by
Jane Daffron & Barbara Paul
óóóó
It was 1330 Zulu and the sleek, blackish gray submarine cruised silently in the darkened depths of the Pacific Ocean. Few people knew of her presence here and fewer still knew of her true purpose. The USS Monterey was a Los Angeles class fast attack submarine. At 360 feet long, a little longer than a football field, her publicly acknowledged maximum speed was greater than 25 knots and her diving ability was at least 200 feet. She was a ‘hunter’, sleek and deadly. Her normal mission - to seek out and kill, if necessary, enemy missile submarines known as ‘boomers’, or any other ship that proved to be a threat to the United States. Aboard this mission were 127 officers and enlisted men and two civilian technicians.
Today, however, the submarine’s task was not to hunt. Instead, she was to to test a new experimental prototype of underwater mine that had been designed by retired Admiral Harriman Nelson and his Research & Development team from the Nelson Institute of Marine Research (NIMR) in cooperation with the Department of Defense (DoD). The Monterey had been one of seven subs in the running to be considered as the testing vehicle for this project. The DoD had picked her because of her experienced crew and skipper, Commander Matthew Driscoll.
Driscoll, a native Californian who stood about 5’11” and was a tank of a man, stood on the small platform in the center of the Control Room and watched the flurry of activity in the small confined area. His gray blue eyes carefully scanned each and every duty station within his sight. Next to him, stood Lt. Commander Daniel Weston, the Executive Officer, conferring with one of the two NIMR science technicians assigned to the tests. Weston was in a small way the physical opposite of his captain. He was about 5' 4" and very leanly built. Moreover, he had a soft southern drawl, indicative of his Georgian upbringing and had earned the nickname of Bulldog during his years in the service – when he latched onto a problem, he wouldn’t let go until it was solved or no solution could be found. Yet, the two men had forged not only a good working relationship, but a good personal one as well over the last eighteen months.
As she approached the designated test area just north of the Marshall Islands, the sub slowed to ready itself for the trials. Weston turned to Driscoll and announced, “Skipper, we're arriving at the test area.”
"Very well, Mr. Weston." Driscoll looked up, stepped off the Island and then moved over to the plot table. Reviewing his orders, he commented to the nearby technician, "Mr. Wells, are these mines ready to be deployed?”
“Yes, sir, they are,” Timothy Wells, the senior technician in charge, answered as sweat beaded up on his forehead.
Driscoll noted the man's condition and smiled slightly. “Problem, Mr. Wells?”
The technician wiped the sweat off on the sleeve of his shirt. “Sorry, Commander. I’m not, uh, used to being cooped up in these things for long periods of time. I guess I’ll just be glad to get back up in the fresh air.”
The Captain snorted just a bit. “Well, some people do have a bit of a problem adjusting to our 'floating sewer pipe.' However, a trip upstairs won’t be for another 48 hours, Mr. Wells. So, I guess you’re stuck down here with us. Besides, I’d have figured that you’d be slightly used to some of this. After all, your boss is Harriman Nelson.”
The younger man managed a weak half-grin. “Well, you have to admit that Seaview’s just a tad bit bigger than the Monterey, and besides, sir, she's a research sub.”
“Humph! That’s why I’m surprised they asked us to do this. I would’ve figured the Admiral would’ve had his own baby running these tests.”
Wells’ eyebrow shot up slightly. “It’s my understanding that the Admiral agreed with the DoD that Seaview not be involved in the testing. After all, sir, he is on his honeymoon and the powers that be decided that since we were ahead of our timetable, we’d go ahead with a revamped schedule for testing. I guess they figured he didn’t need to be disturbed. Anyway, Seaview’s on some sort of previously committed research mission off the coast of the Big Island of Hawaii.”
“Well, if I know the Admiral, he’s not going to be a happy man when he finds out that he got left out of the initial test runs. However,” and Driscoll paused, “If your team’s ready, let’s get to it.”
“Yes, sir,” came the spirited reply and the technician turned to head down to the torpedo room.
The Captain turned to his XO and ordered, “Make ready for mine laying operations, Mr. Weston. When ready, ahead one-third, make turns for five knots by log.”
"Aye, sir," Daniel responded and immediately transmitted the exact orders to the Dive Officer at the helm, engine room, and to the waiting team in the torpedo room.
óóóó
In the torpedo room, when the order came down for the operation to be done ‘by log,’ a small speed sensing probe, crudely referred to among some submariners as Joe’s Dick, was lowered from the forward compartment to make sure that the correct speed was, in fact, kept to the letter.
Once the seal bolts were retightened and made watertight, the crew started to load the tubes with the experimental mines. As the sub made its descent to the proper proscribed depth of 1000 feet, and Driscoll was satisfied with the preliminary incoming information from the probe, he picked up the mike at the plot table and called back to the Radio Shack.
"Mr. Benson, this is the Captain. Send up the cable and contact the NIMR and ComSubPac. Let’em know we're on site and beginning deployment." He then turned to his XO. “Mr. Weston, double check our position. Let’s make damn sure we’re puttin’ those things in the right place. Last thing I want is the CNO and Admiral Nelson crawlin’ up my ass for screwin’ up their testing.”
“Aye, sir,” Weston replied and then checked with Navigation. Once he’d been reassured they were at the precise coordinates sat down for the testing site, he confirmed to Driscoll, “On target, sir.”
“All right, let’s get this show on the road. Ahead one-third, Mr. Weston. Begin deployment."
“Yes, sir,” the XO intoned and barked into his mike, “Maneuvering…ahead one-third. Torpedo Room…begin deployment. Now!”
óóóó
Forward, and just below the Control Room, CPO Toliver’s crew worked in sync with Wells and his partner, James Keiler, to make sure the experimental mines were accurately positioned at one minute intervals. Six mines had to be laid and their acoustical and detonation programs monitored for functional normality. This was Phase Two of the testing. The mines were to carry a dummy charge that was designed to emit a loud click to indicate detonation. Live charges would be placed in the mines only after all testing and results could be verified to the satisfaction of Nelson and his design team as well as the R&D people with the DoD.
When the order was relayed to begin deployment, Toliver and Wells double-checked each of the four torpedo tubes that now held a single small mine. In sequence, they performed the necessary manual compensation for the depth gauges, as they made ready to expel and set the mines in their proscribed areas. Then, when all was in order, Toliver informed the Captain they were beginning.
Slowly, one by one, in a matter of minutes, the newly designed mines were released and sent to the bottom as directed. As the last of the six was released, the Monterey reduced speed as it made its turn to get into position for the test run.
Wells, as Senior Technician and observer, now rejoined Driscoll and Weston in the Control Room. Keiler had gone just aft to the Sonar Compartment to analyze the placement data as it came in. The sub now slowed to a dead stop outside the proscribed one-half mile perimeter for the supposed activation.
“Are they all deployed, Mr. Wells?” the Captain asked.
