“There we are, sir.” The lead sonarman marked his screen with a grease
pencil. The Captain tried not to be too disappointed. Tennessee was doing
twenty knots, and the array was only a thousand yards off for the few sec
onds required for the pass to be made.
“Nobody’s that invisible, sir,” Lieutenant Shaw observed.
“Bring her back to base course. We’ll try it again at fifteen knots.” To the
sonar chief: “Put a good man on the tapes. So let’s find that rattle all, shall
we?” Ten minutes later Tennessee commenced another self-noise check.
“It’s all going to be done in the saddle, Jack. As I read this, lime works for
them, not for us.” It wasn’t that Admiral Jackson liked it. There didn’t ap
|K*ar to he another way, and this war would be comc-as-you-are and make up
your own rules as you went along.
“You may be right on the political side. They want to stage the elections
soon, and they seem awfully confident-”
“Haven’t you heard? They’re flying civilians in hand over fist,” Jackson
told him. “Why do that? I think they’re all going to become instant resi-
dents, and they’re all going to vote Ja on the Anschluss. Our friends with the
phone can see the airport. The inbound flights have slacked off some, but
look at the numbers. Probably fifteen thousand troops on the island. They
can all vote. Toss in the Japanese tourists already there, and those who’ve
flown in, and that’s all she wrote, boy.”
The National Security Advisor winced. “That is simple, isn’t it?”
‘ ‘I remember when the Voting Rights Act got passed. It made a big differ-
ence in Mississippi when I was a kid. Don’t you just love how people can
use law to their benefit?”
“It sure is a civilized war, isn’t it?” Nobody ever said they were stupid,
Jack told himself. The results of the election would be bogus, but all they
really had to do was muddle things. The use of force required a clear cause.
So negotiations were part of the strategy of delay. The other side was still
determining the rules of the game. America did not yet have a strategy of
action.
“That’s what we need to change.”
“How?”
Jackson handed over a folder. “Here’s the information I need.”
Mutsu had satellite communications, which included video that could be
uplinked from fleet headquarters at Yokohama. It was a pretty sight, really,
Admiral Sato thought, and so good of CNN to give it to him. Enterprise with
three propellers wrecked, and the fourth visibly damaged. John Stennis with
two already removed, a third clearly beyond repair; the fourth, unfortu-
nately, seemed to be intact. What was not visible was internal damage. As he
watched, one of the huge manganese-bronze propellers was removed from
the latter ship, and another crane maneuvered in, probably, the destroyer’s
engineering officer observed, to withdraw part of the starboard outboard
shaft.
“Five months,” he said aloud, then heard the reporter’s estimate of six,
pleasantly the opinion of some unnamed yard worker.
“That’s what headquarters thinks.”
“They can’t defeat us with destroyers and cruisers,” Mutsu’s captain ob-
served. “But will they pull their two carriers out of the Indian Ocean?”
“Not if our friends continue to press them. Besides,” Sato went on
quietly, “two carriers are not enough, not against a hundred fighters on
(itiam and Saipan more it I request it, as I probably will. It’s really a polili-
i’al exercise now.”
“Anil their submarines?” the destroyer’s CO wondered, very nervous.
“So why can’t we?” Jones asked.
“Unrestricted warfare is out,” SubPac said.
“It worked before.”
‘ ‘They didn’t have nuclear weapons before,” Captain Chambers said.
“Oh.” There was that, Jones admitted to himself. “Do we have a plan
yet?”
“For the moment, keeping them away from us,” Mancuso said. It wasn’t
exactly a mission to thrill Chester Nimitz, but you had to start somewhere.
“What do you have for me?”
“I’ve gotten a couple of hits on snorting subs east of the islands. Nothing
good enough to initiate a hunt, but I don’t suppose we’re sending P-3S in
there anyway. The SOSUS troops are up to speed, though. Nothing’s going
to slip past us.” He paused. “One other thing. I got one touch”-a touch
was less firm than a hit-“on somebody off the Oregon coast.”
“Tennessee,” Chambers said. “That’s Dutch Claggett. He’s due in here
/ero-two-hundred Friday.”
