by Jeff Edwards
She was about to take her chances and say something anyway, when Commander Bowie spoke up. He cleared his throat. “Ah, Captain? If I may?”
Whiley continued for a few seconds before the interruption filtered through to his brain. He stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Commander Bowie. “Can I do something for you, Commander?”
Commander Bowie cleared his throat again. “Yes, sir. I can’t help noticing that your search and attack plans follow Navy doctrine pretty closely.”
Whiley smiled. “Thank you for noticing that, Commander. I pride myself on keeping abreast of the latest tactics. Train like you fight, and fight like you train. Anything else will get your ass shot off.”
“Yes, sir,” Commander Bowie said. “Ordinarily, I would agree with you one hundred percent. But we’re dealing with an unusual case here, Captain. We’re taking on submarine crews that are trained in NATO tactical procedures. If we try to use NATO strategies against them, we’re going to get our heads handed to us.”
Captain Whiley’s cheeks reddened visibly, even in the semidarkness. He opened his mouth to speak, but Commander Vargas, commanding officer of the Benfold, jumped in. “With all due respect, Captain, I have to agree with Commander Bowie. So far, every ship that has tangled with these guys has followed standard doctrine, and all they’ve got to show for it is a string of downed aircraft, dead Sailors, and broken ships. We’re the last line of defense here, sir. We can’t afford to make the same mistakes they did.”
Captain Whiley pressed a button on the remote, and the lights snapped on without warning, half-blinding everyone in the room. “Are you two seriously suggesting that we flush years of battle-tested doctrine down the toilet and start over from ground zero?”
Commander Culkins piped up. “We wouldn’t exactly be starting from ground zero, sir. Commander Bowie and his USW team have already cranked out some preliminary tactics. Commander Vargas and I have been helping them plug the leaks, and I must say they look pretty sound to me.”
Captain Whiley’s eyes narrowed. “Do they now? And I assume you’ve worked out some method of testing these new tactics before you encounter the enemy? An enemy, I might add, that has already sent one ship to the bottom and put two others in dry dock.”
Commander Bowie shook his head. “No, Captain. There isn’t time to test them, but I still think it would be safer to avoid …”
Captain Whiley’s voice rose. “Did I hear you right, Commander? Did you actually say ‘safer’? How can it possibly be safe to chuck everything we’ve learned about USW in the trash can and substitute a bunch of untried theories? Good god, man, these new tactics you’re trying to shove on me haven’t even been tested in simulations, have they?”
“No, sir.”
Commander Palmer, Captain Whiley’s executive officer opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut. He obviously had an opinion on one side or the other, but it looked as though he had decided that it was safer to keep it to himself.
“So, in a nutshell,” Captain Whiley said, “you have no idea whether or not your ideas are tactically sound.” He looked around the room, the scorn on his face as evident as it was in his voice. “Am I really the only person who’s bothered by this little technicality? Safety comes from doing what works. Well, we know what works, and we are damned well going to do it. I am NOT going to jeopardize four United States Navy warships, and their crews, so that you can try to armchair quarterback your way through an engagement with proven hostile forces! You can forget that business, right now, mister. You can all forget it!”
Chief McPherson got to her feet. Every eye in the room snapped to her. “Captain? Request permission to speak, sir.”
Breathing heavily, Captain Whiley stared at her for a few seconds. “What is it?”
Chief McPherson swallowed and tried with limited success to still the trembling in her knees. “May I show you something, sir? It will illustrate an important point that needs to be taken into consideration, no matter whose search plans get used.”
“Very well,” Whiley snapped. “But make it fast. We don’t have time for much more of this nonsense; those submarines are getting closer every second.”
The chief nodded. “I understand that, sir. In fact, what I have to say hinges on that very thought.” She reached across the table toward the captain. “May I borrow your laser pointer, sir?”
Captain Whiley glared at her, and for a half-second he seemed to consider refusing to give her the pointer. But apparently he couldn’t think of an even remotely viable reason for refusing such a simple request, so he dropped the pointer into her outstretched palm.
“Thank you, sir.” The chief flicked the power button on the pointer and directed the beam toward the all-but-forgotten video screen. The computerized projection was nearly washed out by the fluorescent overhead lights, but enough of a ghost image was visible to make out the Straits of Hormuz and the neat black arcs and lines that represented Captain Whiley’s assessment of the tactical situation.
In the lighted room, the dot of the laser pointer appeared more pink than red. Chief McPherson maneuvered the pink dot back and forth in a semicircle, tracing and retracing a curved black line on the captain’s programmed projection.
“As I understand it, sir, this is the farthest-on circle for time fourteen hundred local. Is that correct, sir?”
“Yes,” Captain Whiley said. “Yes, it is.”
“And you computed it using the formula for diesel submarines found in standing Navy USW doctrine?”
“Of course I did.”
The chief swallowed again. “Sir, with all due respect, it’s not only wrong, it’s not even in the ballpark.”
The captain grabbed a stack of hardcopy printouts of radio messages lying on the table and began to rifle through it. “You sound pretty sure of yourself, Chief. Am I to assume that you have better access to satellite intelligence data than I do? I assure you that my data is up to the minute!”