“Yes, sir, ” the tech advised. “As you know, once we get inside the activation zone and the mines’ sensors pick up the prop’s individual signature, then ID it properly, they should start moving toward the target - the sub’s propellers. They’ve been specifically designed to seek out the sound and magnetically attach themselves to the area around the screws, then explode about 30 seconds later, totally disabling or destroying the target, depending on the payload.”
“Mr. Wells, I’m gonna ask this one last time before I take my boat through that mine field we just laid. Those damn things are not live, correct?” Driscoll asked off-handedly as he fingered the mike in front of him. He never liked ‘his’ boat being used as a guinea pig for anything and while this particular assignment was supposed to have been highly coveted, he wasn’t exactly so sure about it.
“Captain, I can assure you. The only thing that will happen is that they’ll lock on to the Monterey’s prop, attach themselves to the aft hull in the vicinity of the screws, and then your aft sensory array should pick up the ‘click’ from the dummy charge within the 30 seconds after the attachment, indicating the successful conclusion of the test. If things go according to plan, there should be a max of six contacts on the first run. That’s the total number of mines we just deployed.”
Matt drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “And if there’s not six contacts?”
“Then we'll need to check why the mines didn’t activate,” Wells simply stated. “That’s where the computer analysis come in. If something didn’t activate or the internal on-board computer didn’t register the signature, I’ll know it. We’ll remodulate it from here and do another test run. We’ll keep doing it until all six have acquired the target.”
Weston now stood beside Driscoll and listened to the Technician’s explanation. “It’s my understanding that the mines, in their live state, won’t necessarily be positioned in clusters like this. So why so many at this one time?”
“Simple. We get to test as many as possible at the same time and then compare the individual activation times. Besides, we’d done as much testing in the lab at the Institute as we could. It was time to put them on a live target.”
The Captain’s jaw set and his eyes bore into the Tech’s. Raising an eyebrow just a hair, he commented, “That target, Mr. Wells, is my boat. Just remember that…as well as the fact that you’re down here with us.” He waited just a moment for his warning to sink in and then ordered, “Mr. Weston, all ahead one third. Mr. Wells, begin your testing.”
“Aye, sir,” echoed both men. Weston relayed his CO’s orders to maneuvering and Wells headed aft to join Keiler. Slowly, the Monterey’s engines kicked in to start to inch her forward to begin their initial run.
"Engineering, this is the Captain. Ahead one quarter speed," Driscoll commanded.
"Engineering, aye sir. One quarter speed."
As the engines turned over and the prop began to turn, the sub began the first of several planned runs. Within moments, they came up to the designated speed, and as soon as they came within range of the last mine dropped, an explosion rocked the vessel, Water began pouring into the aft section of the boat.
óóóó
“SHIT!!!!”
came the sound of voices from the auxiliary engine room.
“Goddamn, what the hell was that??” another voice reverberated in the ‘Goat Locker’ as a couple of off-duty chiefs were thrown from their bunks, landing almost face-first on the deck.
“We’ve got a leak down here!” yelled a chief in the torpedo room. “Let’s cap this son of a bitch. NOW!”
Men scrambled throughout the boat as alarm bells sounded and the emergency lights slowly crept on. Watertight hatches were dogged and flooding was eventually contained in the aft engineering compartment. In the process, one of the main generators went down and as a result, the main engines went off line. The Control Room was immersed in darkness and smoke for a few moments until power was automatically rerouted to an emergency generator as the auxiliary diesel engine kicked in. In the Radio Shack, located just aft of the Control Room, the main radio burst into flames as it responded to the power surge that had been routed through its circuits. One of the radiomen grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher, gaining control of the situation within moments. However, their radio was now completely disabled.
Forward, in the Control Room, Weston helped Driscoll to his feet. The two men looked around at the crew and the jumbled condition of the Control Room. The boat slowed, then came to a stop as it dropped close to the array.
"Anyone hurt? What the hell happened? What hit us?" Driscoll asked directly as he glanced around the Control Room, mentally assessing the damage to his boat. Turning to his Exec, he flatly stated, "I need to know what's going on now."
Weston immediately grabbed for the mike and ordered "Damage Control, report!"
"Chief Michaels here, sir.... Aft Engineering is flooded. Right now, we've sealed it off and it looks like the hatches are holding. We've also lost the generator so the main engine is off line. We’re trying to hold her with the auxiliaries, but maneuvering is out," the officer reported. There was a hesitant moment then, “Skipper, right now we’re dead in the water. We’re doing the best we can but...what the hell happened, sir?”
The Captain cursed under his breath at the ominous report of the condition of his beloved boat. Narrowing his eyes and his jaw suddenly tense, he responded, "I’m not sure but I sure as hell intend to find out. Okay, is anyone hurt down there? Did we lose anyone?"
"No, sir, just a few bumps and bruises. Everybody made it out okay. I’m heading to the auxiliary area now to see what the status is there. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.”
"Thanks, Chief.” He looked around in the Control Room as he watched his men scramble back to their stations to ascertain as much information as was possible about what was going on. “ Okay, sit tight ‘til we ascertain how bad we're hurt here." Clicking the mike again, he sternly barked out, “Wells, did one of those goddamn mines just explode on us?”
“That’s not possible, sir, they weren’t carrying live charges. They were carrying only dummies!'
“Well, something sure as hell happened! We're dead in the water,” he returned fire and looked over at his XO. At Driscoll’s nod, Weston moved off to the side slightly and started to call each department for reports and quickly jotted down the results for his own report to Driscoll. As each report came in and the final assessments were being made, the Captain was quickly rejoined by the XO and then the Chief of the Boat, Brent Cummings. The three men went over each report and then looked at each other. Each knew full well how badly they'd been hurt.
“Manuvering’s out.”
“What about air revitalization?”
“At this point, it’s okay, but uncertain as to how long it’ll last. If it goes down, unless we can use the auxiliary engine to run it, the air won’t last long. After that, we'll be breathing toxic fumes.”
“Hell, if we use the diesels, the monoxide will build up and we’ll be doing that before we run out anyway. And even with the emergency oxygen tanks, it’ll only buy us about 12 hours, at the most.”
“Mr. Justus, what’s our current depth?” Driscoll called out to one of the crew.
“1560 feet, Skipper,” was the answer.
Again,
Driscoll cursed under his breath. Shit! He looked over at his XO and
the COB and saw their grim expressions, their eyes mirroring his own unspoken
fears and the resolution needed. “Okay, gentlemen, from the looks of it, we’re
down. We can't move up, down, or sideways. We’ve got no choice. Release the marker buoy, then break out the potash
and chloride candles…looks like we’re gonna need’em. We’ll have to limit the
use of the auxiliary engines to keep down the fumes.”
"Aye, sir," Weston replied, then, picking up the mike, he gave the order for the marker’s release. A few moments later, there was a faint shudder as the telemetry package shot to the surface. He then put the word out to start getting the potash out from the storage locker. It would be spread on the decks to help absorb the buildup of carbon dioxide, as well as the carbon monoxide released from the diesel engines.
