by John O'Brien
The operator gives a negative regarding any sounds. Leonard contemplates an active ping from the sonar, but the transient sounds are on the edge of detection in ideal conditions. It would only serve to give away their position. He has the periscope raised and does a quick three-hundred sixty degree sweep to clear the area. There is nothing in view except the gentle rolling Pacific swells as they wallow across the vast ocean.
“One sweep on the radar and prepare to dive deep,” Leonard orders.
The radar beam radiates from the Santa Fe, carrying outward and fading where nothing is found and returning an echo when it comes into contact with a solid object. The single sweep fills the radar screen with numerous blips. There isn’t any recognizable formation to the returned echoes and all appear to be placed at random.
No sound is heard from the towed array. Leonard waits just below the surface for a few moments, the tension palpable within the control room. All eyes dart from Leonard, to the sonar room, to their instruments, and back to Leonard, waiting for any word of contact and the order to dive.
“Another sweep if you please,” Leonard requests.
There is no rapid escalation of noise as escorts push their turbines up to full speed to pursue a radar contact. Instead, the radar returns the same blips, all in the same position. Leonard notes the smaller blips that would be escort ships, several medium-sized objects that would be support ships, and one large one that can only be the return of a carrier. There seems to be little rhyme or reason to the placement of the vessels, but Leonard knows he’s just verified his gut feeling, they’ve found the fleet that was docked at San Diego.
Normally, being painted from an unknown radar this close would spur the ships into action. However, nothing changes. There isn’t any increase in screw sounds of ships steaming out to locate and identify them. As a matter of fact, there aren’t any screw sounds to be heard at all. Without seeing a response to their radar sweeps, Leonard holds the sub in its current position.
“Send a flash message on the fleet frequency identifying ourselves and requesting contact,” Leonard orders.
The message is sent and long minutes drag by without a reply. An uneasy feeling begins to stir within Leonard, threatening to sink into his very core. If they have found the fleet but no one is home, that means families and loved ones are gone as well. If that turns out to be the case, it will become difficult to hold the crew together, or at least keep them focused toward a common goal. Some will want to go inland to see if they can find any of their family members. The common breakages that normally occur toward the end of a cruise—the crew breaking things in order to put toward port earlier—will begin happening with regularity.
Without a response to their message, Leonard orders the boat to remain at its current depth and sets a course for the ships that are apparently drifting randomly. He has the Santa Fe creep through the waters. He and the crew are heading toward an unknown and caution is the keyword. They have taken several risks during the search for the fleet, but nothing that they couldn’t dive to the safety of the depths and lose their pursuers. Now, with each mile that the distance closes, the danger grows.
Leonard closes to within visual range and raises the periscope. Water drips momentarily from the lens and then clears. Panning around the area, he makes out the distinct shapes of cruisers, frigates, patrol boats, support vessels…and, in the distance, a single carrier.
Having closed to within a couple of miles, there are ships floating in all quadrants. Zooming in, Leonard looks on the decks of those closest. There isn’t any sign of movement. Sunlight glitters off glass panes from the bridges of the nearest warships. He directs the Santa Fe to a frigate nearby that is drifting aimlessly. Well aware of the firepower that even a small ship like that can pack, especially as they are geared toward anti-submarine warfare, he remains cautious about his approach. However, he well knows there is no way he would be able to get this close if any of the systems were manned.
Closing in on the drifting hull, he becomes aware of dark smears along the bottom of the superstructure where it meets the main deck. The blotches seem to be thicker where hatches, many of them standing open, lead deeper into the ship. Seeing the dark blemishes seemingly coming out of the hatches, Leonard wonders if a fire hasn’t gutted the ship. Upon closer inspection, he notes that the smears don’t extend to the top of the hatches, as would be the case if fire had broken out and smoke poured from the openings.
Keeping the periscope up for this period of time will make their location easily identifiable, even more so because they are underway and the periscope will be leaving a wake. Although worried about the possibility of being discovered, Leonard wants to unravel the mystery of the discolorations along the haze gray of the vessel they are nearing. With that in mind, he opts to leave the mast extended.
Zooming in, he focuses on the dark splotches. It becomes immediately apparent what they are and the unsettled feeling Leonard felt earlier deepens. In places, thick streaks stream downward. Leonard quickly pans up to the bridge. Although it’s hard to see through some of the glare, he sees what seem to be dark smears plastered on the inside of the glass panes. It’s fairly apparent that he’s looking at a ghost ship, or at least a lifeless one.
The other ships he observes exhibit the same dark streaks with no one moving about the decks. Staring at the flotilla, Leonard wonders about any subs that must have accompanied the fleet. A morbid thought enters about them floating lifelessly in the depths, perhaps still under power and motoring in whatever direction they were headed when the crew succumbed.
Finishing his search of the frigate, Leonard steers toward several other ships floating nearby, discovering the same dark streaks and without seeing anyone aboard.
