Chapter 9: "The Rising Tide"
15 December 2023
Bored, now…
Lucas checked the bottom corner of the screen for the tenth time in as many minutes, but the progress bar had barely moved. His code was still compiling. Usually, he was more patient when it came to waiting for his programs, but it was Friday afternoon, and once he was done with this, he could leave for the day. He was supposed to be meeting Ben and Miguel at a bar to enjoy a little bit of down time, and what with the way the production schedule had ramped up again, Lucas really needed the break.
While he waited, he logged on to the Internex on his mini comp, pulling up his customized newsfeed. He tried to check it at least once a day, but he hadn't had time yet today; between the department head meeting that had lasted most of the morning, simulator training, and the code that was currently compiling, Lucas had barely found a moment to sit down, let alone look at a computer.
There weren't many articles coming in from the civilian news sources he was subscribed to, but the feed from the military sources seemed to have exploded in a flurry of new messages. That's odd. I didn't know about anything scheduled for today. Of course, Lucas wasn't supposed to know about much more than seaQuest's building schedule, but he tended to peek into secure areas from time to time, just to keep in practice. Besides, his security clearance was still valid, so he wasn't even breaking the law. However, before he had the chance to check the headlines, a new message appeared in his inbox from one of the guys he'd gone to OCS with. The video was just an image of the UEO logo, but the audio came through loud and clear.
"Hey Lucas, it's Dan. I've only got a second, but you've probably already seen the news reports, and I just wanted to give you a heads up. Matty's in the hospital—or what's left of it at least. Jake's dead. Abby and I are part of the walking wounded. I'll try and call you when I've got more time, but everything's gone to Hell, and I'm lucky I even managed to get a call out right now. I gotta go."
The message ended abruptly, leaving Lucas confused—and wary. Eyes wide, he went back to the newsfeed, selecting the first article and scanning the headline.
JOHNSON ATOLL ATTACKED. EXTENSIVE CASUALTIES.
He felt like someone punched him in the stomach, but he forced himself to read the rest of the report.
An unknown number of Macronesian warships launched a missile attack against the Johnson Atoll Forward Naval Station late this morning. Four ships, including a civilian supply ship, are reported as destroyed. No survivors have been found as of yet. Military casualties are estimated in the thousands.
Several civilian businesses and housing developments outside the base were struck by SSN-45 Sub-to-Surface missiles, although whether or not these locations were intentionally targeted is unknown at this time. At least three thousand civilians are missing and presumed dead, most families of service members working on the base. Destruction of—
He had to stop reading. Dan's message suddenly made a lot more sense, but now Lucas wished it didn't. He hadn't been able to keep in touch with his fellow officers as much as he might have liked, not with the top secret nature of seaQuest, but they had been friends during OCS. And now Jake's dead.
The world swam in front of his eyes, and he had to force himself to breathe. Everything was suddenly cold, and Lucas felt an unexpected surge of hatred. The Macronesians had killed his friend. The attack on Johnston Atoll was yet another example of why he'd chosen to join the Navy, because someone needed to stop those bastards before they destroyed the world they sought to rule. But here he was, an officer in the Navy…and Lucas was still unable to do anything to help.
I'm sick of being helpless! he thought angrily, getting to his feet. The UEO needs to do something, instead of just ignoring the war that the Macronesians are busy winning!
He headed towards the captain's stateroom at barely less than a run, elbowing his way past confused sailors as he went. If there hadn't been an announcement over the 1MC yet, the captain probably didn't know about the attack. And even if they hadn't really talked for weeks, someone had to tell him.
And it would be nice if I could talk to him about Jake. Lucas squashed that thought as quickly as he could, swallowing hard. Stop being a baby. He's your CO, not your therapist.
Or your father.
He scowled at himself, coming to a stop in front of the hatch to the captain's cabin. It was open, as usual, so Lucas barely took the time to knock on the frame before he entered.
Bridger looked up, but if he was about to criticize Lucas' lacking military formalities, whatever he was about to say died on his lips when he saw the look on Lucas' face. "What's wrong, Lucas?"
