Reckoning

Diamond in the Rough

In a state of shock, Leonard stares through the viewfinder toward the shore just a few miles to the east. Moments ago, he took in the whole scene, a smoke pall covering the wreckage of what used to be San Diego. Skeletal remains of several buildings rising among piles of rubble are barely visible. With the cameras recording but not being presented on any of the monitors, he concentrates on the shoreline where the fleet, based at the southern California city, would dock.

The strip of sand that linked the mainland to the Navy depot, creating the inner bay, has been obliterated giving a clearer view of the wrecked docking facilities. The submarine tenders and docking facilities are hidden by a headland but Leonard knows, should he be able to see them, that they will look the same. Panning the inner shoreline, he looks for any sign of the fleet, but finds none. The only indication that there was any Navy presence is the overturned hulls of the old aircraft carriers that were on display or being systematically taken apart for scrap metal.

Looking across the ruins, thoughts circulate through his mind. There is still a shred of hope that the families, and some naval presence, made it due to the lack of navy ships present. At any one time, several are always in port, either for crew rotations or repairs. However, other than the wrecks, there isn’t a one to be seen. He holds a hint of optimism, perhaps a wish more than hope, that the fleet took to sea with survivors before the city was hit. The lack of communication doesn’t lend any credence to this desire, but it doesn’t mean that it’s impossible.

Other thoughts circulate regarding the fate of the families and what to do about his crew. Leonard holds onto the slim hope but doesn’t know how to tell the crew and still keep their spirits up. He doesn’t see any way that he can actually do that. Leonard knows they will all be crestfallen, and the ones who had families with them will fall into a depression. He and the officers will need to redirect their attention and focus on a new task, one that will keep some semblance of hope alive. That will lie in finding the fleet, or at least searching for it. If they aren’t able to find it, the finality that the crew has lost their loved ones will slowly set in and they’ll have to deal with it as it does.

Not having any family located near the devastated city, he knows nonetheless that the chances of him finding his mom and sister are low. For all intents and purposes, they are already lost to him. During brief moments, when he has lain awake in his cabin, his thoughts have gone to them and he’s felt the deep sadness of their loss. Leonard knows all too well the despair and pain of not knowing, so has an inkling of how the crew will react. He also knows they already suspect that something is up, considering the continued holding of their position outside of the port. He’ll meet with the officers, give them the news, and they’ll come up with a game plan.

Rotating the periscope, he turns his gaze to the west, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fleet but only sees the Pacific stretching to the horizon.

“Chief, give me one sweep of the radar,” Leonard orders, his eyes still glued to the eyepiece.

“One sweep, aye, sir.”

Moments later, “There isn’t any sign of traffic, sir.”

“Very well. Hold our position and have the officers meet me in the officer’s mess,” Leonard orders.

A short time later, having grabbed the recording of the San Diego ruins, Leonard walks into the crowded mess. Nodding at the officers present, he takes a seat at the end of the table.

“Gentlemen, as you may or may not know, we have halted at periscope depth a few miles offshore. The reason for the halt is the high levels of radiation emanating from the city. At first, I thought it might be from a leaking nuke facility, but, as I’m going to show in a moment, that’s not the case. What I’m about to tell you isn’t pretty, but there isn’t any other way to say it. San Diego was hit by a nuclear device and lies in ruins.”

The reaction is about what Leonard expected, stunned silence. Everyone turns to look at him, staring with glazed eyes, expecting for him to tell them it’s a joke. He meets those shocked stares with silence of his own and the reality of his statement sinks in. In some, tears well as the ramifications regarding their loved ones penetrate their shock. With others, their expressions intensify as they fold into their thoughts.

“Now, I know most of you are thinking of loved ones…so let me say this before your thoughts sink too deep. There are several things that may have happened. One, they may have evacuated the town prior to it getting hit and they may be somewhere safe, somewhere inland. Also, there isn’t any sign of the fleet boats so there is a chance that they gathered survivors and put to sea,” Leonard states.

He notes several changes of expression as they absorb this new hope.