Lowering the periscope, Leonard orders the Santa Fe to head toward the carrier floating a few miles away. Trying to keep from overtly staring, all eyes within the control room turn toward Leonard nonetheless as he steps away. As a result of Leonard’s actions and the risks he is taking, the crew is aware that something is going on. Tension hangs heavily in the control room. The crew knows that they are in a disadvantageous position. They also realize that, if they have found the fleet, there will be word of their families. The fact that their messages have gone unanswered and that Leonard hasn’t said anything weighs deeply.
Understanding that the crew needs some word, even if they might not like what they hear, Leonard grabs the mic. He makes a general announcement informing everyone that they have found the fleet but that he hasn’t seen any sign of anyone as yet. He also tells them that they haven’t received any response to their radio messages, sent in code and in the clear, but they are heading toward a carrier observed several miles away.
The pressure created from the hanging tension leaves as if the sub underwent a rapid depressurization. Many hang their heads realizing what the announcement means. Several of those sitting at the consoles experience blurred vision as tears form. Leonard hangs up the mic and notes several of the crew wiping their hands across their eyes. There is still a faint hope that some survivors might be on the carrier but, seeing what he has, Leonard knows that the odds are slim. The last chance of finding anyone alive lies inland.
Leonard feels deep down that they won’t find anyone. With that, he knows a big decision is looming: What will they do if they don’t find anyone? Where will they go? The boat needs a refitting, so Leonard is initially thinking that they will make their way to Bangor, refit, and go from there. They can contact Walker and see if he would be willing to check out the areas surrounding San Diego, radiation levels permitting. Leonard remembers Walker talking about their own search for families of the soldiers with him, so he might be willing to conduct the same for the crew of the Santa Fe.
Leonard doesn’t want to give his crew any false hope as that isn’t the way he operates. But, if there is any hope, regardless of the odds, he’ll take it. The trip down the western seaboard has shown him that anything is possible. It has also shown him that
there might be very few places they can go and live with any amount of security. At some point, they’ll have to put ashore and he only has Krandle’s team to provide that for them. A part of him wants to check out Hawaii and other parts of the Pacific, but there would be no help should something happen to the sub while at sea. They would be at the mercy of the waves much like the fleet they are slowly motoring through.
Leonard raises the periscope as the sub draws near the carrier. The massive bulk of steel and cabling appears to be adrift like the rest of the ships they’ve passed. Looking closer, Leonard notices the carrier is wallowing in the ocean swells with a slight list. Several cables, unnoticed on the escort vessels, trail down the giant hull in places. He can’t see over the immense height of the hull to observe the decks and superstructure, but Leonard can only assume that there are the same dark smears staining the outside walls.
Circling the carrier, Leonard finds the source of the noise that drew them to this ghost yard. Parallel to the carrier, riding the same swells, a support ship rides alongside. As the waves lift each ship, the support vessel bumps into the carrier, at times, remaining in contact and grinding along the side. Leonard notifies the crew that they’ve drawn alongside the carrier and of his intent to surface.
Parking the sub a short distance from the support ship, Leonard surfaces the sub. It rises slowly, emerging from the ocean like a monster ascending from the depths. The conning tower pierces the surface and rises, water rushing from the bridge to cascade down to the blue waters. Soon, the body breaks through, the wavelets on the swells slapping against the hull.
Once the lookout crew have ascended and reported all clear, Leonard climbs to the bridge. The large, gray, steel hulls lay a couple of hundred yards off to the side. Across the intervening water, the clanging boom of the two ships colliding is amplified. A high-pitched screech of grinding metal drifts to Leonard and the sailors posted on watch.
Leonard hails the vessels over the loudspeaker. Still holding the microphone, he looks up to the carrier deck high overhead half-expecting to see a crowd of people appear, silhouetted by the blue sky behind. There is neither a response nor a sighting, only the grinding sound of metal on metal and the slap of waves.
Staring across the distance, Leonard thinks about sending someone aboard.
Maybe one of the smaller escorts, he thinks.
He quickly discards the idea as images enter his thoughts of the darkened interiors that Krandle’s team would face. Plus, if there was anyone onboard, they would have responded to his hail regardless of whether they could operate the systems or not. A particularly loud groan from the two ships reaches across the waters as Leonard comes to the conclusion that he is looking upon another empty vessel.
“Sir, transient noises, bearing 210 degrees, range 2,500 yards,” a call comes through to the bridge.
Leonard initiates orders for an emergency dive.
The deck is already tilting with the hull submerging below the waves as Leonard closes the hatch and descends to the control room. His heart is racing with adrenaline. He knows there was a risk bringing his boat to the surface and now, there’s the possibility that they’ve been caught.
“What’s the source?” Leonard asks, bracing himself against the steepening angle of the deck.
“Sounds like another sub blowing their tanks and surfacing, sir.”
“Surfacing? Are you sure?” Leonard queries, expecting the response to be the sound of screws or a torpedo door opening.
“Aye, sir.”
“Belay the dive,” Leonard orders.
Only a friendly sub would be surfacing under these circumstances. With few other ways of communicating, this was the quickest way of letting the Santa Fe know of their presence and friendly intentions. The deck levels as the dive is halted and they make their short way to the surface once again.