"Johnston Atoll Naval Station was attacked."
A moment passed in silence; Bridger's eyes went slightly wide, and he sat back in his chair very slowly. Finally, he spoke in a voice that sounded strangely normal to Lucas, his expression almost unchanged.
"Why don't you close the hatch and sit down?"
Lucas just stared in disbelief, unable to move. The captain wanted him to close the hatch and sit down? "Did you even hear what I just said, Captain? The base is practically gone."
"I heard you, Lucas." Bridger got up and closed the hatch himself, only then adding "Tell me everything you know." He didn't sit down, though. The captain just leaned against the bulkhead, his eyes watching Lucas intently.
"The Macronesians attacked a couple of hours ago. They're already estimating thousands of people—thousands of civilians—to be dead." His throat closed up.
Bridger was silent for a long moment, before he spoke very quietly: "Shit."
Lucas could count on one hand how many times he had heard the captain swear, but at the moment, it seemed very appropriate.
And very human.
"It hasn't hit the media yet. I saw it on the military feed. And..." He hesitated, not sure if the captain would care about Lucas' feelings. But he needed someone to talk to. "And some of my friends from OCS were there. I got a call..."
Bridger came over and put a hand on his shoulder. "How many?" he asked softly.
"Four. One of them..." He couldn't say it. He hoped the captain would understand, but things had been so messed up between them lately, Lucas wasn't even sure they were speaking the same language half the time.
"I'm sorry," the captain's voice was compassionate, and reminded Lucas almost painfully of the past. "I know there's not much anyone can say...but if you need anything, or even just to talk, let me know."
"I'm sick of just talking, sir. They didn't even have a chance to defend themselves! The UEO keeps burying its head in the sand, and Macronesia strolls right into our waters and starts killing people!" Lucas said, practically shouting. But he was too angry, too emotionally involved, to keep the words in check any longer. "Talking isn't working anymore!"
"Sit down, Lucas." Gently, Bridger steered him into a chair, and sat down across from him at the table. He took a deep breath before continuing: "I can't say much to make this easier on you…and I can't say that I disagree with you, either. Talking isn't working, and won't until someone stands up to Macronesia and stops them in their tracks. Until now, the politicians have resisted doing that…all I can hope is that this tragedy will change that. I know that won't bring anyone back, but…"
As he trailed off, there were shadows in his expression that Lucas had not seen before.
"And if it doesn't change anything? What then?" Lucas demanded sharply. He was far too familiar with the political stupidity of the UEO, and he was angry that they had been ignoring things as long as they had.
"Then we go out and—" Bridger never got a chance to answer before the vidlink started buzzing, and Lucas saw Admiral Noyce's name in the caller identification box. Bridger grimaced. "I've got to take this, Lucas."
"Right." Lucas stood to leave. Once upon a time, he may have been allowed to stay, but now that he was a lieutenant, he wasn't privileged to conversations between the captain and his superior.
"Stay." The captain's hand on his arm stopped him before he could move away from the table, and he slapped the answer button before Lucas could object.
"What's up, Bill?" he asked, his voice strangely light. It even fooled Lucas before he noticed the look in the captain's eyes.
Noyce started without preamble, seeming not even to notice Lucas. "The forward base at Johnston Atoll has just been attacked, Nathan. The Macronesians sent at least one hundred and fifty SSMs into the island and the surrounding areas, and UEO Command has just issued an official war warning to the fleet."
"What's the casualty count?" the captain asked.
"At least three thousand. Probably more," the admiral said heavily. Lucas' knees wobbled, and he landed heavily back in his seat, trying to digest the numbers. Three thousand? That's worse than the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. "None of the confederations want war, Nathan...but I can't see anything preventing it, now. McGath's on fire, and he's demanding to know what the Navy can do to prevent another attack like this."
"I hope you told him that the answer is nothing if we continue 'peacetime' patrols," was Bridger's immediate answer, and Lucas was surprised how biting his tone was.
