Larry Bond - Exit Plan

“XO, Officer of the deck, sir. The skipper asked me to pass on that we are receiving flash traffic. He is already in the radio room and requests that you get your, quote, carcass up there immediately, unquote, sir.”

“Understand we are receiving flash traffic. Is it related to the exercise?” Confused, Jerry reached again for the events list.

“Negative, sir. This is a real-world message.”

A flash precedence message for Michigan meant something very big was happening in her part of the world, and the powers that be wanted her to do something about it.

“Thank you, Erik. I’ll be right up.”

Jerry rose quickly as he secured the handset in its cradle. Manning had already stepped out of the stateroom, clearing his path.

“Doc, we’ll have to work on your board later,” said Jerry, as he bolted for the ladder well. She made a reply, but Jerry didn’t hear it. His attention was elsewhere.

“Gangway. Make a hole!” he shouted, as his foot hit the first step. The sailors at the top of the ladder well rapidly dispersed. Grabbing the bridge access hatch ladder railing, Jerry propelled himself around the corner and found Lieutenant Erik Nelson, Michigan’ s communications officer, already holding the radio room door open. “The skipper’s forward reading the message,” volunteered Nelson.

Jerry only nodded as he entered the room. The solid thump from behind told him Nelson had closed the heavy door. Hunched over a table, motionless, studying the message stood Captain Kyle Guthrie. A seasoned submariner, Guthrie had an outstanding record full of highly successful assignments. Michigan’s blue crew was his second command tour, a rare occurrence in the U.S. submarine force, and everyone on board knew he enjoyed every minute of it.

Jerry considered himself lucky to work for a man like Guthrie, who seemed to know everything about subs and submarine warfare. The guy had been there and done it all: patrols on a ballistic missile submarine, tours at NAVSEA and the Pentagon supporting submarine design and procurement, as well as XO and CO tours on attack submarines. He’d been on boats that had fired virtually every weapon a U.S. submarine could possibly carry including Trident II D-5 ballistic missiles, Tomahawk cruise missiles, and various flavors of Mark 48 torpedoes. Operationally, Guthrie had a lot of experience in land-attack strikes, intelligence-gathering missions, and had even worked with embarked SEALs before. In short, he was the perfect commanding officer for a converted Ohio -class submarine. His reputation as a demanding captain was well founded, but at the same time he was courteous, fair, and totally dedicated to his crew. While he worked them hard, he also made damn sure they had all the tools they needed to get the job done.

“Ahh, XO,” said Guthrie, while waving for Jerry to come beside him. “Glad to see you made it. What took you so long?” The smirk on his face made it clear he was jerking Jerry’s chain, particularly since it hadn’t even been thirty seconds since Jerry had received the phone call.

“Sorry, Skipper, there was a little congestion on Highway 3,” said Jerry without blinking. He had Guthrie’s dry, and sometimes sarcastic, sense of humor down pat and knew the gibe wasn’t personal. Indeed, his reference to the main road outside of the Bangor Submarine Base earned an appreciative nod from his commanding officer.

Before he could even ask about the message’s contents, Guthrie calmly handed it to him. “These orders come straight from the top, Jerry. Were through with the exercise and are to proceed at best speed to the central Persian Gulf. We’ve been ordered to extract two individuals with critical information on Iran’s nuclear program. Apparently we are a last-minute backup plan and have to get to the rendezvous location in less than forty-five hours.” He emphasized that last point by repeatedly poking at the message paragraph containing that little tidbit.

Guthrie’s rapid-fire summarization made it difficult for Jerry to read the message and listen at the same time. He saw the “Z” prosign in the message header signifying a “FLASH” precedence message. This meant the sender had to process and get this message out as fast as possible, preferably in less than ten minutes. The list of information addresses was impressive, starting with Special Operations Command, Naval Special Warfare Command, Commander, Submarine Forces Pacific, and on down to Michigan’s submarine squadron and SEAL Team Three, the parent unit of Charlie Platoon. He also noticed the message was classified at the Top Secret level with limited distribution. As he hit the meat of the message, Jerry found it contained little more than what Guthrie had already said, along with “more information to follow.”

Guthrie gave his exec twenty seconds before shooting out a string of commands.

“We’ll have to put the spurs to her if we’re to make it, but even so it’s gonna be dang close. Get the OOD to change course to due west, bring the reactor coolant pumps online, and get us up to seventeen knots. Then have all department heads, the COB, and SEAL platoon members muster in the BMC in five minutes.”

“Change course to cardinal west, bring reactor coolant pumps online, and make seventeen knots. Muster all department heads, the COB, and SEAL platoon members in the BMC in five minutes, aye, sir,” Jerry replied; a complete verbatim repeat back of an order was standard Navy operating procedure to ensure that it was properly heard and understood.

“Good, now git to it.”

“If I may, Captain. There is a medical issue that I need to report. Lieutenant—”

“Is it life-threatening?” interrupted Guthrie.

“No, sir.”

“Then it can wait, Jerry It’s more important right now to get us heading toward the rendezvous point.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, I believe this is relevant…”

“I said later, XO.” Guthrie’s firm response signaled the end of the discussion.

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Jerry, chastened.

Turning to leave, he placed the message on the table and then walked swiftly toward the door. He heard the radio room watch stander say, “Skipper, another message is coming in on the new mission,” as he shut the door.

The control room was barely ten paces aft of the radio room and Jerry marched directly to the periscope stand where Lieutenant Nelson stood with eager anticipation.

“OOD, change course to two seven zero. Have maneuvering bring the reactor coolant pumps online and get us to seventeen knots ASAP. Then announce over the 1MC for all department heads, the COB, and SEAL platoon members to muster in the battle management center.”

Nelson accurately recited the orders. While he began to carry them out, Jerry moved over by the fire control consoles to get out of the way. The XO’s presence could be something of a distraction, since most of the time his presence was the harbinger of yet another drill. But this time it was the real thing, and being out of the direct line of sight of the watch standers helped to reinforce that this wasn’t another training evolution.

USS Michigan was the second of eighteen Ohio -class nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarines, also called SSBNs, built in the 1980s and 1990s. After completing thirty-three strategic deterrent patrols, the Navy decided to convert her and three of her sisters into cruise missile-carrying submarines, or SSGNs, as they came due for their major overhaul. Michigan began the conversion process in January 2005. The systems for the Trident II D-5 ballistic missiles were removed and replaced with equipment that supported large numbers of Tomahawk cruise missiles and berthing for Special Operations troops; in most cases Navy SEALs.