Sea of Death

Twenty

Pete Frystak tried hard to maintain a poker face ashe listened to the report that was being conveyed to him via the intercom handset mounted into the bulkhead beside the port-side torpedo tubes. His expectant audience included Adie Avila, Miriam Kromer, and the four SEALs. None of them took their eyes off the serious-faced veteran ashe concluded his conversation and thoughtfully hung up the handset.

“Well, Pops, what’s the verdict?” Traveler eagerly asked.

“Did our torpedoes score or not?”

This was the question each of them had in mind, and Frystak responded to it coolly and collectedly.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a minimum of emotion.

“That was Commander Slaughter on the line. He informs me that we took out that patrol boat, and that a tremendous, landbased explosion was just monitored by our hydrophones.

A subsequent periscope observation showed flames extending well over one hundred feet into the air above the very heart of Ishii Industries.”

As the faces of his audience lit up with excitement

Frystak broke down and joined them in a boisterous celebration that included a spirited exchange of high fives.

“Allright cried Cajun.

“Way to go SEALs!” shouted Old Dog.

Traveler appeared especially jubilant, and he shared his joy with Miriam Kromer.

“Hey, Doc. I told you there was nothin’ to worry about. That lab is history!”

The toxicologist found it hard to believe what she washearing was true.

“Do you mean that’s it?

It’s all over?”

“That’s all she wrote. Doc,” replied Warlock.

“Now we just have to lay back and enjoy the cruise home.”

As they continued with another round of high fives, Pete Frystak silently motioned for his assistant to join him beside the firecontrol panel.

Only when both of them had reached the relative isolation of this console, did Frystak speak out softly.

“I hate to spoil the party, Adie. But this patrol isn’t over just yet. We’ve still got to get out of this bay, and Commander Slaughter wants us to reload all four bow tubes.”

“But with that patrol boat snuffed, who are we going to shoot them at?” quizzed Avila.

“Ours is not to reason why, son. Let’s just say it’s a little added insurance policy.”

The youngster thought this over before responding.

“I hear you, Pete. And I’m with you all the way.”

Back in the Bokken’s control room. Bill Brown, Chris Slaughter, and Benjamin Kram were tightly gathered around the sonar console. Jaffers was the star of the moment ashe explained the latest sounds being picked up by his headphones.

“They’re diesels. Captain. And I’d be willing to bet a month’s pay they belong to another Romeo.”

“Admiral Walker did mention that Ishii had two Romeoclass subs in his fleet,” said Slaughter.

“What better vessel to hunt us down with?”

commented Bill Brown.

Jaffers was quick to interject.

“I don’t believe that’s the case, sir. They’re currently heading due south, straight for the mouth of the inlet.”

“They’re making a run for it!” exclaimed Benjamin Kram.

“All we have to do is hide in their baffles, and follow them through the sub net and out into the open sea.”

“But can we catchup to them in time?” asked Brown.

Chris Slaughter reacted forcefully.

“There’s only one way to find out. Mr. Foard, bring us crisply around to course one-eight-zero, at flank speed!

We’re going to have to shut down all unnecessary systems, and have Mr. Roth and his gang squeeze out every last bit of juice left in our batteries. We won’t be able to surface and initiate a recharge until we’re well past that net.”

Yano Sumiko was not having agood night. It had started to go wrong after he’d called in his usual evening report. As was his habit, he’d been sitting down for alight meal of dried mackerel and rice when the phone began ringing off the hook.

The assistant director himself was on the line, and he gruffly instructed Sumiko to relate the exact details concerning the submarine allowed entrance into the bay earlier. Sumiko did his best to satisfy his inquisitor’s stern request, and when he eventually hung up the phone, he thought he had succeeded.

Yet he’d no sooner returned to his table than aloud knock sounded on his front door, and in walked a trio of stern-faced, white-smocked technicians. They went directly to the sensor console and began a comprehensive systems analysis that took over an hour to complete.

Sumiko was in no mood for this unwelcome disturbance.

He was tired and hungry, and his back hurt from shoveling mulch for most of the day.

