Into the Fire

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Wyatt Midkiff knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant encounter, but he needed to ensure that his Op-Center director and his national security advisor were on the same page — that’s why he had insisted on the meeting. The tension between the two men was well contained but still just under the surface. Williams knew Harward had supported the defense secretary and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs in urging immediate, decisive action against North Korea for attacking Milwaukee. Close to a dozen U.S. Navy sailors had died, and more were wounded. Worse, North Korea was trying one plan after another to snatch the crew off the island and hold them hostage.

But the president had the final word, and Williams had convinced him to play for time and let him try to rescue the crew with the ASDS. Now they were just hours away from executing the plan. Midkiff needed consensus.

“Chase, we’ve read your memos, and I’ve back-briefed Trevor on our most recent phone conversation. You have an update on USS Greenville and on Milwaukee’s crew on Kujido Island?”

“I do, Mr. President. First, regrettably, another Milwaukee sailor has died, bringing the total dead to eleven. And it is good we are close to extracting the crew. Commander Bigelow reports at least one sailor, and perhaps another, will likely perish within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours if we don’t extract them from that freezing rock soon.”

“How cold is it there on Kujido Island?” Harward asked.

“It creeps up to about forty degrees by early afternoon but then plummets to below freezing at night. The medical packet we air-dropped about eight hours ago helped, and the captain and her chief corpsman have all the antibiotics and other medical supplies they need for the moment. But there’s nothing we can do about the exposure the crew is dealing with except to get them off that island.”

“I’ve got that, Chase,” the president replied. “Now tell us more about the rescue and about Greenville and the other assets you’ve got close to the scene.”

Williams powered up his secure iPad and began to walk them through the plan.

Chase Williams’s spectacularly successful naval career and his success in winning the confidence of the president in being appointed Op-Center’s director were not achieved by second-guessing himself or by letting himself become immobilized by a crisis. But while he confidently walked the president and Harward through the rescue process, he thought, Will this plan really work?

The day and evening of the planned rescue seemed to drag by. Those huddled aboard the grounded Milwaukee had little to do but try to stay warm and pass the time. Those who could sleep did, but most were too keyed up with the prospect of a rescue to do more than nod off for a few minutes. All were dreaming of a hot shower and a fast-food burger with fries. Under Master Chief Crabtree’s direction, one of the culinary specialists had gone to the galley and was able to activate one of the gas-fired shipboard grills. Though the ship was at a severe starboard list, she was able to put together a broth with a few vegetables and deliver a round of hot soup. It did much to cheer her shipmates.

On the island, the rest of the crew did what they could to maintain a routine. They kept up a roving patrol and burned trash at the downwind site a short distance from the cannery. The only sign of conflict was the ongoing artillery exchange. The North Korean coastal guns on the mainland and the South Korean 155 mm artillery on Yeonpyeong Island kept up an intermittent duel that crashed and echoed just a few miles northwest of Kujido Island. While the crew of the Milwaukee both ashore and on board were somewhat content to pass the time as best they could, their captain was not.

Kate Bigelow paced about the disused concrete cannery, becoming more impatient by the hour. During each of her scheduled Iridium sat-phone calls to Seventh Fleet Operations, she asked about the progress and location of the rescue submarines, and each time she was told that all was on schedule. On a recent call, when she further probed, the watch officer did admit it had been more than eight hours since Greenville’s last comm check. Following the 1700 call, Bigelow was struggling with great difficulty to remain calm. She told herself a great many people and a great navy were doing all in their power to help her and her crew. But she was exhausted, and the crushing responsibility of extracting her crew from this concrete hell was almost overwhelming. There was nothing for her to do but put on a positive face, make her rounds, and do what she could to keep up the morale of her crew. Or are they keeping up my morale? Each one I meet seems to have a smile and a good word for me! God bless these fine sailors; I simply must find a way to get them out of here and to safety.

“Hey, Captain,” Petty Officer Matheson called from across the large central room. There was some urgency to his voice, bringing Bigelow at a run. “Some guy named Dawson. He asked for you by name.” She grabbed the Iridium and made for the door, again for the privacy and the reception.

“This is Captain Bigelow.”

“Captain, this is Brian Dawson here aboard USS Greenville. Was it you who called for a taxicab?”

“Damn straight, Dawson, and it’s good to hear your voice. Where are you and”—she just couldn’t help herself—“who in the hell are you, anyway?”

