Deadly Apparition

by G. Ernest Smith

  The technician said, “No, sir,” seriously. “It’s an M91 controller, sir. It communicates with the accumulator when the reactor plate charges.”

  “Oh.” The smile faded from Castillo’s face and he moved on.

  At 1700 they all crowded into the Kansas’s mess. Castillo chose this space because it was the largest room on the boat, about the size of a small living room, having five tables attached to the bulkhead and benches. It was obvious that some of the scientists and technicians were not able-bodied seamen. One man was so obese, his body could not fit in the space between table and bench. After trying to squeeze in several times without success, he decided to stand just inside the doorway. Castillo frowned at him. This man was very out of place in the cramped confines of a Virginia class attack submarine. Whenever he stood in the narrow passageway, he blocked it completely. No one could get by him. He must be very important to this test for the QVR people to send him here.

  Castillo stood in the front of the room and addressed them. “I’d like to welcome you all aboard the Kansas. I hope no one here has claustrophobia because as many of you have already discovered space is at a premium here.” There were 31 people crammed into the tables and benches. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder on padded benches around metal tables and those who arrived late were standing against the aft bulkhead. “I’d like to start by going around the room and have everyone introduce themselves and tell us who you work for and a little about yourself.” This took about 35 minutes. Of the 15 civilians, 11 worked for QVR Corporation and most of them sounded British. The other 4 civilians were from U.S. Navy Test Operations. The two British Naval officers were from British Naval R and D and were here to observe.

  Then the Kansas senior staff introduced themselves. They were the heads of the various departments vital to the operation of the boat: engineering, navigation, weapons and fire control, sonar and comm, safety and damage control. There was also the senior enlisted man and Chief of the Boat, COB for short, Chief Greg Brown and the boat’s Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Mason Taylor.

  “We usually travel with a SEAL team when we deploy, but we didn’t bring them with us to Scotland because we didn’t think they’d be needed. To get the additional berths for the test crew, we left a few of our people ashore, weapons and supply people. Some of you got state rooms, but most of you will be bunking in general enlisted birthing. It’s very important that you don’t make any unnecessary noise when we are ultra quiet, which we will be for part of our mission. If there’s an emergency, please, listen to the crewmen. Do what they tell you and stay out of the way of damage control parties.” Castillo looked around the room smiling at all the serious faces and said, “We’re doing some ground-breaking work on this mission and I’m glad to be a part of it. To make you all honorary crew members, I have a gift for each of you. A crewman opened a cardboard box and Castillo took out a ball cap and held it up. “This is the official Kansas crew cap. You are each going to get one.” There was a smattering of applause. It was a handsome black ball cap with gold submarine insignia dolphins embroidered on it. Above the dolphins was USS KANSAS and below was SSN-849 also in gold. “Well, that’s all I have. I’m going to turn the meeting over to Dr. Lambert now who will be discussing the first day’s tests.”

  Dr. Susan Lambert in a brisk businesslike manner went over the first day’s tests and the division of responsibilities and who would be performing the briefings at each session. After a brief question and answer period they adjourned and settled into their assigned quarters. They were a group electrified with purpose and charged with the importance of their mission. No one could sleep.

  Chapter 2

  On the morning of departure tugs swung Kansas away from the pier and out into the Gare Loch current. A harbor pilot was aboard to help navigate the loch and the upper Firth of Clyde which is a large many-fingered bay opening to the Atlantic. Castillo was glad to have him aboard. There were treacherous rocky shoals in the loch and firth that had done in many a sailor over the years, and it was good to have an expert who knew these waters. The pilot would depart after about 25 miles where the firth widened.

  The surrounding hills were draped in an earthy olive and shrouded in a white early morning wispy mist. At the water’s edge there were small cream colored houses and taverns and occasionally a truck or car scurried rodent-like between them along a coastal road.