Besides, the system had been thoroughly checked less than three days ago, so this whole thing was nothing but a waste of time.

The technicians departed as abruptly as they had arrived, with absolutely no explanation as to what they had found. This was fine with Sumiko, who just wanted to be left alone in the first place.

To calm his nerves, he allowed himself an extraportion of sake, which he made certain to thoroughly warm before drinking. This did the trick, and not even bothering to clean out his rice pot, the old-timer headed straight for his futon. The firm canvas mattress had never felt so good, but just ashe was about to nod off, the first muffled blast sounded outside.

He supposed this was a byproduct of the construction project. During the days when the complex was being excavated, such explosions were a common occurrence, though seldom did they take place after sunset.

Several more blasts followed, and Sumiko found it hard to hide his annoyance. A fellow needed a sound night’s sleep if he was expected to rise at dawn and put in a full day’s work. He was so upset that he was even thinking about calling in a complaint. But such an act would only serve to call attention to himself, and this was something that wasn’t the least bit desirable.

Sumiko had determined to make the best of this noisy business when four successive blasts were followed by a thunderous explosion that actually threw him off his mattress. He landed on the floor with a rough jolt, and it took him several painful minutes to stand fully upright once again. Well aware that the blast he had just heard was strong enough to bringdown half a mountain, Sumiko stiffly made his way outdoors. He couldn’t believe the scene that awaited him.

It seemed the entire northern horizon was filled with towering flames and billowing smoke. The majority of this inferno appeared to be centered in the very heart of the complex. This surely meant the tragedy would be most costly both in property and human lives.

As Sumiko watched the spreading flames turn the night sky into a hellish panorama, he heard his telephone ringing. In the hope that the caller would be able to explain what had precipitated this disaster, he returned indoors.

The phone was mounted beside the sensor console, and Sumiko picked up the receiver and put it to his car. Once more, he was greeted by the stern voice of the assistant director. Without giving Sumiko a chance to ask about the fire, his superior relayed a series of strict instructions. Sumiko was to open the net immediately to allow the Katana access to the open sea. Once the submarine had safely transitted the inlet, he was then to instantly reseal the bay and arm its CAPTOR mines so that they would respond to contact detonation only. Sumiko was asked to repeat these orders, and after he did so, the line went dead.

Realizing he still didn’t know the cause of the fire, the old-timer got on with his duty. He pulled out a chair, sat down before the console, and, after rubbing his arthritic hands together, slowly began to address his keyboard.

Aboard the Bokken, Jaffers was the first to hear the sounds of the opening of the sub net. Since he had also been tasked to carefully monitor the position of the other Romeoclass submarine, he hastily rechecked his data before sharing it with his superiors.

“Mechanical sounds dead ahead indicate the sub net is in the process of opening,” reported the senior sonar technician.

“As it looks now, our twin is going to beat us through by agood couple of minutes.”

“Let’s just pray that the net keeper takes his sweet time resealing the bay,” said Bill Brown, whose glance shot to the control room’s ceiling as a shrill, metallic screech suddenly filled the compartment.

“Sounds like we could be rubbing up against amine’s mooring cable!” warned Jaffers.

Both Bill Brown and Chris Slaughter hurried over to sonar, where Jaffers readjusted his sensors to get a definite identity on this unexpected disturbance. By isolating several of their hullmounted hydrophones, he was able to determine that the sound was coming from the port side.

As the sickening screech intensified, Benjamin Kram rushed over to join them.

“Shouldn’t we stop and reverse course, Captain?” he questioned.

“We can’t, Ben,” replied Slaughter.

“If that net closes with us on the wrong side, we’ll be stuck in this bay for all eternity.”

“But what about that mine out there?” asked Kram.

“Don’t forget that as far as the CAPTOR is concerned, we’re still a friendly,” reminded Bill Brown.

“As long as we don’t snag it, and it’s not set to detonate on contact, we’ve got more important things to focus on, like getting a couple of more knots out of this rust bucket.”

