Authors: John Spikenard
Counter Poised (28 page)
“John Ellis was a pretty weird guy…what are quarks and bosons, anyway?” Leona rubbed George’s shoulders and neck as he sat back and enjoyed a scotch taken from the medical officer’s stock used for “medicinal purposes.” After today’s events, George needed some strong medicine!
“Sub-atomic particles. I guess it was just a nuclear engineer’s way of saying he was going to vaporize us with that warhead.”
“George, you could have been killed in there.”
“About three more seconds, Leona, and we
all
would have been killed.”
“That’s really scary.”
“I know…and it was an odd, almost other-worldly experience. I have enough faith in God to know that the death of my physical body is not the end of
me
. My soul will live on. Still, when I came face-to-face with death, I was really shaken. Once Mac
safed
the warhead, all I could do was lean back against the nearest missile silo to keep from falling over. I tried to hide it, but I felt pretty useless at that point.”
“Well, that’s understandable. You were probably in shock. It’s just a good thing you and the others were able to stop him in time. I don’t like the idea of being reduced to a quark or a boson!”
George laughed. “Yeah, me neither, although I guess that’s where we all started.”
“Well, I don’t have much recollection of that phase of my existence, so I don’t really want to go back there,” Leona joked.
George began to relax a little as Leona continued her soothing neck rub.
“So it sounds like Ellis just wanted to seek revenge,” said Leona. “He didn’t buy into your deterrence plan.”
“It’s awfully difficult to accept it at first,” George responded. “It took quite a while, but I finally have the rest of the crew convinced it’s the right way to go. They finally realize that Rambo-style revenge should stay in the movies. It doesn’t work in the real world.”
“But it sure would be nice to strike back at someone, George. They destroyed our capital. Just look at all the people they killed!”
“I know, I know. Believe me, I know better than most! But there’s no identifiable target for us to strike back at, and even if there was, it wouldn’t be the right thing to do.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well let’s just say, hypothetically, that all of the al-Qaeda leadership decided to hold a major terrorist gathering in some remote location. All of the senior leaders show up and each one brings a thousand or more dedicated murderers with them. There are, say, two hundred thousand terrorists all in one spot, including all of the ones who planned the Washington, DC attack.”
“Okay, that would be a nice target!”
“Agreed. We could wipe them out with a single one of our warheads. But should we do it?”
“Heck yeah! It’s the perfect opportunity!”
“It’s a great opportunity with conventional thinking, Leona. But you have to think of the bigger picture. There are not just thousands of these radicals out there—there are
millions
of them. If we kill their leaders, someone else will just take their place. And those new leaders will seek revenge for the deaths of their old leaders. And then we’re back in the vicious cycle. It’s the Israeli-Palestinian situation on a much larger, nuclear scale.”
Leona sighed. “It sure would feel good to get those bastards, though!”
George laughed. “I know, Leona. It would feel great, but we have to maintain the higher moral ground. Our actions have to indicate to both sides and to people who have been neutral so far that ours is the correct and just path. Otherwise, we risk radicalizing millions more Muslims.”
Leona stood thoughtfully. “You know, George, if the U.S. wanted to appear to be the good guys, we should take the lead pursuing peace rather then being so confrontational.”
George turned and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I think if you look at it from the perspective of other countries, it appears the U.S. is trying to bully and intimidate everyone. I mean the Cold War is over, and we still have enough nuclear weapons to destroy the whole world. And we continue to do research on making even more powerful warheads. Other countries, like Muslim countries, must be wondering what we’re planning to do with all those warheads.”
“We’re not
planning
to do anything with them—they’re for defense. They’re supposed to be a deterrent.”
“Yeah, that’s what we say, but I bet Muslim countries don’t see it that way.”
“So what would you do, Leona, get rid of them all?”
“Yeah, why not? The U.S. could say that we’ve determined that these things are too dangerous for anyone to have, and we’re making the first move by destroying ours. If other countries saw that, I’m sure they would follow suit and then nuclear weapons would be totally banned. We’d all be a lot safer without them than we are with them!”
George looked at her in amazement. “If they outlaw nukes, only outlaws will have nukes.”
Leona stepped back across the small stateroom. “Oh, George, don’t turn ultra conservative on me! I’m not talking about gun control. I’m talking about weapons that can kill us all! And if someone doesn’t do something to get rid of them, a lot of people are going to die.”
