by Joe Nobody
“It’s gone,” mumbled the weapon’s officer. “My sister lived in…. The whole city… it’s… it’s just gone.”
It took Jack a minute to shake the disconcerting feeling that gripped him, his training finally kicking in. He had to give the crew something to keep them occupied or the whole situation was going to spin quickly out of control. “Navigation, verify our coordinates and get me a printout of which GPS satellites are on the horizon. I want a diagnostic run on our visual equipment. Engineering, give me a rundown on our propulsion system. I want to know the status of our fuel rods and reactor life. Do it. Now.”
“Aye, sir,” a chorus of voices answered. The response wasn’t robust or snappy, but every throat on the bridge was heard.
The captain had his own command as well. “All stop.”
“Answering all stop, sir,” sounded a moment later.
“Chief of the boat, secure the bridge,” Ulrich then added.
It was an unusual move, but Jack had to concur. Securing the bridge meant no one was allowed to enter or leave Utah’s nerve center without a senior officer’s express permission. An armed sentry would be placed at all entrances.
Jack paced among the various consoles, watching as the men executed his orders, searching for any sign of trouble. One of his first assignments after joining the submarine community had been on a boomer, or one of the Ohio-class submarines. Those massive boats were stuffed to the gills with nuclear tipped, multi-warhead, intercontinental, ballistic missiles.
Part of the Navy’s training regimen for submarine commanders included what was commonly called ‘The Doomsday Syndrome.’ Basically, the instruction covered how to handle crews that could be playing a key role in the end of humanity. If an Ohio launched her arsenal, it was a good bet that all of humanity was toast – literally. It was the end of days, the apocalypse, World War III.
Men were bound to be thinking of their families back home, envisioning the immense fireballs consuming American cities and military bases alike, reducing their loved ones into molten glass and radioactive carbon dust. Cold War era studies had shown that mutiny was a distinct possibility if such an event were ever to occur. Officers were trained to counter the effects with routine activities and strict discipline. Jack had always wondered why anyone would even care after the earth had been turned into a glowing mass. Why would it matter if the crew deserted? What was there left to defend? Everyone everywhere was already dead.
Still, orders were orders, and they had already confirmed that nuclear fallout wasn’t a concern – at least at the moment.
“Sir, I think you’ll want to see this,” the navigator announced.
Again, Jack found himself shoulder to shoulder with the captain, peering at a monitor. “I was running a diagnostic on the mast’s camera system, testing the zoom. That’s when I spotted this.”
The monitor’s display began to magnify, focused on a hillside beyond the shoreline. A shape appeared near the top of the outcropping, an elongated oval that was nearly black in color.
As the image grew, details became more apparent. At one end of the massive outline was a set of propellers, the thick steel of a driveshaft as clear as day. It was the hull of a ship, and from the scale, a very large vessel at that.
Jack and the captain exchanged a troubled glance, both officers deeply disturbed by what they saw. “How in the hell did that ship get all the way up there?” Ulrich thought aloud. “That hill is what – two miles from the shoreline? That’s impossible, even for a large-scale tsunami.”
“There’s more sir,” the navigator added in a monotone.
The screen showed movement as the operator’s fingers worked the keyboard. This time, a white, metal framework appeared to be protruding from the water, several hundred yards from shore. As the cameras zoomed in, a sign appeared at the peak of the latticework. Jack read the words, “Long Beach Harbor. Sky Crane #4.”
Cisco felt his heart hammering in his chest, the blood roaring through his ears. The harbor’s cranes towered 15 stories above the waterline, secured by massive beams drilled deep into the underlying bedrock. Used to unload freighters and container ships, these enormous machines were virtually indestructible. How had one of them ended up over a mile from shore? What possible force could have dislodged it?
“How on God’s earth did that…” Ulrich began, but then the captain caught himself.