“The bottom line is that current radiation levels won’t allow us to get any closer. I’m going to show you the recording of the city with the warning that it’s not pretty, and then we need to discuss two things; how are we going to handle this with the crew…and what our next step is.”

Leonard then shows his gathered officers the video. They stare at the screen with morbid, shocked fascination. When the recording finishes, most of them continue to stare at the now blank screen.

“Any thoughts about what happened?” the XO asks after a few moments, interrupting the silence.

“I don’t know,” Leonard answers. “My guess is that it may have been hit by one of our own, possibly from a nuke boat.”

“How do we know that? Couldn’t it have been hit by someone else, I mean from someone taking advantage of the situation?” one of the officers asks.

It’s fairly obvious who the officer is talking about. There are only a few nations that have nuclear weapons capable of hitting the western seaboard.

“It could be. However, if that were the case, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle would more than likely have been hit before San Diego. At the very least, Seattle and the surrounding naval bases would have been. So, I’m guessing that one of our own nuke boats hit it in an attempt to stem the tide of night runners that must have been running amok in the city,” Leonard replies.

He continues, “I want you to take notice that there isn’t an indication in the video of any fleet boats in the wreckage. The fleet is gone and only the wreckage of the old boats remains. That means they may still be out there somewhere.”

“If that’s true, wouldn’t we have heard from them?” the XO asks.

“I would assume so, and I don’t have an answer for that. The ships are missing, though, and have to be somewhere. Even if they were at sea when everything went down, there would be a few of the fleet boats docked. There isn’t a one of them to be seen,” Leonard responds.

“Does that mean we are going to search for them?” another officer asks.

“That’s what I’m thinking. I’m also surmising that at least one missile boat survived along with the fleet. They would have to sail west, possibly heading for Hawaii or Guam.”

“Sir, you mentioned that any survivors might have headed inland before the city was hit. What about conducting a search for them?” an officer asks, hopeful that the answer will be yes.

“I think our best bet is to locate the fleet boats, or at least the missile boat. If we can find them, they’ll be able to tell us what happened. Besides, we don’t have the capability to search inland. We only have Chief Krandle and his team for security and, from what we’ve experienced recently, that wouldn’t be a safe option. Our first priority is for the crew’s security. We must stay together. If we put ashore, some of the crew will decide to proceed on their own despite anything we say.”

Even though there is a strong desire among some of the officers, mostly those with families that accompanied them to San Diego, to strike inland, all present nod at the truth of the statements. The loss of hope that many had of finding their home port intact, and, along with that, their families, causes a depressed atmosphere within the crowded mess. However, they hold onto the thin line of hope that their families are safe at sea with the fleet.

“What about the crew, sir?” the XO asks.

“I’ll make a general announcement detailing our situation and plan. This will cause a lot of depression amongst the crew, so it’s up to us to watch for and deal with your individual sections. It will be your jobs to keep everyone focused on the new mission, which may inspire a measure of hope. Most had families and loved ones ashore so we’ll have to provide an example by our actions and words. So, before we leave here, gentlemen, I need to know that each of you is capable of doing this. If you feel you can’t continue in your position, it will be understood and no negative consequences will follow. Because this is vitally important, without peer pressure, I want you to take a piece of paper, write your name on it with a ‘yes’ to indicate you can and are willing to continue, or ‘no’, and pass it to me.”

The officers write on small sheets and pass them to Leonard. He unfolds each one without expression or looking at the ones whose names he reads. Each piece of paper he opens has the name of the officer and a ‘yes’ indicated.

With a smile, Leonard states, “Very well, gentlemen, thank you. I’ll make the announcement and we’ll prepare to strike west.”

The announcement causes the reaction that Leonard anticipated. Hope, which had been riding high as they proceeded south, falls as his words echo throughout the sub. The mood among the crew is somber and subdued. They go about their tasks, but there is a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Striking west, the Santa Fe glides under the Pacific swells. Leonard periodically alters their course in a zigzag fashion to cover a wider area. The sub creeps quietly, listening for any sounds that might indicate the fleet’s location. The main body will most likely be surrounded by escorts with subs farther out silently patrolling the waters.