“I’m certain that it is, sir. But you’ve calculated the rate of travel for the subs at fifteen knots for the first hour and five knots for every hour after that.”
The captain nodded. “In accordance with tactical doctrine, Chief. Now, will you please make your point?”
“Captain, those speed figures are based on the fact that a normal diesel submarine operating on batteries can only sprint for about an hour before its batteries begin to go flat. After that, it has to slow down drastically, or it won’t have enough battery power to run even basic systems.”
The captain crossed his arms. “I know this, Chief. In fact, I’d venture to say that every person in this room knows it. That’s just about the first thing the Navy teaches you in Surface Warfare Officer school. But I’m sure we all appreciate the refresher training.” He reached for his pointer. “Can we continue, now?”
The chief took a breath. “Captain, that theory doesn’t apply to the Type 212 diesel submarine. The 212s are equipped with an air-independent propulsion system. Basically, they’re a modified version of the hydrogen fuel cells used on the space shuttle. They can produce about 300 kilowatts of power for … well, never mind that. The point is, sir, the 212Bs can do nineteen or twenty knots submerged for days at a time.” She directed the laser pointer back toward the screen and drew a huge curve, far outside the captain’s neat black arc. “If we recalculate the farthest-on circle for a continuous speed of twenty knots, it will fall way out here somewhere.” She flicked the laser pointer off and handed it to the captain. “Sir, those submarines are already outside of your containment area. If we go looking where doctrine tells us to, we’re going to be searching where those subs have already been. We can’t follow doctrine, Captain. If we try, we’ve already lost the battle.”
Captain Whiley stood without speaking, and for nearly a minute the room was silent. Then Whiley’s eyes focused on Chief McPherson, and he nodded. “Thank you for pointing out the error in my calculations, Chief. We will, naturally, recompute the farthest-on circles u
sing speeds appropriate for the 212 diesel submarine.”
Commander Bowie said, “Captain, with regard to the rest of the standing doctrine …”
“With regard to the rest of standing doctrine, there will be no change.”
“But sir …”
“But nothing, Commander. A single miscalculation is hardly sufficient cause to dump the entire body of our Navy’s accumulated knowledge of Undersea Warfare.”
“Sir,” Commander Culkins said, “the Germans will be able to predict our every move.”
“So what?” Whiley snapped. “Every baseball team in America plays by the same set of rules, from the same book. No secret strategies. No tricky little surprises. But somebody loses and somebody wins, every single time. Same rules. Same bases. Same ball. Because one team is faster, and better trained, and better coached, and—most important—they want it more.” He glared at everyone in the room. “That is how we will win this fight. We will follow proven doctrine, and we will be smarter, faster, and deadlier than those goddamned submarines. Those are my orders, and they are not subject to negotiation.” He slammed the laser pointer down on the tabletop. “Any questions?”
He obviously didn’t expect any questions, but Commander Culkins raised his hand. “What kind of backup can we expect on this mission, sir?”
“Backup?”
“Yes, sir. Can we get P-3 assets? How about a friendly sub to run interference?”
Captain Whiley shook his head. “There will be no backup. We have been ordered to complete this mission utilizing only assets organic to our four ships. No P-3s, no friendly submarines, no cavalry. We’re on our own, here.”
Commander Bowie frowned. “Can we go back to Fifth Fleet and ask them to rethink this one? USS Topeka is not that far away, and I’m sure USNAVCENT can whistle up a couple of P-3s, sir.”
Captain Whiley leaned over the table. “Admiral Rogers assures me that my orders come from the president himself, through the Chief of Naval Operations. I intend to follow those orders to the letter. And that means that every one of you will follow my orders without question, and absolutely without fail. Am I making myself clear here?”
He waited several seconds. “Good. You are dismissed. Return to your ships and make ready for combat!”
As they filed out of the wardroom, Chief McPherson leaned near her skipper and whispered, “We’re all going to die, sir.”
CHAPTER 30
WHITE HOUSE PRESS ROOM
WASHINGTON, DC
FRIDAY; 18 MAY
3:30 PM EDT
White House Press Secretary Lauren Hart stood at the podium and leaned close to the bank of microphones. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “the President of the United States.”
The men and women of the news media came to their feet as President Chandler strode into the room. The usual smattering of polite applause died away when he reached the podium.
White House Chief of Staff Veronica Doyle watched from just inside the door.
Camera flashes began popping at irregular intervals. The president looked out over the assembled press corps and marshaled his thoughts. “Good afternoon,” he said finally. “As most of you are no doubt aware, five days ago, a squadron of German war planes engaged in an extended sea battle with two warships of the British Royal Navy. One of the British ships, HMS York, was sunk as a result, and the other ship, HMS Chatham, was severely damaged. Four German aircraft were destroyed. Over two hundred British Sailors were killed, as well as the pilots of the downed German planes.
“Last night, shortly before midnight eastern daylight time, two squadrons of British Sea Harriers conducted coordinated missile strikes on a German warship in the North Sea, apparently in retaliation for the earlier attacks on York and Chatham. The German guided-missile frigate FGS Sachsen sustained major damage. Eighty-six German Sailors were killed along with one British pilot, who failed to eject when his aircraft was destroyed.