All they could do now was try and fix what they could and wait. And pray.
óóóó
Topside, the buoy broke the surface and began transmitting. Within moments, it was picked up by satellite and then relayed to a downlink station. From there, it quickly hit the tracking department at Pearl Harbor. Suddenly, all hell broke loose at ComSubPac.
'Get Starke, now!' the tech watch officer ordered. Almost immediately, she was handed the phone.
Further down the street, inside his office, Admiral Jiggs Starke was barking out orders to one of his junior officers when his phone rang. Picking it up, he gruffly said, “Starke.”
“Lieutenant Commander Anderson in Communications, sir… Sir, we’ve just received a distress signal from the Monterey.”
Stunned, Admiral Starke asked, “What?! Who's gone down?"
“The Monterey, sir. It's her distress buoy. Last known location near the Marshall Islands."
Stunned, Starke sat heavily back in his chair. He knew exactly where the boat was supposed to be. He was the one who’d given Matt Driscoll his orders, right here in this very office. Goddamn son of a bitch! “Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep me informed of all, and I mean all, transmissions regarding the Monterey.”
The DSRV Mystic arrived on the scene atop the submarine tender, the USS Frank Cable. Both crews scurried to get her ready for her initial descent. Communications had been set up so that the Monterey could have a tie-in with Mystic and with all the support ships topside. All crews were briefed as to the procedures and once all information as to location and current conditions, the decision was made to get them down as soon as possible.
On board the Chosin, Ellison called back down to the Monterey. “Captain, this is Captain Ellison. The Mystic is getting ready to head down to you. Her pilot will be in contact with you once they get close. I’m gonna turn over this show to the captain of the Cable.”
“Thanks, Captain…I appreciate it. We’ll be waiting to hear someone knock on our door,” Driscoll advised him.
Ellison contacted the Cable and the rescue operation started.
óóóó
Mystic was carefully lowered off the aft of the Cable and moments later, disappeared under the rolling waves. Inside, her support technicians, in conjunction with those of the Cable, started monitoring activities of her descent. As was her normal procedure, there were four small, full rotational, video cameras attached to her port and starboard sides, as well as her bow and stern. This way, all angles could be covered during the operation. High intensity lighting was also attached to her bow and stern, enabling the topside technicians see in the darkened void.
Slowly, she made her way downward, zeroing in on the Monterey’s internal homing signal. The currents were starting to get tricky and keeping the small craft steady was proving to be a real test for the pilot. However, once through a set of thermals, the Mystic settled into a steady but gradual dive.
“Monterey, this is Mystic. Do you copy us?” the co-pilot of the craft called down to the disabled submarine.
“Mystic, this is Monterey. We copy, Man! Are we glad to hear from you guys! Come on down. We’ll unlock the front door when you get here.”
“Roger that, Monterey. Have some coffee ready, if you please. We should be there in about twenty minutes. Looks like you’re sittin’ pretty. Shouldn’t have too hard a time with the door.”
“We’ll have a pot ready and waiting. How many can you handle at a time, Mystic?”
“Twenty-four. And I’ve got two rescue personnel aboard who can look after anyone who's injured. They've got priority. You’ve got, what, about 129 down there? Looks like that makes it six round trips all total. How’s the air? I’m bringing you some tanks, so that may help.”
“Air’s okay so far, but thanks, the tanks will help a lot. Just take it easy coming down, okay? We don’t want our ride outta here to get broke down.”
The Mystic’s pilot snorted and replied, “Fat chance of that. You just get your people ready to go when I get there. Mystic out.”
óóóó
Topside, all the support ships involved in the operation had been monitoring the communications. Captain Ellison was in constant touch with ComSubPac and Jiggs Starke, letting them know every detail of what was transpiring thousands of miles away from Pearl Harbor. In addition, video footage was being fed to the Cable’s technicians. It was imperative that they know exactly what kind of condition Monterey was in so that damage assessments could be made. If there was any possibility of raising her, they had to know what they were dealing with.
"We're coming up on their location. Still no visual on them. Adjusting course two degrees port. Descent’s normal... " the pilot remarked. Suddenly, his head jerked up. “What the hell was that? Did you hear it? Like a thump.”
“No…” came the uneasy voice of the co-pilot.
“I swear I thought I heard something hit the hull…” Suddenly, a shocked look took over the pilot’s face. “Shit! Didn’t the Cable’s skipper tell us these guys had been laying some sort of experimental mines?” The two exchanged horrified looks and then suddenly without warning, there was the sound of a muffled explosion on the speakers aboard the ship, and then… silence.
óóóó
"Mystic, do you read us?... Over."
The video screen was black, the audio now only static.
“Mystic…this is the Cable. Do you read us? Over.”
Technicians scrambled. Something had gone horribly wrong. The call was repeated several more times without response. Whatever had taken the Monterey down had just claimed the DSRV.
óóóó
Driscoll hung up the phone from talking with the DSRV and walked over to Weston. “Looks like we might have a ride out of here. Make sure anybody that’s hurt gets up here and they’ll be the first ones outta here. A DSRV is on her way down right now.”
“Yes, sir!” the XO almost shouted but kept his voice calm and cool. He picked up the mike and announced to the crew that help was on its way down. Immediately, morale lifted among the men.
As the few injured men were moved forward, Driscoll continued to talk with the Cable. Suddenly, there was a shudder that sounded like an explosion and the entire sub rocked as everyone grabbed on to anything they could to keep from being thrown off their feet. A few moments after the blast, the emergency phone rang again in the Control Room. The Captain grabbed it and replied, "Mystic? This is Driscoll. What the hell happened? Do you copy? Mystic? Reply!"
A voice in the phone spoke to him. "Captain, this is Commander Blessing of the Cable. Did you hear anything?"
“Yeah, it sounded like some sort of an explosion, just like before. Mystic hasn't responded to us. What’s going on?”
“We’ve lost contact with her as well. They reported hearing something contact their hull and then there was an explosion."
"Shit! Okay, so is there anything else that can get us out of here?”
“Honestly, Captain, I don’t know. We’re on the line with ComSubPac right now. We’ll think of something…” Blessing tried to reassure him.
“You all damn well better!” Driscoll sarcastically replied.
óóóó
Within minutes of losing the DSRV, ComSubPac was notified and Commander Jackson burst into Jiggs Starke’s office with the news. In addition, the tape from the Cable had been relayed and was being downloaded for his review. An hour later, Jiggs Starke watched in horror as he saw what he’d hoped he wouldn’t see. Now, he had no choice. His old friend had to be brought into this.
With an air of resignation, Starke turned to Jackson. “I’ll let the NIMR know we need Nelson ASAP. Find out where Seaview is and get her here. They can pick up Nelson up on the way to the recovery site.”
