A New World 10 - Storm (17 page)

“No. I haven’t had any response as yet, but I’ll keep trying,” he answers.

“All right. We’ll talk tomorrow, then,” I say, and sign off.

Now it’s a matter of waiting for the call from Leonard.

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“Surface clear,” the sonarman states.

“Bring us up to periscope depth,” Leonard orders.

“Aye, sir, periscope depth,” the XO acknowledges.

The deck in the control room tilts as the
Santa Fe
creeps toward the surface and levels just below the Pacific swells. With another confirmation that the passive sonar isn’t picking up any additional traffic, Leonard raises the periscope and conducts a 360-degree sweep to confirm it visually. Only then does he order the radio mast raised in order to keep the prearranged schedule of communication with Captain Walker.

The sub, crew, and three other boats motor along slowly waiting for contact. The
Maine,
at the same depth as Leonard, also monitors the radio traffic, while the two remaining vessels loiter a mile to the rear, listening on their passive systems. Near the surface, the only indication the two boats will receive if any hostiles are in their area will be the transient noises of the attack boats readying their systems and firing. It’s not a position Leonard feels overly comfortable with, knowing that there is the potential of two additional operational Russian subs; and the likelihood that they could be sharing the undersea world with a host of other nationalities as well.

A bright, blinking light just over the tops of the swells catches Leonard’s attention. Switching places with the XO, he orders: “Raise the
Maine
on the radio. I think they have a message for us.”

“
Santa Fe
, do you hear that?” Jorgenson asks once they establish contact.

“Hear what?” Leonard asks in return.

Jorgenson radios a frequency to tune in to. Leonard nods to the signalman, who dials it in. The speaker overhead comes to life with a broadcast. It’s a repeated signal that orders all Pacific naval vessels to return to Pearl Harbor.

“Check who owns the frequency,” Leonard asks the signalman.

“Sir, it’s a US Pacific Fleet channel,” the signalman answers a moment later.

The message repeats and appears to be automated.

“We hear it,” Leonard responds to Jorgenson.

“We should meet,” Jorgenson replies.

“We can opt do that in Bangor while we resupply. We’ll be there in a couple of days,” Leonard states.

“We may not have the luxury of that much time,” Jorgenson says.

“Sir, Captain Walker is calling on the other frequency,” the signalman whispers.

“Okay, let’s get the others together. Captain Walker is hailing us. We’ll be over shortly,” Leonard comments, signing off and switching frequencies.

“Captain, I have to make this quick. We started picking up an automated message out of Pearl and we’re about to meet to discuss what to do about it,” Leonard says, relaying the contents of the broadcast.

“Okay. Let us know what you decide,” Walker replies.

“We will. We’ll touch base tomorrow.
Santa Fe
out,” Leonard radios.

Later, cold, and each captain accepting an offered cup of hot coffee, they take seats and settle in the mess room. Jorgenson begins by explaining the automated message they picked up on military channels specifically reserved for Pacific Fleet traffic.

“So, the question is, what do we do about it? It’s my opinion that we turn around and check it out,” Jorgenson states, finishing his quick brief.

“I think we have to first see if we have the supplies to make it there and back to Bangor. We are all in need of a refit,” Leonard comments.

All of the captains indicate that they have enough to make it to Pearl Harbor and return to Bangor.

“We’re short, but we should be able to make it…barely, but enough,” Castagne states, referring to the condition aboard the
Jefferson City
.

“We need to take maintenance into the equation as well. All of our boats are old and need the maintenance and parts that a depot like Bangor will be able to provide,” Leonard mentions. “We can’t be sure of what we’ll find at Pearl, but the population of night runners will be greater. Meaning, we may not be able to service our boats there.”

All of the captains nod. No one wants to become stranded because of a maintenance issue – or for any reason.

“While that’s true, I don’t see that we really have the choice but to risk it. We have four boats, and if one breaks down, we can disperse the crew to the other ones. It will be crowded, but as I mentioned, I think we have to take the chance,” Jorgenson says.

“If that happens, we’d lose a fourth of what we have. We’d lose one of the boats…permanently. Can we really afford to run that risk?” Leonard asks, almost rhetorically. “And, how do we know this is a real message? It’s automated and could have been triggered by anything.”

“My feeling is that it just came online, for whatever reason, and it may be that we are running on limited time to check it out,” Jorgenson states.

“Why would it start up now?” Castagne muses quietly. “And, if someone did manage to activate it, why wouldn’t they respond to our radio hails? We all sent messages and have yet to hear anything back.”

“I don’t have the answer to that,” Jorgenson responds. “There’s the possibility that this is the only method available to them. Maybe the radio equipment was taken out or they can’t utilize it for some reason. All I know is that it is coming across on a NavPac frequency with the correct codes. It just started so perhaps someone is regaining control, although I know this doesn’t address the lack of radio communication. I think, though, that we have a duty to see what is happening; that it’s our responsibility as naval officers, as perhaps the only naval units remaining, to check it out.”

“I agree with what you’re saying, but is it worth putting our boats at a higher risk, from a maintenance standpoint?” Leonard asks.

“I think it is,” Jorgenson comments.

“I think we should check it out as well, but with the caveat that we agree at this point that we don’t do anything more than
appraoch
and take a look. Going ashore is something completely different. Even though Leonard has a SEAL team, I know we aren’t equipped or trained to go ashore in what I’m sure is a hostile environment,” Castagne says.

“Azarov, you’ve been quiet. What are your thoughts?” Leonard asks.

