Charles Taylor - Boomer

Makin studied the young officer closely. “You don’t like what we’re doing, Wally?” he inquired curiously.

“Hell, sir, I don’t think anyone likes sinking another submarine when it appears to be one of your own. Imagine if those two we hit really were ours.” He cocked his head and stared back at the XO as if he were daring the man to disagree. “I’m not scared, if that’s what you were getting at.” A self-righteous frown knit his brow and his voice grew more assertive. “I really do think we ought to test our gear at this stage. We have no idea what’s happening out there.”

“Okay, Wally. I’ll talk to the captain about it when I have an opportunity. But I don’1 want you bothering him about it now. He’s got enough on his mind without worrying about communications tests.” A good XO protected his captain from unnecessary items, especially when things were tight, and Makin considered himself a superb executive officer. “It may be a while, but I’ll take a shot at it. Okay?” He had a habit of raising his eyebrows, which often coerced the other person into assenting.

Snyder stood up. “Thanks, XO. I appreciate it. I know it makes you look bad if I’m wrong.” He hoped sincerely that the XO wouldn’t put it off before they encountered another target that sounded exactly like an unsuspecting American boomer.

Dick Makin was more concerned than he’d let on to Wally. Perhaps it was a sixth sense with him too. Whatever, it was a nagging, bothersome something that had gotten to him even as he slept fitfully. But he wasn’t about to burden Newell. The captain had said he would do everything in his power to get Makin a submarine of his own, and it wasn’t so long ago that he’d shown Dick a copy of his letter of recommendation. Dick was loyal to his captain in the Navy tradition, more so to Wayne Newell for keeping his promises. He was a superb commanding officer.

USS Manchester was at battle stations. While this was a normal evolution at sea, each man knew this particular instance would be anything but normal. They waited with a heightened sense of anticipation for their captain to speak to them on the IMC. It had begun when they were assigned to pick up the Navy SEAL who had parachuted into the Pacific. Now it was only too obvious that his specific mission was to deliver a message directly to their captain, one so sensitive that no communications system was secure enough. Since that initial moment when the SEAL was first spotted blinking at them, each rumor that spread through their tiny cylindrical home increased the level of tension.

“This is the captain speaking.” From the instant they heard the familiar background drone of the IMC, each man knew intuitively that Ben Steel would involve them completely. “I know you’ve been anxious to learn what’s going on. I can assure you that, as usual, I will withhold nothing from you. It just seemed like a good idea to make sure that everyone was fed before we went to battle stations, since we’ll start work right after this little speech.” His tone remained soft and well-modulated, an example of the calm approach he expected from each of his men.

“As you all know, there are no secrets on a submarine, only rumors. And it is the captain’s responsibility to come clean with his crew as quickly as possible before someone takes one of those rumors seriously.

“Our latest crew member, Lieutenant Commander Burch, the SEAL we fished out of the ocean more than an hour ago, is quite comfortable aboard submarines. As a matter of fact, he claims to have locked out of them more times than a lot of our younger sailors have ever crossed the quarterdeck.” In an aside intended for everyone to overhear, Steel added. “Perhaps Commander Burch will learn to stand his own turn at watch in the next couple weeks, since he doesn’t get home until we do.”

Steel continued, “The commander is also willing to speak to any one of you to assure you that everything is still all right back home. If you have any doubts about who he is, you’ll recognize him as the one in the XO’s khakis … with a couple of extra notches taken in the belt.

“Lieutenant Burch obviously risked his life to bring us new orders of vital importance, and that’s what I want to explain in detail so you will understand why I’m asking for 110 percent from each of you as long as this mission lasts.

“There are two boomers missing — Alaska and Nevada. One disappearing is possible; two, a long shot too impossible to consider. COMSUBPAC has to assume the worst unless some trace of either of them is located. He also has to assume they may have been sunk intentionally and that all our boomers are now at risk. The immediate solution is to provide protection until we learn exactly what has happened. We have been asked to assist Florida. In the old days, we would be called a hired gun. In this modem era of nuclear power, I’d like to think of us as” — Steel paused just long enough before concluding—”a hired gun.”

“We don’t know if there are any bad guys out there or, if there are, who they are. We can always figure that the Russians are behind this, but there are no certainties, no assurance of what we’re looking for or how many are out there.

“We are proceeding to Florida’ s sector at flank speed. We are at battle stations now because I want to conduct damage-control drills until I’m convinced we can save this boat from almost anything. After that, we will return to normal watches until we are three hours from the outer limits of Florida ’s patrol area. So get as much sleep as you can beforehand.

“Once in the vicinity, we will attempt to contact Florida so she doesn’t take a potshot at us. There is a way to do that, and Commander Burch has provided me with the appropriate signal. After that, we’ll set up a screening plan of some kind, although covering 360 degrees around a boomer sounds as ambitious to me as it probably does to you.

“Now I guess you know as much as I do. The XO and I will be making the rounds of the boat in the next few hours, and we welcome any questions” — again Steel paused for effect—”and any ideas you care to offer, since none of us are experts in this type of mission.”

With a metallic click, the background drone of the P.A. disappeared. An ominous silence settled through Manchester’ s compartments, which left each man to his own thoughts. But there was one paramount in each mind: Just how close could you get to war?

As developments in electronics miniaturized both the hardware and the earth itself, the U.S. Navy acknowledged the increased pressure on its senior officers in this instant world. The result was a provision for added privacy when they were off duty. In places like Hawaii, they constructed decks and pools enclosed by fencing behind many of the grand old homes that once housed what was the social whirl in pre-World War II Pearl Harbor. Many of the old guard looked upon such luxuries with disdain. Others accepted such privileges with grace, especially when these became the only places they could escape prying eyes while conducting their business.

When the Chief of Naval Operations, his DCNO for Undersea Warfare, the Director of Naval Nuclear Propulsion, and the Commander of Submarines, Pacific, were together, they desperately needed as much privacy as possible. To be seen together unexpectedly in Pearl Harbor would have been no different than placing a sign in Red Square — trouble. There were few places these four officers could gather on the entire island without attracting attention, other than Neil Arrow’s backyard. It was a retreat.

The afternoon sun was warm and a soft breeze rattled the palm fronds together with a lazy sandpaper sound. The pool was inviting, but not one of them would have considered putting on a bathing suit and going for a swim until after working hours. Disciplined work habits had been ingrained in them for too many years. But they did enjoy a lunch served on a shaded deck, and each man appreciated the change in scenery without mentioning it to any of the others.