Straits of Power (17 page)

Enemy torpedoes began to draw too close for comfort. Jeffrey ordered Bell to have Torelli open fire with
Challenger
’s antitorpedo rockets.

Once more, roars and rumbles began and raced through the sea. The rocket detonations, and the sympathetic explosion of several Axis high-explosive torpedoes, were much louder this time, close enough to rattle
Challenger
bodily.

It was time to try to give the 212s’ captains the biggest surprise of their lives.

Hopefully the
last
surprise of their lives. They’ll think
Ohio
just fired those rockets, while sitting stationary, maybe behind a big fold in the terrain.

“Helm, ahead flank.”

Challenger
accelerated.

Jeffrey ordered more snap shots fired, three each at Master Two and Master Three. They closed the range toward the pair of 212s very rapidly, since Master Two and Master Three had been lured before by Jeffrey’s sudden disappearing act into charging straight toward his quiet, invisible presence. The net closing rate of 212s and ADCAPs was almost 100 knots.

Jeffrey ordered the six tubes reloaded. As soon as they were ready, he fired another six fish.

They’ll know that I’m not
Ohio,
and they were fooled before.
Ohio
can’t shoot six fish in one salvo.

The melee was in its end stage now; a stand-up slugfest at barely arm’s length. There was nothing subtle about it. Antitorpedo rockets flew back and forth through the water. Torpedo engines screamed, moving away or coming nearer. Homing sonars pinged at different pitches, all of them high and now seeming strident, not sweet. Noisemakers gurgled. The hiss of
Challenger
’s own flow noise made a continuous backdrop over the speakers.

The 212s, in desperation, fired more antitorpedo rockets, and launched more Seehechts, and turned away to attempt evasive maneuvers. But they were running out of ammo, and Jeffrey’s gigantic torpedo room was still more than half full. Even in a stern chase, Jeffrey had a speed advantage of over thirty knots. And in these shallow waters, where the sonar layer had never once come into play, the 212s had scant room in which to evade.

This is where I find out if the German captains go nuclear.

Torelli’s technicians struggled to follow the action, and control their fish through their joysticks and the guidance wires. Three ADCAPs ran at each 212, homing in independent mode, drawing the fire of German antitorpedo rockets. Three more ADCAPs ran behind each first triplet, a second wave of weapons taking commands through the fiber-optic wires. This was Jeffrey’s final offensive fire.

But defense counted too.

One Seehecht through Torelli’s screen of rockets and we’re doomed.

There was a sharp
crack
and a merciless pummeling.

“Most recent unit from tube one has detonated!” Bell shouted. “Assess direct hit on Master Two!”

Crewmen cheered.

“Quiet in Control,” Jeffrey shouted. It seemed an absurd request, given the decibel level, but he needed his people to stay steady, and concentrate.

More roars and blasts resounded outside the hull. Inbound torpedo icons vanished as Torelli’s antitorpedo rockets scored hits.

An erupting
vroom
enveloped
Challenger
’s hull, the worst noise and physical punishment yet. Jeffrey was shaken in his seat so hard his vision was blurred.

“Most recent unit from tube seven has detonated!” Bell called out, projecting his voice above the cacophony. “Assess direct hit on Master Three!”

That abruptly, the whole feel of the ocean outside changed. There were no more rockets, and no more torpedoes. Instead there was the terrible sound of the sea slamming into fractured hulls. The 212s had no subdivided internal watertight compartments. The water-cannon noise subsided soon. There was a final gush of escaping bubbles, and both dead U-boats thumped into the bottom mud.

“Sonar,” Jeffrey ordered, almost whispering in the sudden quiet, “melee ping.”

Another acoustic fist probed everywhere on an arc in front of the ship.

Jeffrey waited.

Milgrom reported no submerged contacts.

“Helm, slow to ahead one third, make turns for four knots.”

Meltzer acknowledged.

Jeffrey waited for
Challenger
to slow. As her speed came off, the steady vibrations of her own movement diminished, then grew still.

“Helm, right ten degrees rudder, make your course zero-nine-zero.” Due east, to bring
Ohio
into the field of view of the starboard wide-aperture arrays, and into the effective coverage of the secure acoustic link. The turn would also avoid a potential collision, until the fast-moving
Ohio
realized that Jeffrey had slowed and was talking to them.

