by Jan Coffey
“Range is about three thousand yards,” Brody responded.
They were a sitting duck, fat and passive while a death blow drew nearer.
“No,” McCann muttered. “There is one thing we can do.”
He leaned over Amy.
“Heads up, Brody,” he shouted. “You too, Amy. Emergency blow, fore and aft. We’re taking her up. Amy, pull back on the yoke and try to keep it at a twenty-degree up bubble.”
Amy looked over her shoulder at him, nervously. He gave her a reassuring nod. If this worked, he might get up above the ceiling setting of the weapons…if they had them programmed for it. And even if they were hit, if they could make it to the surface, McCann thought he could somehow save Amy’s and Brody’s lives. A very big somehow.
McCann slammed two steel levers into their cradles above his head, and the sound of high pressure air displacing the water in the ballast tanks blasted in their ears. As the water was forced out of the tanks, the submarine immediately became lighter and began to rise with rapidly increasing speed. As the deck tilted upward, McCann put his hand over Amy’s and helped her keep the ship’s ascent at twenty degrees.
The numbers on the depth indicator flickered as the ship shot up from the depths. The speed indicator read fifteen knots. Eighteen knots. Twenty-one knots.
Over the roar of the emergency blow, McCann could hear Brody calling out the distance of the lead torpedo on their tail. The depth indicator showed three hundred feet to the surface. Two-fifty. Two hundred. He hoped there were no surface vessels above. There were going to burst up through the surface like a rocket.
“Continuous ramp wave on the lead fish.”
The torpedo now had a precise fix on the sub’s location. McCann glanced once more at the depth indicator. One hundred feet.
They weren’t going to make it, he thought, and then three successive explosions rocked Hartford.
~~~~
Chapter 48
USS Pittsburgh
2:36 p.m.
Captain Whiting and the C.O. of Pittsburgh stood on the bridge and waited. The C.O.’s headset crackled.
“Bridge? Combat,” the voice came through. “Only three of our fish detonated, sir. One torpedo is still on target and closing.”
“Shit,” Whiting muttered. Using their sophisticated electronics, they’d tried to reprogram the torpedoes speeding toward Hartford. It was a miracle they’d been able to get three of them to self-destruct. The problem was that only one MK-48 torpedo was enough to annihilate the submarine.
“Shit,” he said again.
Pittsburgh had surfaced only moments before. Cruising at only one hundred fifty feet below the surface, the sub had risen to the surface after attempting to short-circuit their torpedoes.
“There she is,” the C.O. said to Whiting, but the older man’s binoculars were already locked on the sight.
The bow of the submarine shot up out of the water, her tremendous speed driving her upward until the sail cleared the surface. More of the sleek black hull followed, like the body of a great whale about to breech, until the massive weight of the vessel once again became the dominant force, plummeting the bow of the submarine back to the surface. As she reentered the waters of the Sound, a huge wall of water rose up around her.
At that precise moment, the single remaining torpedo struck the underside of Hartford and exploded, the powerful blast lifting the bow of the submarine out of the water.
With the eye of a seasoned veteran, Whiting judged that the fish must have struck the hull just aft of the torpedo tubes.
~~~~
Chapter 49
USS Hartford
2:52 p.m.
They’d been hit, and Amy’s ears were ringing from the blast of the torpedo.
She looked around. It appeared that there was little damage to the control room. Even the lights, which had flickered several times, still lit the interior of the sub.
Amy leaned to the side and looked at Brody. He had his head back and was looking up into the overhead. Amy didn’t know if he was saying a prayer or meditating, but it didn’t matter. Somehow, they’d gone through hell and survived. She swung around in her seat to look for McCann. He was flipping switches and pressing buttons. He finished what he was doing and their gazes locked.
“Is it over?” she asked in a whisper, afraid she might be dreaming. She was terrified that they weren’t really on the surface, but dead.
He nodded.
Amy got up from the chair and closed the distance between them. Throwing her arms around McCann, she pressed her face against his blood-soaked shirt. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Thank you,” she said brokenly, overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you for saving our lives.”
He raised her chin, and she felt her heart skip a beat. There was no time to say or do anything before McCann’s lips closed over hers. She kissed back hard. It was the hungry kiss of two people who’d just been given a second chance at life.
“We couldn’t have done this without you,” he whispered in her ear as he ended the kiss. But he didn’t let her go.
They both turned and looked at Brody. He was staring at the sonar screen.
“Good work, Brody,” McCann told him.
He turned in his chair. The loss of blood seemed to have caught up to him. His face was very pale and his eyes lacked focus.
“Skipper, I know why they didn’t ask me to go in with—”
Before he could finish, an explosion ripped through the upper deck, tearing the deck plates and blasting a twenty-foot hole in Hartford’s hull. Amy found herself on the deck inside the Communication Center, one of the operator’s chairs on top of her. Her ears felt as if they were blocked. But she was still alive.