óóóó
When the word came in, Captain Lee Crane, commanding officer of the Seaview, was standing in the Observation Nose drinking a cup of coffee. They were ordered by ComSubPac to abort their current mission and report to Pearl Harbor ASAP. The trip wouldn’t take long…she was currently cruising just northeast of Hilo, Hawaii. After turning off the video screen and walking back to the Control Room to issue the commands to turn about and head straight for the Base, he looked over at Commander Chip Morton, the sub’s executive officer. “I guess we’d better call Angie and tell her we’re en route to Pearl. I’m sure she’s already signaled the Admiral to head for Starke’s office there…look’s like their honeymoon’s over.” When Morton looked puzzled, Lee explained, “For some reason, they’ve called him in. We've got a gray lady down."
Morton looked over at Crane and, without showing any expression, muttered, “Shit!”
The tall Captain simply nodded acknowledgment.
óóóó
A couple of hours later, the emergency phone rang on board Monterey. It was Blessing. "Captain, we’ve received a radio message that the SSRN Seaview will be en route to this location. We expect’em here in about 36 hours. Their Flying Sub will help affect a rescue while their DWD teams inspect the damage for salvage purposes."
There was a moment’s hesitation on Driscoll’s part. If whatever brought the Monterey down also brought down the Mystic, wouldn’t Seaview and the Flying Sub also be in jeopardy?
“That’s great, Captain, but what about what caused all this? Won’t that affect them as well?”
“They’re working on that, Captain. Hopefully, they’ll have some sort of solution by the time they arrive. All I can say is hang in there for a while longer. How’s your air supply?”
Matt took a good look around at his men. What had been an elated crew before now were men trying desperately to hold on to hope. “We’ve got enough for a few more days if things hold as they are…but I’ve got to get my men out of here. Let Admiral Nelson know that it’s getting a bit tight down here.”
"Will do. We'll keep this line open, Captain. Hang in there…help's on the way. Cable standing by."
Matt hung up the receiver, looked at his men, and then picked up the mike. “This is the Captain. Captain Blessing of the Frank Cable has just confirmed that the explosion we felt was the DSRV. Apparently, whatever hit us has hit them. However, he also told me that the SSRN Seaview’s on its way here and should be here in about 36 hours. So, gentlemen, I suggest we all get comfortable and try and relax, okay? One way or another, we’re gonna get the hell out of here."
Weston looked at him and then felt a hand being on his shoulder. He turned and came face to face with Tim Wells, one of the NIMR’s technicians. The tech smiled slightly. “Seaview, huh? Wonder where they found the Admiral? He’s supposed to be on his honeymoon.”
Driscoll chuckled weakly. He knew Nelson too well and knew the reaction that he’d have once he found out precisely what was happening. “Yeah, Mr. Wells, he was. But apparently he’s not now…"
óóóó
The
warm Pacific Ocean breeze caressed her naked body like a soft whisper.
Stretched out on the old bed, she seemed to half doze before waking from the
slight breeze. She glanced over at the slumbering figure beside her and smiled
slightly. An hour or so before, there had been a quick downpour of tepid
tropical rain, not unknown for that time of year. They had quickly gathered
their belongings and ran to the old shack for cover. Laughing, he had pulled
her into an embrace just inside the doorway, slowly capturing her mouth and
working his way downward as he peeled off her swimsuit and threw it over to the
other side of the room.
He'd told her the old shack had been built many years before by the owner of the property as a simple retreat, a place to go to in order just to think. It held no more than a bed, a table and two chairs, and faded curtains that draped the openings that doubled for windows. The door had squeaked as he closed it with his foot. Gently laying her down on the bed, his fingers strayed downward and then lightly brushed her breasts, bringing them to a heightened point of arousal.
“And just what are you trying to do, Admiral?” she coyly asked in a whisper, kissing him gently as her own fingers slipped under the waistband of his wet swim trunks
“Umm, well, if you don’t know…I don’t think I’m going to tell you. Besides, aren’t you the one who said that some things are better physically demonstrated rather than verbally explained?” He kissed her left breast softly and then the right. Looking up at her, he still couldn’t believe that four weeks ago, she’d become his wife. Grinning now with almost a leer, he asked, “Which one would you actually prefer?”
“Harry, you’re terrible, you know that? God, what you do to me…” was her husky rely as she moved her body slightly, openly inviting him to do whatever he so chose.
“I know what I’d like to do…” he grinned, slipping his fingers into her most private of places.
“Ooooo, you keep on doing that and…” and she inched her body upward to meet his motions. “…and you…” then she gazed into his steel blue eyes as a wave of lust rippled through her body. “And I think I know what I want to do as well…” Looking around the room for a moment, she hesitated, “This shack…won’t somebody come by?”
“Don’t worry. I told you, we’re totally and absolutely alone, if that’s what you’re thinking. Bill built this little place so he could be alone when he wanted to be. Besides, we’re still on the property anyway. Now, Captain, I want you to be quiet.” And he touched a finger to her lips. “I’m going to pull rank here. I want to make love to my wife and I fully intend on doing it, that’s if she’s so inclined as well.”
Karen Davis Nelson looked up into the glazed over steel blue eyes of her husband and pulled him closer to her. Feeling a hardness between them, she commented slyly, “Oh, she’s definitely so inclined. And looks like you’re way ahead of me in one respect. You’re going to have to allow me time to catch up…”
“Oh, I do believe I can remedy that,” was the mischievous remark as he started to trail a line of soft kisses downward from her mouth. He stopped only long enough to tease the pointed tips of her breasts. Rising above her, his fingers again found the warm moistness of her body, manipulating it…stroking it…as he slowly inched his way toward that goal of sending her near the edge.
Karen squirmed as he masterfully played her body until she was ready to scream out. Each movement by him brought a corresponding reaction from her and just at the moment when he saw her building toward her climax, he entered her, meeting her stroke for stroke. As the rain’s tempo increased, so did their own, until suddenly, he felt her crashing around him, holding him securely within her, over and over until he could take no more. His own body tensed as he unknowingly uttered a low deep moan, exploding within her and immersing himself within his own private gratification of her body.
The sound of the crashing waves combined with the gentle rain and breeze to provide sensuality unknown to them until this very time and place. They simply lay atop that old bed, reveling in the aftermath of the frenzied lovemaking, then very slowly, very quietly, fell asleep in each other’s arms.
óóóó
Harriman Nelson turned over slightly as he felt the feathery touch of a finger on his bare hip. Looking up into the milk chocolate eyes of his new wife, he smiled. “Now this is something I most definitely will like getting used to.”
“Hmmmm, I’ll have to remember that. By the way…the rain stopped a long time ago, you do know that, don’t you? Want to go back to the house?” She was lying on her side, her hand supporting her head while the other hand softly stroked the top of his thigh.
He pulled her in closer to him, allowing her to lay her head on his chest. “Nope. I happen to like it right here. Besides, I’d always wondered why Bill had this thing built. Now I know. It definitely has a very useful purpose.”