The navigator finished his report, “All of our equipment is functioning properly, sir. It appears as if some sort of catastrophic event has occurred along the coast. Given the differences in depth we are reading, combined with the destruction on shore, I would guess that this area has been struck with both a massive earthquake and follow-on tsunami, similar to what Japan experienced in 2011. There’s no other reasonable explanation, sir.”
“That would also explain the ash in the air, sir,” Jack added. “A major earthquake would cause a lot of fires … fuel tanks, gas lines, industrial accidents, and the like.”
“The causalities must number in the tens of millions,” the captain muttered, shaking his head as if trying to clear the visual.
For a moment, Jack thought about his own wife and kids. For once, he was almost glad Mylie had filed for divorce and taken their two children with her back to Texas. Hopefully, the Lone Star State was far enough away from the carnage and destruction to be safe from the annihilation here. Nice move, Mylie. And all along, I thought you were going back there just to piss me off, he thought.
Then, his mind snapped to the men on board whose families might live along the West Coast. He made a note to check the ship’s personnel records to see who might need a little extra support in the coming days.
“But Hawaii as well?” the communications specialist questioned from his nearby console.
“I guess it’s possible after such a massive upheaval, sir,” Jack speculated. “For all we know, the Pentagon may have changed the encoding on the satellites channels we normally use – or the ash content in the air could be interfering with communications. There are any number of bizarre side effects that could be occurring after an unprecedented event like this.”
Ulrich seemed to be having trouble grasping the magnitude of what they had seen. “While I appreciate the educated speculation, gentlemen, we need facts. Cold, hard, facts. However, I seem to be at a loss as to how we go about gathering them.”
Jack eyed his captain with a bit of trepidation. Ulrich was never at a loss. He had noticed the man’s hands were shaking as well. Enlisted crewmembers weren’t the only ones who could be impacted by the Doomsday Syndrome.
Mentally struggling with the overwhelming potential of such a catastrophe, Jack mustered his most steady voice and said, “I suggest we continue north along the coast, sir. Perhaps we’ll pick up a radio broadcast or other information that will help us judge the scope of the disaster. From there we can make an informed decision. I would set course for Seattle, sir.”
Nodding, Ulrich agreed, “Make it so, XO. I’ll be in my quarters.”
It seemed odd to Jack that his commander would retire just now. Something was wrong. He considered following, to probe the senior officer’s mindset and try to help. Yet, leaving the bridge given the current circumstances wasn’t an option.
Utah sailed across on the surface as she continued north, running just over five miles from the California coastline … or at least what was left of it.
The ash cloud was too thick to even glimpse Los Angeles, and Jack decided that might be just as well. The crew was sullen, performing their duties, but with far less banter than usual.
As the vessel cruised north, Jack couldn’t help but think about Mylie and the girls. In his quarters loomed the divorce papers, awaiting his signature.
The commander’s mind returned to the day she had brought the documents home. He could hear her words. “I can’t take it anymore, Jack,” she had begun in a dejected voice that was barely above a whisper. “Your being gone … the not knowing … negotiating life by mysel
f. It’s too much. I love you, but I can’t live this way.”
Submariners were known for having one of the highest divorce rates of any occupation. The Navy tried, offering counseling, support groups, and extended services. Despite going the extra mile with trying to help the families of those left behind during the extended deployments, having a mate who disappeared for months at a time without communication was extremely difficult. No telephone, mail, or internet. There were short, one-way text messages, but even those were heavily censored. No bad news was allowed to reach the men below the water or ice.
At least Mylie had shown the courtesy to lawyer-up while her husband was at home. A lot of the men in the silent service didn’t find out they were newly single until returning to port.
Jack knew it had always been difficult for his wife. She tolerated it, always seeming to accept the argument that serving on a submarine was the fastest track to promotion and the higher pay grade that came with rank. Mylie had always made it clear – she was biding her time, waiting patiently for “their ship to come in.”
If the constant deployments weren’t bad enough, having to constantly move every few years added to his wife’s discomfort. Sure, Hawaii was nice but so expensive it was difficult to enjoy on an ensign’s pay. Seattle was nearly as bad.