The screech seemed to begetting even louder, and the veteran’s worst fears were realized when Jaffers excitedly called out.

“The cable appears to be stuck in the crease of our port hydroplane!

We’re currently pulling down whatever it’s attached to.”

“Captain, you’ve got to stop this submarine!” insisted Benjamin Kram.

Chris Slaughter struggled to hold firm to his decision as Jaffers added.

“The sub net’s closing, sir! That other Romeo must be through.”

Slaughter looked at Bill Brown and expressed his deepest fears.

“I hope to God you’re right, Bill, and if it’s really amine we’re dragging down on us, it hasn’t been reprogrammed to explode on contact.”

Since he really didn’t know how the mine was programmed. Bill Brown realized this was a gamble that couldn’t betaken as long as there was an alternative, even though this alternative was untested.

He turned to the helm and forcefully shouted out.

“Mr. Foard, engage that stern hydroplane, full rise!”

“But at this depth we could breech,” countered the helmsman, who was used to taking orders only from his OOD.

Brown looked to Slaughter for support, and without bothering to even question the veteran’s motives, Chris Slaughter firmly called out.

“Just do it, Mr. Foard!”

This was all the helmsman had to hear. He yanked back on his control column. In response, a surge of hydraulic fluid caused the stern hydroplane to angle sharply upward, and the rusted mooring cable that had been caught between the hydroplane and the hull snapped. This sent the now rearmed contact mine, which had been only inches from the Bokken’s upper deck, bobbing harmlessly to the surface.

“We’ve cleared the snag!” observed Jaffers, who wasted no time in turning his attention to the waters directly in front of them.

Though still concerned about the race with the closing net, Chris Slaughter took the time to express his gratitude to the veteran who stood beside him.

“That was a hell of an idea to clear that snag. Bill. Since it’s not in any manual I ever read, how did you think of it?”

Brown grinned.

“I guess you can indirectly thank the Naval Submarine League for that one, Chris. I was atone of their symposiums when I overheard a World War II vet discuss amine incident much like the one we were just involved in. Though it was never officially chronicled, he used his sub’s hydroplane to cut a snagged mooring cable.”

“We’re less than fifty yards away from the net, Captain,” interrupted Jaffers.

“Mechanical sounds indicate that it’s still continuing to close on us.”

Both Brown and Slaughter looked to the bulkhead-mounted speed indicator. The arrow showed that they were traveling at nearly thirteen knots, which was about the best submerged speed they could hope to attain. Unless they were somehow able to increase it, it appeared they would be caught short.

Realizing this, Slaughter reached out for the intercom handset, to personally ask Chief Roth to see what he could do about squeezing out another knot or two. Meanwhile, his gray-haired companion continued staring at the speed indicator.

“Come on, Bokken. You can make it,” urged Brown.

“Move!”

Stanley Roth patiently listened to the concerned voice on the other end of the line. Even though the young officer was asking for the impossible, Stanley replied, “I’ll do my best. Commander. Just hold on and pray that it’s good enough.”

Stanley hung up the handset and scanned the adjoining console. The majority of the gauges that monitored the internal condition of the sub’s engines were well into the red danger zone. This included the allimportant tachometer.

With the steady grinding hum of the vessel’s twin shafts in the background. Roth solemnly reached for the throttle mechanism. The way he saw it, it was now a choice between two evils.

They could cither continue at their current speed, and lose the race with the closing net, or risk overloading the engines by opening the throttle wide.

Stanley Roth had never been a truly religious man. Nevertheless, he silently mouthed a prayer to the god he was just now rediscovering ashe put his hand on the throttle and pushed it all the way forward. In response, the tach jumped far into the red, the needle all but touching the extreme right side of the dial.

Bill Brown was also saying a desperate silent prayer as the speed indicator his gaze was locked on gradually moved to the right. He could hardly believe his startled eyes when it increased by a full half-knot, and still continued edging upward.

“We can’t be more than fifteen yards from the opening,” observed the strained voice of Jaffers.

“Damn, this one is going to be right down to the wire!”