She tried to sit up and looked around frantically, trying to find McCann and Brody. What she could see of the control room through the radio room door was a disaster area. The main lighting was out, but the emergency lights were somehow still working.
Daylight was pouring in along with the sea. As the green water rushed in, Amy thought that they couldn’t have been hit by another torpedo. There’d been nothing else on the sonar.
It was either the navy bombarding them from above, she decided, or it was a present that the hijackers had left behind.
At that moment, the vessel pitched, and she looked up in time to see one of the radio panels directly above her tip precariously right before it crashed down on her.
~~~~
Chapter 50
White House
3:00 p.m.
“My fellow Americans. Once again, good has triumphed over evil. Once again, in the face of danger, the best of America has showed itself.” President Hawkins paused and looked into the cameras. “The crisis is over. As I speak to you, the men and women of our military forces are preparing to board the disabled submarine Hartford. The hijackers that have survived are on the run. Our nation, our way of life, is safe.”
He smiled and then grew serious again. “This has been a trying day for every one of us. Today, the very foundations of America came under attack. But our belief in freedom and our ability to resist evil never faded. Our light never dimmed. We went out there and fought the terrorists who brought this fight to our door. We stood our ground and proved to those nations who support such actions that we are not weak or unprepared or lacking in our determination to stand up for our beliefs. America is strong. We have showed the world that we stand together and that we will never be defeated.”
The President continued to read the speech on the teleprompter in front of him. As always, Bob Fortier was prepared with the message they wanted to convey at just the right moment. And this was their moment. Every voter west of the Mississippi was glued to their television, and those on the east coast who were not in front of their TVs were listening to him on the radio. All programming was pre-empted. This was his time. His show.
Tomorrow, they would go to their polling places and vote. And who would they be vo
ting for? William Hawkins.
The president read on, smiling occasionally, sounding confident and showing his pride in being an American. The speech touched on what he’d accomplished in the past four years in preparing America’s defenses for this kind of assault. He referred to the course of action he planned to keep the nation on for the next four. He talked about the hijacking and made it clear that his foreign policies must be credited for their ability to quash this threat and force these terrorists to abort their plans. Strength was the only way to answer terror, he told the nation. American strength.
Hawkins knew John Penn must be squirming in his small mansion in Rhode Island. There would be no rebuttal this time about the need for “balancing the interests of America with our responsibilities to the people on whose backs we’ve grown wealthy.” This was no moderated debate. Will Hawkins, President William Hawkins, had the platform all to himself.
He folded his hands in a prayerful attitude. Looking straight into the camera, he finished the speech with his own words.
“Tomorrow, as a nation, we will go and exercise the right that Americans have fought and died for. No terrorist will ever jeopardize that freedom while I stand watch. Go, my fellow Americans, with the secure knowledge that the future is safe for you and your children. You, my brothers and sisters, who are on the road, return to your homes. Here in the White House, we have kept the light burning for you.”
The director motioned for the camera crew to stop filming as those in the Oval Office started to cheer.
Hawkins moved from behind his desk and circulated among the crew and his staff and the members of his party’s congressional leadership that had come to share in his glory. Now he could do what he was even better at—shaking hands and making small talk.
~~~~
Chapter 51
USS Hartford
3:02 p.m.
The wall of seawater rushing in with each rise and fall of the vessel was washing away everything, including equipment that had been bolted in place.
The blast had separated McCann from Amy, and he remembered that his head had smashed against something. Now he was lying on top of the Fire Control panel and seawater was slapping against his face.
McCann had no idea what time it was, or if he’d been knocked out or not. He could see light coming in from somewhere beyond the periscope platform and the cascading water. The battle lanterns above him were still burning. Beneath him, he could hear the banging bass sound of deep water. The forward compartment was filling quickly, and that meant the lower levels must be full.
If the ship went down now, they’d all go with it. He looked around madly but he could see no sign of Amy or Brody. He remembered holding onto her until the blow.
He rolled off the panel and was nearly swept under by the turbulence of the seawater in the compartment. The water came almost to his chest. Wading through the control room, he clung to anything he could get a grip on.
It seemed like forever before he made it to where he’d last seen Amy. Filling his lungs with air, he went under. Darkness was all around him. He searched where she’d been standing before. He came up for air and looked around, shouting her name, before diving again.
The water was rising even higher. He could see where the light was seeping in. Back near the escape trunk, the explosion had torn open a gaping hole in the hull. Everything surrounding it was demolished.
He went under again and pulled himself toward Sonar. There was still no sign of Amy.
Surfacing, he pulled open the door to the Sonar Room. Brody was unconscious and still in his chair at the sonar station. His face was barely above water, and there was blood on his forehead. From the spider web breaks in what was still visible of the monitor screen, McCann guessed the young man’s head had been driven into it by the force of either the explosion or the rushing water. He grabbed his man by the collar of the shirt and tried to lift him from the chair. No luck. Brody’s leg was caught on something.
McCann didn’t know if Brody was alive or already dead, but he had to try to get him out of there. The water was continuing to wash in around them. He reached down, yanking at the table that trapped Brody’s legs. Brody’s body started moving away from the chair. He was free.
