“Good evening, Captain,” greeted MacKenzie.
“Hello, Mac. How are our marine friends doing?”
“Well, sir, they’re fine, but we’ve had a slight change of plans.”
“In what way?”
“Well, I offered them the special tea like we planned, hoping they would nod off to dreamland, but I couldn’t get them to drink it. They kept asking questions and talking about their tour in Iraq. All they wanted to do was talk about the Battle of Fallujah. They were in the first wave—”
“Get to the point, Mac,” the captain interrupted in a strained but calm voice.
“Long story short, sir, we have two new recruits—Sergeant Ramirez and Corporal Williams.”
“Mac, what in hell did you—”
“I know, I know, sir. We were supposed to keep this to ourselves, but they wouldn’t drink the tea. Time was getting away, and I wasn’t in a position to take them down. Once they found out we were taking the Louisiana out, they begged to come along. They wanted to get back to the action!”
George glared at MacKenzie and O’Connor for at least fifteen seconds without a word. “Okay. Who knows? We may need some more help, and it’s always good to have the marines on our side. I want to talk to Sergeant Ramirez and Corporal Williams first thing after we get underway. If I’m not satisfied with them, they’re both going in the brig, got it?”
Both MacKenzie and O’Connor started breathing again. “Yes, sir!” they said in unison.
Pappy was on the bridge at the top of the submarine’s sail, approximately fifteen feet above the deck. The captain called up to him, “How are we coming along, XO?”
“Excellent, Captain. The reactor’s on line and we’re ready to make turns. Navigation is manned and GPS and the SVS-1200 navigational display are up and operational. Best of all, these night-vision goggles are outstanding! It’s like midday up here, even though it’s a moonless, overcast night! This should make navigating the channel a breeze.”
“Very well.”
Normally, the Louisiana would have been moored pointing northwest, with her port side moored to the wharf, after being brought up from the explosive handling wharves where the D-5 ballistic missiles were loaded. From that position, tugs would be required to pull the Louisiana away from the wharf and turn her around 180 degrees to face down the Kings Bay entrance channel. However, two days earlier, Captain Adams had convinced Subron 16 to turn around the Louisiana. Several new pieces of navigational equipment had been installed, and Captain Adams had insisted the submarine be physically maneuvered to test the new equipment in order to prevent any last minute delays on their scheduled deployment day. The navy brass was extremely sensitive about keeping boomer departures on schedule. Captain Adams played on this sensitivity to get the Louisiana turned around in advance. Now they had a straight shot down the Kings Bay entrance channel.
Captain Adams and the ops officer crossed the gangplank and stepped onto the Louisiana’s deck. As the ops officer went below, the captain turned to Petty Officer MacKenzie.
“Cast off all lines, Mac.”
“Uh, sir?”
“What is it now?”
“We…uh, we have another small problem.”
“How small?” The captain was becoming extremely edgy with the unexpected events tonight.
“Well, as you know, since our deployment date is still three days away, supply hasn’t loaded the fresh stores yet. So we sent Seamen Teague and Becker as scheduled to make a supply run to SamCost. They were supposed to be back twenty minutes ago, but we haven’t heard from them.”
“Mac, we’ll just have to eat canned and frozen stuff and drink powdered milk! We can’t wait any longer. It’s 2200 hours. It’s going to take at least two hours to get out of this channel and into the Atlantic. Then it will be a couple more hours before we can safely submerge. The watch commander will be checking in with the guard shack at 2330 in preparation for the watch change. If they discover we’re missing too early, the entire mission will be compromised!”
George was screwed no matter what. If he left without Teague and Becker, he would be short-handed two able-bodied seamen, and if somebody found them with all the food, they would never be able to explain it. They would be questioned extensively, and they knew too much. Their capture would jeopardize the entire mission. On the other hand, the chance he would have to abort the mission escalated dramatically with each passing minute.
“Petty Officer MacKenzie, remind me to have you tied to the mizzen mast tomorrow and flogged.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” MacKenzie cautiously answered.
Just then, a panel truck careened past the guard shack, roared down the wharf, and screeched to a halt next to the Louisiana. Teague and Becker jumped out and ran to the back of the truck.
“Sorry we’re late, Captain. Don’t go without us!” Becker pleaded as he pulled a stuffed duffel bag out of the back and tossed it onto the wharf. Teague pulled out another and announced, “There’s a lot more where those came from, sir!”
The captain called up to the conning tower, “XO, let’s get some bodies up here to form a supply line and get these stores below!”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Within five minutes the truck was empty, and the stores had been taken below.
The captain turned to Teague and Becker. “Well done, men. Now get yourselves below.”
“Aye-aye, sir!” they shouted in unison.
“Mac, once again, cast off all lines,” the captain ordered. “And no more surprises!”
“Aye-aye, sir. What about the gangplank, sir? We usually have a crane to remove it.”
“Just unhook it on our end. When we move away from the wharf, it will fall into the water.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
MacKenzie made his way to the stern while O’Connor went to the bow. They released the heavy hawsers securing the Louisiana to the wharf, pounded the cleats into the deck, and then disconnected the gangplank.