“Fire Control. Signal
Ohio:
‘What is your status, and what is status of prosecuting Master One?’ ”

Bell typed. It took a few moments for the response from Parcelli to come back and be decoded.

“ ‘Master One destroyed while you were sinking the class 212s.’ ” Parcelli had sunk the 214. “ ‘Status my ship is outstanding. Why? Were you really concerned about the outcome?’ ”

Jeffrey forced himself not to curse. He was drenched in sweat, and starting to shake as the overdose of adrenaline wore off. He felt horribly thirsty and drowsy. Looking around in the red-lit control room, his crew seemed in no better shape. They all knew they had barely survived, and only because Jeffrey’s split-second decisions had changed all the terms of the battle more than once. They also knew that they’d saved
Ohio
’s backside from a lethal bushwhacking just in the nick of time.

And then I get this message from Parcelli. That snide son of a bitch.

Chapter 13

J
effrey sat in his stateroom, the closest thing he had to a private office on
Challenger.
He listened as people talked to him while he thought about something else—and felt torn in more ways than just that.

Bell and Lieutenant Willey, the engineer, were giving Jeffrey reports on the progress of repairs on the damage sustained in the battle. Jeffrey nodded absentmindedly. Through long practice at this sort of thing, he took in their key points even though mentally preoccupied and emotionally drained. His stateroom, with its fold-down desk to one side and a filing cabinet bolted to the deck in the opposite corner, didn’t leave Willey and Bell much space in which to stand and speak; there was only one guest chair—as a courtesy to each other, neither man used it. Both of them looked exhausted.

Willey finished. The shipwide damage was minor, repairs should be easy over the next few hours and days, and he obviously wanted to get back to the work. Jeffrey thanked him, and dismissed him.

Once Willey was gone and the stateroom door was closed again for privacy, Jeffrey studied Bell, standing there in front of his desk.

“How’s morale?”

“Terrific, Skipper. We just scored another two kills. Nothing lifts the crew’s mood faster than
that,
sir. And you know how quickly word gets around. Everyone’s very impressed by the tactics you ordered. The guys who understood it all explained it to the guys who didn’t. How you went with our strengths. Used our superior sonars and quieting to do that disappearing act, then used our sustained hitting power with a flank-speed charge and those multiple salvos.”

Jeffrey smiled, and felt some renewed energy. “Good. I want you to do double duty as my chief of staff for the task group, XO.”

Bell stood up straight. “Sir?”

“You can start by drafting an after-action report.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A de facto step upward in authority, so you outrank
Ohio
’s XO.”
Which might come in handy soon.
“Good experience for you too, which I’ll make sure is appreciated later.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And, of course, the ulterior motive.”

“Captain?”

“Takes more of the paperwork load off me, and dumps it in
your
lap.”

Bell grinned. “All good things come at a price.”

Jeffrey grew more sober. He glanced at his navigation console.
Challenger,
with
Ohio
in company, was beyond the Eastern Seaboard continental shelf now, out in much deeper water. “Have me informed when Captain Parcelli’s minisub is docked. You and I will meet him at the lock-in trunk.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll need maybe twenty minutes with him alone in here. Then we’ll have a classified briefing in the wardroom. Him and me, you, Sonar, Nav, and Weps. Plus our three main guests, Mr. Parker of the CIA, Mr. Salih our Turko-German friend, and Lieutenant Estabo, CO of our embarked SEAL team. . . . Have COB arrange for a couple of off-watch chiefs to stand guard outside the doors to the wardroom. Everything is compartmented, strictly need to know.”

Parcelli was sitting in Jeffrey’s guest chair. He came alone, except for his minisub’s crew; he’d left his XO in charge back on
Ohio.
He wore unwrinkled formal dress blues—compared with Jeffrey’s rumpled short-sleeve khakis—suggesting that he expected an argument and meant to win it. His expression was hard and his body language confrontational.

Jeffrey felt reservations about what he needed to do, because this was a first for him. He had to firmly discipline a man who until barely a day ago was his definite senior. And he had to do it in such a way as to not compromise the mission success of Task Group 47.2.

