Into the Fire

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Commander Kate Bigelow had taken a full hour to digest the possibility of a submarine rescue, and a minisubmarine rescue at that. At first the prospect of what Seventh Fleet operations officer had proposed to her seemed farfetched and more than a little complex. But the more she fully understood the risks associated with any kind of air- or surface-rescue effort, she had to admit this might be their best option — perhaps the only option.

She huddled her department heads and senior enlisted leaders for a briefing. In addition to Jack O’Connor, there was Master Chief Crabtree, her chief engineer, navigator, weapons officer, and her new operations officer. She sorely missed having Lieutenant Eric Ashburn among this group of senior advisors. His good counsel and quiet leadership would have added to her confidence. She told them of the planned rescue and how it was to take place.

“Timing is everything,” she told them, “and we have to assume the North Koreans or the Chinese will be watching us, so all movement between here and the ship will have to be done at night. The staging for this will be the starboard stern quarter of Milwaukee. At the earliest, we’ll begin transfer operations just after sundown tomorrow evening. That means we will have to move the wounded and a portion of the crew to the ship before sunup tomorrow morning. That also means we have a lot to do between now and before the sun comes up tomorrow. Master Chief Crabtree will break the crew up into increments for evacuation; we’ll move the wounded first, and I’ll work with the master chief to come up with a sequence for the rest of us. Commander O’Connor will supervise the movement from here to the ship and coordinate things from aboard ship. I’ll remain here and be among the last to leave.” She pushed through a list of assignments and did her best to answer questions. After the meeting broke up, Chief Picard remained behind.

“Captain, Gary Radcliffe and Beth Hefner are simply too weak to be moved. If we try to move them, we’ll kill them. I’ll volunteer to stay behind with them and take my chances with the North Koreans. It’s their only chance, ma’am.”

“Chief, my inclination is to say no; we all go together. But let me give it some thought, and thanks for your willingness to stay back with them. Meanwhile, make preparations to move all our wounded to the ship by midnight tonight.”

Later that afternoon, Kate Bigelow assembled the entire crew near the makeshift sick bay so those being cared for there could hear as well.

“You’ve all probably heard talk of getting off this rock,” she began, “and it’s true. We have a plan in place to get us out of here.” There was a weak round of applause and cheering, but they quickly quieted to hear what more she had to say. She went on to outline the general details of the rescue. “This will be a phased withdrawal,” she concluded, “and your division officers and chiefs will give you direction on where to be and when. This will be a lengthy and complex operation, and we’ll be doing it at night and as expeditiously as possible, so that means we work as a team and stay professional. Shipmates help shipmates, right?”

“RIGHT!”

“I’ve also been told that there may be Chinese ISR drones or spy satellites in the area and passing information to the North Koreans. So stay inside unless the normal course of your duties has you outside for routine work. The idea is to look like we’re going to remain here while we get ready to leave. So let’s get this done and go home.”

USS Greenville had gotten under way just before dawn that morning and had been running north for ten hours. With the ASDS clamped to the hull just behind the sail, the boat was straining to make thirty knots. It was like a sleek dolphin trying to race through the water with a beach ball tied to its tail. Designed for speed and silence, it now had neither. To the crew of Greenville, the boat seemed to wallow a bit as it made its way through the water. There was an audible hiss as the water passed asymmetrically over the after part of the hull and a disconcerting rumbling from the ASDS that carried through the hull. Greenville was made to go fast; the ASDS wasn’t. All this noise made the veterans of the Silent Service a bit uneasy. Yet, for the most part, the crew knew why they were making a speed run with an ASDS clamped to their submarine and welcomed the opportunity for a real-world mission. It certainly beat quietly boring holes in the ocean on a training exercise or even searching for Chinese or Russian submarines in the Sea of Japan. While Greenville thrashed her way north toward the western tip of Chejudo Island, a half dozen men crowded around the wardroom table.

“These aren’t the most comfortable waters to operate in,” Commander Allen Baumstark offered as they pored over a chart of the waters around Kujido Island, “but if we launch the ASDS at periscope depth and can maintain steerageway of three knots, then we can get you to within about ten miles of that island — maybe a bit closer.”

“Ten miles will be just fine,” Master Chief Mecoy said. “How about the transfer of personnel coming off the island?”

“Given the possible coverage from shore-based or airborne radars, I’d like to get no closer than fifteen miles to the south. Especially since we’ll have to be dead in the water for the transfer. We’ll only partially surface to take the LCS crew aboard, but my sail will still be fifteen feet or so in the air. How long will we be exposed?”

Again, Master Chief Mecoy, “It could be anywhere from fifteen minutes to a half hour. And on each trip, the first thing over the side will be a battery-charging pigtail and the last thing that will be disconnected before we make for the island for the next run. Our Achilles’ heel is battery life. Every little bit helps.”

Baumstark looked to Dawson. “How many personnel will be going in on the first run?”

“Jesse Carpenter and I will be going in, and we’ll have two or three waterproof cases with equipment. How about you, Major?”

