Larry Bond - Exit Plan

“Mr. Nelson, report,” demanded Guthrie, as he hopped up onto the stand.

“Sir, we are on course two seven zero. Our speed is currently fourteen knots, accelerating to seventeen.”

“Very well.” Then turning toward Jerry he asked, “XO, is the congregation assembled?”

“Yes, sir. All interested parties are in the BMC awaiting your presence. Bursting with curiosity, I might add.”

Feigning sincerity Guthrie exclaimed, “Well, we can’t have that now, can we!?” Then with a subtle sweep of his hand, he motioned toward the BMC and added, “After you, XO.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Jerry, as he turned and headed for the door. He had just cracked it open when a loud voice shouted, “Feet!”

Inside, Jerry saw Lieutenant Travis Frederickson, SEAL Team Three’s targeting and operations officer, and the detachment officer-in-charge, standing by the access to the planning cell spaces. Stepping aside, Jerry let Guthrie enter first. Frederickson brought up the rear.

“As you were,” Guthrie said, as he positioned himself in front of the two-dozen people crowded in to the planning cell.

“Moments ago we received a flash-precedence message giving Michigan and the embarked SEAL platoon a new mission. I’m going to read the message and then I’ll give you your instructions. Save any questions till the end,” instructed Guthrie.

The captain took his reading glasses out of his poopie suit pocket, put them on, and opened the clipboard.

FROM: Commander, United States Central Command

TO: Commanding Officer, USS Michigan’s SGN 727.

SUBJECT: Fragmentary Order 05–13.

Terminate participation in Exercise Display Unity and proceed at best possible speed to coordinates latitude 27° 35’ 49” N, longitude 051° 55’ 29” E in the central Persian Gulf. Once in position, elements of Charlie Platoon, SEAL Team Three will rendezvous with and extract two Iranian nationals who have detailed information on the Iranian government’s WMD program. The rendezvous has been scheduled for 1630Z hours on 03 April. This time cannot be altered due to a lack of communications with the Iranian individuals. Presidential approval to violate Iranian territorial waters is in process.

Commanding Officer, USS Michigan, has operational control of the mission, while SEAL Team Three Detachment OIC has tactical control. More information to follow.

A low murmur arose as soon as Guthrie finished reading. Jerry snapped his fingers twice, calling for silence.

“Alright, gentlemen, and lady,” added Guthrie, nodding in Manning’s direction. “We have a no-shit hi-pri mission on our hands, and not a lot of time to get in position or prepare. We are already on course for the Persian Gulf, moving as fast as we can, given the stress limits imposed by the ASDS and the dry deck shelter docked on the turtleback. If you factor in the time for ASDS launch and transit, we have a tad over forty-three hours to get where we are supposed to be. So everyone will have to be at the top of their game.”

Flipping through the paper on the clipboard, Guthrie quickly read from a list of orders.

“Mr. Hogan and COB. Please coordinate with the XO on additional damage control drills.” Lieutenant Daniel Hogan, the damage control assistant, acknowledged the orders, as did Master Chief Eichmann with a terse “Aye, aye, sir.”

“Mr. Zelinski,” Guthrie continued, “I want an updated status report on all ship’s weapons and the UAVs. I don’t expect a fight, but the Iranians don’t always act rationally and I want to be ready just in case they make it necessary for us to defend ourselves.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the weapons officer. “I’ll have it to the XO in a couple of hours.”

“Good. Also work with the XO to schedule some additional battle stations torpedo and strike drills.” Checking off two more items, Guthrie turned toward his navigator.

“Mr. Simmons, I need you to figure out our best avenue of approach once we enter the gulf. I want an optimized plan that gets us to the desired coordinates as fast as possible, while keeping us in the deepest water possible.”

The young African American frowned. He was not happy with this assignment. “Skipper, we are talking two hundred feet of water at the very best, probably a lot less. It’s going to be frickin’ hard to maintain a decent speed without generating a visible wake on the surface. It’s hard to hide a hippo in a swimming pool!”

Jerry had to grin at Simmons’s metaphor, for while it was a little crass to compare Michigan to a hippopotamus with her skipper present, it was an apt analogy. Submarine skippers, especially nuclear submarine skippers, weren’t comfortable in less than three hundred or four hundred feet of water, and preferred six hundred feet — a hundred fathoms.

“You don’t see me smiling about this either, Isaac,” Guthrie replied sympathetically. “Just do the best you can, and while you’re at it please avoid shipping lanes if at all possible. I really don’t want to be in a sequel of Hartford’s collision.”

The frown on Simmons’s face quickly mutated into a grimace at the mention of the collision between the Los Angeles- class attack submarine USS Hartford , and USS New Orleans , a San Antonio- class amphibious assault ship in March 2009. Hartford was submerged, crossing the main shipping lanes just inside the Strait of Hormuz, when her sail was struck by the amphib, causing significant damage to the submarine.

Still uneasy, Simmons nodded and said, “We’ll get right on it, Captain.”

“Mr. Frederickson” — Guthrie shifted his attention to the SEAL detachment OIC—”begin your formal mission-planning process. I want the brief back on the platoon leader order in thirty hours.”

“Understood, sir. Mr. Ramey has that for action.” Frederickson pointed toward Lieutenant Matthew Ramey, Charlie platoon’s leader, as he spoke.

“Very well,” said Guthrie as he checked his list. “One more thing for you and your SEALs to keep in mind when you start putting together your intelligence requirements for reachback support. Every time you want to transmit requirements or receive data, we have to slow down. The masts can’t handle speeds in excess of ten knots. We are operating under a very tight time line for this mission, and we can’t afford losing time for repeated periscope depth evolutions so you can phone home. So as you put together your essential elements of information needs for NAVSPECWARCOM or ONI to fill, please do so efficiently.”

“Understood,” responded Frederickson and Ramey simultaneously.

“Mr. Carlson, I want a complete check of the ASDS systems, particularly the batteries…” Guthrie’s speech came to an abrupt stop as he looked up from his clipboard and saw his ASDS pilot clearly for the first time.

Jerry saw his captain do a double take. He then removed his reading glasses and took yet another look, followed by, “Alex! What the hell happened to you!?”

Carlson just stood there silent, embarrassed.

“Uhh, I did, sir,” replied Barrineau sheepishly.

Guthrie turned toward Jerry, a look of total confusion written all over his face.

“The, uh, medical issue I mentioned earlier, Skipper,” remarked Jerry as gracefully as possible. It’s almost always a bad thing for an XO to let his boss be surprised in public, as this violates one of the primary duties of an executive officer to not let his captain look bad.

A deep calming sigh came from Guthrie. “My bad, XO, not yours. Now what do we do about this unexpected complication?” Facing Manning he asked, “I don’t suppose Alex is medically cleared to pilot the ASDS?”

“No, sir,” the doctor answered. “The fracture is in a very bad spot, just about the wrist, and I had to severely restrict that arm’s range of motion if it’s to heal properly”