“Leona, I agree with you a hundred percent that these things are too dangerous for mankind to have. As a species, we’re just not advanced enough to be able to handle that much energy safely. We’re still very primitive in the way we resolve disputes, and nukes are like a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later, a country with a total maniac as a leader is going to develop the capability to manufacture nukes, or a country that’s already nuclear-capable is going to be taken over by a maniac or Islamic extremists. And then who knows what will happen.”
“So I’m right—the only solution is to get rid of them all…”
“Ultimately, yes. But to unilaterally disarm, hoping that others will follow suit, is just crazy. It’s like the stories your parents read to you when you were little—it’s a fairy tale.”
“Well you don’t have to be insulting about it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insulting, but it’s just wishful thinking. It’s the same dream the flower children of the Sixties had—let’s just disarm and give peace a chance.”
“So why wouldn’t it work? It’s the rational thing for other countries to do if we disarm first. We all realize nukes are too dangerous for mankind to control. Someone just has to be first.”
“The fault in your logic, Leona, is that you’re expecting others to act rationally. But they won’t. They’re too distrusting; they’re too scared; they think it’s a trick; they won’t believe we really did it; and so on. And fanatical Muslims will see it only as an opportunity to finally crush the infidels and establish strict Islamic law over the whole world. You have to remember, they view the confrontation with the West as a
jihad
—a holy war that can have only one outcome. And that outcome is
not
peaceful coexistence.”
Leona stepped back across the stateroom and put her arms around George. “Oh George, it’s just so irritating! Mankind is just hell-bent on destroying itself!”
“I know, Leona, but if our little group can establish a deterrent, without seeking revenge for Washington, DC, then we have a chance. By doing that, I think we can convince the rest of the world to work together to stop radical Islam. And after years of working together to achieve a common goal, who knows? Maybe there will be enough mutual trust to disarm and get rid of all the nukes.”
“That would be wonderful!’
“Yeah, and if terrorism has been defeated, it would mean that our team members could come out of hiding and turn in their nukes for destruction. That’s the ultimate goal of our mission.”
“Deep down, I know you’re right, George. But Washington was so awful. I have to pass through these layers of hatred and desire for revenge. It’s really hard.”
George shook his head in agreement. “It’s very hard, Leona. You just have to keep working on it. And don’t hesitate to talk about it and ask for help. Every one of these crewmembers has had to go through the same process, and they are more than willing to share their own personal experience. The XO and the chaplain and I have talked to them about it for months. I should have known better than to bring John Ellis aboard without providing more indoctrination. That was my mistake.”
George sat down and Leona resumed her massage of his knotted neck and shoulders. “Yeah, speaking of John,” she asked, “there’s one thing I don’t understand about what happened in the missile compartment.”
“What’s that?”
“How did Sergeant Ramirez get in position to shoot him so quickly? Didn’t you say you ordered the sergeant to stay back and hide behind the first missile silo?”
George laughed. “It’s a funny thing about marines. They’re very literal with their orders, so you have to be very careful about the way you word things. After the warhead was
safed
and I collapsed back against the silo, I looked at Ramirez and said, jokingly of course, ‘Sergeant Ramirez, didn’t I order you to stay at the forward end of the missile compartment, concealed behind a missile silo, until we determined Ellis’s location and state of mind?’”
“Oh, you didn’t really say that, did you?”
“Yes, I did—not really expecting an answer since he had just saved all our asses. But the sergeant looked at me very seriously and said, ‘As soon as Ellis began to talk to you, I determined his position,
sir
! Since he was screaming and defiant, I quickly determined his state of mind,
sir
! Both conditions had been met, so I moved out,
sir
!’”
Leona laughed. “Was he really serious? Or was that just marine puffery? Did he really say ‘sir’ like that—like he was answering a drill sergeant in basic training?”
“Oh, yes, and he was serious all right. But then he showed a little sense of humor, in a twisted sort of way.”
“How’s that?” Leona asked as she intensified the pressure on George’s tensely knotted neck and shoulder muscles.
“Ooh…aah…” George responded.
“Hey, come on, I’m going to stop unless you keep talking!”
