Charles Taylor - Boomer

“Why?”

The sonarman’s eyes raised, though his head remained down. “If we’re getting closer, its sound is remaining steadier, and damn quiet, too. So it’s probably closer to us than the other one. Boomers are quiet as hell when they’re ambling along at maneuvering speed — at least ours are.” His eyes returned to the deck. There, he’d said it!

“You’re not going to give me any of that shit, are you, Dixon? I don’t want to hear that kind of garbage now.”

Dixon was silent.

“How about you?” Newell challenged one of the younger sonarmen. “You hear what Dixon just said?”

No one seemed to be breathing in sonar. “Captain,” Makin said softly, in an effort to place himself between Newell and the men, “I’m sure he can’t hear you with those headphones on.”

Newell reached out and yanked the headphones off the sailor’s head. “Did you hear Dixon? He was intimating that the contact to port could be one of our boomers. What do you say?”

The whites of the sailor’s eyes stood out even in the dim, red glow of sonar. His mouth hung open in shock. No officer, never mind the commanding officer, had ever acted like that on any submarine he’d been aboard. He never blinked, nor did he respond. He simply stared back at Newell.

“Don’t you understand what I’m asking?” Each of Newell’s words were spoken softly and distinctly, with the definite hint of a threat in the background.

“I … I can’t ID that contact yet, sir.” The sailor’s eyes were a captive to Newell’s demanding gaze.

“Try an educated guess then. Could that contact to port be a ballistic-missile submarine ?” The final three words were pronounced so slowly that there was no mistaking the answer desired.

“I guess so, sir. It’s pretty faint … but the Russian boomers are noisier—”

“Could it be a Russian ballistic-missile submarine?” Again Newell left no doubt about the answer.

“It … it could be, Captain.” The sonarman blinked once, then twice more.

“Could it be a Soviet with a masking device exactly like the others we have encountered?”

There had been no movement in sonar. Each individual witnessing this exchange appeared transfixed, frozen by the words being spoken. Even Makin was caught in the electric exchange between Newell, Dixon, and the younger sonarman, fully aware of the captain’s influence on the youngster.

The sonarman blinked again and his eyes flickered briefly in Dixon’s direction. But he could see that Newell was also watching the other. There was no escape. “It could be, Captain.”

“Mr. Thompson,” Newell continued in the same soft voice, “I suggest that Dixon and each one of them continue to evaluate both contacts, but I expect you to personally analyze the recordings and the computer results, because I think you will come up once again with that infernal masking device that has somehow confused some of our crew.”

“Yes, sir,” the sonar officer answered.

“Mr. Makin and I will leave you alone. We’ll be in control where we belong, preparing for our next attack. I intend to open the doors on two tubes with the hope that it is early enough that our contacts don’t hear us. We don’t have the luxury of waiting for our target to come to us, so we lack the element of surprise this time. The attack team is going to be ready. I expect you will find that the contact to port is our next target.”

In the control room Newell grasped his executive officer’s arm and said in an expressionless voice. “I expect you to take care of any problems with the men if the Russians are employing that masking device again.” His fingers tightened until Makin looked at him questioningly. “You may do whatever is necessary to silence any dissent.”

Buck Nelson woke with a start. What…? He turned and saw a form in the entrance of his stateroom outlined by the light in the passageway. He reached for the rimless glasses that he’d carefully placed on the chair beside his bunk.

“Just me, Captain,” Jimmy Cross said, “your ever-faithful executive officer reporting. I did knock, by the way. Y’all were sure as hell sawing up a cord of wood there.”

Nelson smelled after-shave lotion as Cross stepped inside. That meant the XO had probably grabbed one of his hour-long naps. And for once he’d also remembered to shave before he began his never-ending inspection of Florida’ s spaces.

“You come in here to inspect the C.O.’s stateroom? Or is there something else that decided you on disturbing my sleep?” Nelson asked with a trace of humor in his voice.

“None of the above.” Cross waited until he saw the glasses carefully perched on the captain’s nose and then he swung the chair around and sat down. “Thought you might have some interest in that contact that we turned away from.”

“Don’t tell me, Jimmy,” Nelson said, smiling. “I should have stayed awake. Right? Or has he disappeared?”

“None of the above, again. He must have picked up speed like I said he ought to, so we seem to have a stronger sonar contact — still intermittent sometimes, but stronger. He’s off our starboard beam now on this new course of ours so I’d guess he may be intent on trying to close us.”

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

“When the captain of a ship is incapacitated, the executive officer shall be in charge of—”

“Jimmy, you having fun at my expense?”

“But you feel better after a couple of hours in the sack, don’t you?”

Nelson nodded and stretched, hunching his shoulders before he swung his legs over the side of the bunk. His feet landed on top of his shoes, just as he had intended.

“Danny says he wouldn’t be surprised if this contact’s one of our 688’s bird-dogging us for some reason. That’s why I didn’t bother you, Captain. I figured you could use the sleep more than me waking you up to tell you that.”

“That a definite ID?”

“Not for publication, I suppose.” Cross shrugged. “But from our no-nonsense sonar officer, I have to think it’s pretty good.”

“What do you think we ought to do, since it seems to be one of our own?”

“Maybe give our sonar people some practice on it, maybe even play with a couple of attacks. Whoever it is would be awfully surprised to hear that they’ve been sunk a couple of times.”

“What’s to keep him from doing the same thing?”

“I don’t know. Captain. But my idea … also,” he added with a serious expression spreading over his face, “was to be ready just in case he wasn’t one of ours. You see, I checked the fleet scheds we picked up before getting under way, and there just ain’t supposed to be anyone even passing close to us.” He sucked the side of his cheek in like a cow chewing its cud. “That’s also why I woke you up.” Cross grinned crookedly. “I figured you also would have been bullshit if we found out an hour or so from now that our contact not only has closed us, but that it was also a bad guy who’d been taping every little sound we made.”

Nelson bent down to tie his shoes. “What would I do without you, Jimmy? They say executive officers are made, not born. But in your case, I think you’re a natural. And you have so much fun yanking my chain.”

“Only to decrease the boredom on patrol, Captain. Chief Delaney seems serious enough about this contact — the way it’s acting, I mean — that I decided to keep my natural sense of humor in check long enough to listen to him and Dan Mundy. That contact also appears aware of us, and my recommendations would be either to turn away now or tiptoe and see what they do.”

Nelson rose to his feet, yawned, and stretched again. “Why don’t you have the OOD reverse course. If they turn toward our present course or toward where they think we’re headed next, we may get an idea about whether or not they can track us. Then we’ll just have to see what they do. I’m going to wash up a bit. My mouth tastes about as bad as it can get. I’m going to discourage our iron-bellied supply officer from putting curry on the menu for a while.”