Karen’s fingers now played with the soft reddish hairs on his chest as she rose up slightly and kissed him. “Well, I know one thing…I’ll never look at one of these old grass shacks in the same way again.” Rising up and starting to get out of bed, she inquired, “You know, we’ve still got some champagne and cheese in the picnic basket…want some?”
“No, not right now. Right now, the only thing I want is….you!” he commanded as he grabbed her hand gently and pulled her back down, his mouth crashing down on hers with an urgency so fierce it took her breath way.
Moments later…
They were heavily engaged in a very heated, enthusiastic, and passionate embrace when his watch first signaled that there was an emergency message coming in. Karen momentarily glanced up into his glazed, impassioned eyes upon hearing the first beep, but both quickly ignored the annoying sound. Hastily, he hit a button to turn the pager off and returned his focus to making sure that their quest for passion was well satisfied. Both were too far along with the sensuality of their lovemaking to hear the pager go off a second time.
Within the next few minutes, the persistent beeping of the signal kept intruding into the romantic mood of the afternoon. As he finally rolled to his side and sat up on the blanket, he swore under his breath, "Dammit! This had better be a national emergency."
Breathing hard as the sweat ran down his face and chest, he looked over at Karen, lying on the bed beside him, smiling seductively back, her fingers lightly caressing his body. Uttering a further curse underneath his breath, he then activated the readout of the pager and scanned the incoming message as it slowly moved across the LCD screen.
PRIORITY ONE......GRAY LADY DOWN........CONTACT STARKE ASAP......
“Shit!” he muttered to himself.
“What’s wrong, Harriman?” she inquired, startled by the quickness of the change in expression and his harsh exclamation. She quickly sat up and wrapped a beach towel around herself, watching him closely as he scanned the message a second time.
After he signaled back that he'd received the message, he reached for his swim trunks and stood up straight as he quickly struggled to put them on. “Get dressed. There’s a sub down. I've got to contact Jiggs ASAP."
“A sub down? Oh, God, which one?” she questioned as she grabbed for her swimsuit.
“I don’t know…come on!”
They quickly packed up the basket and ran out, heading back toward the house. Once back inside, Karen headed to the bedroom to throw some things into a couple of suitcases and Nelson called Starke. There simply wasn’t time to pack everything and, hopefully, they’d be able to come back to finish their honeymoon anyway.
He suddenly appeared in the bedroom and methodically began to pack his clothes.
“Well? What did he say?” she inquired as she folded her clothes.
“Not much. Just that he’s sending a helicopter to pick us up and ferry us back to Pearl.”
“Is it…?”
“He didn’t say. Karen, the line wasn’t secure. He just said for us to get over there ASAP,” was his terse reply. “Seaview's supposed to be on a survey project about 300 miles north of Hilo…” He continued to pack and ten minutes later, took the bags out to the open verandah that led down to the beach below.
She busied herself by shutting up the house for whatever length of time they’d be gone. At one point, she spied him standing in quiet solitude on the open verandah. He was motionless, staring straight out at the cloudless blue sky and oblivious to her movements inside. After about five minutes, he walked back in and sat down on one of the bar stools in the kitchen.
"Harriman..." she inquired, trying to get him to talk to her. He’d gone into that automatic shutdown mode that she’d seen him go into when something was either terribly wrong or extremely serious. She’d finished closing up the house and now stood, leaning across the breakfast bar, facing him.
"Communications is getting very good with short transmissions," again came a terse reply as he continued to gaze out at the ocean. “Too damn good.”
“Surely he would have told you if it were…” she ventured. “Secure line or not, Harriman, he wouldn’t have left you hangin’. He knows what you went through the last time…”
“We’ll know as soon as we get there.” He got up and strolled deliberately toward the door that led to the verandah. "Where the hell’s that damn chopper?" he barked under his breath as he stood scanning the open sky and rubbing a hand absentmindedly through his hair.
“It takes about 25 minutes or so to get here from Pearl, Harry. Considering you talked to him about 15 minutes ago, it should be here in about 10, maybe 15 minutes,” she tried to calm him. “Look, what I don’t understand is…if it’s not her. then why bring you into this?”
Karen quietly slid her arm through his and softly placed her head against his shoulder. In response, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her in tightly to him. He was worried of what the truth could very well be. Without a word being passed between them, they stood together watching and waiting for their ride over to Pearl Harbor. After what seemed an eternity, a transport helicopter bearing the insignia of the United States Navy appeared in the distance and headed straight for them.
"Okay, let's get the bags to the beach," he solemnly remarked as he grabbed two of them, leaving the last one for her. Quickly, they walked to an empty stretch of beach as the helicopter made its descent. The whirling blades created havoc on the surrounding beach as the black sand swirled around them. Stowing their bags quickly, they climbed aboard and, within moments, were airborne. The flight would take only about 35 minutes to a landing pad not far from the base’s main administrative building. For Harriman Nelson, those were to be very long minutes. Sitting in silence, he gazed at the ocean below. His mind was in overdrive, trying to ‘see’ every possible scenario. Hoping…praying…that the truth wasn’t what he feared. Karen sat beside him watching her husband closely. She, too, feared the worst. The pilot could tell them nothing, only that he was ordered to ferry them back ASAP.
.
óóóó
As the helicopter approached Pearl Harbor, the great white bowl shaped memorial of the USS Arizona shone in the late afternoon sun. The outline of the sunken battleship stood out eerily as an ominous symbol of why they were here. Harriman Nelson’s mind fixated on the submerged ship, his mind wandering to the ghosts of the men trapped and buried there - a grisly reminder of man’s propensity to destroy and dominate others. Suddenly, his eyes caught glimpse of a familiar shape resting gently in the water and tied securely to a pier in the sub pen area. His heart leapt to his throat and he reached out and grasped Karen’s hand, causing her to look where he was pointing and then at him, intense relief evident in her eyes just as surely as it was in his own.
The helipad came into view and the helicopter quickly landed. Once shutdown procedures had been completed, the hatch was opened and the pair quickly exited. One of the landing crew pointed to a car idling off to the side of the pad and indicated that it would take them directly to Starke’s office. The Admiral had become strangely quiet through the entire trip, something inside him telling him that this was going to be more than just a sub gone down. As they entered the outer office, they found Starke’s aide, Lt. Commander Jackson, who sat immersed in a mountain of paperwork. The subordinate officer stood immediately as soon as he recognized the two.
“Admiral Nelson…Captain Davis. The Admiral is expecting you both,” he said as he went to the closed door and knocked, opening it immediately for the two. Stepping slightly inside, he announced, “Admiral Nelson and Captain Davis, sir,” then stepped aside to let them enter the room.