“Okay, okay…After I studied Ellis’s lifeless body, I asked the sergeant why he shot him
twice
. After all, I had told them to be careful in the missile compartment because we didn’t want any stray bullets hitting any of the missiles. Anyway, he looked at me with a perfectly straight face and said, ‘Because we don’t have a doctor onboard.’”
“What?” asked Leona, puzzled about the response.
“Yeah, it took me a few seconds, too.”
Then as the realization hit her, she stammered, “You mean he didn’t want to just wound him? He wanted to make sure he
killed
him?”
George nodded.
“That’s sick!”
“Well, I thought so too, but as soon as I realized what he meant and looked at him with the same stunned look you’re giving me right now, he burst into laughter! Then he regained his composure and said, ‘Just kidding, sir. The man was holding an armed nuclear warhead set to go off in twenty seconds or less. I couldn’t afford to wound him and then have to waste precious time wrestling it away from him. I did what I had to do.’”
Silence filled the room for several minutes as Leona continued to work on George’s neck and shoulders.
Finally, George continued, “Sergeant Ramirez and Petty Officer MacKenzie both did great jobs under extremely trying circumstances. I think the joke about the doctor was just the sergeant’s way of releasing the tension of the moment. We were all pretty shaken, and believe it or not, I think we felt a little better after the laugh.”
“Speaking of feeling better, how have your dreams been? Are you still having your nightmare disaster dreams?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I haven’t had a single one since we left Kings Bay.”
“Hmm, so all you had to do to get rid of them was hijack a ballistic missile submarine and steal all the nuclear warheads! Not exactly the kind of therapy that just anyone could do!”
They both laughed. “You’re right. It was effective, but not very reproducible. It might come with a warning: ‘Don’t try this at home!’”
Leona laughed and moved around to the front of the chair so she could give George a hug and a long, lingering kiss.
“Hmm…” George moaned as she finished the kiss. “That kind of therapy I
could
try at home! What would I do without you, Leona?”
“You’d probably go blind,” she said as she pulled George over to the bed.
“Amen to that!”
The
Louisiana
made her way down the east coast of Brazil and Argentina, headed for Cape Horn at the southern tip of South America, and from there, the Pacific Ocean. She dispatched several teams with their warheads along the way. While rounding Cape Horn, sub-fighters on patrol from the
Louisiana
detected a task force of fast attack submarines, apparently deployed in a line to form a barrier between the Cape and Antarctica.
“How many are there?” the captain asked the pilot upon his return.
“As far as we could tell, there are at least four of them, sir. There may be more farther south.”
“Could you tell what type or class?”
“We classified them as two
Virginia
-class U.S. attack boats, one Russian
Alpha
-class, and one older Soviet-era attack boat—probably a Chinese
Kilo
-class.”
“A pretty formidable force, and we have no choice but to get through them,” said the captain. “What order were they in?”
“The northernmost boat nearest the cape was a
Virginia
-class. The
Kilo
was next, followed by the other
Virginia
-class. The Russian
Alpha
was the southernmost boat in the line.”
“They’re pretty smart,” noted the captain. “They’re alternating the boats so that no two boats of the same class are adjacent each other. That way, if one class has a weakness that we could exploit, it’s not spread out over half the line. Run your sonar tape through the computer and see if we can identify particular hulls for those
Virginia
-class boats.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“This could be serious trouble,” said the XO, standing nearby. “Those are extremely capable attack boats, and the crews are highly trained and highly experienced.”
“That’s true, but they’re used to working against each other, not together. I’d feel more threatened by three ASW helicopters with dipping sonars, but thanks to the gale force winds up there, that’s not going to happen.”
“I’m glad you’re so optimistic, Captain, but I don’t see how we’re going to get through this one.”
“Well, I’ve got a little escape plan that just might work. Let’s go to the wardroom and brief this mission. Petty Officer MacKenzie?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re with us—in the wardroom for a briefing.
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Once they settled in the wardroom, the captain explained the escape plan. “I want you two to man SF-1 and prepare for launch. We’ll prepare SF-2 to provide propulsion, but keep it mounted on the deck.”
“Mounted on the deck, sir?” asked the XO.