Leonard isn’t positive that the destruction of San Diego was from one of their own and proceeds cautiously. Even if it was—and he thinks that is the most likely scenario—the sheer fact that they nuked the city is a testament that tensions are running high. It may be that, if the Santa Fe was discovered, they would be fired upon before the fleet, or anyone else for that matter, ascertained if they were friend or foe.

Keeping the radar off, Leonard sporadically has the boat brought to periscope depth to sweep the area. This puts them at a greater risk but he has to walk a fine line between keeping secure under the depths and locating the fleet, if it’s even at sea. They very well could be in Guam, or Hawaii, or anywhere else for that matter. Steering at intervals to the northwest and southeast, they slowly crawl westward.

“Sir, transient noises on a bearing of 260 degrees,” a sonarman calls.

“Distance and type?” Leonard asks upon reaching the small room.

“Unknown at this time, sir. It’s faint and sounds like metal against metal coming at almost regular intervals,” the sailor answers.

“Screws noises?”

“Not that I can hear, sir.”

“Put it on the speaker,” Leonard orders.

The small overhead speaker comes to life. Filters have removed the normal sounds of the ocean so the noise comes in clear; a faint booming metallic clang comes through the speaker every few seconds. At intervals, there is a screeching sound of metal dragging against metal.

“What do you think?” Leonard asks the operator.

“It’s hard to say, sir, but if I had to hazard a guess, I would say it’s two ships rubbing against each other with the swells. It has too much reverberation to be break-up sounds and two pieces of metal, no matter how large, wouldn’t cause that kind of echo.”

“Very well. Keep a close ear for screws. If it’s the fleet, someone has to be moving,” Leonard states.

“Aye, sir. I’ve listed the noise as contact Sierra One.”

Entering the control room, Leonard orders the boat deep, rigs for silent running, and sets a course slightly offset from the noise. Soon, they’ll be able to gauge distance from the change in bearing. If they have found the fleet, there will escorts, and Leonard will have to signal them at some point. Until then, he has to assume the noise is being generated from an unfriendly source and proceed accordingly. He needs screw noises in order to ascertain who is out there.

The bearing changes indicate that the transient noise is just less than twenty miles out. Leonard closes to fifteen miles and pauses, listening. They should easily hear the screw noises of the escorts from this distance. They wouldn’t be able to hear the patrolling subs unless they were within three miles, but there should be destroyers on the perimeter. The sub’s position should place them close to or inside the outer screen and near the inner screen of ships. He and his officers are without answer as to why they can’t hear any active escorts.

“Perhaps it’s not the fleet, but two ships that happened to sail into each other,” the XO offers.

“That’s one possibility,” Leonard replies.

Only using their controls to keep their position in the current, Leonard has the Santa Fe lay quiet, listening for the screen of escorts that should be out there. He feels confident that he’s found the fleet’s location, but it is only a gut feeling. It could very well be that the XO is correct and they’ve only found a couple of drifting ships that have collided with each other. All of the signs point to that scenario, but Leonard still isn’t sure. For that reason, he’ll work with the assumption that the sound they hear is the fleet parked fifteen miles to the west of them.

Any sub escort will be assigned a sector to patrol, based on perceived threats. Leonard has the sub stay in position, hoping to hear any indication of an escort crossing their path or venturing into their passive detection range. Hearing nothing after an hour of monitoring, Leonard orders the Santa Fe on a quiet ascent to periscope depth.

He has the sonar team listen for a few more minutes to see if they’ve drawn any attention. Even though they don’t hear any screw revolutions churning the water, that doesn’t mean whoever is up there isn’t paying attention. They could have ASW helicopters out and, with the boat being this close to the surface, it would be easy for the aircraft to pick out the sub’s magnetic anomaly.

The operator gives a negative regarding any sounds. Leonard contemplates an active ping from the sonar, but the transient sounds are on the edge of detection in ideal conditions. It would only serve to give away their position. He has the periscope raised and does a quick three-hundred sixty degree sweep to clear the area. There is nothing in view except the gentle rolling Pacific swells as they wallow across the vast ocean.

“One sweep on the radar and prepare to dive deep,” Leonard orders.

