Charles Taylor - First Salvo

Wendell Nelson studied the cigar along with Pratt. He’s not going to light it , he thought, not without burning his nose — it can’t be done .

Pratt touched a match to the tip of the cigar, his lips pursed. The end glowed, a flame caught on the dried ends, then smoke issued from the admiral’s mouth. He beamed. “So it works in practice, Nellie.”

“Sure as hell does,” the other agreed. “But I wouldn’t want to try it again before the first real shot. Otherwise some smart Russian skipper is going to run that through his computer.” He sipped cold coffee from his mug, gesturing at the graphic printout from Kennedy ’s computer. “And it’s so simple, a fresh-caught sailor could run it if I spent ten minutes with him.”

“No complaints from the other COs?”

“You know how it is. No one wants to try something new without playing with it in a trainer on shore first, but when the Russians provided us with a couple of live subs, they went along with me.”

Pratt lay the display back on his desk. “I’ll have copies run off and heloed over to each commanding officer. I want you and Tom Carleton to run a class for all COs first light tomorrow aboard Yorktown .”

“That is one thing that might rub a bit.” Nelson paused. “I don’t think some of those senior skippers were too happy about me taking command of that screen.”

“No problem,” Pratt said. “When you get back, your XO will probably already have a copy of your new promotion. You’re a full captain for the time being, a four-striper, the only one in the screen outside of Tom.”

Nelson grinned. “They’ll be shouting discrimination.”

“That’s the other thing, Nellie. When you read the small print, you’ll see it’s only temporary. I couldn’t convince the powers-that-be in D.C. Maybe after it’s all over, they’ll make it permanent.”

“Maybe there won’t be any Wendell Nelson after it’s all over.”

“In that case, I’ll insist they make it permanent — sort of an honor for the deceased hero.” Pratt chuckled through the cigar smoke. “Think how happy those survivors’ benefits will make the wife and kids!” He immediately knew he had made a mistake. Tricia had divorced Nellie. She had the kids. But Nelson never blinked an eye.

“Too kind… too kind. Will you shed some tears at my funeral?”

“I would, Nellie. I really would. But I figure if they get you, then they’re more than likely going to get me too….” He was interrupted by a knock. “Come.”

Tom Carleton entered the stateroom. As usual, he looked anything but the captain of a ship, especially Yorktown. His tan uniform blouse was wrinkled; his belly protruded over his rumpled work pants, and he managed only a pale imitation of a salute as he fell into the couch across from the desk, his legs sprawled straight in front of him.

“How’s she going, Tom?”

Carleton beamed. “She’s everything the designers claimed — and more. I can’t thank you enough. She drives like a tin can and she’ll fight like a whole goddamn fleet. No kidding. When we put that system in automatic this morning — Aw, what the hell am I telling you for? You already know what she did.”

Pratt nodded. “I was watching in plot. It’s kind of hard for an old sailor like me to believe it all.” He put the cigar to his lips, winced, and dropped the wet remainder into the ashtray. He sighed, rubbing tired, red-rimmed eyes. “That’s why I asked for you two.” He picked up a sheaf of messages, weighing them in his hand for a moment, then dropped them back on the cluttered desk. “I expect any of the others could probably handle the job. If the Navy has qualified them, they can run those ships, but there’s hardly a soul familiar with that stuff we’ve been fooling around with in Newport.”

“Newport” meant the War College, the think tank where select officers studied global strategy and tactics. There were also war-gaming facilities that lent reality to war scenarios dreamed up by men like Dave Pratt. The Navy power structure claimed the Russians were predictable, and they were in many ways. But no man was that predictable if he was reacting under actual wartime conditions — or if he was losing. That’s what Pratt had assumed when he began to play with new tactics. The ships under his Mediterranean command were capable of much more than was required from them under published tactics. The Soviets were expected to attack, and they expected the Americans to wait for the attack, then defend themselves. Pratt’s theory was to dig them out before they could possibly gain an upper hand. Computer simulation was the trick.

Pratt loved to call himself an old salt, a grizzled old man of the sea ready for retirement after one more tour. But in reality, he was anything but that. That’s why Washington had sent him to Kennedy , and that was why they let him take Nelson and Carleton and why they let Pratt choose their ships.

The Russians were experimenting with innovative submarine tactics. Pratt saw what those new tactics were for. When he went to Washington, senior admirals shook their heads. That was not the way they saw the scenario, nor the way they wanted to see it. Pratt went back to Newport and ran his ideas through the computer. The results confirmed that the Russians could do what he projected. The computer also agreed with Pratt on how they might be stopped.

“How’re the others doing?” Carleton asked.

“We’re halfway there. The base at Svalbard has been damaged. We can see that by satellite, but we don’t know how badly. The British have been chasing every sub near there and seem to be holding them off, and I think our own attack subs have set up a barrier to stop anything that gets by our CAPTORS. We already have convoys coming across the North Atlantic that have a chance of making it now.”

“And Bernie?” Nelson asked.

“Not a word, Nellie. Satellites have picked up some Soviet movement in the mountains across from that base he was after, but we don’t have anything else for sure. The Brits are looking out for him.”

“Cobb?”

“He got in and somehow got out with his man. Only Henry could manage that. Saratoga forwarded just one message that said they were still in the Black Sea. Admiral Turner also said something about his man picking up Cobb, the Russian, and some woman in an evening dress.”

“That means it couldn’t be anyone else but Hank,” Carleton remarked, shifting his frame on the couch. “Now it’s our turn.”

“ Saratoga ’s group will catch it first. We may learn something from that. I just hope to hell they can recover Cobb and Keradin and get them here. Then that only leaves us.”

“And the soft underbelly,” finished Nelson.

“The soft underbelly,” Pratt echoed to himself. He went over to the bulkhead and flipped a switch. Background light glowed softly through a plastic covering. On its surface were blown-up prints of film from recon satellites. Their appearance reminded Nelson of X-rays in a doctor’s office — though the body in question was the Mediterranean. One set involved satellite photographs of the surface. Each island, each group of naval ships, even small fishing boats were delineated accurately. Photo interpreters had neatly identified each item on each photo.

The second set was of more interest. It contained infrared readings of what was under the surface of the Mediterranean. Like X-ray cameras, infrared satellites actually looked within the body of the ocean for telltale signatures of submarines. Not all could be located, but enough had been detected to show where the Russian wolf packs were located. Unless they were on active patrol, they tended to congregate either near land or the surface to facilitate communications.