quickly.
“Correct answer,” replied Jerry with a slight grin. “The last thing I need is for a video of this incident to go viral on the Internet the moment we get back to port. It would complicate my life and I don’t need any help with that. Capiche?”
“Yes, sir. I understand, completely.”
“Good. Now concerning your qual board . . .”
The sudden antiquated ring of the Dialex internal phone system rudely interrupted their conversation. Holding up his right index finger, signifying “Wait one,” Jerry reached over and unclipped the handset. “Executive officer,” he answered.
“XO, Officer of the deck, sir. The skipper asked me to pass on that we are receiving flash traffic. He is already in the radio room and requests that you get your, quote, carcass up there immediately, unquote, sir.”
“Understand we are receiving flash traffic. Is it related to the exercise?” Confused, Jerry reached again for the events list.
“Negative, sir. This is a real-world message.”
A flash precedence message for Michigan meant something very big was happening in her part of the world, and the powers that be wanted her to do something about it.
“Thank you, Erik. I’ll be right up.”
Jerry rose quickly as he secured the handset in its cradle. Manning had already stepped out of the stateroom, clearing his path.
“Doc, we’ll have to work on your board later,” said Jerry, as he bolted for the ladder well. She made a reply, but Jerry didn’t hear it. His attention was elsewhere.
“Gangway. Make a hole!” he shouted, as his foot hit the first step. The sailors at the top of the ladder well rapidly dispersed. Grabbing the bridge access hatch ladder railing, Jerry propelled himself around the corner and found Lieutenant Erik Nelson, Michigan’ s communications officer, already holding the radio room door open. “The skipper’s forward reading the message,” volunteered Nelson.
Jerry only nodded as he entered the room. The solid thump from behind told him Nelson had closed the heavy door. Hunched over a table, motionless, studying the message stood Captain Kyle Guthrie. A seasoned submariner, Guthrie had an outstanding record full of highly successful assignments. Michigan’s blue crew was his second command tour, a rare occurrence in the U.S. submarine force, and everyone on board knew he enjoyed every minute of it.
Jerry considered himself lucky to work for a man like Guthrie, who seemed to know everything about subs and submarine warfare. The guy had been there and done it all: patrols on a ballistic missile submarine, tours at NAVSEA and the Pentagon supporting submarine design and procurement, as well as XO and CO tours on attack submarines. He’d been on boats that had fired virtually every weapon a U.S. submarine could possibly carry including Trident II D-5 ballistic missiles, Tomahawk cruise missiles, and various flavors of Mark 48 torpedoes. Operationally, Guthrie had a lot of experience in land-attack strikes, intelligence-gathering missions, and had even worked with embarked SEALs before. In short, he was the perfect commanding officer for a converted Ohio -class submarine. His reputation as a demanding captain was well founded, but at the same time he was courteous, fair, and totally dedicated to his crew. While he worked them hard, he also made damn sure they had all the tools they needed to get the job done.
“Ahh, XO,” said Guthrie, while waving for Jerry to come beside him. “Glad to see you made it. What took you so long?” The smirk on his face made it clear he was jerking Jerry’s chain, particularly since it hadn’t even been thirty seconds since Jerry had received the phone call.
“Sorry, Skipper, there was a little congestion on Highway 3,” said Jerry without blinking. He had Guthrie’s dry, and sometimes sarcastic, sense of humor down pat and knew the gibe wasn’t personal. Indeed, his reference to
“Correct answer,” replied Jerry with a slight grin. “The last thing I need is for a video of this incident to go viral on the Internet the moment we get back to port. It would complicate my life and I don’t need any help with that. Capiche?”
“Yes, sir. I understand, completely.”
“Good. Now concerning your qual board . . .”
The sudden antiquated ring of the Dialex internal phone system rudely interrupted their conversation. Holding up his right index finger, signifying “Wait one,” Jerry reached over and unclipped the handset. “Executive officer,” he answered.
“XO, Officer of the deck, sir. The skipper asked me to pass on that we are receiving flash traffic. He is already in the radio room and requests that you get your, quote, carcass up there immediately, unquote, sir.”
“Understand we are receiving flash traffic. Is it related to the exercise?” Confused, Jerry reached again for the events list.
“Negative, sir. This is a real-world message.”
A flash precedence message for Michigan meant something very big was happening in her part of the world, and the powers that be wanted her to do something about it.
“Thank you, Erik. I’ll be right up.”
Jerry rose quickly as he secured the handset in its cradle. Manning had already stepped out of the stateroom, clearing his path.
“Doc, we’ll have to work on your board later,” said Jerry, as he bolted for the ladder well. She made a reply, but Jerry didn’t hear it. His attention was elsewhere.
“Gangway. Make a hole!” he shouted, as his foot hit the first step. The sailors at the top of the ladder well rapidly dispersed. Grabbing the bridge access hatch ladder railing, Jerry propelled himself around the corner and found Lieutenant Erik Nelson, Michigan’ s communications officer, already holding the radio room door open. “The skipper’s forward reading the message,” volunteered Nelson.
Jerry only nodded as he entered the room. The solid thump from behind told him Nelson had closed the heavy door. Hunched over a table, motionless, studying the message stood Captain Kyle Guthrie. A seasoned submariner, Guthrie had an outstanding record full of highly successful assignments. Michigan’s blue crew was his second command tour, a rare occurrence in the U.S. submarine force, and everyone on board knew he enjoyed every minute of it.
Jerry considered himself lucky to work for a man like Guthrie, who seemed to know everything about subs and submarine warfare. The guy had been there and done it all: patrols on a ballistic missile submarine, tours at NAVSEA and the Pentagon supporting submarine design and procurement, as well as XO and CO tours on attack submarines. He’d been on boats that had fired virtually every weapon a U.S. submarine could possibly carry including Trident II D-5 ballistic missiles, Tomahawk cruise missiles, and various flavors of Mark 48 torpedoes. Operationally, Guthrie had a lot of experience in land-attack strikes, intelligence-gathering missions, and had even worked with embarked SEALs before. In short, he was the perfect commanding officer for a converted Ohio -class submarine. His reputation as a demanding captain was well founded, but at the same time he was courteous, fair, and totally dedicated to his crew. While he worked them hard, he also made damn sure they had all the tools they needed to get the job done.
“Ahh, XO,” said Guthrie, while waving for Jerry to come beside him. “Glad to see you made it. What took you so long?” The smirk on his face made it clear he was jerking Jerry’s chain, particularly since it hadn’t even been thirty seconds since Jerry had received the phone call.
“Sorry, Skipper, there was a little congestion on Highway 3,” said Jerry without blinking. He had Guthrie’s dry, and sometimes sarcastic, sense of humor down pat and knew the gibe wasn’t personal. Indeed, his reference to
Similar Books