The radar beam radiates from the Santa Fe, carrying outward and fading where nothing is found and returning an echo when it comes into contact with a solid object. The single sweep fills the radar screen with numerous blips. There isn’t any recognizable formation to the returned echoes and all appear to be placed at random.

No sound is heard from the towed array. Leonard waits just below the surface for a few moments, the tension palpable within the control room. All eyes dart from Leonard, to the sonar room, to their instruments, and back to Leonard, waiting for any word of contact and the order to dive.

“Another sweep if you please,” Leonard requests.

There is no rapid escalation of noise as escorts push their turbines up to full speed to pursue a radar contact. Instead, the radar returns the same blips, all in the same position. Leonard notes the smaller blips that would be escort ships, several medium-sized objects that would be support ships, and one large one that can only be the return of a carrier. There seems to be little rhyme or reason to the placement of the vessels, but Leonard knows he’s just verified his gut feeling, they’ve found the fleet that was docked at San Diego.

Normally, being painted from an unknown radar this close would spur the ships into action. However, nothing changes. There isn’t any increase in screw sounds of ships steaming out to locate and identify them. As a matter of fact, there aren’t any screw sounds to be heard at all. Without seeing a response to their radar sweeps, Leonard holds the sub in its current position.

“Send a flash message on the fleet frequency identifying ourselves and requesting contact,” Leonard orders.

The message is sent and long minutes drag by without a reply. An uneasy feeling begins to stir within Leonard, threatening to sink into his very core. If they have found the fleet but no one is home, that means families and loved ones are gone as well. If that turns out to be the case, it will become difficult to hold the crew together, or at least keep them focused toward a common goal. Some will want to go inland to see if they can find any of their family members. The common breakages that normally occur toward the end of a cruise—the crew breaking things in order to put toward port earlier—will begin happening with regularity.

Without a response to their message, Leonard orders the boat to remain at its current depth and sets a course for the ships that are apparently drifting randomly. He has the Santa Fe creep through the waters. He and the crew are heading toward an unknown and caution is the keyword. They have taken several risks during the search for the fleet, but nothing that they couldn’t dive to the safety of the depths and lose their pursuers. Now, with each mile that the distance closes, the danger grows.

Leonard closes to within visual range and raises the periscope. Water drips momentarily from the lens and then clears. Panning around the area, he makes out the distinct shapes of cruisers, frigates, patrol boats, support vessels…and, in the distance, a single carrier.

Having closed to within a couple of miles, there are ships floating in all quadrants. Zooming in, Leonard looks on the decks of those closest. There isn’t any sign of movement. Sunlight glitters off glass panes from the bridges of the nearest warships. He directs the Santa Fe to a frigate nearby that is drifting aimlessly. Well aware of the firepower that even a small ship like that can pack, especially as they are geared toward anti-submarine warfare, he remains cautious about his approach. However, he well knows there is no way he would be able to get this close if any of the systems were manned.

Closing in on the drifting hull, he becomes aware of dark smears along the bottom of the superstructure where it meets the main deck. The blotches seem to be thicker where hatches, many of them standing open, lead deeper into the ship. Seeing the dark blemishes seemingly coming out of the hatches, Leonard wonders if a fire hasn’t gutted the ship. Upon closer inspection, he notes that the smears don’t extend to the top of the hatches, as would be the case if fire had broken out and smoke poured from the openings.

Keeping the periscope up for this period of time will make their location easily identifiable, even more so because they are underway and the periscope will be leaving a wake. Although worried about the possibility of being discovered, Leonard wants to unravel the mystery of the discolorations along the haze gray of the vessel they are nearing. With that in mind, he opts to leave the mast extended.

Zooming in, he focuses on the dark splotches. It becomes immediately apparent what they are and the unsettled feeling Leonard felt earlier deepens. In places, thick streaks stream downward. Leonard quickly pans up to the bridge. Although it’s hard to see through some of the glare, he sees what seem to be dark smears plastered on the inside of the glass panes. It’s fairly apparent that he’s looking at a ghost ship, or at least a lifeless one.