Being a native Texan and an unapologetic country girl, New Jersey had been a nightmare for Miley. Newport News hadn’t been much better.
Then, just a week before being assigned to Utah, Jack had made a critical error. He had been offered a promotion to captain, but not in command of a ship or sub. It was a desk job in logistics. A dead end. The final chapter of his advancement through the US Naval ranks.
Informing Mylie that he had declined the offer was a critical blunder. The two had fought bitterly. “Why aren’t you supporting me on this?” he had shouted.
“Why is your career more important than being a husband and a father?” she had countered. “I need you here. The girls need you here. Don’t you see that you are sacrificing our opportunity at a normal life?”
Two long, sullen, days of silence had followed. Jack tried to maintain his daily routine, to re-establish a sense of normalcy and well-being, but the elephant in the room leered in the background every moment. Hell, he would have been happy battling one pachyderm, but for weeks, the Cisco home seemed to have been occupied by a herd of elephants. So thick was the tension, Jack had not been surprised when Mylie delivered the divorce papers while he was packing to report to Utah.
“Here,” she had snipped. “This will give you something to read while you’re out gallivanting around the world. I expect them to be signed when you return. I’m taking the girls back to my father’s ranch in Texas. You can mail them to me there.”
Now, standing on Utah’s bridge and pondering if the end of days had finally arrived, he couldn’t help but worry about Mylie and his beloved daughters. Had they survived? Was the spread in Texas far enough away to protect his family? Could he have done things differently? Would they be together right now if he had taken the promotion? Had his career been worth the sacrifice?
The commander’s thoughts were interrupted by a report from the sonar console, “Radar contact, bearing 320 degrees, distance 41 nautical miles, sir.”
“Course?” Jack asked, following standard procedure.
“Unknown, sir. It is a large contact, probably a container ship, but as of yet, I’m not detecting any propulsion sounds. I believe she’s anchored.”
“Any mayday or distress signals?” Jack asked, knowing full well that if the Utah had detected anything on the airwaves, he would have already known. Still, given the stress onboard, he had to ask.
“Negative, sir.”
“Let me know when we have a visual.”
“Aye, sir.”
It was another 30 minutes before Utah moved close enough for a visual sighting. The sonar operator had been correct; it was a container ship. Her anchor chain, stretching forward into the azure sea, was clearly visible.
The massive vessel was painted with large, white letters, sporting the name “Hyundai” along the side, indicating it belonged to the international shipping firm of the same name.
“She’s registered to South Korea, sir. The vessel is the Hyundai Dream. She is 88,000 gross tons,” reported one of the bridge crew.
“Hail her, all frequencies.”
Five minutes later, after several attempts, it was clear that the crew of Hyundai Dream either couldn’t, or wouldn’t respond.
It was a damn odd place to set the hook, Cisco reasoned. Yet, when a vessel lost propulsion or was disabled in some way, that was the first order of business – drop the anchor so that she wouldn’t drift into even more trouble.
Jack signaled he’d reached a decision by lifting one of the intercom telephones that linked the ship’s populace. He dialed the captain’s stateroom from memory.
Ulrich answered on the first ring. “Yes?”
It took less than a minute to explain the situation to the skipper. “I recommend we board her, sir. Maritime Law dictates that action, and I think this is an opportunity to learn about what has occurred on the surface. Do you concur?”
“Yes,” Ulrich declared over the internal line. “We have no choice. We are still a ship of the United States Navy and are obliged to do so. You prepare and lead the boarding party, Jack. I’ll return to the bridge in a few minutes.”
Cisco ordered the Utah as close to the massive vessel as was prudent, which still required a considerable distance be covered in one of the submarine’s small, inflatable rafts. Merely organizing a handful of sailors into the tiny, blow-up boat required extreme caution as nuclear subs weren’t designed for such actions.