Admiral Jiggs Starke looked up from the middle of a crowd of officers and started to tear into Jackson for the interruption. However, once he saw the two people behind him, his temper faded and he moved to meet Nelson with a firm handshake then a slight scowl. Harry hadn't had the time to shave or shower. He had quickly dressed in khaki slacks, a blue polo shirt, no socks, and a pair of deck shoes. Karen wore a pair of jean cutoffs with a NIMR T-shirt and a pair of sneakers.
"A little bit casual, aren't we, Harriman?" he said looking at their attire with a bit of an air of mock disapproval.
“Well, considering the urgency of your call, I got here as quickly as I could. What the hell’s going on and who is it?
"It's the Monterey, Harriman. Look, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more specific with you…I didn’t want to break security. It’s going to be all over the damn news pretty soon, but we’re trying to keep as tight a lid on this situation as we possibly can…I just don’t know how long that’s going to be. Come on over here," he replied, leading them over to a table where several other officers were clustered. "If you'll excuse us, gentlemen…" he remarked as he motioned to the others gathered around, allowing Karen and Harry access to a chart that had been spread out on a table. There was a red circle drawn and a set of coordinates – latitude 9.783 North, longitude 169.849 East. Harry jotted them down on a piece of paper he found nearby
Upon a silent nod from Starke, the others turned, and quickly, but quietly, left his office.
"Damn, " Nelson said as he poured over the map. "I didn't know our subs were in that area."
"Normally, they're not. There's some bad currents and deep canyons, but the area fit what we wanted done."
"Then why...? The Monterey…that's Matt Driscoll's boat, isn't it?” Nelson slowly queried of Starke.
"Yes…I'm sorry, Harriman. I know you two are close," came the hushed reply.
"Have you already dispatched the DSRV to the scene? What's their report?"
Starke responded hesitantly, "We, ah, lost the DSRV, too, Harriman. They reported they were nearing the crash site when they suddenly reported a contact on the hull. There was a deafening explosion on the radio, and then…silence. We’re working to get another DSRV ready but…"
"Explosion? What kind of explosion?" Puzzled, Harry shot up an eyebrow in response, his eyes revealing his growing curiosity.
"The DSRV's four cameras were running when it was hit. We've got a copy of the film that was relayed up to the support ship, the Frank Cable, a sub tender, that's still out on the scene. The Chosin and the Salvor are both out there as well. Have a seat…you just might find this interesting," he replied as he picked up the remote control for the VCR under the large TV screen in the corner of his office. “The Chosin was the first on the scene and established contact with Monterey.”
Nelson nodded and grabbed the nearest chair and took a seat facing the TV screen. Karen had pulled up a seat beside him.
Starke looked at her and replied, "Sorry, Captain, you'll have to wait outside.”
Karen glanced up in surprise. In the light of the possibility of her DWD teams participation in the downed sub’s recovery, for her to be excluded from this briefing was unthinkable. Puzzled, she turned and looked at Harry who, in turn, looked at Starke.
”No…if Seaview’s going to be involved in this, then I’m going to need the teams and she is the DWD team leader.”
"This is a highly classified film and strictly on a need to know basis, Harriman. and she doesn’t need to know," the bigger man stated with more firmness, refusing to explain any further.
"What do you mean classified, Jiggs? What the hell's this all about?" Nelson asked, his curiosity now evident.
"You'll understand when you see the film, Harriman,” was Starke’s curt reply. “Captain, you’ll have to leave.”
"No, Jiggs, she stays,” Nelson firmly stated.
"Harriman, she doesn’t have the necessary clearance to view this material," Starke stated flatly. His patience was wearing thin and he wasn’t used to having neither his authority nor his commands questioned, even by Nelson.
"But she does …" Harry started to say when he caught the look on Karen’s face. His old friend's statement and tone of voice was about to bring about a reaction that he knew Starke wasn't going to like. Karen didn't like her authority being questioned either where the Team was concerned. Harry himself had learned that the hard way a few years back. He knew she had adequate clearance because he himself had approved it. He turned to her and quietly said, “Karen, I think...”
“I know…I can handle this one myself,” she calmly but softly interjected as she slowly got to her feet to confront Starke and yet gave a slight smile to her husband.
An eyebrow rose slightly and he simply nodded his ‘blessing.' Under his breath, and with a hint of a smile, he whispered to himself, “Just don’t get yourself court-martialed.”
Karen heard her husband and barely nodded that she understood his warning. She then looked directly at the larger man as he stood near the TV. "Excuse me, sir? Permission to speak freely?”
“Permission granted, Captain,” Starke grunted as he took a seat behind his massive desk.
Karen steeled herself for the confrontation. She knew how Starke was regarding rules and regs. He himself had once said he was a spit, polish and brig officer so she covered all her bases. So, in a calm but direct voice, she started. “With all due respect, sir, I beg to differ with regards to my security clearance. Perhaps you might want to check your information again, Admiral." Karen had now locked eyes with the bigger man. If her teams were to be used in this rescue mission, she had no intention of going anywhere until the matter was put to rest. “I don’t mean to be neither insubordinate nor disrespectful here, sir, but your information is most obviously in error and you might want to re-verify it. It is my understanding that we have a Priority One clearance. Correct me if I’m wrong, sir.”
Starke stared into her eyes with confidence and intimation. When she didn’t back down, however, he began to think twice until he realized Jackson had always kept him informed on the latest information. His reply was curt and to the point, trying to stifle the rage that was beginning to build in him. “Captain Davis, may I remind you that I’m kept informed of everything regarding anything in this area of the world. And that includes security clearances."
Considering that her honeymoon had been cut short over this incident, and coupled with the fact he obviously had not done his homework, the issue was taxing even her long temper fuse. Her tone, though polite and formal, now hardened a bit further. "Admiral Starke, sir, those men down there don’t have time for this nonsense, and quite frankly, neither do I…especially if my teams will be involved in some way. Now, I respectfully suggest you ask Commander Jackson to pull our security file before I go do it myself," she concluded just as Harry gently laid a hand on her arm to silently tell her to take a step back.
Starke began to turn a muted shade of red. He was infuriated that this woman, and a subordinate officer no less, had questioned his command. Turning to Harriman, who was simply watching the entire episode unfold, he finally exploded, "Admiral Nelson, I would heavily suggest that you advise Captain Davis on proper protocol before I..."
What happened next was not what Starke expected.
Nelson simply stretched out his legs, dug his hands in his pockets, and then looked over at Starke with a sly but tired grin. Figuring he’d now better say something to save Starke’s hide before Karen tore him to shreds, and she ended up in trouble for it, he arched an eyebrow and quietly remarked, "Jiggs, just pull the damn file before you regret it."
Harry's mild reproach took Starke totally by surprise. Taken aback and hesitating just a bit, he looked wide-eyed at the couple that sat before him. Neither of them made any attempt at apology. No...it’s not possible... is it? Was it possible that just maybe he didn't have all the information he actually needed? Dammit, Jackson, I’ll have your goddamn hide if it’s true. He went to the door, opened it, and yelled at Jackson.
