful as shields. I suggest we keep two of them on board… as insurance."
Zaki straightened up, then glanced at the Maktum fighter. "Ah. And which two did you have in mind?"