MacKenzie and O’Connor disappeared below through the crew’s deck hatch, leaving the captain alone on the deck. George turned and looked back down the wharf to the empty guard shack and the darkened parking lot beyond. A few lights flickered through the trees at its far end. In the distance, he heard the comforting sound of a train whistle, its lonely wail carried to his ears by the clear night air. Then he turned and looked forward past the bow of the Louisiana and down the Kings Bay entrance channel where his gaze met total darkness. There was nothing but uncertainty in that direction. A burst of wind blew a light mist in from the water bringing a chill with it that caused a shiver to run down his spine even on this summer evening. The ramifications of what he was doing were immense. He was risking all their lives on this mission. Even if they survived, their careers would be ruined; their lives shattered. If caught, they would surely be shot for treason! This was his last chance to change his mind, to save his career and the careers of his crew, and to possibly save their lives.
He was tempted to yell up to the XO, “Forget it, Pappy—this is crazy!” But in his heart, he knew it had to be done. There was no other way to save humanity from itself. The actions he was about to take would completely change his own life and the lives of his crew. They would also set up the most important confrontation in the history of mankind.
Captain Adams placed one foot through the deck hatch and onto the first rung of the ladder below. As he did so, he unlatched the mechanism holding the cover open and looked up at the XO in the conning tower. Their eyes met momentarily. Despite months of planning and preparing for this moment, the enormity of what they were doing hit them like a broadside blast. With a flourish, the captain started down the ladder, swinging the hatch over his head and shouting, “You have the conn, XO. Take her out!”
Chapter 18
Navigating out of Kings Bay Naval Submarine Base was a tricky maneuver even in broad daylight with an experienced harbor pilot on board. The thirteen-mile channel was a twisting, turning obstacle course, which o
nly the most experienced ship-handler could navigate smoothly. Running the channel required ten precise turns with several legs being barely longer than the length of the submarine itself. Therefore, as soon as one turn was completed, another turn had to be started. All the while, the submarine had to maintain at least eight knots of headway to provide adequate steering authority to the rudder, only half of which was in the water while running on the surface. If they slowed to less than eight knots, they ran the risk of having the currents wash them aground on the muddy sides of the channel. If that happened, the show would be over before it ever got started.
Once onboard, Captain Adams made sure the navigation team in the control room was prepared to plot their course as the Louisiana proceeded out the channel. With the aid of GPS, they could tell whether they were on the centerline of the channel within a few feet. Satisfied that the plot looked good, George climbed the ladder to the bridge at the top of the sail.
“Captain on the bridge!” shouted one of the two lookouts as he recognized Captain Adams climbing through the hatch.
“As you were,” the captain ordered. “XO, what’s your situation?”
“Good evening, Captain. All’s well. We are currently heading one-four-zero degrees on the centerline of the Kings Bay entrance channel. Speed eight knots. Next waypoint is eight hundred yards—a right turn to one-seven-one degrees.”
“Very well.” They had acquired two pairs of night-vision goggles, and the XO and Seaman Hayes, the forward-looking lookout, each wore a pair. Seaman Olson, the aft-looking lookout, had to do it the old-fashioned way.
“XO, I have the conn. I want you to go below and supervise the navigation team and the helmsman. Double-check every heading and waypoint. Stay in constant contact. We can’t have any screwups now.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” The XO announced to the lookouts, “The captain has the conn.” The lookouts repeated the order to ensure there was no misunderstanding as to who would now give the steering commands.
The XO then repeated into his sound-powered phone set, “The captain has the conn” for the benefit of those in the control room below. Once the XO heard the control room repeat the order, he handed the sound-powered phone set and his night-vision goggles to the captain.
“Request permission to leave the bridge, sir.”
“Permission granted.”
Initially, the Louisiana proceeded southeast down the Kings Bay entrance channel. Then, several turns were made to the right to enter the southerly flowing Cumberland Sound. The Sound proceeded along Drum Point Island and Cumberland Island on the east before merging into St. Marys Entrance and turning toward the east. An eight-mile stretch then ran eastward to the Atlantic, flanked by Cumberland Island on the north and Amelia Island on the south. Finally, if all went well, after an hour and a half or two hours, the Louisiana would reach the open ocean. Another two hours on the surface would ensure sufficient depth for them to submerge. Only then would the Louisiana be relatively safe from any pursuers.
Captain Adams put the rubber cup of the sound-powered phone to his lips. “Helm, Bridge. Make turns for ten knots.”
“Bridge, Helm, aye.”
The captain pulled the cup back to its resting place on his chest. Speaking just loud enough for the lookouts on the bridge to hear, he explained, “Men, it’s important to get as much distance between us and Kings Bay as quickly as possible. No one knows how long it will be before our disappearance is discovered. As soon as it is, the alarm will be sounded, and a massive search for the Louisiana will begin. The longer that can be delayed, the better for us, because with each passing minute, the area that they’ll have to search grows exponentially.”
“Yes, sir,” responded Seaman Hayes. “But we’ve never gone out at ten knots before, even in daylight. Isn’t that kind of fast?”
