The president leaned back in his chair. "The rescue swimmer?"
"A possibility," Prost allowed, "but he has to volunteer."
Macklin nodded. "I agree."
"What if he cant get to the bridge?" Pete Adair objected. "What if he dies, and we accomplish nothing?"
"What if he gains access to the bridge and stops the ship, averts a disaster?" the president asked.
Macklin turned to General Chalmers, his close friend from football days at the Air Force Academy. "Les, any suggestions?"
"The passengers and crew are already dead. Sink the damn ship." The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was clearly uncomfortable. "Sir, we don t have time to get people out there who have the proper training and equipment to handle a contamination situation like this. It just isn't possible."
"I understand." The president accepted a fresh cup of coffee and sat quietly for a moment before looking at Chalmers. "Les, do we have enough assets available to sink the ship before it reaches New York, if the rescue swimmer can t get to the bridge or if he becomes incapacitated?"
"Yes, sir. We have a carrier--'Truman--steaming about seventy-five miles northeast of Norfolk. Its headed toward the QM Two and they're loading ordnance at this time. I expect the Hornets to be launched in the next thirty to forty-five minutes."
The president tapped the ends of his fingertips together. "Let's see what the rescue swimmers decision is."
Pete Adair was holding his temper in check. "Mr. President, I think we should get the survivors off the ship and let the Navy sink it as quickly as possible. We dont need to risk killing the rescue swimmer. The ship is a death trap."
"I understand your position, Pete."
Adair was not going to be deterred. "We've already lost Secretary Shannon, the entire top tier of our diplomatic staff, their colleagues in the Terrorism Coalition Council, and several members of Congress."
Another period of awkwardness engulfed the room.
Macklin broke the silence. "If the swimmer is willing to go aboard, I say we give it a try."
The president turned his attention to Prost. "Hartwell, what do you think, any chance?"
"Well, the odds are stacked against him, but there's always a slim chance he could get to the controls."
Macklin nodded to Les Chalmers. "Let's see what the swimmer says."
"Yes, sir."
The president hid his emotions as he tried to fathom the mind-numbing loss. "Hartwell, I'd like you to develop a short list of State Department replacements and get Jim Ebersole to vet them as soon as possible."
"I'll get right to it."
"And make sure Brad Austins name is on the list," the president said firmly. "He's sharp."
Austin, a former state legislator and well-known marine corps fighter pilot from the Vietnam era, was currently serving as the undersecretary of state for global affairs.
Prost nodded. "My recommendation: Place Austin at the top of the list. He was Shannon's go-to guy"
"I agree," Macklin said. "Let's expedite the process, keep things moving as fast as we can."
"Yes, sir, but first I have another recommendation."
The president looked puzzled. "Lets have it."
"Sir, in my opinion, you should get the British prime minister on the phone and tell him why were about to sink the QM Two."
Macklins neck muscles ached from the tension. "Lets see if we can get the ship stopped first--and we wont have to sink it."
"As you wish."
THE DOLPHIN
Lieutenant Commander Bergman looked Stu Clements in the eye. "It s your decision; take a minute to think about it."
"Sir, I've made up my mind. Its my job, and we dont have a whole lotta time left."
Bergman felt a tinge of anguish. "Okay, but be extremely careful."
"Yes, sir." Clements wavered a moment. "Should we get the two survivors aboard before I try the bridge?"
"We dont have the fuel."
"Yes, sir," Clements said, slipping into a strop. The modified horse collar was used by PJs and downed military aviators.
Bergman maneuvered the helicopter over the ships sun deck while Clements eased out of the hatch and began his descent.
Unsure of what was going on, the doctor and his wife shivered while they stared at the man dangling from the helicopter. They wondered why they were being ignored.
Clements was about to reach the sun deck at the same time Lieutenant McLain was on the radio requesting another helicopter.
Although the rain-swollen clouds were low, the early morning sky was turning gray and the visibility was rapidly improving.
Considered an excellent aviator, Bergman held the Dolphin as steady as he could in the gusting wind. As he quickly learned, it was impossible to hover precisely in one spot.