“Captain, I’m the guy who’s going to get you off that island. Right now, we’re about ten miles south of your position. And you can call me Brian, Cap’n. The ASDS, or minisubmarine, will be leaving Greenville in just a few minutes to come for you. Are your people ready to make the transfer?”

“As ready as we can be, and our wounded will be first.”

They talked for another five minutes before Dawson rang off. Bigelow returned the Iridium to Petty Officer Matheson feeling better than she had since the two North Korean frigates appeared on the Milwaukee’s radar in what now seemed like several months ago.

Aboard Greenville, Brian Dawson left the sub’s communications station and made his way aft to the ASDS. Greenville was indeed a little more than ten miles south-southwest of Kujido Island. The submarine was at periscope depth with her comm mast extended and was making three knots — just enough to hold depth, which was a challenge for the planesman with the weight of the ASDS on the parent sub’s back.

Aboard the ASDS, Lieutenant Bill Naylor was at the controls with Master Chief Harlan Mecoy at his side. They were going through their prelaunch checklists. In the rear of the minisub, Major Mike Volner and seven heavily armed members of his team sat quietly awaiting events. Collectively, they maintained a practiced impassivity that only veteran special operators can do on the eve of a mission tasking. Along with the JSOC team was a single medical officer who, though a qualified submariner, had the apprehensive look of a doctor used to a much larger submarine. With him was Jesse Carpenter, along with several waterproof cases of electronic and communications gear. Also aboard were Lieutenant Tom Denver and Petty Officer Collins to help get the wounded aboard from the LCS. Collins was a last-minute addition for this first run to help embark the wounded. Under normal circumstances, Greenville would be in deeper water for an ASDS launch, and at a lower speed, and there would be SDV SEALs outside in the water to help get the ASDS safely away. But not at this speed.

Brian Dawson scrambled up through the pressurized collar that served to mate the ASDS with Greenville. As he did so, Master Chief Mecoy was there to meet him and drop the hatch to seal the minisub from the outside. The main portion of the ASDS was comprised of three compartments: a forward compartment for the pilot and copilot/navigator, a center compartment that housed the docking collar that also served as a “moon pool” entrance for the launch and recovery of swimmers under water, and a rear compartment for troops. These three compartments were connected by access hatches and accounted for the first two-thirds of the sub’s length. The after portion housed the batteries and propulsion unit. Once Dawson was aboard, he followed Mecoy forward to where Naylor was preparing to undock from the mother ship and strike out on their own.

“You guys ready to break away and do this?”

“Just say the word, Mr. Dawson,” Mecoy replied as he slid into his control station.

“Then make it happen, Master Chief — and it’s Brian.”

“Roger that, Brian.” Then to his lieutenant he said, “Ready, sir?”

Naylor just nodded, neither speaking nor taking his eyes from the displays in front of him. Master Chief Mecoy tended to the mechanics of unlocking the docking collar. The ASDS was held to Greenville only by the residual pressure differential between the lower boarding hatch of the ASDS and the escape trunk of the parent sub, as well as the external sea pressure. Naylor flooded this small space with seawater while blowing air into the ASDS ballast tanks and making turns for three knots. It was a neat piece of watermanship and airmanship. The ASDS separated from Greenville and rose to the surface like a buoyant sausage. Naylor immediately turned away from Greenville’s base course, flooded his ballast tanks, and dove his boat. He took the ASDS to the planned cruise depth of fifteen feet and took a heading for Kujido at the little boat’s max speed of eight knots.

Looking over Mecoy’s shoulder, Dawson could feel little. The boat rolled slightly in the Yellow Sea chop, but there was no sensation of motion once Naylor had it on a steady course, speed, and depth. There was only the slight vibration of the seventy-horsepower motor that pushed them through the dark waters.

“So how do you know when we get there?” Dawson asked.

Mecoy turned his head and motioned him closer. “This is not a sophisticated craft,” he whispered. “We have an inertial navigation system, but the lieutenant flies this as much by intuition as by instruments. He’ll feel his way to get us close to Milwaukee. Then he’ll make the final approach visually using the port periscope.” He further lowered his voice. “It’s all on him to get us there. But he’s the best there is.” He turned back to monitoring the dials and gages in front of him.

Sensing he was only a distraction, Dawson made his way aft to check on the others. As he made his way back through the docking compartment to the troop compartment, he realized that the entire operation rested on the talents of this quiet, baby-faced lieutenant. Brian Dawson prided himself on not being a worrywart, but now he was having the same thoughts Mike Volner was having.