The other ships he observes exhibit the same dark streaks with no one moving about the decks. Staring at the flotilla, Leonard wonders about any subs that must have accompanied the fleet. A morbid thought enters about them floating lifelessly in the depths, perhaps still under power and motoring in whatever direction they were headed when the crew succumbed.

Finishing his search of the frigate, Leonard steers toward several other ships floating nearby, discovering the same dark streaks and without seeing anyone aboard.

Lowering the periscope, Leonard orders the Santa Fe to head toward the carrier floating a few miles away. Trying to keep from overtly staring, all eyes within the control room turn toward Leonard nonetheless as he steps away. As a result of Leonard’s actions and the risks he is taking, the crew is aware that something is going on. Tension hangs heavily in the control room. The crew knows that they are in a disadvantageous position. They also realize that, if they have found the fleet, there will be word of their families. The fact that their messages have gone unanswered and that Leonard hasn’t said anything weighs deeply.

Understanding that the crew needs some word, even if they might not like what they hear, Leonard grabs the mic. He makes a general announcement informing everyone that they have found the fleet but that he hasn’t seen any sign of anyone as yet. He also tells them that they haven’t received any response to their radio messages, sent in code and in the clear, but they are heading toward a carrier observed several miles away.

The pressure created from the hanging tension leaves as if the sub underwent a rapid depressurization. Many hang their heads realizing what the announcement means. Several of those sitting at the consoles experience blurred vision as tears form. Leonard hangs up the mic and notes several of the crew wiping their hands across their eyes. There is still a faint hope that some survivors might be on the carrier but, seeing what he has, Leonard knows that the odds are slim. The last chance of finding anyone alive lies inland.

Leonard feels deep down that they won’t find anyone. With that, he knows a big decision is looming: What will they do if they don’t find anyone? Where will they go? The boat needs a refitting, so Leonard is initially thinking that they will make their way to Bangor, refit, and go from there. They can contact Walker and see if he would be willing to check out the areas surrounding San Diego, radiation levels permitting. Leonard remembers Walker talking about their own search for families of the soldiers with him, so he might be willing to conduct the same for the crew of the Santa Fe.

Leonard doesn’t want to give his crew any false hope as that isn’t the way he operates. But, if there is any hope, regardless of the odds, he’ll take it. The trip down the western seaboard has shown him that anything is possible. It has also shown him that there might be very few places they can go and live with any amount of security. At some point, they’ll have to put ashore and he only has Krandle’s team to provide that for them. A part of him wants to check out Hawaii and other parts of the Pacific, but there would be no help should something happen to the sub while at sea. They would be at the mercy of the waves much like the fleet they are slowly motoring through.

Leonard raises the periscope as the sub draws near the carrier. The massive bulk of steel and cabling appears to be adrift like the rest of the ships they’ve passed. Looking closer, Leonard notices the carrier is wallowing in the ocean swells with a slight list. Several cables, unnoticed on the escort vessels, trail down the giant hull in places. He can’t see over the immense height of the hull to observe the decks and superstructure, but Leonard can only assume that there are the same dark smears staining the outside walls.

Circling the carrier, Leonard finds the source of the noise that drew them to this ghost yard. Parallel to the carrier, riding the same swells, a support ship rides alongside. As the waves lift each ship, the support vessel bumps into the carrier, at times, remaining in contact and grinding along the side. Leonard notifies the crew that they’ve drawn alongside the carrier and of his intent to surface.

Parking the sub a short distance from the support ship, Leonard surfaces the sub. It rises slowly, emerging from the ocean like a monster ascending from the depths. The conning tower pierces the surface and rises, water rushing from the bridge to cascade down to the blue waters. Soon, the body breaks through, the wavelets on the swells slapping against the hull.

Once the lookout crew have ascended and reported all clear, Leonard climbs to the bridge. The large, gray, steel hulls lay a couple of hundred yards off to the side. Across the intervening water, the clanging boom of the two ships colliding is amplified. A high-pitched screech of grinding metal drifts to Leonard and the sailors posted on watch.

Leonard hails the vessels over the loudspeaker. Still holding the microphone, he looks up to the carrier deck high overhead half-expecting to see a crowd of people appear, silhouetted by the blue sky behind. There is neither a response nor a sighting, only the grinding sound of metal on metal and the slap of waves.