“I’ll take everyone I brought along,” Volner replied. “There’ll be eight of us, and we’ll be going in heavy with weapons and about seventy pounds of gear per man. We’ll probably come out a lot lighter.”

“And I’ve decided to send along my medical officer,” Baumstark continued. “My last from Seventh Fleet is that there are several seriously wounded sailors that are going to be brought aboard the ASDS. He’ll be needed, but only on the first run. So that’s eleven that will board the ASDS from here, and perhaps twelve or so wounded and a few others on the first run back. How many can you carry, Master Chief?”

“Hard to say with the wounded and their condition. Probably not a lot more. Past that, we’ll try for about twenty per trip, but we’ve never had that many aboard. We’ll just have to wait and see. And you can make that twelve on the first run into the island. Lieutenant Denver will ride the ASDS both ways to help with the transfer.”

“I have a question,” Volner said. “Where are we going to put all these people?” This was not Volner’s first time on a submarine, but his previous experience was with USS Michigan, a Trident-class ballistic-missile submarine that had been modified to support special operations missions. It was almost three times the size of Greenville. Compared to Michigan, the Los Angeles — class boats were sewer pipes.

Baumstark grinned. “It will be a little crowded, but we’ll make it happen. And that’s why we have Santa Fe.”

“Santa Fe?” Volner asked.

“That was another piece of information we received on our last communications check. We’ll have some help on this mission.”

Volner considered this. I know we’ve got to get the crew off this rock. They’re counting on me, Mr. Williams is counting on me, and Mr. Dawson is counting on me. I’ve worked with SEALs before, but it’s been on land — not in a submarine and a submersible like this. Can I really control this mission and bring this crew — and my men — out alive?

While Greenville sped north, blind, deaf, and putting a lot of noise into the water, USS Santa Fe (SSN-763) was silently making her way into the northern Yellow Sea at ten knots. Also a Los Angeles — class boat, it was carefully sniffing along the proposed track of the Greenville to make sure there were no enemy submarines lurking about and to be on hand to handle some of the evacuees from Milwaukee. And neither of the boats assigned to this rescue mission were without teeth. In addition to a large number of torpedoes, each of them was equipped with twelve Tomahawk cruise missiles housed in vertical launch tubes mounted just forward of their sail.

On Kujido Island, a buzz of excitement and anticipation had overtaken the crew of Milwaukee. There was, in reality, little for them to do, but the officers and senior petty officers kept them busy to pass the time. They had been told they could bring nothing — no bag, backpacks, or carry-ons. Space would be at a premium, and they needed to be prepared to move quickly down boarding ladders and through a narrow hatchway. Personal effects were to be limited to medicines and a few articles of personal hygiene stuffed into pockets. They were to dress warmly, but no bulky clothing. In scarcely five hours, they would begin moving the wounded back across the beach to the ship along with about a third of the crew. The rest would follow the next evening when the actual evacuation began.

Kate Bigelow continued to make periodic rounds and spent a moment or two with each crewman. And each hour, she checked in with Seventh Fleet Operations. All seemed to be in order for the planned rescue, although for reasons that were not given, the parent sub, which she now knew to be USS Greenville, was not going to be on station off Kujido Island until late tomorrow afternoon. That was cutting it a little close, but she was assured that it would be there and that the physical evacuation would begin on schedule.

“Captain, Chief Picard would like to see you in sick bay.” It was Petty Officer Third Class Horace Matthews, one of the more medically knowledgeable crew members Picard had pressed into service to help her with the wounded.

“Very well, Matthews,” she said, and they made their way across the concrete enclosure to where the wounded were being cared for. She found Chief Picard standing over a blanketed form that had the sheet pulled up over the head and shoulders. Picard stood with her arms folded, seemingly unaware of Bigelow’s presence. She waited in silence a moment with her chief corpsman before she spoke.

“Who?” she asked quietly.

“Petty Officer Gary Radcliffe.” Bigelow took her by the elbow and with more than a gentle tug, led her away from the still form on the ground. “I did everything I could, Captain, but this cold, this place; damn it, he never had a chance. I didn’t even have the right meds to ease his pain. When’s it going to end, Captain? And how are we going to get the rest of these people down to the ship and into this submarine or whatever it is that’s supposed to be coming for us?” Bigelow now had placed her hand on her shoulder in a soothing gesture, but she was closely observing her. “And no, I’m not taking any meds myself, damn you! Sorry, Captain, it’s just…”

Bigelow now had a hand on each of her chief’s shoulders, and she was in fact looking for signs Picard was taking something. She saw nothing. “Look, Carol, we asked for none of this, but here it is and here we are. Everything that has taken place, those who have died, including Petty Officer Radcliffe, and those who may yet die, are my responsibility and mine alone. I’m the captain. I have to do my job, and I have to depend on you to do yours. Now I want you to continue to prepare these people for transport.” Picard started to protest, but Bigelow silenced her with a firm stare. “We will leave no one behind, and that’s my final decision. Those shipmates who are dead we’ll come back for another time. I’ll have Master Chief Crabtree get Radcliffe to the ship so he can be with the others. I want you to focus on those who still need your care. Okay?” Picard nodded, but she seemed to be looking past her. Bigelow shook her gently. “I said, okay, Chief?”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Good. I’m counting on you.”