“That’s right. Mounted on the deck.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
The captain unrolled an undersea chart of the waters south of Cape Horn. “We are going to make our passage as quietly as possible along this line—here.” The captain pointed to an east-west line extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. The enemy attack boats are lined up in a north-south line approximately—here. There’s no way we can get through that line without eliminating at least two of them. You know what to do—any attack boat that moves into firing range of the
Louisiana
gets its screw tied in a knot, courtesy of SF-1, and earns an all-expense-paid trip to the surface. Got it?”
The XO glanced nervously at MacKenzie. “You up for this, Mac?”
“Yes, sir! I’m pumped—ready to go!”
Just then Seaman Olsen stuck his head in the doorway. “Excuse me, Captain.”
“Yes?”
“We have the identities on the two
Virginia
-class attack boats: the northernmost boat is the
Texas
and the third boat in the line is the
Hawaii
, sir.”
“Thank-you, Seaman Olsen.”
Olsen disappeared back down the passageway toward the control room.
The XO looked up from the chart and noticed a strange look on George’s face. “Something wrong, Captain?”
“No, no, just wondering about the crews of the
Texas
and the
Hawaii
.”
“Well, it brings up a good question about the Rules of Engagement, sir.
Any
of the attack boats are fair game?”
The captain thought for a few moments. “It raises some interesting issues, doesn’t it?”
“I’ll say!”
“I hate to have to attack fellow Americans. We may know some of them and may have served with them in the past. We may consider some of them as friends. But at this point, they’re our most capable adversary—so tactically, it makes sense to take them out.”
“Well, at least we’re not really ‘taking them out,’ Captain. We’re just rendering them ineffective.”
“That’s true. In reality, who we take out—I mean render ineffective—depends on where they are positioned in the defensive line. You need to create a hole wide enough for us to get through undetected.” Pointing to the chart, the captain continued, “Based on our intended track, we’ll probably pass between the
Kilo
to our north and the
Hawaii
to our south. The
Texas
is positioned north of the
Kilo
, somewhere up here, and the
Alpha
is down here south of the
Hawaii
. I would recommend hitting the
Kilo
first. It would be the quietest while submerged, so it would do us the most good to have it out of the picture. After you hit the
Kilo
, one or both of the Americans may reposition to narrow the gap. You’ll need to hit whoever moves closest to our track.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“Pappy, here’s that chance you’ve been waiting for to be a fighter pilot!”
“Yes, sir! I won’t let you down, Captain.”
“We’re in SF-1, Mac,” said the XO. “Let’s man up!”
The captain returned to the control room. “All stop. General quarters. Rig the ship for silent running.” The captain grabbed the intercom switch, “Engineering, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shut down the reactor and switch to emergency battery power—we’re going to eliminate all noise from the primary and secondary coolant pumps.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“Shut down all nonessential electronic equipment,” ordered the captain. “We’ll be running on emergency battery power for the next eighteen hours or so. SF-1, are you ready to go?”
“We’re manning up now, sir,” came the response over the intercom.
“Then launch and arc way from our track. When you hit twenty thousand yards, start intermittently going to full SQID mode. You know, do it as if you’re fishing and trying to get a bite. Hopefully the cavitation will lead these attack boats away from us. I’m passing coordinates to you for our rendezvous point. See you there in six hours.”
“Aye-aye, sir. How did you know I like to fish?”
“Just a wild guess, XO.” The captain turned back to the conn. “Start SF-2. Go to maximum thrust without cavitating. Let’s keep her mounted to the deck and see how fast she can move us along.”
SF-1
After closing all hatches, Pappy settled into the pilot’s seat next to MacKenzie as they started the preflight checklist.
“Sonar power—on.”
“Check.”
“Weapons systems—armed.”
“Check.”
“Navigation—on.”
“Check.”
“Propulsion system—operational.”
“Check.”
“Speed—five knots. Disengage locking lever.”
MacKenzie grabbed the locking lever and pulled it to its upright position. “Disengaged, sir.”
“Applying power,” Pappy said as he eased the throttle forward and the impeller, with a slightly increasing but almost imperceptible hum, started to move SF-1 forward. The fighter gently lifted off the
Louisiana
and as they rose above the deck, Pappy began a banking turn to the port side away from the conning tower and increased the power. The surge of the propulsion system pushed both Mac and Pappy into their seats, yet there was hardly any increase in noise. The balance of the impeller was almost perfect.
