INTO A FORBIDDEN SEA: BOOK THREE: HUNTER/KILLER SERIES OF THE FIGHTING TOMCATS

by M. L. Maki

John, “We want to lift off the bottom without blowing or broaching.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Discharge trim tanks fore and aft.”

  The conning officer, Lt. JG Vaught, “Yes, sir. Discharge trim fore and aft. All stop on the engines. Align the dive plans for ice.”

  Morrison, “Why are you shifting to ice, Vaught?”

  “To go straight up, sir.”

  “Right. Good. We’ll try it.”

  In a few minutes, they feel the submarine lift. The tide immediately grabs them and the bow feet touch down again.

  Morrison, “Stop discharging aft. Continue forward. Take the dive planes to ten degrees up.”

  The bow lifts and they drift up. Chief of the watch, “130.”

  Morrison, “Add water to the trim tanks forward and aft.”

  “120. 110. 100.”

  Morrison, “Raise the legs. Ahead one third. Two degrees down on the planes.”

  They hear a soft whir, thump. “90. 80.”

  The sub starts moving forward. “Seventy feet and steady.”

  Morrison, “Take us up to periscope depth. No circle. Up scope.”

  “Periscope depth, sir.”

  He spins the scope, “Mark.”

  “205, sir.”

  “Mark.”

  “183, sir.”

  “First is the Livermore. Second is the navigation aid on the island. Let’s find some more flat bottom and do it again. This time, we try our best to line up with the current and set the dive planes for up five when we are ready to lift. XO, your boat.”

  They repeat the bottoming maneuver several more times until they have a solid procedure, and every watch stander knows how to follow it.

  Morrison, “Greg, can you write up the procedure and get it on my desk in the next couple days?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Morrison hands over the periscope to Greg Backes and picks up the 1MC, “All of you did a very good job today. Now I can tell you what we’re doing. We are going to transit the Oresund straight between Sweden and occupied Denmark and recover four nuclear weapons lost in the Baltic. This mission is going to require us all to be at our best. I think we can break out some ice cream tonight. Thank you.”

  Morrison, “Henry, who was that girl you were with?”

  “Her name is Sylvia McCamish. Her dad owns a fishing boat.”

  Morrison, “Girlfriend, fiancé, or wife?”

  “Girlfriend, Skipper.”

  “Good for you. Okay, let’s stay at periscope depth. It’s getting light out there, and we do not need to advertise to every fisherman what is on our back. Watch the chart and screen. We’re normally still on the surface here. Once we’re in deep water, we’ll give the Livermore a ta-ta.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They settle into their normal underway routine.

  ADMIRAL KING’S OFFICE, NAVAL YARD, WASHINGTON, DC

  0810, 22 September, 1942

  Lee walks in, “They’re on their way, sir.”

  King, “Grab a cup of joe. Do you think they can pull it off?”

  Lee, “If anyone can, they can. Morrison is one of the sharpest officers I’ve ever met.”

  “Were it any other sub, I would consider it suicide.”

  “Yes, sir. While they’re gone, the Livermore is pulling two-gun turrets and replacing them with missile launchers for our AIM-7’s.”

  King, “Who’s designing it?”

  “A JG on Klindt’s staff. He’s the one who designed the ammo train for the Long Beach.”

  “I would prefer all our ships use common systems.”

  “In principle, I agree. The captain on the Livermore asked Lt. JG Maki to design a workable system. If it works, Commodore Hunt asked him to transfer the design to the Royal Navy. When the Livermore comes back in for overhaul, we can upgrade the system, if that is the plan. If it’s an easy retrofit, we might want to use it for existing destroyers and put the Mark 13 only in the new ships.

  “The design bureau will have a cow, but I can see the war fighting need.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Would they have done it without my blessing?”

  “They might have. I don’t know. What I do know is they would hate us if we refused them, and they ended up desperately needing it.”

  “That is very true.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO, 200 FEET, 10 MILES NORTH WEST OF KRONBORG, OCCUPIED DENMARK

  0032, 23 September, 1942

  CDR John Morrison looks down on the chart table, then back up at Brown’s navigation sonar. He can see a little white on the far edge, “Up two degrees. New depth 150 feet.”