Beyond the dangers of the open ocean crossing and the disembarking, Jack soon found he and his men faced another issue – dust.
Utah had been running on the surface for less than six hours, and already her decks were covered in at least two inches of the stuff. Where salt spray and the occasional high wave had moistened the substance, the footing was like trying to stroll across an ice rink.
Nearly an hour after issuing the orders to board the drifting ship, Commander Cisco, along with two armed sailors and Chief of the Boat Daniels, were on their way.
As the launch neared the towering hull of the South Korean behemoth, Jack was already second-guessing his decision. The 4 to 6-foot seas that they were crossing had seemed calm while aboard Utah. Now they were being tossed around like a blackberry in a food blender. Cisco was certain they were going to be crushed against the side of the larger vessel.
Somehow, they managed to navigate the volatile waves and current. After carefully maneuvering alongside, a seaman secured a line to the ladder that rose from the waterline on Hyundai Dream’s starboard hull.
Up the enlisted men crawled, their M16 rifles on their backs sticking out at odd angles around their thick life preservers. One of the men lost his hat in the wind; another slipped and nearly fell back into the small raft.
When it was his turn, Jack grabbed the nearest rung and instantly wondered what in the hell he had gotten himself into. The rusted steel was slick with salt water and grit. Peering up as his crewmates continued to climb, he couldn’t help but wonder if the entire episode was worth it.
Clawing his way up, one rung at a time, his focus was on keeping his hands and feet secure before negotiating the next step. The climb seemed to take hours.
Then he reached the top, one of the crew extending a helping hand. “You okay, sir?” the man asked.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“It will be more difficult going back down, sir. That’s when you have to be really careful.”
Jack turned and stared over the ship’s rail, their raft about the size of a postage stamp from the elevation. Even Utah, holding her position 200 meters away, appeared small from his vantage.
The commander pointed at a nearby sailor and directed, “You’re with me to the bridge. The rest of you search th
is vessel stem to stern. Start in the crews’ quarters and galley. From there, work your way down to engineering. I want a full report.”
They all nodded their understanding and then hustled off.
Jack noted the thick layer of ash on the deck. At least six inches of the grit and flake covered every surface, with snow-like drifts up to a few feet in places. His men left footprints in their wake. “At least they’ll be easy to track,” he joked.
Cisco pivoted and made for the four-story superstructure that dominated the thick, soupy sky like a foreboding, medieval tower. A dark pall surrounded the ship, the grey/white ash muffling sound and seeming to absorb all light and energy. The colors that engulfed the boarding party seemed borrowed from a snowy painting, the ship in a state of lifeless hibernation, waiting for spring’s thaw. But there was more to it.
The vessel was dead. Cold. A place that had once vibrated with working crew, powerful machinery, and the sounds of commerce, was now empty and eerily silent. A melancholy, ghostly presence drifted in their midst. Despite the warmth of the southern Pacific air, Commander Cisco fought the urge to shiver.
As they investigated the canyons of containers stacked on the deck, Jack glimpsed a shadow of movement ahead. Gripping his pistol tight, he shouted, “United States Navy! Please identify yourself. I am Commander Jackson Cisco, United States Navy! Please show yourself!”
With the petty officer in tow, the two men hustled forward to the area where Jack swore he had spotted a man. There was nothing. No footprints, no sign, no evidence – only an undisturbed, thick coating of ash.
“Might have been a seabird, sir,” Jack’s comrade shrugged.
At the next corner, the petty officer behind him had stopped the commander with a hand on the officer’s shoulder, “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“I swear I heard someone talking, sir.”
Jack listened intently, detecting nothing but the ocean breeze winding through the container mountains.
For a moment, Jack wondered if there was some chemical substance in the polluted air that was causing them to hallucinate. No doubt, each gritty breath wasn’t healthy for a man’s lungs, but could it possibly be inducing side effects? He didn’t feel any symptoms immediately from the exposure. There was no headache, blurred vision, or sense of euphoria.