“Man, what an incredible machine!”
MacKenzie already had his headset on, and was tweaking various sonar dials.
“Mac, our targets were about ninety thousand yards west-southwest of our position ten minutes ago. Let’s head south until we’re twenty thousand yards from the
Louisiana
, and then we’ll hit the SQID drive a few times to see if we can get a bite from any of those bastards. I’m pushing her up to fifty knots, which means we’ll hit that twenty thousand yard point in about four more minutes.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve already started listening, and so far I have several contacts. I’ll continue to monitor.”
Pappy was all business now. Like the mind of every fighter pilot coming in for a night landing on a carrier, his brain had shifted to a higher level of concentration. The next few hours would be decisive. He would either eliminate the threat, thereby enabling the
Louisiana
to pass through the defensive line, or he would fail, and the future of mankind would be placed in jeopardy. You could call it superconcentration or being in the zone, but whatever you called it, Pappy and the machine he was flying had become
ONE
.
The fighter was moving with virtually no noise at fifty knots due south. After four minutes, the XO warned MacKenzie, “SQID drive—watch your ears!” MacKenzie pulled the sonar headphones off while the XO hit the SQID drive for two seconds.
“Wow!” MacKenzie exclaimed. “Without these ear cups sealing against your head, that SQID drive is deafening! I think I’ll leave them on next time and just turn down the volume on the sonar!”
“Hey, live and learn.”
After several activations of the SQID drive on a southerly heading, SF-1 turned west toward the defensive line of attack boats blocking the path of the
Louisiana
.
“Mac, what have you got?”
“I have good positions on three of them, sir, but I can’t find the
Kilo
yet.”
“Let me see what you’ve got.”
The XO looked at the plot. “Look, Mac, you’ve got two of them over here, then a big gap and one more. I would bet my ass the
Kilo
is in that gap, we just can’t hear her yet.”
The Chinese
Kilo
-class submarine was the only one in the defensive line that was not nuclear powered. The
Kilo
was a diesel-electric boat, which ran on batteries while submerged. Although she had a limited time she could remain submerged, she was quieter and harder to detect.
“I’m heading for the gap, Mac. Keep listening. I’m going to hit the SQID drive a couple more short bursts and see if we get any reaction.”
The Chinese
Kilo
The Chinese captain called to his sonar operator, “Sonar, Captain. Do you have any contacts?”
“Captain, I had nothing, and then there were a series of intermittent cavitations. No engine noises, no coolant pumps, just cavitations.”
“Hmm…what do you think? A decoy noisemaker?”
“I would say so Captain, but obviously not a very good one—cheap American copy!”
“Ha! Very good, Comrade. But I will tell you something truer: where there is noisemaker, there is submarine! Helm, steer toward the noisemaker, all ahead one-third.”
SF-1
“XO, I’ve got her now,” MacKenzie reported. “
Kilo
-class, bearing two-four-zero degrees. No range information, unless we want to do some S-turns. I could figure out a range with some changing bearing lines.”
“Mac, the other three appear to be in a line. If the
Kilo
is in line with the others, the range must be about twelve thousand yards—a little close in for S-turns. Let’s make one sweep to port and see if we move that bearing line enough to get a range.”
“Sir, the bearing is sweeping pretty rapidly, so I think we’re pretty close. What do you want to do?”
“Ping her.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Mac. Go active on the sonar. One ping.”
“Aye-aye, sir. One ping, coming up!”
Pinnnnnnng.
“Got her, sir—eleven thousand yards. Neutral Doppler.”
The term “Doppler” referred to the Doppler effect in which sound waves in the sonar echo were compressed by a target moving toward the sonar or were expanded by a target moving away from the sonar. The sonar equipment detected the compression or expansion of the sound waves as a change in the frequency or pitch of the received echo as compared to the frequency that was transmitted. A neutral Doppler indicated the received frequency was the same as what was transmitted. So this target was not moving either toward SF-1 or away from SF-1. Therefore they had either pinged the
Kilo
broadside as she moved through the water, or she wasn’t moving at all, which was not likely.
“All right, we’ll head toward her. Tell me if she drifts right or left. Arm ‘em up. We’re going in, and I want you to have a ‘hot pickle,’” ordered the XO.