  Castillo, the harbor pilot, and the watch stood in the Kansas’s weather bridge high in the conning tower, or sail as the submariners liked to call it. It was late October in western Scotland and the air had a bite to it. Castillo’s cheeks colored against the chill breeze. He wore his gray Navy foul weather jacket and his black Kansas ball cap. He also had a headset so he could communicate with Kansas’s control room below. A cabin cruiser slowly passed them on the right, two people waved and Castillo waved back. The bright tangerine sun was just above the horizon and threw sparkling diamonds across the rippling water in the V-shaped wake of the small boat.

  “The lahrd has smiled on ye this dee, Cap’n,” said the old harbor pilot in his thick Scottish brogue. His leathery face cracked a smile.

  “Yes, he has!” replied Castillo. He pulled the collar of his coat tighter against the wind and turned to look behind them. They were doing about eleven knots and at that speed Kansas’s big screw was not churning the water very hard, but still creating a frothy white wake as wide as Glasgow’s main boulevard. Castillo took a deep breath and relished the salt air. This was the best part of putting to sea. The smell of the brine, the brisk refreshing wash of the wind on your face. This was all lost as soon as the sub submerged. Once you’re in the sealed metal tube breathing artificial air, you might as well be on the moon.

  He heard a gull scream and looked up to see three of them circling. “The gulls look different here. They’re bigger and have black wingtips and feet.”

  “Those be gannets,” said the pilot. “They leke to nest in the rocks ‘round about. They pester us to death and sheet on evrythin’“ The old pilot sniffed disdainfully and added, “flyin’ rats.”

  Castillo chuckled. The petty officer standing watch behind them at the watch’s station said, “Sounds like a sea gull to me, sir.”

  The pilot started giving directions over his headset to the control room, adjusting Kansas’s course. Castillo heard a voice in his ear, “Sir, this is Comm. We have secure voice coming in from the Connecticut.”

  “Pipe it up here, Comm.”

  “Yessir.” There was a delay, then. “Go ahead, sir.”

  “What can I do for you?” said Castillo.

  “Potato! Is that you?”

  He immediately recognized the voice of one of his drinking buddies from Submarine Command School. “Hi, Scorch,” he laughed. It was Commander Al Peterson, skipper of the Connecticut, a Seawolf class submarine. He could picture Peterson’s sunny smile. “Where are you guys?”

  “We’re at the firth outflow, waiting on you. That boat under you is called a fast attack, you know?”

  “Yes, I know. What’s your point?”

  “Y’all seem to be draggin’ your feet. It’d be nice if you’d join us some time today!”

  “What’s your rush, Scorch? You have a plane to catch or something?”

  “You know me. I’m a man of action!”

  “Yes. That’s how you got the name Scorch, isn’t it?”

  “Hey! That can was supposed to have water in it, not kerosene!”

  They both broke into a fit of laughter. “Good times!”

  “Yeh,” said Peterson. “I’m just glad the officer’s club didn’t burn down.”

  Their laughter trailed off into an awkward silence.

  “Does Connecticut have point for us on this?”

  “No. We have your back door. The Brits have point. The Ambush.”

  “Ah…an Astute boat. Supposed to be good.”

  “Yes. I met her skipper a few months ago. Geoff Baldridge. A really sharp guy.”

&nb
sp; “Anything to report?” asked Castillo.

  “There are a few onlookers here. We’ve identified a Russian Akula, a Kilo, a French Triomphant and possibly a Chinese Yuan.”

  “A Yuan! Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Man…Those are quiet. You could sooner hear a butterfly whisper.”

  Petersen said nothing.

  “Do you know the nationality of the Kilo?”

  “No. Since Russia had their two-for-one sale on the things, we don’t know who it might be. Iran? Vietnam? India? Who knows.”

  Castillo considered this. The Kilo was a very capable diesel attack boat built by Russia, and when the Soviet Union collapsed, Russia had a garage sale and parted with about 40 of them. They sold them to anyone with the money. 200 million each in American dollars.

  “I don’t know what you guys are testing,” said Peterson, “but word has leaked out that it’s something big. There seems to be a lot of interest out here. That’s why I was trying to hurry you.”

  “Understand. We’ll be there shortly, Al. Thanks for the heads up. Have you notified SUBGROU 2 or TEST OPS of the situation?”

  “Yes, both of them.”