Jeffrey loathed face-to-face hostile confrontations. As commanding officer of USS
Challenger,
discipline within the ship’s hierarchy was handled mainly by Bell and COB as a standard part of their roles.
Challenger
had a good crew, so Jeffrey’s need for direct involvement was minimal. In his brief stint as XO of the ship himself, in the middle of a war that had galvanized everyone to do their best, he’d encountered few occasions when a junior officer or enlisted man needed any tough talking to.

Commander Parcelli, CO of USS
Ohio,
was something else. Jeffrey had no clear precedent to go by.
Ohio
had almost twice the number of people aboard as
Challenger,
and also weighed twice as much—which by the navy’s long-standing culture gave Parcelli major clout, and both men knew it. Crew size and ship’s displacement mass defined a standard pecking order, imprinted deep in Jeffrey’s instincts throughout his years of being in uniform.

Jeffrey had to keep all this completely to himself while he dealt with Parcelli. Nothing had ever prepared him for such a trial, and he knew he would have only this single chance to get it right. Despite all the tension and fear involved in combat, Jeffrey found it easier to do battle with enemy submarine captains.
An Axis captain doesn’t watch my every physical move, my expression or how I sit in a chair, or how I set my eyes or how I breathe. It’s a clear win-lose situation, enemy action, and the end of the battle provides decisive closure. Everything now is so different from that, and brand new to me.

“Your accusing me of disobeying orders has no basis in fact,” Parcelli stated crisply. “Since the rendezvous had not been made, the task group was not yet constituted. I had full freedom of action, and chose to take the initiative while in independent command.”

“The task group was constituted when the president ordered it activated, and I was made its commander in a meeting both you and I were at. Your rushing off on your own endangered everything. It endangered your ship, it compromised our stealth, it risked failure of our primary mission. Your orders of where to rendezvous, and when, were very explicit. A pair of class Two-twelves pale, utterly pale, in comparison with our main assignment.”

“Nope,” Parcelli said, irritatingly nonchalant. “Every U-boat sunk is one step closer to victory. We need to destroy them faster than the Germans can build more, and you know that perfectly well. The very fact of my stealth, which I
chose
to compromise, gave me the element of surprise. And the acoustic modems I left for you assured
Challenger
would come in my support. That’s your job while in the Atlantic, Captain Fuller, to provide
me
with support.”

“Suppose the modems had malfunctioned? Suppose acoustic conditions had been poorer than they were, and I never heard any modems? What then?”

“I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”

“That entire point of view, that attitude, violates the letter
and
the intent of our orders. You’re supposed to provide
my
ship with support in the Med, if we make it that far. And it’s not about your ship
or
mine, it’s about a task group our ships form
together,
and a mission, something essential we both need to do in the Med. . . . You didn’t even realize that a class Two-fourteen was out there.”

Parcelli’s eyes darted about, as if he’d been caught off guard.
Good. I can play his game too.
But Jeffrey cautioned himself because he had to suppress a smirk.
I
must
keep this from getting personal, no matter how hard Parcelli tries to reduce it to that level.

“Undetected opponents are always a risk,” Parcelli shot back, as dismissively as he could.

“There’s undetected, and then there’s
unsuspected.
How clearly do I have to spell this out for you to hear the message?”

“What message?”

“That I was put in charge of this task group for a reason. . . . How many U-boats have you sunk?”

“Counting one off Central Africa a few weeks ago, and giving my ship full credit for the Two-fourteen this time, two. Had you taken on the Two-fourteen, as I expected once contact was made, I’d’ve sunk the pair of Two-twelves, as I intended all along, and my score would now be three.” Parcelli made it sound like an accusation, that Jeffrey had grabbed the best kills for himself. He decided to ignore Parcelli’s latest jab.

“You know how many Axis subs I’ve destroyed?”

“No, frankly I don’t.”

“Frankly, neither do I. I’ve lost count, which says something right there. But I can tell you I’ve been in over a dozen separate engagements, many of which went nuclear, and I’m still here to talk about it. I’ve got a
lot
more combat experience than you. In this context, in this war,
experience leads.”

Parcelli stared at Jeffrey hard. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“You’ve got all this wonderful experience because you hog the ball. You don’t even know what’s being said behind your back.”