Staring across the distance, Leonard thinks about sending someone aboard.

Maybe one of the smaller escorts, he thinks.

He quickly discards the idea as images enter his thoughts of the darkened interiors that Krandle’s team would face. Plus, if there was anyone onboard, they would have responded to his hail regardless of whether they could operate the systems or not. A particularly loud groan from the two ships reaches across the waters as Leonard comes to the conclusion that he is looking upon another empty vessel.

“Sir, transient noises, bearing 210 degrees, range 2,500 yards,” a call comes through to the bridge.

Leonard initiates orders for an emergency dive.

The deck is already tilting with the hull submerging below the waves as Leonard closes the hatch and descends to the control room. His heart is racing with adrenaline. He knows there was a risk bringing his boat to the surface and now, there’s the possibility that they’ve been caught.

“What’s the source?” Leonard asks, bracing himself against the steepening angle of the deck.

“Sounds like another sub blowing their tanks and surfacing, sir.”

“Surfacing? Are you sure?” Leonard queries, expecting the response to be the sound of screws or a torpedo door opening.

“Aye, sir.”

“Belay the dive,” Leonard orders.

Only a friendly sub would be surfacing under these circumstances. With few other ways of communicating, this was the quickest way of letting the Santa Fe know of their presence and friendly intentions. The deck levels as the dive is halted and they make their short way to the surface once again.

Once they broach the surface, Leonard eagerly scales the ladder, anxious to see other survivors. And not only survivors but, more than likely, fellow bubble heads. Besides the excitement, which Leonard holds close, they may have the story of what happened to the fleet and San Diego. He knows his boat is safe with the other vessel surfacing but, having had the crew set up a firing solution as part of the emergency dive, he directs that they retain that just in case. They only need to open the doors and send a series of homing torpedoes on their way.

Scrambling to the top, Leonard immediately turns his binoculars to the bearing given. Sitting on top of the surface, riding the swells, is the distinct outline of an Ohio-class submarine. Aft of the conning tower, the long deck of the hull containing the silos housing the SLBM’s (Sea-launched ballistic missiles) floats above the waves. To Leonard’s sharp eyes, the missile boat seems to be riding higher than he remembers seeing previously.

“Sir, periscope in the water, 3,000 yards bearing 280 degrees,” one of the lookouts calls.

Before Leonard can issue the order to lock onto this new target and start another emergency dive, the hydrophone operator calls, “Transient noises, bearing 280 degrees, another sub blowing its tanks, sir.”

Whipping around to the new bearing, Leonard observes the surface of the ocean bulge slightly and another conning tower emerges from the depths. Water sprays outward as the sleek outline of another LA-class fast attack submarine broaches the surface. Turning back to the missile boat, Leonard observes flashes of light emanating from the top of the conning tower.

“Signalman to the bridge,” Leonard orders.

Leonard makes way for the signalman as he climbs up. Messages are passed back and forth between the missile boat, the attack boat, and Leonard. The LA-class sub is the Jefferson City based out of Point Loma, San Diego, and the missile boat is the Maine based out of Bangor. Leonard’s boat was only recently reassigned to Point Loma from Hawaii and he has never met either captain. Rather than keep the lights flashing, and perhaps overwhelming the poor sailors trying to read and relay messages, the captain of the Maine suggests that they meet on his boat. Both boats have a means of conveyance so Leonard and the other captain agree to motor over.

Water sprays outward as the rubber craft pounds across the water. Lifting over the swells and descending into troughs, the raft jars over the wavelets like motoring over a washboard-rutted road. Occasionally, catching a wavelet just right, sea water splashes over the bow, showering the faces of those aboard. Leonard, along with Krandle and another member of the SEAL Team, wipe the salt water from their goggles.

They make their way to the Maine, its dark shape lying low on the surface. The raft bumps against the almost black anechoic-coated hull with the smaller waves slapping against the sides. Shouts echo from above as sailors toss a rope ladder and other lines down. Leonard and the others climb to the sub as the sailors hoist the rubber craft to the deck. Another such raft, carrying the captain of the Jefferson City and some of the crew, is loitering nearby to await their turn to board.