It occurred to Lucas that it wasn't exactly normal for Admiral Noyce to be calling Captain Bridger right now. A few years ago he would have written it off to their friendship, but now he knew more about the way the Navy worked. The admiral had to be busy trying to deal with the situation, and the ranking officer in the entire fleet had better things to do than to call a random captain, even a friend, in the middle of a crisis. That, however, meant the admiral had to want something more from the captain.
"I've been authorized to deploy submarines near the border on wartime footing. If a boat is Macronesian and even starts to twitch in an aggressive manner, we're taking it out, war or no war." Noyce's face was no longer that of the jolly looking 'uncle' he'd always seemed to seaQuest's crew; it was hard. A vicious corner of Lucas' mind was glad to see, that, too; he'd always liked the older man, but his fury was gratified to see that the admiral had a tough side, too.
Bridger's expression wasn't much different, and his voice was clipped. "What do you need from me, Bill?"
"Two things. One is simpler than the other—the Strategy Board meets again in three days. I need you on a plane tomorrow night. It looks like your pet operation may just get the green light, and soon."
Pet operation? Lucas thought, curious despite his anger. But now wasn't the time to ask.
"And the second?" the captain prompted, making Noyce frown.
"How soon can you get that boat of yours in the water?" the admiral asked. "I know I'm asking you to throw your production schedule in the grinder, but we need seaQuest, and we need her fast. Even if she's not at her best."
Immediately, Bridger's eyes flicked to the production board he kept in his stateroom, and Lucas saw his mind working fast. He could also see that the captain wasn't happy about what he was about to say, but he didn't hesitate, either. "End of the year."
"That soon?"
"You'll be paying a lot of overtime for the yard workers and my crew won't be getting any holiday leave, but we can do it. Barely."
Noyce nodded. "I'll see you in three days, then. I'm heading out to Johnston in an hour, and my plane will pick you up on our way back around."
"Good luck, Bill." With those words, the captain's hard expression softened a bit. "Try not to get yourself killed while you're out there, will you?"
"I'll try to keep that in mind," was the half-amused response, and the admiral cut the connection without another word.
Out of all the interesting things that had been said during that conversation, one inevitably stuck in Lucas' mind. There were only sixteen days left in December, and launching wasn't actually scheduled until February fifth. Lucas asked once the UEO logo filled the screen again: "Do you really think that we'll be able to launch within the month, sir?"
Bridger sighed, suddenly looking old. "I think it'll have to be, kiddo. We don't exactly have a lot of options, what with the way the Macronesian Navy outnumbers us."
"You think seaQuest will make enough of a difference?"
"She'd better, otherwise why am I working all of you so hard?" It sounded like Bridger was trying to insert some humor into the situation...and failing.
He tried not to scowl; the captain's comment hit too close to the truth of Lucas' recent feelings. But he did manage a lopsided smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "I was starting to think you just enjoyed watching us suffer."
"Well, it does have its up sides." This time, the captain's smile seemed a bit more natural. He let a breath out. "More seriously, though, Lucas...I was at the last Strategy Board meeting. We're outnumbered by a factor of seven or eight to one, and that ratio is only going up, not down. seaQuest is about the only boat we have that can make a difference—and that's only if we can kill them a lot faster than they can kill us."
The captain's response startled him. This wasn't the Nathan Bridger he remembered from his teenage years, the man who was so reluctant to take command of seaQuest even when she was a science vessel. But so much had changed since then, and Lucas shouldn't have expected the captain to stay the same, even if it would have been a reassuring constant. Heck, I changed and joined the military. Why can't he? However, the captain still seemed able to read Lucas like a book.
"Wondering what's changed?" Bridger asked softly.
"Yeah, a bit. I know we talked a little, but..." But this was a man prepared to go to war. And win.
"It's a lot like what brought you into the Navy, actually," the captain said. "Do you remember Dalton Phillips?"
The non sequitur made Lucas blink. "Yeah, he was the weapons officer on the last seaQuest. What about him?"