“Gentlemen. I can see both sides. It’s imperative that we see to our boats. They are our home and what keeps us alive. A message from your naval command does not have a real bearing on me or my crew. If the message were from my command, I think I would need to investigate. But, as it is not, my boat and crew come first,” Azarov states.

Seeing Jorgenson’s expression, Azarov holds up a hand. “I will finish. Even so, I think it is important that we stick together. So, I will defer to what you decide. After all, it is your resupply base we are heading to. If I was to show up without you, and someone was actually around, they may not take kindly to us stealing supplies.”

“Okay, we turn around and head for Pearl,” Jorgenson says.

“Only under one condition, and this is critical. If we see any indication that maintenance will become an issue, for any boat,” Leonard states, giving a slight nod toward Azarov, “then we abandon our movement toward Pearl and head to Bangor. After a refit, we can resume our course.”

All captains nod. They finish with the sun halfway down the horizon and the sky to the west blazing reddish-orange and yellow, as if on fire. The glow highlights the sides of the clouds to the north and northwest in pinkish shades. A short time later, the four subs submerge beneath the waves, setting a course to the southwest.

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“Well, I don’t rightly know what to make of that,” I murmur, signing off the radio with Leonard. “What do you think?”

Frank ponders for a moment before replying, “I don’t know either. He mentioned it appeared to be an automated message so it could have been triggered by anything. Maybe a power surge or something falling and hitting a switch. I don’t know. It would require power to send so maybe something triggered the power supply, allowing the message to start. We could ask Harold to take a look when we talk with him tomorrow.”

“At least we won’t have to worry about them showing up anytime soon. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, but at least we can clear it off our plate. Okay, well, I suppose it’s time to get airborne and see what our neighbors are up to,” I say, rising.

“Stay dry,” Franks says, smiling.

“If I get hit by a single raindrop, I’m calling it off,” I say.

At the aircraft, the wind is gusting, but there isn’t any sign of rain. The clouds have broken up to the point that I can see a fair amount of sky, which, to the west, is glowing orange from the sun descending to the horizon. Near the coastal mountains, clouds are building up, but not moving in our direction. Small masses break off from the buildup and race across the sky, driven by strong winds aloft. It’s going to be a bumpy ride for the night, but at least we’ll have visibility. It does that a lot in the northwest: Rain during the day and clear at night. The showers will be back come morning.

The Spooky was reloaded as we showered, warmed up, ate, and met with Harold and Leonard, although the latter was only for a brief moment. With the sky’s brilliant light show in the west fading and the day darkening, we quickly run through our checks. Lining up on the runway, I move the throttles forward and we begin accelerating down the muddy strip. For a split second, I think about stepping on one of the brakes and throwing the aircraft into a skid just to see what would happen. Yes, I do have odd thoughts at times. It’s not a serious one, but it does flash through my head.

Airborne and turning north, the Spooky shakes as we fly through pockets of turbulence. The ground below is turning a dark bluish-gray as the day progresses toward night. We position ourselves over the southern end of the once-populated corridor, waiting for the night runners to emerge.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim, as the monitor lights up with figures emerging in seemingly all directions.

I haven’t flown up in this area for a while and had forgotten how many had spread out of Seattle. However startling their appearance is, it seems much the same as before. Small and medium-sized packs branch out from numerous buildings and spread rapidly. I can only imagine the incredible volume of shrieks that must be echoing through the streets.

“
Damn, that’s a lot of images
,” Robert says, mentally.

“
You have to keep that part shutdown or it’ll overwhelm you
,” I reply in the same manner.

I mentally open up for a brief moment, and although I can sense the multitude below to a degree, my mind isn’t overwhelmed with images. Perhaps he’s better able to sense them, or he can reach out to a farther distance. I don’t know, but it warrants more research, if we get the time.

We don’t immediately begin firing, but instead drone to the north and east. I want to get a bigger picture of how far they’ve spread. Frank will be looking at the live feed from the satellite parked in orbit overhead, but I want to take a look for myself.

As we fly onward through the night, it really does seem like the night runners may have taken a time out, or perhaps they’re settling into their new digs. As far as I can see, they are in numerous packs, yet still scattered. That’s not great news, but it isn’t as bad as it could be either. The ideal situation would be for them to suddenly jump up and run into the mountains. Well, the super, ultimate ideal would be for them to just vanish off the face of the earth, but that’s not going to happen.

The Spooky bounces, sometimes shaking hard, at other times experiencing a series of shudders. Moonlight shines through the breaks in the overcast, streaming down in rays and lighting the edges of the clouds in a silvery white. Driven by the winds, smaller clouds race across the sky.

Heading down the southwestern part of the city, just north of where the soldiers conducted the burns, Robert begins tagging some of the larger packs. We want to hit those farthest south and west in our effort to push the horde east. More than likely, though, any area we clear will only become filled with new packs. If there’s food and shelter available, you can bet the night runners will move in. Any vacuum created will be filled.

With the moonlight shining off the rain-soaked streets, red streams of light pour downward to intersect the night runners racing through them. Ricochets streak into the air from the two-second burst of the Gatling gun. Rounds tear into a pack of eight, ripping through their flesh and leaving their corpses cooling on the wet and chilled pavement. It’s much the same as the other evenings when we’ve chased the night runners. We find a few and hit them with Gatling or 40mm cannon fire before they vanish into nearby buildings, which we then hit with one or two 105mm rounds before moving on. The clouds begin closing in, covering the openings between layers and bringing rain showers. Before we can expend our ammo, it’s time to call it a night and head home.