Clements tried to stabilize himself a few seconds before his feet touched down on the QM2. He stumbled and then slipped out of the strop. The pilot climbed a few feet to keep the horse collar away from the ship.
Making his way to the bridge, Clements completed a radio check
to Earl Nogart. When he reached the hatch leading to the bridge, Clements tried without success to open it. He pulled harder and forced it open an inch. Uh-oh, we have a problem.
Clements keyed his radio. "Earl, the hatches to the bridge have been chained shut from the inside."
"How strong, how thick are the links?"
"They're heavy-duty, big time."
"Stand by."
"Roger that."
Nogart conferred with the pilots and keyed his radio. "Okay, Stu, return to the sun deck and we'll get you out of there."
Silence.
"Stu, are you there?" Nogart fought the onset of panic. "Answer me, Stu. What's happening down there? Talk to me, buddy."
"Man," Clements said and then gagged when he reached the sun deck. "I don't feel so good. Can't breathe and I have something . . . something wrong with my chest, and ..." He trailed off.
"Answer me, Stu!"
Nogart saw his friend stagger across the sun deck, stumble twice, and collapse to his hands and knees. He crawled a few feet, fell sideways, and then lay motionless.
"Stu, get up, you can make it!"
The flight mechanic swallowed hard. Oh, shit. He turned to the pilots, who saw what happened. "He's down. Have to go get him!"
"Negative," Bergman commanded. "Then we'd have both of you down there, no way."
"But, sir--"
"You can see how fast it hit him."
"And we're critical on fuel," McLain added, scribbling a note to the two bewildered survivors on the bow.
Bergman added power and spoke to Nogart. "Secure the hoist. Have to get out of here." God forgive me.
"Jeff," McLain said, "if you'll hover over the bow, I'll have Nogart drop a note to the folks."
"Okay, but let's make it quick."
Flying as smoothly as possible, Bergman hovered over the bow while the flight mechanic wrapped the piece of paper around a wrench. Nogart tossed it out a safe distance from the couple, but the downwash from the main rotor blades ripped the note loose. The message was blown over the side as the doctor tried to catch it.
"Shit," McLain said as he gave the couple a thumbs-up. Hang in there--don't give up.
Bergman turned the Dolphin around and headed straight for the cutter Dependable. "Lets hope we make it back."
McLain checked their fuel. "Were looking at a dual flameout, be suckin fumes in a couple of minutes."
Glancing at the fuel quantity, Bergman cringed. "Call the ship, give em our position, and have them head for us at flank speed."
THE WHITE HOUSE
Although he agonized internally, President Macklin showed no emotion when the bad news arrived that the ship could not be stopped from the bridge. "Les, check the status of the carrier." "Yes, sir."
The president turned to Pete Adair. "How long until the other helicopter reaches the ship?"
"About thirty-five, maybe forty minutes. Its coming o
ut of the Coast Guard Air Station on Cape Cod."
Macklin sighed and looked away. "When will the QM Two reach the waters directly off New York?"
Adair gave him a ballpark figure. "According to my calculations, one hour and ten minutes, plus or minus a few minutes."
The presidents jaw muscles began working back and forth. "This, my friends, is going to be one difficult day."
USS HARRY S. TRUMAN
With Carrier Air Wing Three embarked, and her flotilla of surface escorts and the attack submarine USS Boise (SSN 764) positioned around her, the mammoth Nimitz-class aircraft carrier Harry S. Truman (CVN 75) was proceeding north-northeast at 27 knots in the Virginia Capes Operating Area. The offshore warning areas for air, surface, and subsurface units extends from just south of Nantucket Island, Massachusetts, to Charleston, South Carolina, and eastward for more than 200 nautical miles into the Atlantic Ocean.
Powered by two Westinghouse nuclear reactors and four steam turbines producing 280,000 shaft horsepower, the ioo,ooo-ton warship could attain speeds of more than 30 knots. Using her four steam-powered catapults, she could launch an aircraft every twenty seconds. With her entire air wing of more than eighty combat aircraft aboard, the carrier was home to approximately 6,000 crew members.