"He was killed in one of the first engagements against Macronesia, not too long after seaQuest's keel was laid. That got me thinking...well, about a lot of things. So I started redesigning seaQuest to be a warship, not a peacekeeping vessel. I knew I couldn't hide from what was going to come—or that I couldn't live with myself if I tried, anyway."
Bridger smiled wryly, and continued:
"I could have gone back to my island. I could have sat the whole damned thing out, and no one would have said a word—but I can't do that while friends die. And if I'm going to be here, I might as well make the biggest difference I can. I used to be pretty good at this business, or so they tell me."
That finally managed to make Lucas smile, though it felt tight and unnatural with the news of the attack still hanging over both their heads. Suddenly, his own feelings seemed a lot more…natural. Still, he had to whisper: "I just wish the UEO hadn't waited so long."
"Me too, kiddo," the captain said feelingly. "But you can only play the hand you're dealt, so for now, our job is to get this overgrown squid wet and ready to fight. I hope you didn't have Christmas plans, Lucas."
Lucas gave the captain a dry look. "I haven't heard from my father since the summer, and you and I haven't really been on speaking terms lately. Of course, Ben offered to take me out, but I can only watch him get shot down by women so many times before I'd rather be anywhere else."
"Better you than me," was the laughing response. "I had enough trouble saving him from his last CO."
Lucas laughed as well. For a moment, at least, it felt just like old times. He wished the circumstances that brought it about were different, wished that it hadn't taken so much death to get to this point. Most of all, he wished he could count on it to last, but if there was one thing he knew about war, it was that war could change everything.
Petty Officer Riley managed not to comment when Bridger told him to head towards an apartment located about twenty minutes' drive from the base—one that was far nicer (and usually far neater) than his own. Nathan saw the look his driver shot him, but chose not to comment. He was too tired to put up with Riley's joking today.
At least his conversation with Lucas had resolved some of the tension that had been building up between them. Bridger was glad for that, and he'd meant to talk to Lucas at least a hundred times before the young man had come to him, but something or another always got in the way. He'd hardly had time to eat between all the meetings with contractors, equipment inspections, and paperwork required for readying a new warship for commissioning—not to mention the several hours a day he spent crafting or overseeing training scenarios for his crew. Nathan had known that the entire process would be busy—seaQuest was not the first boat he'd commissioned as CO—but the more they tried to rush things, the busier his day became.
Kristin had been back for over a week, and he'd only managed to call her once. Worse, yet, he'd barely even noticed that a week had passed, and Kristin had been too nice to call him on it.
Riley pulled the car up outside and threw Nathan an unreadable look. "You want me to pick you up here in the morning, Captain?"
"Sure," Nathan sighed. It was a good thing Riley wasn't on the crew, because if he had been, this would have been all over the boat by morning—and he really just didn't want to deal with that right now. Sooner or later, he'd have to, but at the moment, he simply had too many other irons in the fire to worry about this one.
His feet carried him to her door without much thought required, a good thing considering the gelatinous state of his mind. Kristin opened the door almost before he'd had a chance to knock.
"You look like hell, Nathan," she said immediately, her features softening. "Come in."
Two hours later, he was sprawled on her couch watching some strange reality show or another, and feeling vaguely human again. Dinner had helped—Kristin was no gourmet, but she was a better cook than he was, and her meals were definitely better than the pizza, subs, and Chinese takeout he'd been living on for the last month or so.
"Do you ever wash these things?" Kristin asked, holding up his coveralls with a disgusted scowl on her face.
"I was doing torpedo tube inspections this morning. Sorry," he answered. Nathan was wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that he'd left at her place God-knew-how-many-months ago, because if he'd dared sit down on anything in her apartment while so covered in grease, she would have killed him.
"Of course you are, Nathan." She even managed not to roll her eyes at him. Much.
But her exasperated look made him smile. She's a hell of a woman, this one. "Don't look so surprised, Doctor. You've seen me dirtier."
