Barracuda: Final Bearing

The Vortex had been Donchez’s brainchild when he had been Chief of Naval Operations. The program had been cancelled after billions had been spent, the missile considered too lethal to its own firing platform. The test sub that had fired the missile had been Donchez’s old decommissioned Piranha, now in pieces at the bottom of the Bahamas test range, the Vortex test-launch having blown the old sub apart. The missile worked, but a way to launch it from a submarine had never been found.

“Dumb move,” Donchez said, shaking his head. “The firing ship always blows up. You should know that—”

“I do. But there’s nothing wrong with the Vortex missile.

It needs an outside launcher tube. I’m going to mount ten of them on the outside of Piranha’s hull.”

“It may still blow a hole in the ship’s hull.”

“We’ll test it when her new skipper shows up. I’ve scouted out a terrific captain to run the Piranha. You’d love this guy. Blood and guts. Smokes Havanas. Drinks Jack Daniel’s. And he can drive a submarine like no one since”—Pacino paused, realizing he was about to say! “my father.”

“Since you, Mikey, is what you’re saying.”

“Dick, this guy could kick my rear end.”

“No way. What’s his name?”

“Phillips, Bruce Phillips.”

“I know him. Or at least his family. He could buy and sell us. Guy’s got tons of money, old family money. And he gives it up to drive a sewer pipe.”

“I’m about to put him under a couple tons per square inch in my attack trainer. And I’m going to simulate that he’s up against a Japanese Destiny II class sub. I’m taking wagers that he’ll come out on top.”

“Well, I hope he’s as good as you say he is. I wouldn’t want my sub’s namesake going to a paper-pushing type.

So many of Wells’s skippers couldn’t shoot the broadside of a barn. You’d better clean up that force.”

They were at the ornate entrance to the building. The black Lincoln waited, tailpipe vapors wafting over the car in the light winter wind.

The two men began the checkout process at the security desk. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Michael.” Pacino stared. Donchez had never called him that. “That Vortex missile’s bad news.”

“You know, Uncle Dick, I really miss going to sea,” Pacino said, changing the subject.

“Fleet command is nothing compared to conning a sub in combat.”

“With all the tension in Japan, Scenario Orange may not be so far off.”

“I have to doubt it, sir. But if the balloon went up and we got into a hot war at sea, I’d still be cooling my heels at USUBCOM headquarters.”

“Not necessarily. Get your deputy to run the show landside and then go to sea with one of the boats. If you’re going to command in a war, Mikey, you can’t do it from the rear.”

“I’m tempted to do as you say, but it wouldn’t work, not with Wadsworth in charge.”

“Watch out for Tony Wadsworth. He doesn’t like you. Just another reason to take your show to sea. Sometimes submarines don’t have time to come to periscope depth to communicate. It could give you the independence you’d need.”

“I’ll consider it, sir.”

“Admiral Donchez, sir,” one of the security guards called. “Urgent call coming in from the White House switchboard.”

“Looks like you’ll have to find your own way out, Mikey. Good luck.” Pacino shook the admiral’s hand and forced a smile, ducking quickly into the staff car. The older Donchez got the harder it became to say goodbye to him, Pacino thought. He never knew if it was to be the last time he’d see the old man. The new headquarters building faded behind in darkness and the trees. Pacino was so lost in thought about commanding a fleet from a submarine that he barely noticed when the helicopter took off and Fort Meade shrank below him.

UNIFIED SUBMARINE COMMAND TRAINING CENTER IMPROVED 688CLASS ATTACK SUBMARINE CONTROL ROOM SIMULATOR NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

Adm. Michael Pacino looked up from the briefing table, the chart computer display on it showing Tokyo Bay.

Comdr. Bruce Phillips, the commanding officer of the 688class submarine Greeneville walked in, looking tense.

“Commander Phillips,” Pacino said, rising to his feet and shaking the younger man’s hand. “Good to meet you. I know you’re anxious to get on with it. I just want to let you know I want to see you succeed here. This isn’t a test to remove you from command, as the rumors have it. I just want to see how you fight your ship. Are you ready?”

“Yes sir.”

“The scenario we’ll be running is you against a Destiny II-class Japanese attack submarine outbound from Tokyo Bay. The Destiny is on the way to the deep Pacific to try and sink a US surface-action group. Your mission is to sink him before he can get by you and, obviously, to survive. Which won’t be easy, because the Destiny II is one of the best there is. Your USS Greeneville is an older 688class ship, but I’m convinced you can beat this guy.”

“I’ll try, sir.”

“I’ll be there only to observe. It’s your deal. Good luck.” The announcement came over the loudspeaker.