Truman was at flight quarters and the 4.5-acre flight deck was humming with activity. The day was dawning under dark skies and numerous rain showers. The combination of leaked oil, jet fuel, and hydraulic fluid made the wet flight deck extremely slippery.
The red-shirted ordnance technicians were loading the last of the general-purpose, free-fall Mark-84 2,ooo-pound bombs on four F/A-18 Hornets from VFA-105, the navy fighter/attack squadron known as the "Gunslingers." The F/A-18 Hornets, the same plane flown by the navy's famous Blue Angels flight demonstration team, are twin-engine, all-weather fighter/attack aircraft.
Four marine F/A-18s from the "Checkerboards" of VMFA-312 were also receiving 2,ooo-pound bombs. Like the navy aircraft, the marines were allotted four bombs to a plane. Two additional "Gun-slingers" Hornets were being readied and would be spares for the primary strike force.
Soaked from a heavy rain shower, purple-shirts were fueling aircraft at the same time yellow-shirts were directing airplanes around the treacherous flight deck. The plane-guard rescue helicopter, an SH-60 Seahawk from the "Big Dippers" of HS-7, lifted off and took up station on the starboard side of Truman s island.
An E-2C Hawkeye twin-turboprop all-weather command and control aircraft taxied to the port bow catapult. The mission this morning was critical for the VAW-126 flight crew: Find the runaway QM2 and provide guidance and communications relay for the fighter planes. The pilot of the Hawkeye brought the power up and made her final checks while the straining airplane shook violently Satisfied that everything was in order, she flicked the master switch for the external lights. The Hawkeye was instantly bathed in a surreal layer of red and green lights.
Seconds later, after completing his final safety checks, the catapult officer knelt down and touched the flight deck. A young petty officer pushed the launch button, and the E-2C accelerated down the flight deck and disappeared in the gloom.
Two KC-130 Hercules from Marine Aerial Refueler/Transport Squadron VMGR-252 at Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point, North Carolina, were en route to provide "gas" for the thirsty fighters.
Cautiously, the navy F/A-I8S began taxiing forward to the bow catapults. The flight leader, Salty Dog 406, was directed to the starboard cat while his wingman taxied to the port catapult.
The number three and four Hornets were in trail as they taxied up the wet, greasy deck aft of the island. Without warning, Hornet number three lost his left brake. The pilot immediately dropped his tailhook to indicate to the deck crew and plane handlers that he had a problem; then he shoved on the brakes and reached for the ejection seat handle between his thighs. The right tire slid a few feet and then seized, turning the jet almost 90 degrees.
Lieutenant Commander Mark Seaborn in Hornet number four couldnt stop in time. With the brakes locked, he slid into the right side of his flight leader. The collision knocked a 2,ooo-pound bomb loose from the number three aircraft and ruptured a fuel tank, spewing highly flammable jet fuel onto the armored flight deck. The fuel ignited and rapidly spread flames under the two aircraft.
In the blink of an eye, the ensuing conflagration enveloped the fighter planes. In desperation, both pilots ejected moments before one of their bombs exploded, setting off yet another bomb. The two explosions sent shrapnel flying in every direction, wounding several deckhands.
Carried in their parachutes by the strong wind over the deck, the aviators landed safely in the churning wake of the carrier. Reacting instantly, the pilot of the plane-guard helicopter was hovering over them in a matter of seconds, and they were rescued with minor injuries.
Truman s skipper, keeping an eye toward the chaos on the flight deck, slowed the carrier to a crawl to lessen the force of the wind.
The powerful explosions turned a section of the flight deck into a blazing inferno and ripped two holes in the decking. Two crewmen were blown over the side of the ship and were quickly recovered by the plane-guard helicopter.
Working spaces immediately below the flight deck became death traps when the volatile fuel vapors ignited. Although sprinkler systems cut in automatically in the affected compartments, three men died and another seven were injured in the firestorm.
The deck was littered with debris from the two fighters and other damaged aircraft. Firefighters had the blaze under control in less than seventeen minutes, and the wreckage was quickly shoved overboard.