"Dirty old man, more like." She grinned back, though, before dumping the coveralls in the laundry, then returning to shove his feet off the couch. "Budge over, you."
He made room for her, but didn't come out of his slouch. All day, every day, he was used to being the Captain, and it was nice just to be Nathan for a change. No one was watching him, here. No one was expecting him to have all the answers. He could be tired, be cranky, or be just plain stupid, and it didn't matter.
Kristin shifted closer, putting her head on his shoulder. "So, are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or do I have to ask?"
"What isn't?" he asked wryly, and then shook his head. "You heard about Johnston Atoll?"
"I think everyone has by now," she answered seriously. "They're calling it the Pearl Harbor of the 21st Century."
Much though he wanted to, Nathan couldn't argue that assessment. The death toll had risen to just over 10,000…with over six thousand of those deaths civilians who lived near the base or in the waters surrounding it. Three undersea communities had also been damaged, though most of the casualties had been on Johnston Atoll itself. The naval base was still operational, but the damage had been nearly catastrophic, and they still didn't have numbers on how many people were injured or trapped in the rubble.
"Yeah," he said heavily, scraping a hand over his face. "I'm not sure what you're getting on the news, but UEO Command has already issued a war warning."
Eyes widening, Kristin sat up straight. "You're serious?"
"Very. Our schedule has been pushed up, too—we're supposed to launch by the end of the year."
"Can you do that?"
Nathan could only shrug. "We'll find out."
I hope so, he didn't say, mostly because he didn't want to voice the thought, even to himself. Kristin would understand—she might have been somewhat anti-military on the first seaQuest, but that was more out of competition for the boat's mission than true hatred for the armed services—but sometimes, Nathan still resisted returning to his old military mindset. It was a comfortable enough state of mind…but there were times he really wished he could be a man of science again, and being with Kristin had a habit of reminding him of that.
Thinking of his boat, on the other hand, made the military man come out. We'll be ready, Nathan promised himself. Because if we're not, the UEO is screwed.
16 December 2023
The next afternoon, Katie found the captain alone in the newly-built 4800-class Navigation Simulator, using the voice-operated COVE 9 software to put a virtual seaQuest through her paces. The COVE, or Conning Officer Virtual Environment, allowed one individual to direct computer-simulated helmsmen and watch the boat react through a three-dimensional display. Since they couldn't drive seaQuest yet—she still hadn't even been float-tested—using such a system was the best way to figure out the sub's maneuvering characteristics. Still, Katie had not expected to find her CO there during lunch. Not with the mad amount of preparations the crew was doing in order to get moved aboard the boat in two days, which meant eating, sleeping, and doing everything else aboard the still-dry seaQuest.
Still, Bridger was the boss, and sometimes she felt flattered that he trusted her enough to disappear for awhile.
"Hey, Captain," she said in a casual tone that would have shocked her not long before—but after being Nathan Bridger's XO for almost a month, Katie found that she was extremely comfortable in the role, and with him. Of course, he could be a hell of a taskmaster when he wanted to be, and she'd never worked this hard in her life, but no one could claim that the Captain didn't put in as many hours as the rest of them.
"Morning, Katie," he said distractedly, his eyes on the gyro-driven outline of seaQuest as it twisted through a 360 degree turn. He spoke in the microphone again. "Rudder amidships. Couple your jets."
"Rudder amidships, aye, sir. Couple my jets, aye sir," the computerized voice replied.
"All engines ahead slow, make turns for eight knots." He released the mike button and looked her way. "What's up, XO?"
"Those…gentlemen from Suncross Limited are here about the berthing heaters," she replied, trying not to grimace. Meanwhile, the computer made its repeatbacks and reports without even noticing her discomfort.
"Is it lunchtime already?" Bridger was wearing his absentminded professor look again, the one that drove Katie insane. Still, she managed not to roll her eyes.
"How long have you been in here?"
Bridger smiled, his eyes on the display again. "All engines ahead flank," he ordered, and the virtual seaQuest leapt forward. "About three hours, I think."
