CARRIER 10: ARSENAL By: Keith Douglass

the carrier, noting with one part of his mind that the young lieutenant

was showing ever-increasing proficiency in his ship handling. Six

months ago, there had been a certain tentativeness in his voice, a

slowness in making critical decisions. During workups in the latest

deployment, that had vanished, and what Captain Heather saw now was a

more competent man, one surely and certainly on the track to commanding

his own vessel someday.

Was he already seeing that? Did the young OOD look over at his captain

now and wonder how it would feel to sit in his chair, feel the fear and

eagerness that every captain felt in the pipeline? Heather hid a

smile, remembering his own fantasies as a junior lieutenant officer of

the deck, wondering how in the hell the Old Man managed to look like he

knew what he was doing at every second, knew what was going on in parts

of the ship he hadn’t visited in hours.

Those were other tricks of the trade that his OOD would pick up along

the way, the captain showing him the ropes as he took more and more

responsibility for the operation of the ship.

“All special teams secured and normal underway watch set,” the OOD

reported. “Captain, I’ve extended the chow hours below to allow the

outgoing crew to get a hot meal before they turn in. Most of them will

be back on watch at midnight.”

“Very well.” He acknowledged the OOD’s decision neutrally, hiding the

small thrill of satisfaction it brought him.

The man showed concern for his troops, another sign of good leadership

to take note of.

1700 Local (+5 GMT) Cuban Foxtrot Submarine The submarine chugged

along, operating at snorkel depth, sucking in air through its masts to

power the diesel engines below. The captain was uneasy, and his mood

was reflected in that of his crew. It had been too long since they’d

put to sea, despite his insistence over the past years about

maintaining some minimum level of proficiency in submarine

operations.

The crewmen on board were rusty; more than rusty almost dangerous.

Still, the mission was not terribly complicated. With any luck, they’d

be back in port late that night.

“Captain, I have it.” The sonar man spoke loudly, then immediately

clapped one hand over his mouth to warn himself to be more quiet.

“She’s only a few miles away,” he said in a lower voice.

“Bearing?”

“Three-two-zero true.”

The captain wheeled to the conning officer. “Three-two zero true,

then.

And warn the weapons crew to stand by.”

“Si, Capitdn.” The OOD gave the new orders slowly, haltingly,

desperately trying to refresh his memory for the mission that had been

planned only the day before.

1749 Local (+5 GMT) USS Arsenal “Stand down from battle stations,” the

captain ordered, “and make sure the crew gets fed. It’s been a long

day.”

The announcement sounded throughout the ship minutes later, securing

the vessel from General Quarters. He could hear the tread of feet down

the corridors as the minimally manned vessel stood down. Crewmen would

be crowding into the galley, gulping down coffee, and chattering

excitedly over the day’s events.

“We’re setting the normal underway watch now,” the OOD reported. “Any

special instructions?”

The captain shook his head. “Just the standard. And watch out for

small boats that’s about all they could throw at us.”

The captain retreated into his wardroom and sat down for dinner with

the small group of officers manning the Arsenal ship. At least it was

over, the first operational test of this awesome platform. Now they

would wait.

1740 Local (+5 GMT) Cuban Foxtrot Submarine “Launch the first one,” the

captain ordered. He waited, growing increasingly impatient as the crew

moved sluggishly to obey. Finally, he felt the pressure change within

the boat, followed by a shudder as the first mine was shot out of the

torpedo tubes.

Mines. Not the torpedoes that any self-respecting submarine would have

been armed with. Parts had been too hard to obtain, and the fuel and

warheads on the ones they’d received from the Soviet Union had

gradually deteriorated into rusting piles of metal and toxic liquid.

But mines-ah, now there was a weapon. Stable for decades with minimal

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