Jones was impressed with himself. “Damn, a hit on an Ohio. How many
others?”
“Four more, the last one leaves the pier in about an hour.” Mancuso
pointed at his wall chart.’ ‘I told each one to run over that SOSUS array for a
noise check. I knew you’d be around to sniff after them. Don’t get too cocky
about it. They’re doing a speed run into Pearl.”
Jones nodded and turned. “Good one, Skipper.”
“We haven’t completely lost it yet, Dr. Jones.”
“Goddamn it, Chief!” Commander Claggett swore.
” My fault, sir. Sure as hell.” He took it like a man. It was a toolbox. It had
been found stuck between a seawater pipe and the hull, where minor vibra-
tions off the spring-suspended deck had made the wrenches inside rattle,
enough that the submarine-towed sonar had detected the noise. “It isn’t one
of ours, probably a yard worker left it aboard.”
Three other chief petty officers were there to share the experience. It
could have happened to anyone. They knew what was coming next, too.
Their captain took a deep breath before going on. A good show of anger was
required, even for his chiefs.
‘ ‘Every inch of the hull from the collision bulkhead to the tailshaft. Every
loose nut, every bolt, every screwdriver. If it’s layin’ on the deck, pick it up.
II it’s loose, lighten it. No stoppin’ till it’s done. I want this ship so quiet 1
can hear the dirty jokes you’re thinking about me.”
“It’ll get done, sir,” the Chief of the Boat promised. Might as well i;et
used to no sleep, he didn’t say, and sure enough-
“You got it, COB, no sleep until this boat makes a tomb look noisy.” On
reflection, Claggett thought he could have picked a better metaphor.
The CO made his way back forward, reminding himself to thank his sonar
chief for isolating the source of the noise. It was better to have found it the
first day out, and he had to raise hell about it. Those were the rules. He had to
command himself not to smile. The Captain, after all, was supposed to be a
stern son of a bitch-when he found something wrong, that is, and in a few
minutes the chiefs would relay all his wrath on to others and feel the same
way about it.
Things had already changed, he saw, as he passed through the reactor
spaces. Like doctors in an operating room, the reactor watch sat or stood
as their assignments dictated, mainly watching, making a few notes at
the proper times. At sea for less than a day, and already Xerox copies of
Think Quiet were taped to both sides of every watertight door. Those few
crewmen he encountered in the passageways made way for him, often
with a curt, proud nod. Yeah, we’re pros, too, sir. Two men were jogging
in the missile room, a long and now useless compartment, and Claggett,
as service etiquette dictated, made way for them, almost smiling again as he
did so.
“Toolbox, right?” the executive officer asked when the CO reentered
the Attack Center. “I had that happen to me on Hampton after our first
refit.”
“Yep.” Claggett nodded. “Turn of the next watch, we do a fore-and-aft
walkdown.”
“Could be worse, sir. Once coming out of a yard overhaul, a guy I know
had to reenter the dry dock. They found a friggin’ extension ladder in the
forward ballast tank.” Stories like that made submariners shiver.
“Toolbox, sir?” the sonar chief asked.
Now he could smile. Claggett leaned against the doorframe and nodded as
he pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Good call, Chief.”
“Wasn’t all that much.” But the chief petty officer pocketed the five any-
way. On Tennessee, as on a lot of submarines, every wrench aboard had its
handle dipped in liquid vinyl, which both gave a slightly better grip, espe-
cially to a sweaty hand, and also cut way back on the chance of rattling.
“Some yard puke, I bet,” he added with a wink.
“I only pay once,” Claggett observed. “Any new contacts?”
“Single-screw low-speed diesel surface ship bearing three-four-one, way
out. It’s a CZ contact, designated Sierra-Thirty. They’re working a plot now,
sir.” He paused for a moment, and his mood changed. “Cap’n?”
“What isit.ChicIV”
“Aalicvillc and (‘hmlnttc is it true?”
Commander (‘lagged nodded again. “That’s what they told me.”
“We’ll even the score, sir.”
Roger Durling lifted the sheet of paper. It was handwritten, which was some-
ilung the President rarely saw. “This is rather thin, Admiral.”