"Did the software upgrade fix anything?" Katie's attention should have been on the contractors who were waiting outside the classified space, but she couldn't help it. She was curious…and if they were launching in two weeks, they really needed this simulator up and running. The tactical trainer for the new seaQuest had been operating since the day after she'd reported, but the number of problems they had with the navigational trainer had only increased by the day. Finally, the simulators' creators had torn it down and started all over again, an effort that had culminated the day before with the trainer Bridger was using now.
"Seems to have. We won't know until we get the real boat moving, but the maneuvering characteristics make sense, now," the captain replied thoughtfully. "She moves pretty well, too. Better than the last boat, actually."
Katie snickered, and the engineer in her answered: "I should hope so. She's the most ridiculously overpowered submarine ever built. Whatever possessed you to design her with two Twin Fusion reactors?"
"My original design for the first boat had two, also," was the grinning reply. The simulated boat's speed had passed 160 knots—the top speed of the last seaQuest—and kept increasing. "The second one got cut after I left the program. Toe your jets in thirty degrees. Port engine back full, starboard engine ahead full."
The last was to the computer, and it repeated the commands back before adding in a snotty voice: "Approaching water jet cavitation limits."
Katie's eyes flicked to the engineering display; for a boat that had been slammed into a 360 degree twist from 170 knots of ahead speed, the amount of cavitation was actually pretty low. I hope the real boat is this sturdy! She's going to have to be, if the captain plans to drive her like he's a crazy teenager.
"May I ask why, sir?" she asked after a moment. Katie could see why Bridger spent so long down here—watching the response times was fascinating.
"Because she's supposed to be ridiculously overpowered, Commander," her boss replied, still smiling. He waited until the virtual sub had turned 180 degrees before ordering: "Rudder amidships, couple your jets. All engines ahead flank."
The entire turn had taken about a minute—faster than Katie knew any submarine could twist, even underwater. Submarines were always more maneuverable under the surface than on it, but this was truly impressive. Bridger continued:
"The last boat was big and fast, but she turned like an aircraft carrier. She was quick enough to come around at speed, but her turning radius was a nightmare, if you recall."
"Yeah," she said wryly, remembering how long it had taken her to learn to drive the first seaQuest. "Jonathan used to call her the flying pig."
Bridger snorted out a laugh. "That's a good name. All stop."
"All engines stop, aye, sir," the snotty little voice replied. Couldn't they have given the computer a more pleasant voice? Then reality kicked in. Who am I kidding? This was probably the cheapest option available. They've been using it since before I got to the Academy, anyway.
"So, to answer your question, Katie, for a boat this size, power means maneuverability. That wouldn't necessarily be true if we had conventional screws, but with the new Wärtsilä water jets, more power only means more turning capability." He put the microphone down and clicked a few keys, halting the simulation. "Have you ever served on a waterjet boat before?"
"No," Katie shook her head. "It's not really something they've tried with submarines before—or at least not the 720 degree reversible waterjets—is it?"
"Not at all. The jets we used on the first boat were revolutionary enough for the time she was designed—and quiet as hell, at least compared to screw noises. But they were stationary and required a rudder for steering, which made maneuvering interesting. You remember what using a full rudder at high speeds used to do to her, I'm sure."
Oh, Katie remembered. Using too much rudder at high speeds meant that the enormous amount of water coming out of the jets pushed hard on the rudder, hard enough to break it in the original seaQuest's first set of sea trials. In theory, she understood how the new system worked; the jets could train up to 180 degrees both horizontally and vertically, and there was a bucket that dropped to reverse the flow of water and cause the equivalent of another 180 degrees' worth of rotation each way. From what Katie had read, using jets like this allowed for much quicker maneuvering than a rudder, because the rudder operated based upon the high/low pressure of water coming off of a propeller, whereas a waterjet simply provided its own steering.
Bridger continued with the impromptu lesson. "The first actual Navy ships to use 360 degree reversible waterjets were the Freedom-class littoral combat ships in 2009, although most surface ships haven't adopted them because driving with them requires a significant investment in training. And we're definitely the first submarine to sport them, though I suspect we won't be the last."