  The crew repeats back and the sub tilts upward. The white disappears.

  “Right standard rudder. New course 105.”

  The water gets deeper.

  “Conn, Sonar. New contact bearing 114. Designate Tango 34.”

  Morrison pushes the button, “What do you make of it?”

  “Two screws. Reciprocating steam plant. I think it’s a large freighter coming out.”

  “Right standard rudder. New course, 160.”

  They creep into the straight between Sweden and Denmark. The bottom is mostly sand.

  Morrison, “Extend the legs.”

  Backes looks at him.

  “When we get shallow, we need to be ready for prop wash. If a big ship gets close, it could suck us off the bottom, unless we’re sitting on our legs. We need negative buoyancy to hold us on the bottom.”

  Greg, “Good idea, sir.”

  “Conn, Sonar. Multiple contacts north bound. I think four ships at high speed.”

  GERMAN CRUISER EMDEN, NORTHBOUND IN STRAIT

  Kapitän zur See Werner Lange Paces the bridge, “We will be late. Ahead flank. Highest rpm. Notify the destroyers.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO, BOTTOMED IN THE STRAIT

  Morrison looks at the chart, “Thirty knots? Where are they going in such a hurry?”

  Brown, “Training run, sir?” The legs sit on rock. They can feel the wash from the passing ships moving the sub. They hear the feet grinding against the stone.

  Morrison, “The Germans were perpetually low on fuel. Something isn’t right.”

  Once German ships clear, they lift off, continuing on.

  They pass Kronborg with only thirty feet beneath them, and fifty feet over their sail.

  “Conn, Sonar. New contact bearing 180. Designate, Tango 35. Large twin screws. This one is also in a hurry.”

  Morrison, “Very well.” He studies the chart that the tracking team is keeping up to date. Tango 35 is heading straight at them. “Okay, all stop. They are moving against the tide, so the sub slows quickly. “Fill both trim tanks.” They feel the bump as the legs meet the sand. Morrison, “Continue filling the tanks to the mark.”

  The thrum of the ship approaching ship gets louder and louder. As it passes over them, they feel the suction of the propeller. The crew, silent, look up.

  Backes, “Sir, what the fuck is going on?”

  Morrison shakes his head, “I don’t know, but it has no impact on our mission, thus far.”

  GERMAN CRUISER NÜRNBERG, NORTH SEA, 50 MILES EAST OF NORTH SHIELD, UK

  Kapitän zur See Leo Kreisch sits in his chair studying the sea and listening to the watch team work.

  “Bridge, port lookout, one of the landing craft is foundering at 290 relative.”

  Kreisch stands and puts his binoculars to his eyes. The wood landing vessel has cracked its seams. Many of the soldiers struggle to swim in their heavy packs. “A destroyer will tend to them. The invasion of England will come with losses. Carry on.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO

  Once the cargo ship is well clear, Morrison, “Drain the trim tanks to the mark. Five degree up angle.” At the point the legs should lift, but they don’t move.

  Backes, “The wash buried our legs.”

  Morrison, “Yeah. Ahead dead slow.” After a minute, “Astern dead slow.”

  He waits, then, “Ahead dead slow.
” Nothing. The watch standers look at Morrison, then each other.

  Morrison, “Okay, another idea. Back full.” As they come up on the bell, the prop wash cleans the rear feet. The stern lifts, then the bow feet lever out of the sand.

  “Conn, Sonar. We’re cavitating.”

  “All stop. Emergency throttle rates. Ahead two thirds. Emergency rates.”

  The boat slowly moves forward. “Down two degrees on the planes. Trim the boat.”

  GERMAN DESTROYER, IN PORT, KRONBORG

  “Sir, I heard a screw noise.”

  “Of course, you did. There are ships moving all over out there.”

  “Sir, this one sounded different.”

  “Do you hear it now?”

  “No sir, it is gone.”

  “Then it is nothing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO

  Morrison quietly observes the watch change as they continue through the strait. A steward requests to enter and brings a carafe of coffee and cups.

  Morrison takes a cup, “Thank you.”

  MS3 Bill Pressman, “Sir, are you going to eat?”

