Wilson said.
"Respectfully, sir, yes. The fuel-cell Klasse 212s are vulnerable with all that liquid hydrogen on board, but they have twelve torpedo tubes between them, to our eight."
"And taking potshots with our ADCAPs would just tip them off?"
"Affirmative, sir."
"Then what about going active, disguise our ping as biologic?"
"You know how I feel about that, Captain. Once we start, we'd have to keep it up. Shrimp don't click real loud just once. Whale songs go on for minutes, even hours, so they can stay in touch moving in and out of each other's convergence zones. The enemy boats would track the source, watch our maneuvers. The water here's too quiet."
"I concur, sir," Sessions said. "The range is a bit extreme for that tactic in any case." Wilson gave Jeffrey a hard look. "Still don't want to call for help?"
"Sir," Jeffrey said, "our aircraft are heavily committed all along the front. If we suddenly vector in more stuff, including those two ASW helos we were working with, the 212s will know for sure we know they're here. We'll lose the element of surprise, and they'll fire off their
missiles. The whole point of Challenger is we're invisible till we strike."
"What's range and bearing to the helos?" Wilson said. "Twenty miles now, sir," Jeffrey said. "Bearing one seven five, crosswind from us."
"All right, then," Wilson said. "Debate's over. Assistant Navigator, let the rough log show that at . . . zero five two three Zulu this day, CinCPAC Theater Nuclear Forces rules of engagement were satisfied for a tactical nuclear launch against submerged enemy contacts."
"Assistant Navigator," Jeffrey said, "I concur." Jeffrey breathed a sigh of relief. Compared to this, Prospective Commanding Officers School would be a cinch.
"Sonar," Wilson said, "where's the layer?"
"One nine zero feet, sir," Sessions said.
"Helm," Wilson said, "ahead one third, make turns for four knots."
"Ahead one third," Meltzer said, "make turns for four knots, aye. . . . Maneuvering acknowledges turns for four knots, sir."
"Make your depth one five zero feet."
"Make my depth one five zero feet, aye," Meltzer said.
"Fire Control," Wilson said, "have Combat Systems warm up a nuclear Mark 88 torpedo. Same presets you put in the ADCAPs, to run above the layer. Load it in tube seven."
"Aye aye, sir," Jeffrey said.
"That way we'll slap them down real good if they stay deep," Wilson said, "and blow them to kingdom come if they've gone shallow."
Jeffrey relayed the commands and took the electronic acknowledgments. He eyed his weapons status screen as tube seven's outer door rotated closed, sea pressure was relieved, the water drained, and the inner door swung open. The weapons autoloader shuffled the units
around on the racks, then presented a wide-bodied Mark 88 at tube seven's breach. Lights in the CACC started flashing.
"General security alarm," Jeffrey said. "A special weapon has been shifted."
"Special weapon handling is authorized," Wilson said.
"Very well," Jeffrey said. "Disregard the alarm." The lights stopped blinking. Next Jeffrey watched as the fire control technicians on the CACC starboard side worked their consoles, establishing the weapon presets—under current nuclear war-fighting protocols the combat systems officer himself, called "Weps" for short, manned a retrofitted station on a lower deck, for two-man positive control.
Jeffrey knew that overall authorization for tactical nuclear weapons had been handed down by the President after the war broke out. Final decisions were made on the spot by Challenger's senior officers.
"X0," Wilson said, "take the conn. Messenger of the Watch, have Weps meet me in my state-room. Assistant Navigator, accompany me with the electronic logbook. I'm going for the special weapons enabler tool."
Ilse and Sessions spoke in undertones, their voices blending with the constant murmuring of CACC technicians.
"Ever seen a nuclear torpedo detonate?" Sessions said. He kept his eyes glued to his
"Respectfully, sir, yes. The fuel-cell Klasse 212s are vulnerable with all that liquid hydrogen on board, but they have twelve torpedo tubes between them, to our eight."
"And taking potshots with our ADCAPs would just tip them off?"
"Affirmative, sir."
"Then what about going active, disguise our ping as biologic?"
"You know how I feel about that, Captain. Once we start, we'd have to keep it up. Shrimp don't click real loud just once. Whale songs go on for minutes, even hours, so they can stay in touch moving in and out of each other's convergence zones. The enemy boats would track the source, watch our maneuvers. The water here's too quiet."
"I concur, sir," Sessions said. "The range is a bit extreme for that tactic in any case." Wilson gave Jeffrey a hard look. "Still don't want to call for help?"
"Sir," Jeffrey said, "our aircraft are heavily committed all along the front. If we suddenly vector in more stuff, including those two ASW helos we were working with, the 212s will know for sure we know they're here. We'll lose the element of surprise, and they'll fire off their
missiles. The whole point of Challenger is we're invisible till we strike."
"What's range and bearing to the helos?" Wilson said. "Twenty miles now, sir," Jeffrey said. "Bearing one seven five, crosswind from us."
"All right, then," Wilson said. "Debate's over. Assistant Navigator, let the rough log show that at . . . zero five two three Zulu this day, CinCPAC Theater Nuclear Forces rules of engagement were satisfied for a tactical nuclear launch against submerged enemy contacts."
"Assistant Navigator," Jeffrey said, "I concur." Jeffrey breathed a sigh of relief. Compared to this, Prospective Commanding Officers School would be a cinch.
"Sonar," Wilson said, "where's the layer?"
"One nine zero feet, sir," Sessions said.
"Helm," Wilson said, "ahead one third, make turns for four knots."
"Ahead one third," Meltzer said, "make turns for four knots, aye. . . . Maneuvering acknowledges turns for four knots, sir."
"Make your depth one five zero feet."
"Make my depth one five zero feet, aye," Meltzer said.
"Fire Control," Wilson said, "have Combat Systems warm up a nuclear Mark 88 torpedo. Same presets you put in the ADCAPs, to run above the layer. Load it in tube seven."
"Aye aye, sir," Jeffrey said.
"That way we'll slap them down real good if they stay deep," Wilson said, "and blow them to kingdom come if they've gone shallow."
Jeffrey relayed the commands and took the electronic acknowledgments. He eyed his weapons status screen as tube seven's outer door rotated closed, sea pressure was relieved, the water drained, and the inner door swung open. The weapons autoloader shuffled the units
around on the racks, then presented a wide-bodied Mark 88 at tube seven's breach. Lights in the CACC started flashing.
"General security alarm," Jeffrey said. "A special weapon has been shifted."
"Special weapon handling is authorized," Wilson said.
"Very well," Jeffrey said. "Disregard the alarm." The lights stopped blinking. Next Jeffrey watched as the fire control technicians on the CACC starboard side worked their consoles, establishing the weapon presets—under current nuclear war-fighting protocols the combat systems officer himself, called "Weps" for short, manned a retrofitted station on a lower deck, for two-man positive control.
Jeffrey knew that overall authorization for tactical nuclear weapons had been handed down by the President after the war broke out. Final decisions were made on the spot by Challenger's senior officers.
"X0," Wilson said, "take the conn. Messenger of the Watch, have Weps meet me in my state-room. Assistant Navigator, accompany me with the electronic logbook. I'm going for the special weapons enabler tool."
Ilse and Sessions spoke in undertones, their voices blending with the constant murmuring of CACC technicians.
"Ever seen a nuclear torpedo detonate?" Sessions said. He kept his eyes glued to his
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