  “Good. See you soon.”

  “Okay, Don. Connecticut out.”

  The line went dead. Castillo sighed. He was expecting this. Whenever something big is happening in the submarine world, there are always plenty of interested parties. All the major players, Russia, China, even allies like the French want to know who has the next big breakthrough. This complicated things, but he and Admiral Baynes had anticipated it and had come up with a plan.

  He watched a circling gannet fold its wings and dive into the loch. Its body looked like a sleek spear as it entered the glassy water. After a few seconds it came it with a silvery fish in its beak. Castillo heard footsteps on the ladder behind him. He turned and saw his executive officer Mason Taylor’s fine featured brown face smiling up at him. He was also wearing his official Kansas black ball cap and his gray foul weather jacket. He looked kind of lumpy, thought Castillo. Like he was smuggling something inside his coat. Taylor stepped up onto the sail deck, unzipped his jacket and extracted a cardboard box.

  “Fresh coffee from the galley,” said Taylor. He removed four white ceramic cups of coffee with plastic lids and handed them all around.

  The old harbor pilot cackled, accepted a cup and made the sign of the cross in front of Taylor. “Bless ye, me son!”

  “Thanks, Mase!” said Castillo. He spilled coffee on his coat sleeve when he removed the lid from his cup. “Oops! The coffee’s on me!” Taylor and the pilot chuckled. Castillo’s cup piped a long banner of steam into the chill breeze.

  “Thank you, sir,” said the watch.

  “I was in the radio shack and heard your conversation with Connecticut just now,” said Taylor.

  “We seem to be attracting some unwanted attention, but it wasn’t totally unexpected,” said Castillo. “Admiral Baynes has come up with a plan I think will work.”

  Taylor nodded. They stood for a time in quiet reverence watching the sun rise and listening to the scream of sea birds and the hiss of water sluicing over Kansas’s bow and off her round sides. Another boat passed them traveling in the opposite direction. It was a large sloop, but it wasn’t under sail. The wind was calm, so it was slowly motoring up the loch, its image perfectly reflected in the mirror-like surface of the water. Two people waved from the boat’s cockpit. Castillo and Taylor both smiled and waved back.

  “So…,” said Taylor. “Potato, huh?”

  Castillo winced. “You heard that?”

  “I did,” said Taylor, then added thoughtfully, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. If it’s simply too embarrassing…”

  Castillo caught the twinkle in Taylor’s dark eyes. “When I was in Submarine Command School in California, some of the guys in my class were motorcycle crazies. That’s okay with me. So am I. But they all favored these fast rockets, sportbikes. I preferred my Harley Road King. It’s a ’95, candy apple red with a custom tooled leather saddle. It’s beautiful and runs like a dream! They kept after me, but I was stubborn about my Harley. I like how comfortable it is and the sound of the exhaust when I’m on the road. It sounds like the hooves of a galloping horse, you know?”

  Taylor began to sing and strum an imaginary guitar. “I’m a cowboy. On a ste-e-el horse I ride…”

  “Exactly!”

  “So where’s the potato come into this?”

  “Oh. A columnist for one of the trade magazines said that a well-tuned Harley at idle says, ‘potato…potato…potato’.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeh. I always thought it said, ‘bodega…bodega…bodega’, but anyway, a few of my mischievous class mates passed the word that I liked potatoes. I was in love with them, they said. I started to find potatoes everywhere. In my shaving kit, in my bike. One day my locker was filled with potatoes.”

  Taylor shook his head in mock dismay. “They can be relentless.”

  “For sure. You’d know, wouldn’t you…Elvis!”

  “Aw man! I was drunk when I did that.” Taylor removed his hat and scratched his bald head. “I should’ve known when I chose to make a fool out of myself someone in the crowd would have a camera.”

  “Yes, I saw your performance on YouTube. It was actually pretty good. I liked your Hunk a Hunk a Burnin’ Love best.”

  “I think my classmates were just amazed to see a black man doin’ Elvis in a karaoke bar.”