"What's the catch, sir?" The engineer in her insisted that there was always a catch.
"They're hard as hell to break, but if you suck something solid enough through the intake, the entire impeller is toast, and you have to drydock to fix it," the captain replied. "And the hydraulic systems on them can be an engineer's worst nightmare, though the Wärtsiläs are pretty reliable."
"Sucking something in sounds really…pleasant."
"The Wärtsilä guys claim that the impellers will chew up a steel step ladder—and I did watch a demonstration where our jets ate an aluminum one in testing, so I'm inclined to believe that anything softer than that won't be a problem. All the same, it could get interesting."
"You're such an optimist, sir," Katie teased him.
Bridger laughed. "Just wait until you hear what Brad thinks of these things," he said, then stepped away from the simulator. "Now, show me to the contractors—I have a feeling they need a kick in the ass before I get on a plane to Florida tonight."
18 December 2023
"Damn it, Ben, for once in your life, could you not make my life more difficult?" Katie asked angrily, approaching him. Ben winced, but forced a smile onto his face. Quickly, he handed off the manifest he'd been verifying to his leading chief petty officer, Chief Bickle—there was no way he was going to manage to argue with the XO and do his job at the same time.
"I assure you, Commander, making your life more difficult was not my intention. Now what seems to be the problem?" he asked in return, trying military courtesy and politeness on for size.
"When you told me that the mattresses for enlisted berthing would be delivered in time, that didn't mean having them delivered at the same time everyone was moving aboard!" Katie looked ready to strangle someone, and Ben supposed it was for the best that it would be him and not some hapless seaman who happened to cross her path when she was in one of her moods.
Then again, Ben couldn't really blame the XO for stressing over this evolution. Moving an entire crew on board a submarine was a nightmare for everyone, and Katie's job was undoubtedly the hardest, because she was responsible for everything. That was especially true because the Captain had been called to New Cape Quest for another meeting, which left Katie to manage the problem. Ben and Tim were doing their best to help, but they each had their own huge areas of responsibilities to deal with.
Speaking for himself, Ben hadn't slept in over 30 hours, and didn't anticipate doing so again until the 19th. By then, he'd probably be a babbling mess of idiocy, but for the moment, he had entirely too much work to do. Will she yell at me if I offer to give one of the enlisted guys my mattress? It's not like I'll be using it any time soon, he thought tiredly.
"Look, Katie, they weren't originally scheduled to be delivered until next week. I've been trying to get them here as soon as possible," Ben replied, trying and failing to keep his voice level. "They'll be installed by taps tonight, anyway, and that's what really matters, right?"
She gave him The Glare. "That's hardly the point. What other responsibilities of yours are running behind schedule?"
"Oh, I don't know, all of them. I was supposed to have two more weeks to get all of these supplies delivered. You're not the only one who's overworked right now, Katie," Ben snapped in response. He usually tried not to fight with her, especially in front of the crew, but he wasn't in the mood to play punching bag.
"I'm not Katie to you, Lieutenant Commander. I'm the XO of this boat, and you'd do well to remember that from time to time!" she retorted angrily. "Now, what is this I hear about the laundry machines having been installed backwards? Is this another one of your jokes, or is it an actual problem?"
Ben had to clamp down on his anger hard and fast. Just because she's blaming you for things that aren't really your fault doesn't mean you're still married to her, Ben. Even if it did feel familiar. "I don't exactly have time for practical jokes right now, ma'am."
Thankfully, she ignored the sarcasm, because Katie did have a point, much though Ben was loathe to admit it. Instead, she continued pointedly: "So, do you have a plan to fix the problem, Suppo, or are you just going to hope it takes care of itself?"
"Well, gee, XO, I really thought they were going to just pick themselves up and turn themselves around. But now that you mention it, I guess I should get a couple of guys from engineering to help them out, shouldn't I?" Ben replied heatedly. He knew it was asking for trouble, but exhaustion got the best of his common sense, and Ben had slipped right back into the habit of meeting her irrational anger with sarcasm.
