Stephen Coonts - Combat

George Washington

Nobody said a thing on the way across the hangar deck. Their Marine escort, Sergeant Carlos Ablanedo, stopped them for a moment behind an A-6E Intruder, its wings in the up position, its nose cover open exposing the electronics inside. There was some activity forward, but it was far enough away, and the cavernous deck was lit only with dim red battle lights so there was no chance that they would be spotted.

Word had been sent down to the various section chiefs to make themselves and their crews scarce from about midships aft between 1930 and 2000 hours. It was done in such a way that no questions were asked. A personal favor for the old man.

The military services were not usually particularly friendly toward the CIA; too many mistakes had been made in the past, not the least of which was the Bay of Pigs fiasco. But McGarvey had to admit that this time they were treating him with kid gloves. They were looking for a solution that would require no shooting, and they were willing to go along with just about anything to get it.

The night was pitch-black, the sky overcast, so that there was no line to mark the horizon. The seas were fairly flat, so the huge wake trailing behind the massive warship was not as confused and dangerous as it could have been. Nonetheless, Hanrahan warned him that once they hit the water they were to swim at right angles from the ship to put as much distance between themselves and the tremendous suction of the gigantic propellers as possible. To help them the captain would order a sharp turn to port at 1950, which would take the stern away from them.

There was no rail on the open elevator bay, and it was a long way down to the water, maybe thirty or forty feet, McGarvey estimated. He and Hanrahan were dressed in black wet suits with hoods, small scuba tanks attached to their chests, buoyancy control vests and swim fins strapped to their backs. Hanrahan also carried a GPS/Inertial Navigator about the size of a paperback book. On the surface it established its location from satellites. Underwater it “remembered” its last satellite fix, and then kept track of every movement: up, down, left, and right, along with the speed to continuously update its position. It was a new toy that the SEALs had been given just two months ago. In trials it had worked like a charm. But this would be its first real-world test. McGarvey carried a bag with his things.

They flipped a pair of lines over the side, attached their hooks to the six-inch lip at the edge of the deck, then threaded the lines through their rappelling carabiners.

“Okay, Sarge, we were never here,” Hanrahan said.

“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of your ropes, but you guys stay cool.”

McGarvey looked over the side at the black water rushing by. “I don’t think we’re going to have much of a choice in about two minutes.”

The sergeant grinned. “At least this ain’t the North Atlantic.”

“Some guys have all the luck,” Hanrahan said.

The carrier began its ponderous turn to port. They could actually feel the list, which McGarvey figured had to be at least five degrees, maybe more. The white wake curled away from them, and Hanrahan gave him the thumbs-up sign.

They went over the side together, rappelling in long but cautious jumps down the ship’s flank, until they were just a few feet above water that moved as fast as a mountain stream.

Hanrahan unclipped his line and held it away from his body. McGarvey did the same, and on a signal from the SEAL they pushed off, hitting the water almost as hard as if they had jumped off a garage roof and landed on their backs on a concrete driveway.

McGarvey tumbled end over end and then he was swept deep beneath the surface. It seemed to go on for an eternity, until gradually the turbulence began to subside. When he surfaced, the ship was already ahead of him, and a ten-foot wall of water from the wake was curling around, heading right for him.

He yanked his swim fins free, struggled to put them on, and headed directly away from where he figured he had gone into the water and at right angles to the wake.

After five minutes he stopped and looked over his shoulder, involuntarily catching his breath. The ocean was empty. There was no sign that the George Washington had ever been there. No wake, no lights on the horizon, nothing. There were no other ships in sight, nor were there any aircraft lights in the sky. No sounds, no smells. He could not remember ever having such an overwhelming feeling of being alone. Facing a human enemy, one bent on killing you, was one thing. But facing the sea, which was a supremely indifferent enemy, was another matter altogether.

He saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye to the left. He turned toward it, raised the tiny strobe light attached to his left arm and fired a brief burst in return.

A couple of minutes later Hanrahan materialized out of the darkness. “Are you okay?”

“I’m wet,” McGarvey said. “How close are we to the rendezvous point?”

“Just about on top of it.”

They donned their masks and mouthpieces, and on Hanrahan’s lead they let the excess air out of their BC vests and started down at an angle toward the northeast. Almost immediately the massive hulk of the Seawolf’ s sail appeared directly beneath them. The submarine had risen so that the top of her sail-mounted sensors were twenty feet beneath the surface.

McGarvey followed Hanrahan down the trailing edge of the sail to the submarine’s deck, where the forward escape trunk hatch was open. The trunk was like a flooded coffin: the fleeting thought crossed McGarvey’s mind as Hanrahan reached up and pulled the hatch closed. This was definitely not a job for someone with claustrophobia.

Captain Heishui studied the chart, which showed the present positions of his submarine and the American boat, as well as the track of the George Washington and her battle group. He was trying to reconcile what he was seeing with his own two eyes and what his XO was telling him.

“She’s on her way back down,” Lagao said. “There’s no doubt about it. It’s my guess that she rendezvoused with the American carrier long enough to exchange messages, perhaps more.”

Heishui looked up. “More?”

Lagao was a little uneasy, but he held it well. Heishui was an exacting captain. He did not suffer mistakes very well. “It’s possible that the Seawolf took on supplies or passengers. He didn’t surface, at least Zenzhong doesn’t think so. But we may have picked up machinery noises. Possibly the pump for an escape trunk.”

“All that information from beneath the thermocline?”

“There have been fluctuations in the temperature and salinity. But it’s just a guess, Captain.”

Heishui nodded. “I think that you may have something,” he conceded. “Let’s see what he does now.”

“What if he tries to run?”

“Then we will follow in his baffles so that he will not detect us.” Heishui studied the chart for a moment, trying to read something from it, some clue. “He can outrun us, of course, but not if he wants to remain stealthy.” He looked up again. “That in itself would tell us something.”

“We will have to keep a very close ear on him,” Lagao warned.

“I want a slot buoy prepared. If he does head away we’ll send up the buoy on a one-hour delay to inform Ningbo what we’re attempting to do. The delay will give us plenty of time to get clear.”

“I’ll see to it now,” Lagao said.

Heishui called sonar. “What is he doing?”

“Still on his way down, Captain.”

“I think he means to get under way as soon as he reaches the thermocline. Keep a close watch.”