Parcelli sat back triumphantly.

What does he think he just won? And what the hell is he talking about?

“Explain yourself, Commander.” Using his rank, rather than Parcelli’s title as captain of
Ohio,
was a rebuke that Jeffrey knew Parcelli wouldn’t miss.

“Your one-of-a-kind ship cost a fortune, and is an absolute maintenance nightmare. The navy could’ve had three or four
Virginia
-class fast-attacks for what it cost to build
Challenger.
A lot of influential people think we’d’ve been better off. You spend so much time in dry dock between your different vaunted missions, you’re draining skills and materials that other ships badly need. . . . You had no idea of the resentment this is causing? Up to and including at flag rank in Undersea Warfare?” Parcelli meant some admirals at the Pentagon.

“None of those decisions was mine to make.
Challenger
’s speed and diving depth, her number of tubes, the size of her torpedo room, all outweigh a Virginia’s, as fine as those ships are.”

“It doesn’t outweigh
four
of ’em, and in this present conflict we need as many subs in service as we can get.”

“It’s too late, and it’s irrelevant. I’m not the type to look over my shoulder. And I sure as
hell
do not intend to have to keep looking over my shoulder now, to make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be, doing exactly what I tell you to do, no more and no less.”

“I’ll be full captain long before you, and I’ll be rear admiral and you’ll never be, from the way you behave.”

“All that,” Jeffrey said as coldly as he could, “remains to be seen. You’ll never wear your fourth stripe if you don’t survive this mission. You’ll never don that first star if you get killed in the next week or two. So I strongly urge you to concentrate on the here and now,
Captain
Parcelli. As far as
I’m
concerned,
as
task-group commander, you led us both to expend a large amount of offensive and defensive ammunition to sink three lower-value targets that other of our forces could have, should have, and would have sunk on their own. And since unlike other units, you and I will
not
be able to replenish our now half-empty torpedo rooms until after our current mission, your behavior decreased our chances of success.”

Parcelli hesitated. Jeffrey decided to throw his hardest punches.

“This isn’t some game about whose dick is bigger. This whole mission is for
real,
and its success is by no means guaranteed. If it fails, we might all be dead in two weeks, and the whole world might be dead soon thereafter.
The whole goddamned world might be dead.
Thanks to your impetuous conduct, the Axis might know
Challenger
is in the company of another nuclear submarine, which was supposed to have been top secret. . . . Lower your sights and tone down your ego,
Commander
Parcelli. Understood?”

“Er, yes.”

“Unquestioning obedience or I won’t hesitate to relieve you of command.”

“But—”

“For the remainder of this mission, I have the authority. You can complain about it later, but I doubt the incident would do very much for your precious chances for further promotion. As for this whole discussion, I now consider the matter settled. If you want to complain about
that,
and you and I are both still alive in two weeks, I cordially invite you to do your worst.
Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Now we have a briefing. There’s plenty you still don’t know. With my officers and my guests, you and I
must
present a united front. . . . There’s no reason for more animosity. Any
hint
of a schism between you and me could prove catastrophic.”

“Concur.” Parcelli seemed to be pulling himself together.

The man’s nothing if not practical,
Jeffrey thought.
If I play things right, he might even feel beholden to me afterward. Better someone like him as a supporter than an opponent down the road. . . . I have to plan ahead to the next wave of peacetime navy politics too, just in case the U.S. Navy and I both make it that far.

Jeffrey and Parcelli stood. Parcelli moved to open the door for Jeffrey—which Jeffrey took as a good sign, of conciliation, at least temporarily.

More to the point, Jeffrey had succeeded after all, in the first truly no-holds-barred, head-to-head bureaucratic contest of his career. But he needed to get in one more thing for good measure. A final, seemingly casual and harmless afterthought—that was really meant to be a very rough stiffener.

Jeffrey had learned this technique from commodores and admirals who’d used it on him. He leaned toward Parcelli, while the door was still closed, and whispered in his ear.

“Forget for now about raising that flag with your first star. Cast your thoughts even higher, up at the sky, and picture global nuclear winter instead, in a month or less. I think you’ll find the image highly motivating.”