“So we wait until we have all thirty of the Pacific units, plus Bruce’s Piranha, then coordinate them, then stage them so we all penetrate the Oparea at once. Anything submerged that isn’t American goes down.”
“Sounds obvious, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it’s bloody obvious.”
“Which is why we aren’t doing that.”
“Paully, what is going on here?”
“Sir, President Warner is what’s going on. She wants the Oparea secured today, meaning tonight our time, and she wants the blockade back in force.”
“That means we have to clear out the Oparea of— how many Destiny IIs?”
“Between eighteen and twenty-two. Depending on force readiness.”
“Say twenty-two. That’s, hell, eight of ours to twenty-two of theirs.”
“Nine, counting the Barracuda, the Seawolf class ship.”
“Tough odds but maybe we can live with them.”
“Warner says we have to live with them.”
“So, Paully, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We’ve got till close of business Christmas Eve to get the curtain back up around Japan.”
“Right. With all of nine fast-attack subs.”
“We’ll just have to do that — but with eight of them.”
“Why only eight?”
“Paully, you and I are about to make the USS Barracuda our new flagship. If I’m the Pacforcecom, I can do this any way I please. Right?”
“You are going to piss off one Capt. David Kane.”
“Kane saved my career once,” Pacino said. “The least I can do is thank him in person.”
“He’s not one to enjoy having his submarine commandeered by staff types.”
“I know how he feels, but that’s the way it’s going to be. By the way, get out a message to Sean Murphy and CB McDonne back at USUBCOM. Tell Murphy to get the Panama Canal cleared and do what he can to get the Joint Staff to secure that area.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, get this damned bandage off me. You said I had one good eye, right? Get me an eyepatch for the bad one.”
“Oh, this is going to be great. Admiral. You’ll look like a pirate when you get to the Barracuda. Should I get you a parrot too?”
“I already have one, Paully. Want a cracker?”
“Oh, very funny. Sir.”
“How long to the start of the Bering Strait Trench?”
It was nice when Scotty Court had the conn. He could be both officer of the deck and the navigator. Phillips felt that the more pressure the navigator was under, the better. The control room still blurped and wailed with the eerie sounds of the SHARKTOOTH under-ice anticollision sonar. Phillips stared at the console, wondering if the Japanese had the capability to go under the icecap.
Probably not, he decided. Why would they, considering their scope of operations.
“Captain, looks like another six hours.”
“At that point we’ll have enough depth below and clearance above to make, what do you think, Nav, twenty-five knots?”
“Well, Skipper, speaking as the ship’s navigator, I’m not comfortable with anything over twenty knots. Too much risk of collision with an ice raft or a ridge like the one you blasted through.
But speaking as the officer of the deck and the ship’s operations officer, I don’t see any reason why we should go any slower than thirty knots. We’ll have an eight-hour transit at thirty knots to the marginal ice zone. Once we have some open water overhead, I don’t see any reason for speed restriction at all. We’ve got an Oparea to get to, and we need to get there now.”
“You know. Court, if you ever want to be a skipper of one of these things, you’re going to have to learn to make the big decisions. If you want to run with the big dogs, you gotta bark like one. And bite, too. So can the equivocal bullshit and give me a straight answer.”
“Thirty knots, Captain. When we’re in the marginal ice zone, gun it.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Court.” Phillips clapped the navigator on the shoulder. “I don’t care what they say about you, Scotty, you’re okay.”
“Thanks, sir. I think.”
“I’m going to hit the rack, Mr. Court. Think you can get us through this maze all by yourself?”
“I’ll try, sir.”