Dried off and seated in the large mess room, Leonard gratefully takes a cup of coffee. With Krandle seated at the table as well, Leonard is introduced to Captain Castagne of the Jefferson City and Captain Jorgenson of the Maine. Although outranking the other two via their dates of rank, Leonard still feels like the newcomer. The other two have had some association with the military since the downfall of civilization whereas Leonard has basically been on his own.

Feeling the outsider, Leonard relates his story in detail between sips and refills of coffee with Krandle sharing his experiences.

“Why didn’t you reply to the radio calls?” Leonard asks, finishing his story.

“We received several previous messages using an older code which we didn’t trust so opted to see how events would transpire. Trust has been hard to come by,” Jorgenson relates, casting an eye toward Castagne.

“I guess that’s understandable,” Leonard answers, knowing his own distrust and caution during his sojourn down the seaboard.

“We received the flash and open-air messages and waited. We saw your scope and silently maneuvered until we could pick up your screws on the passive array. That took some time and wasn’t easy, but once we identified your acoustics and heard you surface, we did the same hoping you’d take it as a non-aggressive sign and not fire on us. Jefferson City was standing by and ready just in case,” Jorgenson states.

Even though all know that Leonard is the ranking officer present, the conversation is spoken as equals. Each has domain over their boats and Leonard is fine with keeping it that way.

“So, what’s the story here?” Leonard asks with a nod of his head toward the carrier outside.

With a heavy sigh, Jorgenson responds, “That is a long, interesting, and ultimately sad story.”

“Although based at Bangor, we were to report to Point Loma following our patrol. We arrived offshore and were ordered to hold our position. Things seemed to be frantic onshore and we were seemingly forgotten. On the night after our arrival, we received a message to call command. I was transferred directly to Admiral Casey who filled me in on what was transpiring. It was a mess and hard to take it all in. You know by now what’s happened so I won’t go into that detail, but the admiral told us that they were in the process of gathering family and staff aboard the fleet boats currently in port.

“He had lost contact with PACOM and PACFLT, in addition to any other commands and bases, and had taken temporary command until communications could be restored. The admiral let us know that most of San Diego had been lost to the infected, although I like your night runner term better. Although we aren’t geared for escort duties, we were ordered to accompany the fleet when it sortied. The next morning, Jefferson City arrived and was issued the same orders.

“I have to say that it was rather strange seeing the city by day. It just didn’t match what we were being told. There wasn’t any smoke rising or anything else that you’d associate with a disaster of that magnitude. It seemed, well, normal. At any rate, the fleet sailed out, ship after ship emerging from around the headlands. Jefferson City was put in the vanguard to provide a semblance of outer security. We accompanied them. Behind us, a seemingly endless stream of ships poured out of the port.

“I don’t think there was any game plan other than to get survivors out of the city. It may have been that they were going to loiter in the Pacific and wait for things to calm down ashore. Or, they may have stopped to get take a breath and head to Hawaii or Guam. However, they didn’t have a chance to do anything as outbreaks started occurring on all of the surface boats. That’s when we received our orders from Admiral Casey.”

Jorgenson pauses in his story as if unable to continue. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t want to.

“The admiral, fighting the outbreak on his ships, decided San Diego was lost and ordered us to target it. He didn’t stipulate his reasons for launching, but I believe he was trying to stop the infected from branching out. Seeing he was fighting a losing battle aboard, it could have been a retaliatory strike, but I prefer my opinion. We weren’t far offshore…but out of sight of land. We separated from the group…” Jorgenson pauses again, “…and launched.”

Leonard, who didn’t notice that he was holding his breath, lets it out with a sigh. He knows the thoughts, fears, and doubts that must have circulated through the captain’s mind. That’s one question asked of most everyone put in control of nuclear weapons, ‘Would you fire on the United States if so ordered?’ That’s a tricky question and, knowing the odds of being sent such an order were low, most would answer ‘yes’ in order to get or keep their position. No, Leonard knows that order wasn’t an easy one to keep.