  They spent the rest of the ride down the loch in silence, sipping their coffee. Eventually the old harbor pilot removed his headset, turned to Castillo, saluted and said, “I’m turnin’ ’er over to ye, cap’n! Ye kn teek ’er from ’ere.”

  Castillo returned the salute and pronounced, “You stand relieved, sir.” Smiling, he shook the old man’s hand, then watched him disappear down the access hatch. He exited the sail through a door below and stepped onto his waiting small boat which had been moored to Kansas. A crewman cast off his lines and the small vessel separated from Kansas and a short time later made a U turn and went back up the loch.

  “Time to go to work,” said Castillo.

  “Yeh, I’d better get back to the control room,” said Taylor stepping onto the access ladder and descending down the access trunk.

  Castillo turned his back to Taylor’s receding steps. Castillo reflected on how lucky he was to get Taylor as his executive officer. It was the responsibility of the skipper to make decisions and establish policies that best facilitate successful completion of a mission. He’s also entrusted with a billion dollar Navy ship and the protection and well-being of her crew. The executive officer is responsible for implementing the skipper’s policies. He makes sure all Navy rules and regulations are followed. He’s the bad guy when he needs to be. Castillo liked Taylor’s command style. He is very sharp and is good at following up on details. And the men seem to love him. At least he hasn’t heard anything negative on the rumor mill.

  He wondered how Liz was doing. It was about 2 in the morning in Virginia Beach right now. Was she up? Possibly. He decided to chance it. Cell phones were strictly forbidden aboard Navy submarines, but Castillo had a bulky satellite command phone. He was supposed to use it only for emergencies, but he could bend the rules from time to time. He pulled out, dialed and waited long minutes it seemed while the call was passed through the switching centers and finally connected. She picked up on the third ring.

  “Hi, Honey.”

  “Hi.” She sounded sleepy. “Are you awake?” He realized how stupid that question was as soon as it was out.

  “Well…evidently.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. And he could picture her sweet face. She was pretty but gaunt, thinned by the ravages of cancer and chemotherapy. Her chestnut hair was just now beginning to grow back. “How do you feel?”

  “Pretty good. Is Kansas outbound?”

  “Yes, we are. I just wanted to hear
your voice.” Awkward silence, then. “I hope you’re getting enough rest.”

  “Yes! God, you and sis are too much. What I really need is a nice relaxing day away. I’ve been trying to talk sis into driving us to Nags Head this week-end.”

  “It should be nice weather there, right now.” A thought crossed Castillo’s mind. “I’ll tell you what. When I get back to Clyde, if you’re up to it, I want to fly you and the girls out here.”

  “To Scotland? That would be so great! But the girls are in school.”

  “They’re both earning top marks. They can miss a week.”

  “Are you sure, honey?” She was bursting with exuberance.

  “I’m sure. I want you all with me. I haven’t really had a chance to see Scotland myself. We’ll all explore it together.”

  “That would be so great!”

  “Make sure it’s alright with Dr. Shah.” Her oncologist.

  “I will!”

  “I’d better sign off and get busy commanding. I’ll call you again in about seven days.”

  “Okay. Do good on your test!”

  How many times had he heard that same phrase from his mother when he was a kid. “I will. Love you!”

  “Love you too!”

  Castillo disconnected and put his phone away, a smile lingering on his face. What would he do without Liz, Kelly and Robin? They were the sunshine in his day. The north star in his night sky. Just knowing that they were somewhere waiting for him, made all his struggles worth it.

  He cleared his throat and then spoke into his headset. “XO, Captain.”

  “XO here.”

  “Do we have a position on Connecticut?”

  “Yes, she’s about fifteen miles ahead, stationary, inside the mouth of the firth.”

  “Surfaced?”

  “No she’s down about 100 feet.”

  “Okay, good. Let me know when we’re within three miles.”

  “Will do. There are a couple civilians here who would like permission to join you.”

  “Send them up.” Everyone wanted to be on the sail. There was a spectacular view from up here, but it had limited room. But right now there was only the watch and him so he didn’t mind a little company. He wondered who was coming up. He heard footsteps on the ladder and turned to see Susan Lambert’s head pop up, followed by Crystal McConnell.