by John O'Brien
As we drone northward, watching the whitish figures running in packs, I begin wondering which is really the greater threat; the group targeting us or the infiltration of night runners toward our compound. The bridges begin to take on a greater significance.
“You’re getting this, right?” I call to Robert.
“Yeah, Dad. That’s a shitload of night runners and we’re not even to Federal Way yet.”
He’s right, and that’s the understatement of the year. It definitely looks like our neighbors have been busy since we’ve been gone, and we’ll be hard-pressed to keep up with the Joneses. We fly a crisscrossing pattern up to Seattle and press farther north, observing the same pattern of night runners. They are definitely fanning out from the city into the surrounding areas. The same thing is seen to the east, only marginally so as the urban area falls off quickly due to the foothills leading to the Cascade Mountains.
Hours after taking off, we finish our surveillance of the urban areas to our north. Large numbers of night runners are spreading out; mostly to the north and south of Seattle. The area around the big city is still dense with packs but they’re moving.
“Robert, you can stop the recordings. We’re moving south. I want to target packs and buildings to the west, north, and east of McChord,” I call.
The sheer numbers that we’ve observed is disconcerting. Although the vast majority is still far north of us, their movement south is cause for alarm. I admit their timing could have been better; but when have they ever taken our needs into consideration? And that’s not to mention the numbers on our side of the river that we haven’t been able to locate yet.
Heading back south, we fly over the area of devastation caused by hitting the propane storage facility. Everything for a half-mile around the central crater has been completely obliterated. It’s almost too bad we couldn’t drop those kinds of facilities in the middle of the large night runner build-ups.
Orbiting just to the west of the airfield at McChord, Robert begins the systematic targeting of night runner packs running down the residential streets. Bright flashes appear on our screens as 40mm rounds pepper the larger packs. White figures running together are thrown to the sides as the explosive rounds burst in their midst. Several vehicles parked along the curbs ignite as white-hot shrapnel penetrates the thin skins of the fuel tanks. In others, glass is blown inward and the car bodies peppered. Night runners are thrown with force into them, snapping bones with the impact.
We orbit street after street, leaving dead or dying night runners lying on the hard, cold pavement. Streamers of red light leave the Spooky and intersect the avenues, sparking as 25mm shells slam into the hard surfaces. Ricochets stream upward into the night as the rounds walk through the packs. Night runners are torn apart from the high-speed impacts; and soon, the streets in our orbit go dark.
Robert then goes to work on marked locations with the 105mm howitzer, destroying house after house. When one area is clear, we move on to the next. It’s like watching a looped playback video only with a slightly different background.
“Okay, let’s call it a night and go home,” I say after we begin running low on ammo.
We land and are met with rides to haul us across the compound to Cabela’s. I’m tired from the flight and ongoing stress. My gear bag feels like someone stuffed an elephant in it while I wasn’t looking and it’s the best I can do to drag it along with me. Entering the building, I turn to say goodnight to the crew and tell them that we’ll debrief in the morning.
Just inside the now closed inner door, Robert is staring at his boots and holding one hand to his head. He drops his bag and, with a look of agony, brings his other hand up. Holding his head tightly between his hands, he sinks to his knees with a groan. Dropping my own bag, I rush over to him. On his knees, he drops his forehead to the floor and begins moaning as he rolls it back and forth.
I drop to my knees beside him, putting my arm around him. I’m about to ask what’s wrong and send for the doc when he lifts his head and shouts something unintelligible. On his hands and knees, with his eyes clenched shut, he throws up.
Diamond in the Rough
In a state of shock, Leonard stares through the viewfinder toward the shore just a few miles to the east. Moments ago, he took in the whole scene, a smoke pall covering the wreckage of what used to be San Diego. Skeletal remains of several buildings rising among piles of rubble are barely visible. With the cameras recording but not being presented on any of the monitors, he concentrates on the shoreline where the fleet, based at the southern California city, would dock.
The strip of sand that linked the mainland to the Navy depot, creating the inner bay, has been obliterated giving a clearer view of the wrecked docking facilities. The submarine tenders and docking facilities are hidden by a headland but Leonard knows, should he be able to see them, that they will look the same. Panning the inner shoreline, he looks for any sign of the fleet, but finds none. The only indication that there was any Navy presence is the overturned hulls of the old aircraft carriers that were on display or being systematically taken apart for scrap metal.
Looking across the ruins, thoughts circulate through his mind. There is still a shred of hope that the families, and some naval presence, made it due to the lack of navy ships present. At any one time, several are always in port, either for crew rotations or repairs. However, other than the wrecks, there isn’t a one to be seen. He holds a hint of optimism, perhaps a wish more than hope, that the fleet took to sea with survivors before the city was hit. The lack of communication doesn’t lend any credence to this desire, but it doesn’t mean that it’s impossible.
Other thoughts circulate regarding the fate of the families and what to do about his crew. Leonard holds onto the slim hope but doesn’t know how to tell the crew and still keep their spirits up. He doesn’t see any way that he can actually do that. Leonard knows they will all be crestfallen, and the ones who had families with them will fall into a depression. He and the officers will need to redirect their attention and focus on a new task, one that will keep some semblance of hope alive. That will lie in finding the fleet, or at least searching for it. If they aren’t able to find it, the finality that the crew has lost their loved ones will slowly set in and they’ll have to deal with it as it does.
