Phoenix Sub Zero

“Well, sir, we’ve pieced this together from the reports of the P-3s, S-3s and Burke destroyers. The Nagasaki torpedo hit the Phoenix, probably sinking her. Within a half-hour several of Phoenix’s passive circling torpedoes detected the Destiny west of Gibraltar and chased her northwest. Two of the fish shut down but one got a hot detect and detonated.

We heard inconclusive signs of damage but one of the P3s thought it heard transients ten minutes later. Reactor startup was what the operators reported it sounded like. Then it vanished. There was nothing more heard from the Destiny or the Phoenix.”

“What are we doing about this?”

“We’ve diverted the DSRV Avalon from the Augusta search to go down to the approximate position of the loud transient. We might find Phoenix there—”

“And what about the Destiny?”

“We’ve directed all ASW assets in the Med out into the Atlantic to search, but the circle of probable detection continues to expand as time goes on. It could be anywhere in 20,000 square miles—”

Watson interrupted. “And with her acoustic advantage over the 688class I think it might be a lousy idea to send any more Los Angeles-class submarines to find her. This bastard has mowed down two of the best ships in the fleet.

Even if he’s hurt I think he can still blow our 688s to the bottom. Do you agree, Roy?”

All the men in the room turned to the Norfolk video console. On the screen. Admiral Roy Steinman’s image blinked rapidly a few times, his face grim.

“I’m afraid so, sir. There’s no doubt about it. We need the Seawolf.”

“Roy, what’s the status of Seawolf?” Donchez said. “I wanted her underway today and we’re running out of today.”

“Sir, as far as I know she’s still in the dock welding on the hull cut at the Vortex tubes.”

“What’s the holdup?” “I’m not sure. Admiral,” Steinman said, sounding calm but Donchez knew he was flustered.

“Fred, can we patch in the shipyard on this thing?” Donchez asked Rummel. “If you can, pull up Stevens, the shipyard commander.”

Fred Rummel punched buttons on the phone and spoke.

The delay seemed endless. Donchez lit a Havana and puffed smoke at the ceiling. Eventually the screen flashed the image of the conference table in Stevens’s office. Gathered around Stevens were Pacino and an older admiral with Coke-bottle glasses. Donchez tried to place the admiral, who looked familiar, but came up blank. Pacino’s image looked dark— Donchez sensed that he was trying hard to cover frustration. Or anger.

Steinman asked the first question. “Captain Stevens, what’s the status of the Seawolf and why hasn’t she gotten underway?”

Stevens opened his mouth but the nearsighted admiral broke in. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m Admiral Douchet, the Naval Reactors office rep responsible for the yard.” Donchez didn’t like that … Naval Reactors involvement meant trouble. The NR office was a police organization watching over the shipyard, often getting in the way of the real work, the obstacles thrown up in the hallowed name of reactor safety.

“As you know, we have welded the hull patch in place but the radiography, the X-rays, have not been taken. I found out today that the captain of the Seawolf ordered the dock flooded without taking the X-rays, and that is a gross violation of quality controls and reactor-safety protocols. I am disturbed by all this and, frankly, at Naval Reactors, we feel that Captain Pacino’s disregard for ship safety—”

“Hold it right there,” Donchez broke in. “Are you going to sea when Seawolf casts off? Are you going to sea with Pacino?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Captain Pacino?”

“Yes sir,” Pacino snapped, suppressing the beginning of a smile.

“Are you satisfied with the shipyard’s work and the quality of the hullcut weld?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain Stevens?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Are you satisfied with the weld?”

“It probably wouldn’t pass all the QC work if we did the X-rays, sir. But I think it’ll hold up. We’ll know for certain after a controlled dive to test-depth.”

“Admiral Douchet, what reason do you have for holding Seawolf after what you just heard?”

“Procedures, sir. This isn’t allowable by any subsafe procedure, and if you’ll pardon my saying so, the loss of the Augusta from a shipyard error should make all of us more cautious. This is not a proper way to—”

“Thank you very much. Captain Stevens, Captain Pacino, flood the drydock and get Seawolf underway immediately.

Do you read me?” “Yes, sir,” both said in unison.

“Admiral Douchet, I want to see you in my office at zero eight hundred tomorrow morning. Captain Stevens, I’ll be. calling on you in four hours. If Seawolf isn’t gone by then, you are relieved.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Captain Pacino, get underway and execute your mission.”

“Aye, sir.”

Donchez broke the connection and looked at each of the men gathered around the screens. In the rush to push Seawolf out he had nearly lost focus on the biggest issue of the evening — why was Sihoud going out into the Atlantic?

“Fred, what do you or yours in Intel think of the breakout?

What’s on Sihoud’s mind?”