"Jackson, I want the full security clearance of the NIMR's DWD Team ASAP... Move it, man!” Gruffly, he returned to his desk and sat back down to wait. If there was one thing that Jiggs Starke hated, it was incompetence, and being questioned about information he should have already had on hand bordered on that.
óóóó
Jackson scurried and called security for the necessary information to be sent up to Starke’s office immediately. He had slightly overheard some of the conversation through the partially opened door and he had further heard Karen Nelson’s tone toward his boss.
Smiling warily to himself, Looks like the old man bit off more than he can chew with her. Nelson’s married a real firebrand.
Then suddenly realizing what would happen should the NIMR DWD Team come back with high security clearance, the man frowned. He knew what his superior’s reaction would be if the information came back as the Captain had stated.
Within minutes, his fax machine rang and within a few seconds more, he looked down at the paper. “Shit!”
At the very top of the file, it read PRIORITY ONE CLEARANCE.
Shaking his head, and preparing himself for the worst, he slowly walked into the office, shaking his head. Remind me to kill one security clerk. I swear, I’ll kill whoever screwed this up. This sure as hell wasn’t what I got earlier to give to the old man.
The pit of his stomach told him what was going to happen when he handed Starke the paper with their clearance level on it.
óóóó
Starke looked at the file, then glared back up at Jackson as if in silent accusation for the foul-up.
“You’re dismissed, Jackson,” Starke growled. It was most evident to all present that he was more than infuriated at the fact that he had been caught unaware with regards to this information. He made up his mind then and there that he would have to have a strong conversation with Jackson when this was over with.
Jackson grimaced under the scrutinization of his superior officer and knew that he was in very hot water. Mustering a somewhat rigid strong voice, he replied, “Yes, sir!” and then promptly proceeded to close the door without another word to any of them.
Once outside, he muttered to himself, “No doubt about it! I’m going to kill a security clerk!”
Back inside Starke’s office, Harry leaned over towards Karen and whispered to her in a half-joking manner as he settled further into his chair, "Nicely done, Captain. Diplomacy, right?"
Karen glanced over at him as she settled deeper into the chair, trying to get comfortable. Flashing a sly smile at him, she softly replied in an exaggerated southern accent, "Why, suh...but of course... always." She had known precisely what she was doing. Diplomacy or not, Starke was not going to exclude her if her teams were to be involved.
If it hadn’t been for the seriousness of the situation, Harriman Nelson would have laughed out loud; instead, he quietly chuckled to himself. In some ways, Karen was a lot like himself. He had been trying to instill in her the art of diplomacy in getting things done. She could exhibit it quite well whenever she really wanted something, but generally had very little patience for playing 'political mind games' as she called it. In that particular area, they were too much alike at times. Both knew it was extremely necessary on occasion and both hated it with a passion. However, even he silently had to admit that Jiggs had asked for this one.
Starke cut the lights and started the videotape that had been downloaded from the Cable. The pictures, taken from Mystic’s cameras, shifted from one viewing angle to another. They rotated along the hull giving a complete 360-degree sweep of the area. Suddenly, the stern camera on the DSRV picked up something moving in the darkness. Harry leaned forward and became very engrossed in what followed. A tiny somewhat spherical shaped object appeared off in the distance, moving quickly and effortlessly to the side of the craft. Approximately thirty seconds later, the film went to static.
Starke stopped the film and turned on the light. Karen glanced over at Harriman, who was now sat rigid, his eyes still transfixed on the blank screen. Noticing he was obviously shaken by what he'd observed, she reached out and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Harriman, what's wrong?"
Drawing in a deep breath, he kept staring at the blank screen in deep thought and what looked like a look of horror on his face.
"Harry, that looked like some kind of a mine," she curiously remarked.
His lips tightened and he looked down at the floor as he stood and walked over to the chart table. Then he looked back at Starke, ignoring Karen’s question as if he had neither heard nor knew she was even there. "I don't understand this. Is this…?" he demanded of Starke.
"I'm afraid so."
"Has this been confirmed?" he inquired of him, almost fearful of what the answer would be.
"Yeah, it's one of yours, Harriman," came Starke’s short, but this time, almost apologetic, reply.
Nelson eased himself back down into the chair and took a deep breath. Impossible! What he had seen couldn't have been possible. They weren’t even due to start testing for another two weeks, and add to the fact they weren’t even supposed to be carrying live charges. Not yet! This just wasn’t possible.
At that moment the phone rang and Starke immediately picked it up. He listened for a few moments and then replaced the receiver to its holder, hitting the viewer switch. "Go ahead, sir." Starke remarked as the image of a Naval Officer dressed in the summer white uniform appeared on the video screen.
"Harriman, have you seen the film yet?" Admiral Charles Norwood, the Chief of Naval Operations, asked flatly.
"Yes, I've seen it. How in the devil could this happen? They weren't supposed to test this for another two weeks," he replied.
"I know. However, it was decided that since everything was ready to go, we did the preliminaries without you. It was felt that you really didn’t need to be out on the initial run.” There was a weak chuckle. “Besides, the team didn’t want to spoil your honeymoon. Anyway, good damn thing you weren't around or you'd be on the Monterey, dead on the bottom."
Harry's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. "What do you mean…it was decided I wasn't needed out there? Who the hell decided this? Last thing I knew, I was in charge of this operation. That decision should have been mine to call, not someone else’s."
Norwood’s voice went flat. "That's rather immaterial at this moment, Harry. Look, I’ve got a sub down and it looks like your mines are responsible. I want some answers. I was under the assumption the preliminaries were to be dummies, not live charges. I want you out on site ASAP and I want to know exactly what the hell went wrong and who's responsible for this oversight. Oh, and by the way…your two technicians are okay, from what we’ve been told"
"Understood. As soon I…we…get back aboard Seaview, we’ll head out to the scene."
Norwood’s face softened just a bit. "Sorry about cutting things short for you two, but this really has Washington up in arms. The SECNAV is demanding answers and he’s getting hit on by the President himself. Keep in touch. We’re also trying to keep a lid on this where the media is concerned but it’s getting hard to do.”
"Yes, sir," he replied as the screen went blank.
Karen looked over at her husband and reached out, her hands covering his, her eyes searching deeply within his for an answer. "Harriman, what was that thing?" the gentle tone of her voice was now more demanding.
"It's a mine, Karen. A mine that I help design," he calmly replied, almost as a confession of guilt rather than an answer. “But it wasn’t supposed to…”
"What kind of mine is it, Harry? It’s not like anything I ever remember seeing…" Karen was beginning to fear the worst. Searching her husband’s steel blue eyes, the fear she suddenly saw flickering there terrified her even more.
Nelson glanced up at Starke; his expression asking for the permission he needed to answer her demanding question.
"Go ahead, Harriman. You might as well. She now has a need to know," was Starke’s calm reply to his silent request. Even he now realized that if the sub was to be rescued, she had to have access to all the information.