Not having any family located near the devastated city, he knows nonetheless that the chances of him finding his mom and sister are low. For all intents and purposes, they are already lost to him. During brief moments, when he has lain awake in his cabin, his thoughts have gone to them and he’s felt the deep sadness of their loss. Leonard knows all too well the despair and pain of not knowing, so has an inkling of how the crew will react. He also knows they already suspect that something is up, considering the continued holding of their position outside of the port. He’ll meet with the officers, give them the news, and they’ll come up with a game plan.
Rotating the periscope, he turns his gaze to the west, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fleet but only sees the Pacific stretching to the horizon.
“Chief, give me one sweep of the radar,” Leonard orders, his eyes still glued to the eyepiece.
“One sweep, aye, sir.”
Moments later, “There isn’t any sign of traffic, sir.”
“Very well. Hold our position and have the officers meet me in the officer’s mess,” Leonard orders.
A short time later, having grabbed the recording of the San Diego ruins, Leonard walks into the crowded mess. Nodding at the officers present, he takes a seat at the end of the table.
“Gentlemen, as you may or may not know, we have halted at periscope depth a few miles offshore. The reason for the halt is the high levels of radiation emanating from the city. At first, I thought it might be from a leaking nuke facility, but, as I’m going to show in a moment, that’s not the case. What I’m about to tell you isn’t pretty, but there isn’t any other way to say it. San Diego was hit by a nuclear device and lies in ruins.”
The reacti
on is about what Leonard expected, stunned silence. Everyone turns to look at him, staring with glazed eyes, expecting for him to tell them it’s a joke. He meets those shocked stares with silence of his own and the reality of his statement sinks in. In some, tears well as the ramifications regarding their loved ones penetrate their shock. With others, their expressions intensify as they fold into their thoughts.
“Now, I know most of you are thinking of loved ones…so let me say this before your thoughts sink too deep. There are several things that may have happened. One, they may have evacuated the town prior to it getting hit and they may be somewhere safe, somewhere inland. Also, there isn’t any sign of the fleet boats so there is a chance that they gathered survivors and put to sea,” Leonard states.
He notes several changes of expression as they absorb this new hope.
“The bottom line is that current radiation levels won’t allow us to get any closer. I’m going to show you the recording of the city with the warning that it’s not pretty, and then we need to discuss two things; how are we going to handle this with the crew…and what our next step is.”
Leonard then shows his gathered officers the video. They stare at the screen with morbid, shocked fascination. When the recording finishes, most of them continue to stare at the now blank screen.
“Any thoughts about what happened?” the XO asks after a few moments, interrupting the silence.
“I don’t know,” Leonard answers. “My guess is that it may have been hit by one of our own, possibly from a nuke boat.”
“How do we know that? Couldn’t it have been hit by someone else, I mean from someone taking advantage of the situation?” one of the officers asks.
It’s fairly obvious who the officer is talking about. There are only a few nations that have nuclear weapons capable of hitting the western seaboard.
“It could be. However, if that were the case, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle would more than likely have been hit before San Diego. At the very least, Seattle and the surrounding naval bases would have been. So, I’m guessing that one of our own nuke boats hit it in an attempt to stem the tide of night runners that must have been running amok in the city,” Leonard replies.
He continues, “I want you to take notice that there isn’t an indication in the video of any fleet boats in the wreckage. The fleet is gone and only the wreckage of the old boats remains. That means they may still be out there somewhere.”
“If that’s true, wouldn’t we have heard from them?” the XO asks.
“I would assume so, and I don’t have an answer for that. The ships are missing, though, and have to be somewhere. Even if they were at sea when everything went down, there would be a few of the fleet boats docked. There isn’t a one of them to be seen,” Leonard responds.
“Does that mean we are going to search for them?” another officer asks.
“That’s what I’m thinking. I’m also surmising that at least one missile boat survived along with the fleet. They would have to sail west, possibly heading for Hawaii or Guam.”
“Sir, you mentioned that any survivors might have headed inland before the city was hit. What about conducting a search for them?” an officer asks, hopeful that the answer will be yes.
“I think our best bet is to locate the fleet boats, or at least the missile boat. If we can find them, they’ll be able to tell us what happened. Besides, we don’t have the capability to search inland. We only have Chief Krandle and his team for security and, from what we’ve experienced recently, that wouldn’t be a safe option. Our first priority is for the crew’s security. We must stay together. If we put ashore, some of the crew will decide to proceed on their own despite anything we say.”
Even though there is a strong desire among some of the officers, mostly those with families that accompanied them to San Diego, to strike inland, all present nod at the truth of the statements. The loss of hope that many had of finding their home port intact, and, along with that, their families, causes a depressed atmosphere within the crowded mess. However, they hold onto the thin line of hope that their families are safe at sea with the fleet.
“What about the crew, sir?” the XO asks.