  “Sorry, Pressman. I can’t leave.”

  “Yes, sir.” Pressman leaves and comes back in with a plate of food, “Eat, sir.”

  “Okay, I will, thank you. We’re starting to shoal. The channel is to the right, Steve.”

  Miller adjusts their course into deeper water. “Sir, we have a lot of current here. I’d like to come to two thirds.”

  “Go ahead. The tide must be turning.” He hands the empty plate to his steward, “Thank you, Bill.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They slowly pass to the west of Ven Island and continue south. Four hours later, they are working their way east of Salthom, between Copenhagen, Denmark and Malmo, Sweden.

  “Conn, Sonar. New contact, bearing 174. Designate Tango 46. Steam plant. Two screws. It sounds large. I’m picking up a destroyer with it.”

  Miller, “Very well.”

  “Sir. Bearing is constant.”

  TANKER FULLHEIM

  The vessel master, Victor Lange studies the shorelines in the early morning light.

  The first officer approaches, “Are we to have just one destroyer to cross the North Sea?”

  “The rest are supporting the invasion. It is assumed that, by the time we arrive, there will be no Royal Navy to greet us.”

  “And if they are wrong?”

  “Then we have had a good life. Hans, nothing is certain.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO

  Morrison, “It’s a heavy cruiser or large cargo ship. Steve, bring us west three degrees.”

  Miller, “Yes, sir.” He issues the orders and the sub slowly turns. They have sixty feet over the sail, and fifty feet under their keel. “Sir, all the traffic has been heading out of the strait. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” John spots an obstruction on the navigation sonar. The resolution of the sonar is fine enough to identify the obstruction as a small freighter on its side. “Back one third. Right standard rudder.” The engine slows to a stop and begins to spin in reverse. “All stop. Rudder amidships. The sub begins to drift aft and turn broadside to the channel. “Ahead one third. Right full rudder.”

  Backes, “It’s going to be close, sir.” They are six hundred feet east of the wrecked cargo ship.

  Morrison, “Set us down, Steve.”

  They settle on their legs as the tanker passes a quarter mile to their port side. The prop wash rocks them, even with the feet on the bottom.

  Miller, “Lift, sir?”

  Morrison, “Yes. Proceed.”

  A few minutes later, Miller, “The bottom is dropping, sir. I think we’re through.”

  Morrison, “Yep. Into a forbidden sea. It’s generally shallow in here, so we have to stay on the ball.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In deeper water, Morrison and Miller study the chart. It is marked where the pilot determined he ditched his plane.

  Miller, “Get some sleep, sir. I’ll navigate us to a point right about here. Once the crew has a few hours to breath, we can start the search.”

  “That works.” Morrison heads forward for a shower and a nap.

  CHAPTER 17

  USS LIVERMORE, IN DRY DOCK, HOLY LOCK, SCOTLAND

  0438, 23 September, 1942

  LCDR Henry Morrison is jerked out of sleep by, “Gong, gong, gong. General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations…

  His first thought, “We’re in dry dock. Who’s fucking with the alarm?”

  “…Air attack East. This is not a drill. Gong, gong, gong.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He scrambles to get dressed and runs for the bridge. The ship is chaos with men running to their stations.

  The OOD, Lt. Fred Edwards, “Sir, the hull is intact. I’ve called for the dock master. Here’s the message.”

  Commander Huber joins him. Edwards repeats his report to the captain.

  Huber, “OOD, condition zebra set. Except Mount 2 and 3.”

  Morrison reads the message:

  ALL UNITS

  TFYAN

  REG: INVASION

  Major air and land attack, Great Britain. German troops landing near New Castle on the Tyne. All Naval units, emergency sortie. Consider air attack as imminent. Take all necessary actions to safeguard your commands. Livermore, escort Beaver to sea as soon as possible.

  LCDR Swedenborg

  COS TFYAN

  Lt. Edwards, “Did I do the right thing, sir?”

  Huber, “You did.” He picks up the ship to ship, “Beaver, Livermore actual, mark time until ready to sortie.”

  “Livermore, Beaver actual. 3.5 hours to safely raise steam and warm up my engines. Can you undock?”

  “We will expedite undocking. I will need to keep Simmons and his work team.”

