John O'Brien - Dissension

We drive slowly through the entrance gates. The clouds are hovering on the tree tops, their highest points shrouded and lost in the gray. Droplets condense on the windshield. Making our way through the empty tree-lined streets, we arrive on a hill overlooking the docks and waterway. Two triangular concreted docks jut out into the water. The pier on the left houses what appears to be two large missile boats. On the right, I see the low lying black shape of an LA class fast attack sub. Small white objects are in a row as sailors line the deck. We have arrived.

Captain Leonard wakes early. His rest was a restless one with so much running through his mind. It just seemed like his mind wouldn’t shut down long enough for any beneficial sleep. He still doesn’t know exactly what happened or is happening and his mind won’t quite wrap around what Captain Walker or Chief Krandle have said. He wants to believe what they are saying and watching the people onshore last night lends credibility to their stories but this seems too much like the zombie stories a lot of his crew seems to be into.

Rising and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he dons his shoes and leaves his cramped quarters. Listening to the reports from the night watch, which is nothing much except for seeing more people run through the night, he peers through the scope at the lightening day. The low gray clouds, hovering close to the waterline, makes visibility difficult as he turns through a three-sixty watching for signs of life. Nothing but an occasional flash of white as gulls dot the shoreline and pier. There is no evidence of those he saw last night. The shore seems still… hesitant… waiting.

Leonard tells the crew to prepare to surface the boat. His chief has readied crews to board the zodiacs to open the perimeter nets so they can slide inside and dock. He also had the chief ready other teams to go onshore to find supplies. That remains his priority — resupply his boat to be ready for any contingency. Depending on how the meeting today goes, and perhaps regardless of it, he needs to restock. He might head down the western seaboard and possibly to Hawaii hoping to gather some additional information along the way. His only worry is about their limited arms and lack of training. The fact that he has a SEAL Team alleviates this to some extent but it remains a concern nonetheless. The crews sit at their stations in their white uniforms ready for the all-hands-on-deck greeting. Checking in with his communications center and verifying that no additional traffic has come in, he tells the office of the watch to surface the boat.

The Santa Fe slowly rises above the frigid waters of the Sound. Water pours off in sheets from the black surface with its anechoic coating. Waterfalls stream off the bridge cockpit through drain vents. The once dreaded, silent hunter of the seas rises from its hidden lair, baring itself to the observed world. Small and sleek, it appears like a ninja stepping out from a dark shadow.

On surfacing, the bridge crew races up the ladder. Opening the watertight hatch, they step onto the bridge and begin their lookout duties. On the lower deck, hatches open and crews emerge dragging inflatable zodiacs onto the black surface. Readying the craft, they motor over to the floats bobbing on the calm waves to open the protective, submerged netting. After some time, they create a hole for the sub to motor through.

Leonard climbs and steps onto the bridge. The low clouds and early morning cast a dim light over the dark waters. Watching the crews work with the nets, he sees them create an opening. He orders the boat in. The sleek bow responds and, turning toward the docks, the Santa Fe, his pride and joy, rides slowly upon the dark waves of the inlet. Looking down, he sees some of his crew emerge from a hatch and line the deck with the few weapons onboard.

The Santa Fe glides slowly past the zodiacs and eases up to the concrete dock. He sees the dormant missile boats tied to the adjacent pier and wonders if there are any other surviving boats. The lack of communications seems to indicate that he may be the only one although the others may be keeping a radio blackout. If there are any others, they should have responded to his attempts at communication although they may still be proceeding underwater. He’ll keep the comm center manned and flash regular messages in an attempt to raise others.

The zodiacs motor in and pull up to the dock. It takes some time but they eventually tie in with the dock and the gangway is lowered. The occasional cry of a gull, the drip of water still running down the sides of the boat, and the soft lap of waves against the concrete dock are the only sounds. The base remains silent and there is no sign of the people who ran through the night.

Looking at his watch, there’s little time until their appointed rendezvous with Captain Walker. He calls down to have the chief ready the resupply teams. Several minutes later, the teams appear and begin making their way across the gangway. Leonard watches as they walk up the pier and disappear around a corner as they proceed toward one of the large warehouses in the distance. The remaining crew members climb the ladder and gather on the deck. Several rub the white sleeves of their uniforms as they attempt to ward off the chill.

Soft murmurs arise from the crowd above the faint slapping of waves and cry of birds flocking the area. Another faint sound arises on the moisture-laden air… vehicles approaching. The crews form up in a row, those with weapons are dispersed among them. Captain Leonard makes his way down and onto shore with CPO Krandle and his SEAL Team close behind. Standing on the dock, he looks up. On the rise above the docks, he sees a Humvee appear with more military vehicles behind. He watches with a sudden apprehension as they start down the road towards him.

We start down the steep decline toward the docks. Although I’m not usually nervous about meeting anyone and really never have been in the past — after all, we all put our pants on the same way — I feel apprehensive about this one. I’m not really sure why. It’s not like we’re going to trade gunfire and I know I won’t allow anything to disrupt the harmony of our group. Working together is the most important thing right now. Well, anytime. I just know it’s going to be a hard sell with a submarine captain. I can almost feel the personality conflict. I try to keep my mind open as this may not be the case but anticipate it anyway. I’m not out to rule over anyone nor do I have an ego so big that I think my way is the only way. Or our way for that matter. My main goal is for the safety of the group, with my kids coming first.

I eye the boomers sitting silently parked at the docks. My thoughts quickly go to the possibility of learning the systems and holing up there. Parking off shore and coming in for supplies. Those boats are pretty self-sufficient. Yeah, let’s see the night runners swim the strong currents and try to penetrate those. That seems like an impossibility though. The systems will break down regardless of the long-term viability of the propulsion system. No, we have carved out our place and, although the night runners seem to be adapting amazingly fast, we’ll have to make do with what we have. Still, I park the idea in the back of my mind.

I pull alongside the piers and park. The Strykers and Lynn’s Humvee park in line behind. Opening the door, I hear a clang as the back doors of the Strykers drop. Lynn’s shout of “Form up” echoes across the silent base and adjacent waters. Boots pound across the pavement, muted to an extent by the moisture in the air, accompanied by the rattle of gear. The intrusions of noise are sudden but over quickly as the soldiers find their places. Robert and the rest of Red Team riding with me trot over and take their place in the formation. I’m left alone for a moment.