When surfaced, the draft of the Louisiana was thirty-eight feet. The channel was dredged to a width of about six hundred feet and a depth of about forty-seven feet (more or less). However, as her speed increased, the Louisiana tended to settle lower in the water. Therefore, the depth of the channel tended to limit the speed at which they could make their escape.
“It’s possible we may scrape the bottom a little bit here and there, but in this particular instance, I’m not concerned about compacting a little mud on the bottom of the channel!”
While it would normally be a serious incident, with the captain being called to account for why he ran his submarine aground, this time it really didn’t matter. Before they could court-martial him, they had to catch him! As long as the Louisiana was not damaged or her progress impeded, George didn’t mind a little bottom bouncing.
“When we get to Saint Marys Entrance,” he continued, “we’ll increase speed further to fifteen knots. I want to be feet wet, that is, in the open Atlantic, within an hour and a half at the latest.”
The Louisiana was approaching the next waypoint, preparing to make a thirty-degree turn to the right. A line of scrub trees along the right-hand bank of the channel made it impossible to see what was around the bend. During daylight hours, it was fairly common to encounter civilian pleasure boats and sailboats in the channel. There were even stories of women on some of those boats taking off their bikini tops to entertain the topside crews of departing submarines. Unfortunately, George had never personally witnessed one of those incidents. Now he realized, he had no idea what to expect out here after dark. He had assumed the channel would be deserted, but there was no way to know for sure.
“Seaman Hayes, can you see anything around the next bend?”
“No, sir. The trees are in the way.”
The call came up from below. “Counting down the next turn. Three hundred yards to the turn.”
“Navigator, Bridge, aye,” the captain answered. “Keep looking,” he said to Seaman Hayes. “Report anything you see through the trees.”
“Aye-aye, sir. Nothing yet.”
“Two hundred yards to the turn. One hundred yards to the turn. Stand by to mark the turn…MARK the turn.”
Unlike many of the turns in the channel, this was a fairly sharp turn. “Right full rudder,” the captain spoke into the soundpowered phone. “Steady course one-niner-zero degrees.”
The helmsman responded, “Right full rudder, steady course one-niner-zero degrees, Bridge, Helm, aye.”
The huge mass of the Louisiana began to swing around the blind corner into the next section of the channel. As the submarine’s sail visually cleared the line of trees along the right bank of the channel and came into the clear, Seaman Hayes immediately called out, “CONTACT! Dead ahead!”
Captain Adams adjusted his night-vision goggles and peered down the new section of the channel. About three hundred yards ahead, directly in the center of the channel, was a fishing boat, sitting dead in the water. An eerie light seemed to envelope it from below.
Must be these weird night-vision goggles.
Seaman Hayes turned to the Captain. “Sir, can we swerve to miss them?”
“No, the channel’s too narrow. We have to stay in the center or we’ll run aground.”
“Should we stop?”
“We should, but the problem is, at ten knots we have so much momentum that even if we went ‘all back emergency’ we would still be well beyond that fishing boat by the time we came to a halt.”
“Maybe we should warn them. Maybe a flash of the spotlight or a blast of the ship’s whistle would be enough to get them to move out of the way!”
“It would be nice, but we can’t afford to reveal ourselves like that right now. Too many other people might see or hear the warning. It’s unfortunate, but these ol’ boys are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’ll maintain course and speed. Hopefully they’ll hear us and move over to the bank.”
Billy Kastle and John Evans had tried for weeks to coordinate their schedules and family commitments. They had finally found a day when they could both get off work relatively early, and when their wives could stay with the kids so Bil
ly and John could go fishing that night in the Kings Bay Channel. They drifted along with a case of beer and food in one cooler, fish in another cooler—and (an old trick they had learned the hard way) electronic gear such as cell phones and radios in a third, watertight cooler. To help attract the fish, Billy had rigged up a car battery in the bottom of the boat with speaker wire running to a headlight duct-taped to the end of a broomstick. They clamped the broomstick to the side of the boat, with the headlight shining brightly about two or three feet under the water.
They had been fishing for a couple of hours and their luck had been good. There were a number of good-sized bass and trout on ice in the cooler. John took a break and lay back with a beer in one hand, a piece of sausage in the other hand, and the back of his head resting on the gunwale of the boat. “This is the life, Billy. It don’t get no better than this!”
“You said it, man. I caiin’t believe we waste so much of our lives just workin’ to make ends meet. You know, it just ain’t fair…”
“I know. How long did it take you just to come up with the down payment for this bass boat?”
“My whole life!”
“I know that, Billy, but how long since you really started savin’ just for this?”
“’Bout two years, I guess, of serious savin’.”
“Whoa! What’s that?” John sat up with a start and looked out into the blackness of the channel.
“What’s what? I don’t see nothin’.”
“Well, I don’t neither, but I sure heard somethin’. But now I don’t. I did when I was laying back against the side of the boat, though.”
“What’d you hear?”
“It was a low rumbling sound like—whump, whump, whump—or somethin’.”
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