Once they broach the surface, Leonard eagerly scales the ladder, anxious to see other survivors. And not only survivors but, more than likely, fellow bubble heads. Besides the excitement, which Leonard holds close, they may have the story of what happened to the fleet and San Diego. He knows his boat is safe with the other vessel surfacing but, having had the crew set up a firing solution as part of the emergency dive, he directs that they retain that just in case. They only need to open the doors and send a series of homing torpedoes on their way.
Scrambling to the top, Leonard immediately turns his binoculars to the bearing given. Sitting on top of the surface, riding the swells, is the distinct outline of an Ohio-class submarine. Aft of the conning tower, the long deck of the hull containing the silos housing the SLBM’s (Sea-launched ballistic missiles) floats above the waves. To Leonard’s sharp eyes, the missile boat seems to be riding higher than he remembers seeing previously.
“Sir, periscope in the water, 3,000 yards bearing 280 degrees,” one of the lookouts calls.
Before Leonard can issue the order to lock onto this new target and start another emergency dive, the hydrophone operator calls, “Transient noises, bearing 280 degrees, another sub blowing its tanks, sir.”
Whipping around to the new bearing, Leonard observes the surface of the ocean bulge slightly and another conning tower emerges from the depths. Water sprays outward as the sleek outline of another LA-class fast attack submarine broaches the surface. Turning back to the missile boat, Leonard observes flashes of light emanating from the top of the conning tower.
“Signalman to the bridge,” Leonard orders.
Leonard makes way for the signalman as he climbs up. Messages are passed back and forth between the missile boat, the attack boat, and Leonard. The LA-class sub is the Jefferson City based out of Point Loma, San Diego, and the missile boat is the Maine based out of Bangor. Leonard’s boat was only recently reassigned to Point Loma from Hawaii and he has never met either captain. Rather than keep the lights flashing, and perhaps overwhelming the poor sailors trying to read and relay messages, the captain of the Maine suggests that they meet on his boat. Both boats have a means of conveyance so Leonard and the other captain agree to motor over.
Water sprays outward as the rubber craft pounds across the water. Lifting over the swells and descending into troughs, the raft jars over the wavelets like motoring over a washboard-rutted road. Occasionally, catching a wavelet just right, sea water splashes over the bow, showering the faces of those aboard. Leonard, along with Krandle and another member of the SEAL Team, wipe the salt water from their goggles.
They make their way to the Maine, its dark shape lying low on the surface. The raft bumps against the almost black anechoic-coated hull with the smaller waves slapping against the sides. Shouts echo from above as sailors toss a rope ladder and other lines down. Leonard and the others climb to the sub as the sailors hoist the rubber craft to the deck. Another such raft, carrying the captain of the Jefferson City and some of the crew, is loitering nearby to await their turn to board.
Dried off and seated in the large mess room, Leonard gratefully takes a cup of coffee. With Krandle seated at the table as well, Leonard is introduced to Captain Castagne of the Jefferson City and Captain Jorgenson of the Maine. Although outranking the other two via their dates of rank, Leonard still feels like the newcomer. The other two have had some association with the military since the downfall of civilization whereas Leonard has basically been on his own.
Feeling the outsider, Leonard relates his story in detail between sips and refills of coffee with Krandle sharing his experiences.
“Why didn’t you reply to the radio calls?” Leonard asks, finishing his story.
“We received several previous messages using an older code which we didn’t trust so opted to see how events would transpire. Trust has been hard to come by,” Jorgenson relates, casting an eye toward Castagne.
“I guess that’s understandable,” Leonard answers, knowing his own distrust and caution during his sojourn down the seaboard.
“We received the flash and open-air messages and waited. We saw your scope and sile
ntly maneuvered until we could pick up your screws on the passive array. That took some time and wasn’t easy, but once we identified your acoustics and heard you surface, we did the same hoping you’d take it as a non-aggressive sign and not fire on us. Jefferson City was standing by and ready just in case,” Jorgenson states.
Even though all know that Leonard is the ranking officer present, the conversation is spoken as equals. Each has domain over their boats and Leonard is fine with keeping it that way.
“So, what’s the story here?” Leonard asks with a nod of his head toward the carrier outside.
With a heavy sigh, Jorgenson responds, “That is a long, interesting, and ultimately sad story.”
“Although based at Bangor, we were to report to Point Loma following our patrol. We arrived offshore and were ordered to hold our position. Things seemed to be frantic onshore and we were seemingly forgotten. On the night after our arrival, we received a message to call command. I was transferred directly to Admiral Casey who filled me in on what was transpiring. It was a mess and hard to take it all in. You know by now what’s happened so I won’t go into that detail, but the admiral told us that they were in the process of gathering family and staff aboard the fleet boats currently in port.
“He had lost contact with PACOM and PACFLT, in addition to any other commands and bases, and had taken temporary command until communications could be restored. The admiral let us know that most of San Diego had been lost to the infected, although I like your night runner term better. Although we aren’t geared for escort duties, we were ordered to accompany the fleet when it sortied. The next morning, Jefferson City arrived and was issued the same orders.