“I’ll make a general announcement detailing our situation and plan. This will cause a lot of depression amongst the crew, so it’s up to us to watch for and deal with your individual sections. It will be your jobs to keep everyone focused on the new mission, which may inspire a measure of hope. Most had families and loved ones ashore so we’ll have to provide an example by our actions and words. So, before we leave here, gentlemen, I need to know that each of you is capable of doing this. If you feel you can’t continue in your position, it will be understood and no negative consequences will follow. Because this is vitally important, without peer pressure, I want you to take a piece of paper, write your name on it with a ‘yes’ to indicate you can and are willing to continue, or ‘no’, and pass it to me.”
The officers write on small sheets and pass them to Leonard. He unfolds each one without expression or looking at the ones whose names he reads. Each piece of paper he opens has the name of the officer and a ‘yes’ indicated.
With a smile, Leonard states, “Very well, gentlemen, thank you. I’ll make the announcement and we’ll prepare to strike west.”
The announcement causes the reaction that Leonard anticipated. Hope, which had been riding high as they proceeded south, falls as his words echo throughout the sub. The mood among the crew is somber and subdued. They go about their tasks, but there is a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Striking west, the Santa Fe glides under the Pacific swells. Leonard periodically alters their course in a zigzag fashion to cover a wider area. The sub creeps quietly, listening for any sounds that might indicate the fleet’s location. The main body will most likely be surrounded by escorts with subs farther out silently patrolling the waters.
Leonard isn’t positive that the destruction of San Diego was from one of their own and proceeds cautiously. Even if it was—and he thinks that is the most likely scenario—the sheer fact that they nuked the city is a testament that tensions are running high. It may be that, if the Santa Fe was discovered, they would be fired upon before the fleet, or anyone else for that matter, ascertained if they were friend or foe.
Keeping the radar off, Leonard sporadically has the boat brought to periscope depth to sweep the area. This puts them at a greater risk but he has to walk a fine line between keeping secure under the depths and locating the fleet, if it’s even at sea. They very well could be in Guam, or Hawaii, or anywhere else for that matter. Steering at intervals to the northwest and southeast, they slowly crawl westward.
“Sir, transient noises on a bearing of 260 degrees,” a sonarman calls.
“Distance and type?” Leonard asks upon reaching the small room.
“Unknown at this time, sir. It’s faint and sounds like metal against metal coming at almost regular intervals,” the sailor answers.
“Screws noises?”
“Not that I can hear, sir.”
“Put it on the speaker,” Leonard orders.
The small overhead speaker comes to life. Filters have removed the normal sounds of the ocean so the noise comes in clear; a faint booming metallic clang comes through the speaker every few seconds. At intervals, there is a screeching sound of metal dragging against metal.
“What do you think?” Leonard asks the operator.
“It’s hard to say, sir, but if I had to hazard a guess, I would say it’s two ships rubbing against each other with the swells. It has too much reverberation to be break-up sounds and two pieces of metal, no matter how large, wouldn’t cause that kind of echo.”
“Very well. Keep a close ear for screws. If it’s the fleet, someone has to be moving,” Leonard states.
“Aye, sir. I’ve listed the noise as contact Sierra One.”
Entering the control room, Leonard orders the boat deep, rigs for silent running, and sets a course slightly offset from t
he noise. Soon, they’ll be able to gauge distance from the change in bearing. If they have found the fleet, there will escorts, and Leonard will have to signal them at some point. Until then, he has to assume the noise is being generated from an unfriendly source and proceed accordingly. He needs screw noises in order to ascertain who is out there.
The bearing changes indicate that the transient noise is just less than twenty miles out. Leonard closes to fifteen miles and pauses, listening. They should easily hear the screw noises of the escorts from this distance. They wouldn’t be able to hear the patrolling subs unless they were within three miles, but there should be destroyers on the perimeter. The sub’s position should place them close to or inside the outer screen and near the inner screen of ships. He and his officers are without answer as to why they can’t hear any active escorts.
“Perhaps it’s not the fleet, but two ships that happened to sail into each other,” the XO offers.
“That’s one possibility,” Leonard replies.
Only using their controls to keep their position in the current, Leonard has the Santa Fe lay quiet, listening for the screen of escorts that should be out there. He feels confident that he’s found the fleet’s location, but it is only a gut feeling. It could very well be that the XO is correct and they’ve only found a couple of drifting ships that have collided with each other. All of the signs point to that scenario, but Leonard still isn’t sure. For that reason, he’ll work with the assumption that the sound they hear is the fleet parked fifteen miles to the west of them.
Any sub escort will be assigned a sector to patrol, based on perceived threats. Leonard has the sub stay in position, hoping to hear any indication of an escort crossing their path or venturing into their passive detection range. Hearing nothing after an hour of monitoring, Leonard orders the Santa Fe on a quiet ascent to periscope depth.
He has the sonar team listen for a few more minutes to see if they’ve drawn any attention. Even though they don’t hear any screw revolutions churning the water, that doesn’t mean whoever is up there isn’t paying attention. They could have ASW helicopters out and, with the boat being this close to the surface, it would be easy for the aircraft to pick out the sub’s magnetic anomaly.