She turned to go and found Jack O’Connor waiting for her on the edge of sick bay. He had a sour look on his face.

“What’s up, XO?”

“I heard about Radcliffe. It’s a shame. You know he has a wife and three kids back in San Diego.” Bigelow did in fact know that, but she was not going to let Jack O’Connor take her there.

“There’s someone at home waiting for all of us. The loss of Radcliffe is a tragedy, for his family, for me, for you, and for his shipmates. That doesn’t alter what’s ahead of us and what we have to do.”

“But respectfully, Captain, what is it we have to do? The North Koreans have offered to help us; if we’d taken them up on that offer, we might have saved Radcliffe. And this proposed submarine rescue is not going to be easy. And I know about that dry minisub the SEALs use. It’s an untested prototype system. Are you sure this is worth the risk? And who thought this one up? Sorry, Captain, but I don’t like this.”

Bigelow waited a full fifteen seconds before responding. “Jack, I don’t care if you don’t like it. I’m not sure I like it. But all that’s beside the point. This is our duty. It’s our duty to get off this island, out from between the North Koreans and our fleet. I’m in command, and we’ll do our duty to the best of our ability, period. Now, you don’t have to like it, but if you’re not prepared to back me one hundred percent and execute my orders, then I better know that right now. So how’s it going to be, Jack? Are you prepared to execute my orders without question?”

O’Connor hesitated a moment longer than he knew he should have before answering. “Yes, ma’am, I will follow your orders.”

“Very well.” She took a half step closer and continued in a quieter voice. “And when and if you have command at sea, I hope you have an executive officer who shows you a lot more support and loyalty than you’ve shown me.” She paused a moment before continuing. “Now I want you to go with the wounded and first lot of the crew to be evacuated. I’ll send Master Chief Crabtree with you. You’ll wait the day out there in the mission module deck and then begin the loading at dusk tomorrow when that minisub gets alongside. Any questions?”

“No, ma’am.”

“If there are, you’ll know where to find me. I’ll be over with the last of the crew to leave the island. Now, you better get your people ready to move out. Good luck, Jack.”

“Uh, good luck to you, Captain.”

The wounded of Milwaukee now numbered thirteen. A number of those only slightly injured in the surface action and artillery shelling had been patched up and returned to duty. Eleven had been killed in the attacks or died of their wounds and would remain on board the ship until they could be reclaimed along with what was now the hulk of Milwaukee. The thirteen wounded were now back aboard the LCS and resting as comfortably as possible in the vessel’s mission bay. The ship’s enginemen had brought one of the portable generators back aboard and had powered up several space heaters. It was not warm, but they had taken the bite out of the wet Yellow Sea winter chill. There was just enough fuel to last the day. Two of the casualties were highly sedated and another four had injuries that rendered them incapacitated due to their pain meds or splinted limbs. The other seven were semiambulatory but would need some assistance in any evacuation effort.

Another twenty crew members had reboarded the ship with the wounded. Seven of those twenty were civilian technical representatives. The eighth tech rep had been killed in the exchange with the North Korean frigates. These twenty would assist with getting the wounded over the side and then be the next increment of evacuees. Still on the island were forty-two crewmen and the captain of Milwaukee.

“XO, Master Chief, are you there?” Kate Bigelow was speaking into her Motorola transceiver.

“XO here, Captain.”

“Master Chief Crabtree standing by.”

“Everything all right there?”

Jack O’Connor answered. “We’re all secure and the wounded are resting as comfortably as possible. The spaces smell of gasoline and burnt rubber, but we’re setting up a portable blower to get some fresh air in here. We have a long day ahead of us, but we’ll make the best of it. And we’ll make a point of staying off the weather decks. Any word from our rescuers?”

“I don’t expect to hear from them directly until later this afternoon. When I hear from them, you’ll hear from me. If anything comes up, give me a call. Captain, out.”

While the crew on Milwaukee did what they could to be comfortable and await events, those ashore moved in and out of their concrete refuge at will. The roving patrols were visible, and they had started a burn pile some fifty yards downwind from the building. Inside, they continued to make preparations to abandon the building under cover of darkness that evening.

Orbiting at thirty-five-thousand feet overhead was a lone Lijian, or Sharp Sword, Chinese drone. The unmanned aircraft had stealth design features and bore a striking resemblance to the American X-47 stealth drone. The Lijian was a prototype aircraft and did not yet have an infrared capability, and the ducting that served the turbofan engine was such that the U.S. airborne radars circling over the South Korean mainland had no trouble tracking it. There was talk of shooting it down, but not until it served its purpose, which was that of reporting to its Chinese controllers the Americans were still hunkered down in the abandoned cannery on Kujido Island.