“There has been a great deal of speculation in the media as to who fired the first shot, and—more to the point—what led the German and British navies into conflict to begin with.
“I’m afraid that I can’t shed much light on the first question. Analysts from the Pentagon and the Naval War College have been over the available data in detail, and they are no closer to knowing who pulled the trigger first. And, since both countries have denied initiating the hostilities, it seems likely that we will never know who fired first.
“But I can answer the second question. HMS York and HMS Chatham were conducting a naval blockade against four submarines of the German Navy. And they were carrying out that blockade at my request.”
The room broke into an uproar of voices as the journalists leapt to their feet and began shouting questions. A male voice cut through it all. “Mr. President, can you tell us about the attack on USS Kitty Hawk?”
The president held up a hand and waited for silence. It was several minutes in coming. Only when it became clear that he was not going to say another word until order was restored did the journalists take their seats.
Eventually, the president nodded. “I asked Prime Minister Irons to blockade the Strait of Gibraltar to prevent the passage of the German submarines. I made the decision to do so on the basis of compelling evidence that the government of Germany intends to deliver those submarines, and other high-tech weaponry, to the Middle Eastern nation of Siraj, in clear violation of international law and standing United Nations sanctions.”
Once again the press corps erupted into a clamor of confused questions. And, once again, the president held up his hand and waited for silence.
“As I mentioned, we have compelling evidence of Germany’s intentions,” he said finally, “and we have made arrangements to deliver that evidence to the United Nations Security Council. I am confident that, upon reviewing the evidence, the UN will take appropriate action to prevent the German government from arming a nation known to support terrorists.
“Unfortunately, the wheels of international diplomacy turn slowly. By the time the United Nations can react to this situation, Germany’s first shipments of military hardware will have reached their destinations in Siraj.” The president paused for a second to let his words sink in.
“Abdul al-Rahiim styles himself as the president of Siraj, but the world knows better. You and I know better. Abdul al-Rahiim is a dictator and a tyrant. He is a lawless brute who rules by violence and by the threat of violence. He has repeatedly demonstrated his willingness to use military force against his neighboring countries and against the very people he claims to govern.
“Until this point, the United Nations has chosen to contain his abuses through restrictive political and economic sanctions, enforced largely by a multinational naval blockade. Though many people—and I include myself on the list—have advocated for more direct action against the government of Abdul al-Rahiim, the UN’s sanctions have had significant success in keeping a lid on his oppressive regime.
“But those efforts will all come to nothing if we allow this tyrant to rearm his military. Think of the damage he was able to do with aging ex-Soviet military hardware. And then imagine what he could do with state-of-the-art weaponry. Imagine what the Middle East will look like if Abdul al-Rahiim finds himself in possession of cutting-edge submarines, fighter jets, and missile systems.
“The United States cannot—will not—stand by and watch as advanced weapons systems are handed over to Siraj. And so I asked Prime Minister Irons for assistance in blocking the delivery of four technologically advanced submarines. The resulting blockade ended in the attack on HMS Chatham and HMS York.
“Early this morning, United States Navy warships operating on my orders attempted to intercept the German submarines in the Gulf of Aden, south of the Middle Eastern country of Yemen. A naval battle ensued. An aircraft carrier, USS Kitty Hawk, suffered serious battle damage, and two U.S. Navy helicopters were shot down. Twenty-one American Sailors were killed: fifteen aboard the Kitty Hawk, plus the air crews o
f both helicopters.
“I spoke at length with Chancellor Shoernberg on the phone, shortly after we received word of the attack on USS Kitty Hawk. He formally declined to apologize for the attacks on our ships or the ships of the Royal Navy. Chancellor Shoernberg also refused to comment on Germany’s intentions with regard to Siraj. In the hours since our phone conversation, the chancellor has rejected all attempts to open a diplomatic dialogue.”
The president gripped the edges of the podium and stared directly into the television cameras. “I do not wish to believe that a long-trusted ally has turned against the United States, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to view the actions of the German government in a friendly light.” His eyes narrowed. “To Chancellor Shoernberg, President Bremen, and the Federal Assembly of the German government, I say this: I have already dispatched ships to intercept and sink the four submarines in question. It is neither my desire nor my intention to threaten a sovereign nation with a long history of peaceful ties to the United States, but we will not permit aggression against our citizens or our military forces to go unpunished. We remain open to a diplomatic solution, but we will take whatever steps we deem necessary to prevent the delivery of those submarines to Siraj. Chancellor Shoernberg, turn back those submarines!”
The president turned and walked toward the door. Flashbulbs began popping furiously and an entire choir of reporters began shouting, “Mr. President! Mr. President!”
Press Secretary Hart stepped up to the podium. “The president thanks you all for coming. He regrets that he cannot answer questions at this time.”
* * *
“That’s not going to hold them for long, sir,” Veronica Doyle said as the president passed her on his way out the door.
“I don’t expect it to,” the president said. “But it should put that son of a bitch Shoernberg in the hot seat for a while.”
CHAPTER 31
WASHINGTON, DC
FRIDAY; 18 MAY