In the meantime, the two Hornets on the bow catapults were launched before Truman began slowing. The two spares were waiting behind the marine fighters positioned aft of the accident site. One of the marine F/A-18s was slightly damaged from flying pieces of shrapnel, but it was safe to fly and the pilot was eager to launch.
The tragic accident delayed the remaining strike aircraft from getting airborne in a timely manner. But the first two Hornets were in the air, and the commander of the air wing hoped they were carrying enough ordnance to sink the ship.
After Truman regained speed, the rest of the F/A-18s, including the two spare Hornets, were launched. The stragglers were now joining their flight leaders in preparation to rendezvous with the two marine corps KC-130 tankers.
COAST GUARD CUTTER DEPENDABLE
Lieutenant Commander Bergman was stabilizing the HH-65A Dolphin over the ships landing platform when the starboard engine flamed out from fuel exhaustion. The other engine quit a few seconds after the helicopter plopped onto the cutter. The Dolphin was quickly secured to the slippery deck.
Bergman and his shaken copilot were speechless for a few moments. They felt a deep remorse over the loss of Petty Officer Stu Clements. Bergman also felt guilty about jeopardizing the lives of the rest of his crew. Another twenty seconds and they would have gone for a cold swim or crashed into the cutter.
But there wasnt time for soul-searching. While the deck crew hurried to refuel the Dolphin, Bergman was notified that the helicopter from the Coast Guard Air Station at Cape Cod, Massachusetts, had turned back because of mechanical problems. Bergmans helicopter was the closest to the Queen Mary 2.
With sufficient fuel in the tanks and a senior PJ on board, Bergman lifted the Dolphin off the deck and headed in the direction of the QM2. Less than a minute later, he and his crew were informed about the two fighters en route to sink the ocean liner. It would be a close race to rescue the couple stranded on the ship's bow before the fighters arrived.
SALTY DOC 406
Commander Ben Rosenbaum, the commanding officer of VFA-105, unplugged his F/A-18 Hornet from the marine corps tanker when his wingmarfs plane was topped with fuel. Lieutenant Jon Worthington II joined on his CO s fighter while they turned away from the KC-130's refueling track. Worthington, an African-American, was the first in his family's history to graduate from college. He also was one of the best
fighter pilots in the fleet.
Rosenbaum keyed his radio to check with the E-2C for vectors to Queen Mary 2. "Ringleader, Salty Dog Four-oh-six is up."
"Salty Dog Four-oh-six, Ringleader, roger," said the senior Hawkeye mission systems operator. "Come port to three-four-five . . . target is at your one o'clock for one-sixty."
"Three-forty-five for one-sixty, Salty Dog Four-oh-six."
The intercept was going to be close. A native of White Plains, New York, Rosenbaum knew the QM2 was going to be south of Fire Island before his flight arrived overhead.
"Salty Two, comin up on the power," Rosenbaum radioed, as he inched his throttles forward.
"Copy."
QUEEN MARY 2
Cold and shivering, Dr. Pace Woodbury and his wife, Robin, were holding each other closely They were soaked from the drenching they were taking every time the ship's bow plunged into the heavy seas. Although the sky was overcast and dark, the visibility was increasing as the sun rose higher.
"What are we going to do?" Robin asked, kneeling down next to the bow railing. "It would be suicide to jump overboard."
"They'll be back." He looked at the bridge. "They were trying to get someone to the ship's controls, but he succumbed."
"Why would they leave us?"
He took a quick breath before another plume of cold water rained down. "Low fuel maybe, but they had to get another person to help us."
She shivered and her teeth began chattering. "Can we survive if... if the ship runs aground at this speed?"
"Robin, the coast guard is going to be back. They aren't going to abandon us, trust me."
"I hope you're right."
"I am right."
Dr. Woodbury had doubts about the outcome, but he couldn't show any anxiety. Fear could turn to panic, and panic would sweep away logic and judgment. This was the time to demonstrate no emotion except calm and confidence.
"Just keep your faith," he said firmly, and then peeked over the bow railing. What he saw made his blood run cold.
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