McCann put an arm across the man’s chest and began towing him through the control room toward the bridge access ladder. The forward escape hatch was wrecked. He’d have to carry Brody up through the sail to the bridge. It was going to be a tough climb.
As he went, he continued to look for Amy. By the periscope platform, he lost his footing and went under, dragging Brody with him. Regaining his feet, he came up and heard Brody coughing and sputtering. At least he was still alive, McCann thought.
But what about Amy.
“Amy! Amy!”
It took some effort to lift Brody’s body over his shoulder. It took even more to climb the ladder up through the narrow trunk that led to the bridge. At the top, he felt himself getting weak as he tried to open the hatch with one hand. The shoulder he’d been shot in was starting to go numb, and he was losing feeling in his hand and arm.
Finally, the hatch opened and, as McCann pushed it up, light streamed in.
Time was of the essence. Wherever Amy was, he had to find her soon. McCann carried Brody’s body up until the young man was clear of the hatch, and then he rolled him onto the decking topside.
Leaving him there, McCann slid back down the ladder, entering the water again. The light from above improved visibility, but not the scene itself. The water had risen so high that he now had to swim. He saw no sign of Amy in what was left of the control room. He considered the direction of the blast and where the water might have carried her. He turned and looked past the helm. The communication shack was just forward of the control room. He took a deep breath and swam in that direction.
The door to the radio room was hanging at an angle, half torn from its hinge, and one of the helmsman’s chairs was against it. The room was filling with water. He inhaled and dove, entering the radio room where the bottom of the door allowed him access.
Coming to the surface inside, McCann saw her.
She had a terrible cut on her forehead, and her mouth was barely above the water. He shouted to her but he didn’t think she heard him. She seemed to be in a daze, but still conscious enough to keep fighting for her life. She was a scrapper.
McCann tried to get past the communications panels, but he had little success. Taking in another gulp of air and going down, he braced himself between a bulkhead and a panel and shoved. Slowly, the panel began to move, and then righted itself. He came up gasping, and pulled himself toward her. He was able to get in far enough to take hold of her hand.
“Amy!” he shouted. “We have to go under to get out.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Trust me.”
She didn’t understand him, and she fought him as he pulled her around one of the panels. She went under once and then she was beside him in the cramped space. The water was rising quickly now. There were barely two or three inches of air left near the overhead. McCann’s face was right next to hers.
“Amy,” he said as he wrapped an arm tightly around her waist.
She stared ahead, her chin starting to drop into the water. Her eyes were closing.
“Hold your breath,” he ordered before taking her under.
She fought him but it was a half-hearted attempt. He held onto her, pulling her behind him through the door and then up. They both broke the surface, sputtering. They were between two frames in the overhead.
They’d have to swim underwater again to reach the ladder to the bridge, where he’d left Brody at the open hatch. He took her face in his hand.
“Amy!”
Her eyes flickered open, but she was slipping away.
“Take another deep breath. Do you hear me? Do it now!”
Pulling her down, McCann kicked hard to move the two of them. His lungs burned. Amy was limp as a rag doll in his grip.
&
nbsp; He pushed up past the periscope tower and found the ladder. Driving himself with the last of his strength, he pulled them both up into the trunk to where the water ended. He was able to take his first gulp of air and looked at her. She wasn’t breathing.
He pressed her back against the side of the trunk, expelling water from her stomach and lungs. Wedging her body, he tipped her head back and sealed her mouth with his. He breathed air into her lungs.
“Please Amy,” he told her when he stopped for air. “Don’t give up now.”
He repeated the action, over and over. Nothing. Then suddenly, she sputtered and coughed. She was breathing.
McCann had never felt relief of this magnitude. She continued to cough. She was still not totally conscious, but he was happy to have her breathing.
“We’re getting you out of here,” he whispered in her ear.
Using his good arm, he held her against his side. He tried to manage the ladder with the other one. He looked upward toward the opening at the top.
“Dammit.” Brody’s foot had been visible when McCann went back for Amy. It was gone.
Just as McCann was debating what to do, a shadow moved over the hatch. He looked up.
“Let me give you a hand with her, Commander.”
McCann had never been so happy to see a Navy SEAL.
“Be very careful with her,” he ordered as he lifted Amy up.
~~~~
Chapter 52
Pentagon
3:18 p.m.
The only place Sarah wanted to be right now was on a helicopter heading toward Long Island Sound, where they were in the process of rescuing any survivors on the damaged sub. She hoped and prayed that Darius had made it through alive.
The last communication with Hartford had been through the message that Darius had sent. He’d mentioned a deep sea rescue vehicle that he thought had been used to spirit the hijackers away from the sub. Right now, she and Dunn had to collect and analyze all the new data flooding in, in addition to overseeing the teams of investigators that were being sent to every inlet, every boat, every rickety dock along the coastline of Connecticut and New York that could harbor such a vehicle.