Jorgenson’s eyes take on a faraway look. “We surfaced immediately after the launch and were surprised to see the Jefferson City surface a short distance from us. The smoke trail was still visible, arcing into the sky until lost from view and slowly being blown apart by the winds aloft. We had the timer going and everyone on top was silent. There was only the sound of waves against the hull. The open tube and smoke trail were the only signs of what just transpired. Minutes upon minutes passed with only the breeze against our faces as we kept our eyes to the east. Our timers wound down to zero. Then, over the horizon, a bright flash. I felt sick watching the rapidly rising mushroom cloud leap into the sky, clawing its way upward.

“No one said anything. There was nothing to say. Most of those on top felt the same way, but we were unable to turn our eyes away for a long time. I remember the message from the admiral congratulating the entire crew of the Maine. Attached were further orders targeting the entire western seaboard. I crumpled the message and threw it overboard. That’s when I signaled Jefferson City via signal lamp.

“We both thought the situation hopeless. It must be the same as San Diego in other cities, but the orders to nuke them seemed ludicrous. Of course, we hadn’t been ashore, but it still seemed an act of desperation and, well, it just didn’t seem to be the right solution. Seeing the mushroom cloud on the horizon seemed to be a testament to the folly of those further orders. Castagne felt the same way. We came to the conclusion that it was only a matter of time for those on the ships anyway.

“Even though families were aboard, there wasn’t anything we could do. We didn’t dare take any aboard or we’d be in the same straits. That was a harder decision than launching, the one to do nothing. The crew of Jefferson City took it hard, but Castagne was able to present a clear picture of what was happening. We decided to separate from the fleet and wait. If they survived, we could apologize and more than likely be court-martialed.

“We ignored further communications from fleet and dove deep thinking the admiral would send the ASW escorts against us. I guess they had their own hands full as we never heard them working against us. The ships had gathered close together for whatever reason and we loitered on the fringes. We surfaced the first night after breaking from the fleet but didn’t stay for long. Screams from the ships drifted across the water and it was just too much to take. The next morning, none of the ships were underway and we saw a few people on the decks. We discussed closing and taking on the survivors, but we didn’t dare lest we become like the drifting boats.

“The next day, we didn’t see anyone. The only things on the surface were the ships slowly drifting apart on the swells. We stayed in the area for a while before we headed to Hawaii. We only arrived back here the day prior.”

“What did you see in Hawaii?” Leonard asks.

Jorgenson and Castagne give each other a meaningful look. “It’s gone,” Jorgenson states emphatically.

“So, you obviously never fired on the other cities, but I noticed you riding a little high. Do you still have the missiles aboard?” Leonard asks.

With a sigh, Jorgenson answers, “No. We safetied the missiles and fired them into the ocean. Seeing that mushroom cloud rising over one of our own towns, destroyed without good reason… well… I just didn’t want that kind of temptation to surface. I get the admiral’s reasoning to keep the infected from spreading, but if we had fired on the western cities, the entire country would have been laid to ruin from the radiation.”

Leonard nods his understanding. “What’s your plan from here?”

“We were in the midst of discussing that when you showed up. We thought about Guam or possibly Australia, but after seeing Hawaii, we thought we’d just run into the same thing. If there was someone around, we would have received some form of communication, well, valid ones that is,” Castagne says.

Having related the information that Walker provided, they know the previous ones were fake.

“We need outfitting, though. Seeing how we weren’t admitted into the port, we are both in need of supplies,” Jorgenson states.

“We need outfitting as well,” Leonard says. “The only place I know for sure where we can do that is at Bangor.”

“Did you happen to find any families around the base?” Jorgenson asks. “The crew will be anxious for any word.”

“We didn’t see anyone there, but that doesn’t mean anything as we didn’t leave the dock. It’s possible Walker will know something, but we’ll have to wait until we get closer to get into contact as we’ve lost satellite communications,” Leonard replies. “Plus, it will give us something to focus on. The crew isn’t going to take the news of their families well.”

“We each had our problems at first. There are still some who are upset, but we’ve gone through the hardest phase. Just give it time and let them grieve,” Castagne states.

With the captains back in their respective subs, they all sink below the Pacific swells and turn north.