Chris Slaughter also saw the increase in their forward speed, yet he didn’t express himself until they’d passed fourteen knots.

“We’re going to make it, gentlemen. I just know we’re going to make it!”

His words of encouragement were tempered by the next update from sonar.

“Mechanical sounds continue,” reported Jaffers.

“I believe our bow should be just about crossing the line.”

Bill Brown visualized the net closing, the Bokken sandwiched in between. Even if it did close on them, they could still make it as long as the net didn’t snag on their stern hydroplanes like the mine’s mooring cable had.

The next thirty seconds would be critical, so Brown returned to his prayers. Most of his shipmates in the hushed control room did likewise.

And when the half-minute had finally passed, and the Bokken continued on unhampered, the veteran knew his divine petition had been answered.

“We’re through!” cried Jaffers triumphantly.

“Wow, talk about your heart-stopping photo finishes!”

The control-room crew celebrated with a muffled cheer, and Brown exchanged handshakes with both Chris Slaughter and Benjamin Kram.

“I’m getting too old for all this excitement, gentlemen,” the relieved veteran admitted.

“My ticker’s still beating away in double time.”

“Join the crowd. Bill,” replied Slaughter, who addressed his next remark to his XO.

“Ben, you’d better inform Chief Roth to case off on that throttle.

And please pass on my compliments on a job well done.”

“Aye, aye. Skipper,” returned Kram, ashe left them to pick up the nearest intercom handset.

“Old Stanley and his boys really came through,” said Brown.

“It would have been hell to pay if we’d gotten tangled up in that net. Now what’s on the agenda?”

Slaughter looked over toward sonar.

“I guess that depends on what Jaffers has to say concerning that other Romeo. Though I’d like nothing better than to head back home, as long as that vessel’s on the loose, our mission’s not over.”

“Does that mean you’re thinking about taking them out?” asked Brown softly.

Slaughter hesitated a moment before answering.

“I don’t know. Bill. But if there’s the slightest possibility they might be carrying biologicals on board, we’ve got to stay on their tail until they show their cards.”

Brown nodded in agreement.

“I hear you, Chris.

Just too bad we can’t contact Admiral Walker and get some help out here. Though your men have done a hell of a fine job getting the most out of this antique, now we really need the hightech ASW capabilities of a vessel like the Hawkbill. I don’t even think Pete Frystak could figure out how to take out a submerged sub with the outdated fish we’re carrying.”

“I don’t know about that,” countered Chris Slaughter.

“From what your weapons officer showed me back in the bay, I’d say he’s capable of doing just about anything. Brother, did we ever surprise the hell out of the crew on that patrol boat!”

“That sure must have been some hellish sight,” reflected Bill Brown, following Slaughter over to sonar.

Jaffers was monitoring the sub’s forward hydrophones, and Slaughter questioned him while gently massaging the tight muscles of the senior sonar technician’s neck.

“What’s the latest on our fellow Romeo?”

Jaffers cocked his neck backward to get the most out of this greatly appreciated massage, then answered.

“We’re smack in their baffles, Captain.

They continue to head due south, though as we approach the one-hundred-fathom line, I wouldn’t be surprised if they soon initiate a course change.”

“You did some fine work back there in the bay, Jaffers,” complimented Slaughter.

“We couldn’t have made it without you.”

“I was only doin’ my job. Captain,” replied the humble sonarman, who tried his best to stifle a yawn.

“When was the last time you were relieved?”

asked his CO.

Jaffers shook his head.

“I really couldn’t say, sir.”

“Well, I’ll call someone in to watch this console while you go and stretch those long legs of yours,” Slaughter promised.

“Grab a cup of coffee and some chow while you’re at it. And don’t even think about coming back until you’ve gotten some welldeserved rest. You’re going to be doing me no good if you pass out from exhaustion.”

Jaffers readily replied.

“I believe I can handle that. Captain.”

Slaughter looked over to Bill Brown and smiled.

The veteran winked in response, knowing full well that the quality of men who served in today’s Navy easily equaled that of those who’d seen active service in his time.