The stocky man took a deep breath and calmly told her, "We call it the ‘Gray Ghost’. The mine is designed to camouflage itself into the ocean sediments, much like a flounder or stingray does. When a hostile sub comes within a quarter mile of it, the acoustical computer package locates and isolates the boat’s signature. If it matches the signature stored in its memory banks, the mine is activated and is drawn, acoustically, to the source, which are usually the propellers or the hull nearby. As it closes on the source and contacts with it, the payload is activated, and within 30 seconds of contact, it explodes with a force of between 100 and 200 pounds of TNT. Usually they’re deployed in clusters of up to six. And they’re very effective in stopping the vessel they’ve attached to. At least, in theory, they are. This was Phase Two of testing…dummy charges were to be placed in them and a live target was to be used to see how well they actually worked.” He then looked over at Starke, a coldness replacing the glimmer of fear. “And the actual test wasn’t supposed to be for another two damn weeks. They were supposed to undergo another round of preliminary tests before we took them out.”
Karen sank back into her chair. She grew very quiet as deep concern filled her over not what he had told her but over what he hadn't told her. There were very few, if any, of his research projects that she didn’t know about. However, this was something that he had obviously kept from her for whatever reason. Finally, she looked over at him, then stood up slowly and walked back over to the chart. Moments later, turning her back to both men, she began to study it very intently. They had a sub down there, which meant lives were at stake. There was no other option in her book. Regardless of the depth, regardless of the terrain, those men had to evacuated... and fast! Turning back around to face her husband and Starke, she first looked to Harriman and then looked over at Starke; her eyes grew dispassionate and calculating, the tone of her voice matching her sudden concise demeanor. "What are you going to need from me and my team?"
Sitting back down behind his desk, Starke advanced the videotape to the frame where the mine first came into view. Hitting the ‘pause’ button, he froze the frame on the screen. Leaning across his desk, he addressed her question. "We need to get those men off that boat before they run out of air but before you can do that, you're going to have to disarm those mines otherwise, the currents could carry them out anywhere. And the last thing we need are rogue mines buried somewhere. Problem there is, we don’t know how many more are live. Secondly, we need to know exactly what went wrong out there. We'll also need a full and thorough photo survey of the Monterey showing the extent of the damage and its location.” Looking back over at the screen, he continued, “You see, Matt's boat was the one field testing the new mines. Evidently something went wrong out there. We need to know what that something was. As Harriman said, those mines were not supposed to be carrying a live payload. Now, Captain, what are you going to need from me?"
Karen turned to Harriman, who sat quietly in his chair, intently studying the frozen image on the TV screen and lost in thought. "Harry?"
Harriman Nelson sat motionless in the chair as if he was caught up in some kind of nightmare that he was hoping he was going to wake up from soon. He and Matt went back a long way together and now he had not only his sub and its crew on his conscience, but the deaths of the DSRV crew as well. She walked over to him when he hadn't answered her and gently slipped her hand into his, snapping him back to reality. He took in a deep breath and looked up into Karen's probing eyes, then addressed Starke.
"I need Tony Rennalt for starters: he’s the co-designer of the Ghost's electronics. Then I want to know how far along the new DSRV is. She’s got an anti-magnetic hull and can use hydro jets instead of engines so there won't be any signatures. I'll need all the blueprints on those mines, specifically the wiring schematics as well as all the tools we’ll need to work on’em. Tony can bring them with him and meet us at the site.”
By this time, Karen had walked back over to the table and now leaned back against it, looking to her husband as the only man in the room with the answers she needed. "Our gear’s not fully anti-magnetic and we don't have the time to have new ones made. Not even the ADS suits are anti-magnetic, you know that. So, how are we going to disarm those things if we can’t get anywhere near them or the sub?”
Drawing in a deep breath, "We'll have to coat two complete suits with that anti-magnetic paint we’ve got aboard. It shouldn't take more than two divers to do this job anyway.” He finally stared her in the eyes and remarked, “We’ll need your best demolitions diver and also one with electronics expertise. Tony and I’ll talk them both through it.”
Upon hearing the last part of what Harry had said, Starke stood and spoke as he took on a very commanding and authoritative posture. "Sorry, Harriman, but you heard the Old Man. I'm afraid you may have to do this one yourself. You're the only person here that knows those mines intimately."
Nelson shot a look of surprise in Starke’s direction. "Jiggs, I'm not qualified to operate that gear. It takes intense training to be able to handle that stuff. You have no idea what’s involved."
"Look, I don't care what's involved and neither does the CNO. You know those mines in your sleep, Harriman. You and Rennalt designed them. Now. somehow, someway, they've malfunctioned and somebody’s got to find out why and how. Those divers aren't trained to work on them. However, you are," Starke tersely replied, the sound of it boarding very close on making it an order.
"Jiggs, I just told you, I'm not qualified to make that dive in that equipment…they are," Harriman shot back, trying to make him understand. Starke wasn't a diver and had no real clear understanding of what was really needed in this situation.
"Then somehow you’ve got to have to make damn sure those mines get disarmed and find out what the hell happened out there. Now, whether it’s your DWD team or you, quite frankly, I don’t care. Those mines have to be dealt with.” His tone then softened just a bit as he continued, "Besides, you'd never forgive yourself if anything went wrong out there. I’ve known you for too long and know you too well.”
Karen continued to sit against the table, watching and listening to the exchange between the two men with rising concern. She knew that Starke had every right to issue the ‘request’; however, common sense dictated another course of action. And although she was present first as Nelson's wife, she was also the main authority in who was, and wasn't, qualified to make that kind of dive. It would be her teams that would be involved in this operation and as the Seaview’s Mission Specialist and Dive Officer, she was the final authority on the matter. Authority that had, in fact, been given to her by the Institute's Director himself.
Standing upright, she faced Starke with her arms folded. "Admiral Starke, sir. Admiral Nelson’s correct. He's not qualified to make that dive. The Admiral hired me to build and head this team. There are certain directives that have been put in place to safeguard the divers when they go out. I’m responsible for making sure those directives are followed to the letter and safety, Admiral Starke, is one of the, if not the top, primary directives. I will not put an unqualified diver out at that depth in that equipment and that's all there is to it, sir. Not only would he be fighting the equipment but it puts a hell of a demand on your body as well. And I must remind you, Admiral, that a diver has to be medically certified to be able to handle that kind of depth in the first place.” She hesitated a moment, “Besides, are you really willing to risk losing him when it's not necessary? Frankly, sir, I'm not, and it damn well has nothing to do with the fact that I'm his wife!" She knew what was being asked of him and she also knew that in no way could, or would, she put him through it.
"Captain Davis!" Starke boomed, his eyes narrowing as he stared over at her. "You don't have a choice; you’ll do as you’re ordered, if ordered to do so! And may I add, Captain, you're bordering very close to insubordination!"