  “Understood.”

  Maki, “Request to enter and speak.”

  Huber, “Enter. Maki, what is the status of our launchers?”

  “Sir, Mount 3 is aligned and being wired up. Mount 2 is landed and partly welded into position. What is going on?”

  Morrison, “The Germans are invading England. We’ve been ordered to sortie.”

  “Oh shit! Sir, we haven’t done anything below the water line except wash it. You can leave dry dock. I need to lift gear onto the barge, then I can drop you into the water.”

  Huber, “What will it take to make the launchers usable?”

  “Complete the welds. Align the rail mechanism. Plumb in the power and control wiring, then test it all. It would be stupid to load missiles while you are still doing hot work. If there’s time, we can load Mount 3.”

  “Okay. It’s more important to get to sea. We can finish them at sea and un-rep the missiles from the Beaver, if necessary. What are you going to do with your dock?”

  “We can’t go to sea. Um. I have an idea for a deception plan that we can execute without outside aid.” Maki grins.

  “Understood, Maki. Get us in the water. Henry, we need to fire up our boilers and start the warmup.”

  “On it, sir.”

  Four hours later, the Livermore and Beaver steam out of the loch. Maki, on one of the dock walls, “Antonio. We will put it on the bottom over there in that little bay. I need the guys looking for rocks as we get close. We’ll need a smooth bottom.”

  Antonio, “What are we going to do?”

  Maki, “We’re going to make this thing look like a derelict.”

  GERMAN TRAWLER, 20 MILES SOUTH WEST OF YSTAD, SWEDEN

  0644, 23 September, 1942

  SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik Seidel shakes the hand of the Swedish patrol officer, “Danke.”

  The patrol boat leaves and runs north east toward Ystad.

  “Gentleman, we continue. Lower the trawling rig and the magnetic sensor.”

  SS-Stabsscharführer Fischer, “Sir, do you think this thing exists. We have been plowing the ocean for months and found a great amount of
nothing.”

  “You don’t want your share of the gold, Spiess?”

  Fischer smiles, “Ah, that was a find. I am thinking how we can spend it.”

  Seidel, “We can’t. Even if we melted it into ingots there would be too many questions. We sit on it until after the war. Then we party in Greece with their fine brown women.”

  “I am told they very much like to offer themselves to strong Aryan men.”

  “Probably a lie, but money makes a woman eager regardless of their skin.”

  Fischer, “I have heard that American women are full of themselves. I would enjoy turning a few of them into nice harem girls.”

  “Perhaps.”

  FLOATING DRY DOCK, ARDNADOM BAY, HOLY LOCH, SCOTLAND

  1232, 24 September, 1942

  The dry dock rests on a sandbank, the floor awash. The crew is painting the upper decks with streaks of terra cotta paint to make it look rusty. One of the wall cranes has its lattice work boom down while Maki paints it.

  A helicopter circles and lands on a spit of land.

  Maki says, “Antonio!”

  The foreman looks over at the helo, “Yes, sir.”

  They work down a stairway and to a boat. In a minute, they push up onto the beach.

  LCDR Sandra “Cargo Britches” Douglas says, “Maki, I’ve been ordered to fetch you.” She hands him a message:

  FRM: NAVSPPRJ

  TO: LT MAKI

  REG: REASSIGNMENT

  Turn over dock to civilian crew and report to Washington DC for critical assignment immediately.

  Klindt

  Maki sighs, “I need to get my things.” Thirty minutes later, he is in the helicopter and flying south.

  USS SAN FRANCISCO, 20 MILES SOUTH OF YSTAD

  2118, 23 September, 1942

  There is a knock on Morrison’s door, “Captain. We’re in position.”

  “Thank you.” Morrison washes the sleep off his face, dresses, and heads to control.

  “Captain in control.”

  Morrison walks to the table, “What is Tango 51?”

  Thoreau says, “It acts like a fishing boat running laps. I’m getting the impression it’s our competition looking for the plane.”

  “XO in Control.”

  Morrison, “Reasonable. Please share your thoughts.”

  “Most trawlers find a spot they like, then they work back and forth in that area. This boat is systematically mowing the lawn.”