antiquity.
Other than the sound of the sub's engines churning through the water, silence reigned. Pete wanted to savor these last moments of communion with the salt air and the sea breeze.
"Do you think he will do it, sir?"
"Do I think who will do what?"
"The president. Do you think he will order us in?"
"I hope and pray that he won't, Frank. But given our current relations with Russia and given the president's big push to curtail terrorist activities, I think he will. But we'll see."
Another pause.
"I'm praying too, Skipper, " Frank said. "I'll be honest with you. In all my years in the Navy, I've never felt like I've started a mission where death was a real possibility. Lately, the Navy has gone unchallenged by all the other navies of the world. But this is different."
Their eyes locked. "Yes, Frank, it is."
"I'm ready to go if I have to, Captain. I'm ready." The XO's voice was sure and steady.
Pete slapped Lieutenant Commander Frank Pippen on the shoulders.
He checked his watch. It was time.
"XO, take her down, " Pete ordered.
The XO picked up the microphone on the bridge. "Control bridge." A brief pause. "Sounding."
"Bridge. Control. Sounding one-two-zero fathoms."
"Lookouts, clear the bridge!" Frank ordered.
Three orange-jacketed lookouts scrambled down the aluminum ladder leading to the control room.
"Officer of the deck, prepare to dive!" the XO ordered.
Pete descended the ladder from the open-air bridge leading to the control room. A rumble on the aluminum ladders followed him. Pete hopped from the last step to the control room floor, then announced, "Captain is down."
"Captain is down!" the officer of the deck parroted.
Clanking and rumbling on the steel-grated floors echoed throughout the sub. Men jogged down metal ladders. Some slid down the handrails like batman descending the batpole. Red lights flashed on and off. Cacophonous sirens sounded.
"XO down." Frank hopped from the ladder to the deck of the control room.
"XO is down!" the officer of the deck parroted.
"Submerge the ship!" Pete ordered.
"Diving officer submerge the ship!" the XO parroted. "Make your depth one-five-zero feet."
"Make my depth one-five-zero feet! Aye, sir!" the diving officer repeated, then said, "Chief of the watch. On the 1MC!" The diving officer's order opened up every loudspeaker on the sub for every crew member to hear the next commands.
"Dive!"
"Dive!"
"Dive!"
Over flashing lights and warning alarms, the words that electrified the soul of every submariner -- dive, dive, dive -- echoed throughout the ship.
"Make your depth one-five-zero feet, " the diving officer told the planesman, the petty officer in the blue jumpsuit who sat at the control of the submarine. "Five degrees down bubble."
Sweat beaded on the planesman's forehead. He pushed the steering wheel down ever so slightly.
Honolulu 's nose angled down under the surface. Her ballasts began flooding with salt water. Geysers of water shot into the air from the forward section of the sub as rushing water gushed into the forward ballasts.
She continued angling down, down under the surface. Time was of the essence. Pete had to get Honolulu on station, in a position to perform this mission if President Williams ordered it.
"Approaching one-five-zero feet, " the diving officer said.
"Very well, " Pete said. "Set course for one-three-five degrees. All ahead two-thirds."
"One-three-five degrees, " the OOD parroted -- Honolulu was on a course due southeast. "All ahead two-thirds."
"Maneuvering. Conn. All ahead two-thirds."
"Conn. Maneuvering. All ahead two-thirds."
Honolulu 's engines revved. She sliced through the depths, a silent hunter-killer on a life-or-death mission.
The Alexander Popovich Sochi, Russia
9:00 a.m. local time
Captain Batsakov checked his watch. From the bridge of Alexander Popovich , he looked over at the concrete pier and cursed. The unexpected and unwelcome visitors from FSB had delayed his sailing for twenty-four hours.
Other than the sound of the sub's engines churning through the water, silence reigned. Pete wanted to savor these last moments of communion with the salt air and the sea breeze.
"Do you think he will do it, sir?"
"Do I think who will do what?"
"The president. Do you think he will order us in?"
"I hope and pray that he won't, Frank. But given our current relations with Russia and given the president's big push to curtail terrorist activities, I think he will. But we'll see."
Another pause.
"I'm praying too, Skipper, " Frank said. "I'll be honest with you. In all my years in the Navy, I've never felt like I've started a mission where death was a real possibility. Lately, the Navy has gone unchallenged by all the other navies of the world. But this is different."
Their eyes locked. "Yes, Frank, it is."
"I'm ready to go if I have to, Captain. I'm ready." The XO's voice was sure and steady.
Pete slapped Lieutenant Commander Frank Pippen on the shoulders.
He checked his watch. It was time.
"XO, take her down, " Pete ordered.
The XO picked up the microphone on the bridge. "Control bridge." A brief pause. "Sounding."
"Bridge. Control. Sounding one-two-zero fathoms."
"Lookouts, clear the bridge!" Frank ordered.
Three orange-jacketed lookouts scrambled down the aluminum ladder leading to the control room.
"Officer of the deck, prepare to dive!" the XO ordered.
Pete descended the ladder from the open-air bridge leading to the control room. A rumble on the aluminum ladders followed him. Pete hopped from the last step to the control room floor, then announced, "Captain is down."
"Captain is down!" the officer of the deck parroted.
Clanking and rumbling on the steel-grated floors echoed throughout the sub. Men jogged down metal ladders. Some slid down the handrails like batman descending the batpole. Red lights flashed on and off. Cacophonous sirens sounded.
"XO down." Frank hopped from the ladder to the deck of the control room.
"XO is down!" the officer of the deck parroted.
"Submerge the ship!" Pete ordered.
"Diving officer submerge the ship!" the XO parroted. "Make your depth one-five-zero feet."
"Make my depth one-five-zero feet! Aye, sir!" the diving officer repeated, then said, "Chief of the watch. On the 1MC!" The diving officer's order opened up every loudspeaker on the sub for every crew member to hear the next commands.
"Dive!"
"Dive!"
"Dive!"
Over flashing lights and warning alarms, the words that electrified the soul of every submariner -- dive, dive, dive -- echoed throughout the ship.
"Make your depth one-five-zero feet, " the diving officer told the planesman, the petty officer in the blue jumpsuit who sat at the control of the submarine. "Five degrees down bubble."
Sweat beaded on the planesman's forehead. He pushed the steering wheel down ever so slightly.
Honolulu 's nose angled down under the surface. Her ballasts began flooding with salt water. Geysers of water shot into the air from the forward section of the sub as rushing water gushed into the forward ballasts.
She continued angling down, down under the surface. Time was of the essence. Pete had to get Honolulu on station, in a position to perform this mission if President Williams ordered it.
"Approaching one-five-zero feet, " the diving officer said.
"Very well, " Pete said. "Set course for one-three-five degrees. All ahead two-thirds."
"One-three-five degrees, " the OOD parroted -- Honolulu was on a course due southeast. "All ahead two-thirds."
"Maneuvering. Conn. All ahead two-thirds."
"Conn. Maneuvering. All ahead two-thirds."
Honolulu 's engines revved. She sliced through the depths, a silent hunter-killer on a life-or-death mission.
The Alexander Popovich Sochi, Russia
9:00 a.m. local time
Captain Batsakov checked his watch. From the bridge of Alexander Popovich , he looked over at the concrete pier and cursed. The unexpected and unwelcome visitors from FSB had delayed his sailing for twenty-four hours.
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