The Art of War

TWENTY-EIGHT

“That does it,” Batman announced as the last of his airwing broke off and began returning to the carrier. “It just goes to show, they don’t have the will to fight.”

“Wonder why they all broke off at once like that?” his air operations officer mused. “I know what people say about them, but I would have thought the fighter community would have stuck it out. I know they were tough when we used to train them back in the seventies.”

Batman shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care. They’re out of my airspace — that’s all I care about. Now all we have to do is figure a way to get past that line of mines.”

“The helos have been reconfigured for minesweeping,” the TAO announced. “They’re ready to commence sweeping immediately.”

“Give them the go-ahead — and keep a close eye on them,” Batman answered. “But until you find a sweep CO who will give me his personal assurance that the water in front of me is spotless, I’m still going to set zebra below the waterline.” Setting zebra referred to closing every watertight hatch and fitting that would be secured during general quarters. It was used to ensure maximum structural integrity when transiting a suspected minefield.

Four hours later, the helos had towed their massive minesweeping frames through the suspected minefield, and snipers had detonated the mines that were detected. A narrow swept channel was laid out on Batman’s tactical plot. Everyone who’d looked at it, including Batman and Lab Rat, had made every suggestion that they could think of. There was nothing left to do except trust that the helos’ gear had worked as advertised.

“Maybe we should just wait for the minesweeps to arrive,” Lab Rat’s chief said. “I’d feel better if we did.”

“Me, too. But we can’t, Chief. The rest of the world is watching.”

“They watched us knock everything they could throw at us out of the air,” the chief said.

“Yeah, that’s true. But in the end, if they can keep us locked in the Gulf, they win. We can’t let them get away with it — we can’t.” Lab Rat studied the chart one last time, looked at the overlapping swaths of supposedly clear water, and finally put his pencil down. “Sooner or later, you got to take the risk.”

The chief grunted. “Yes, sir. But I don’t expect you’ll have a lot of heartache about it if I stay above the waterline for the next couple of hours.”

“Nope. I’ll be in TFCC if you need me.”

Lab Rat settled into a back corner of the crowded compartment as the carrier started her approach on the swept channel. It seemed that they’d done everything they could, but as good as that might be, sometimes it wasn’t enough.

The edge of the flight deck was ringed with lookouts, all carefully checking small sectors of water for potential hazards, especially unexploded mines. Each lookout was equipped with a flotation device and a pair of binoculars. Lab Rat was willing to lay odds that they’d formed a betting pool before they’d reported for their assignment, wagering on which one of them would be the first to sight a mine.

Every so often, interspersed between the enlisted men and women, Lab Rat saw the glint of metal on a collar. There were not nearly as many officers as enlisted men and women volunteering for lookout duty, but there were enough to show the troops just how critically important their jobs were. The admiral hadn’t had to make assignments — there’d been more than enough volunteers. Lab Rat himself had put his name on the list, only to be told that he was needed in TFCC instead.

The air operations officer had one last suggestion. “Let’s send the cruiser through ahead of us, Admiral. She can post lookouts closer to the waterline — they’d have a better chance of seeing anything the sweeps missed.”

Batman considered it for a moment, then pointed at the cruiser’s track history on the screen. “See that? She’s got minimal control over her rudder right now — looks like a drunk trying to walk home. Yeah, her lookouts might see something, but there’s no way we can follow exactly in her wake. It’s too erratic, too narrow, and the Jefferson isn’t nearly as nimble. Besides, she’s taken enough damage already. No, we’ll go first. Put lookouts up everywhere we can, and get the helos out in front of us. If they’ve done their job, we’ll be fine.”

The first fifteen minutes of the swept channel transit passed with excruciating slowness. The plot showed their progress through the swept channel and the TAO made periodic announcements of the time remaining.

Four minutes before they were to clear the minefield, the monitor showed a group of lookouts break away from the edge of the ship and start running for the center of the flight deck. A massive thrumming rang through the ship, and Lab Rat knew immediately what was happening, even before the collision alarm started, even before the bridge could make the announcement on the 1MC.

The carrier slammed violently to the left, then went hard down at the bow. The angle on the deck was two degrees initially, then quickly increased to five degrees. Damage control teams were called away and the 1MC began to carry the litany associated with controlling flooding.

Batman paced the compartment furiously, signing emergency messages out, talking to Fifth Fleet on the radio, watching the ship’s progress through the minefield and waiting for another detonation. Lab Rat stood back out of the way, helpless to assist him in any way.

Finally, when the chaos was just starting to die down, six short blasts sounded on the ship’s whistle. Lab Rat felt a cold shudder run through him.

Six blasts. Man overboard. And given what they’d just been through, it clearly wasn’t a drill.

The muster reports poured into the admiral far faster than they ever did during drills. One by one, the ship’s major departments accounted for all their personnel and reported that fact to the ship’s captain, who kept a running tally going in TFCC. For a few minutes, it looked like it has indeed been unnecessary. But two names repeatedly rang out over the 1MC, the Officer of the Deck’s voice increasingly pleading as he ordered the two to report to their muster stations.

Each time Lab Rat heard the names, it felt like a physical blow. And finally, an hour after they’d hit the mine, with the flooding still out of control on the starboard bow and the two people still missing, Lab Rat admitted the awful truth to himself. He looked over at Batman, and saw tears on the admiral’s cheeks.