Tim approached before Katie could reply. Clearly, he'd heard their argument and really didn't want to get in the middle of it—but shy though he was, Tim O'Neill wasn't one to slack off his duties just because they were unpleasant. And he was always one to look out for a friend, or two of them, when required. "Uh, Commander, I've got some updates for you."
Katie shot Ben one last ugly look before turning to face the Operations Officer. "Hit me with it," she ordered.
"Well, Lucas figured out what was wrong with the cipher locks on the officers' staterooms—it seems like some shipyard worker thought it would be funny to keep trying random combinations until the stupid things locked out everything except the factory resets. Lieutenant Chin also wants you to know that the base armory did finally fork over all of our small arms. We're still short on ammo, but we've got enough for the security watches."
He checked a scribbled list before adding, "The air filtration systems are up and running, though we won't know for sure how well they work until we're off of shore power. Cheng says that he's ready to test Number Two Generator whenever you're ready, too. They got the filters in this morning, though Brad says that he's not quite sure how anyone finagled the supply system to deliver them so fast."
How Tim had wound up being everyone else's messenger boy was beyond Ben, but he was grateful for the interruption—it had kept him and Katie from going off the deep end, which was probably a good thing, at least where his career was concerned. Besides, Tim had been nice enough to throw in a compliment for their friendly neighborhood Supply Officer at the end, which meant that Ben owed him a beer.
At least one. Probably two beers, especially if he keeps talking.
Her anger seemed to deflate a bit, though the look she gave him following Tim's compliment was far from friendly. "Thanks, Tim," she said, sounding a lot more calm and a whole lot more tired than she had just a few minutes ago. "I'll go find Cheng and see about that Number Two Generator. Can you see about doing something to coordinate the mattresses being brought on board with when the crew is coming on?"
"I figure we could just have everyone haul their own mattress on board with their gear," Tim shrugged. "I hauled mine in this morning—the officers' mattresses are in a mislabeled crate down at the wrong end of the pier," he added helpfully, looking Ben's way. "I found it when I went for a run at five this morning."
Ben wanted to ask Tim when he had found the time for a run, but with Katie still standing next to them, he didn't dare take that risk. "I'll go see about getting it where it's supposed to be," he said, looking for any excuse to leave that he could.
"Oh, I also got a call from Miguel—he took the launch out into the bay to do some WSKR testing, and he says that all but one of them is performing within standards. The delinquent one is probably going to have to be returned to the builder, though. Its navigation systems and sonar systems are hosed up."
"Any more good news?" Ben could hear the grimace in her voice, and he paused to listen. They'd all been working their brains out for the last three days, trying to get everything done, and it just seemed like the list of things to do kept growing.
"Well, the soda machines were delivered empty. Lucas found that out when he tried to get some Mountain Dew, earlier." Tim shot Ben an apologetic look, but it didn't change the fact that he was now down to one beer. "And apparently no one thought to ship-check the gym equipment. It's all noisy as hell, but Master Chief Crocker is taking care of that one. He was still yelling at the contractors when I left."
Looks like I won't be sleeping until the 20th, he thought wearily, making a mental note to beat someone upside the head about the vending machines.
Fortunately, Katie didn't even bother to yell at him again—moments later, she got a call from the Chief Engineer about some other system being cranky, and headed down to talk to him about whatever it was.
"Thanks for the save, Tim," Ben said, not bothering to wait for a reply before heading to his cabin. If the coffee machines were still on the fritz and the soda machines were empty, he'd have to rely on the small stash of caffeine pills he kept there to make it through the rest of this hellish process.
Still jetlagged beyond belief, they were sitting in Bill's office with a pair of sodas—anything stronger and both thought that they might pass out. Nathan's confused stomach didn't even want to contemplate the plate of sandwiches Bill's aide had helpfully delivered, and looking at them just made him want to go to sleep.
"The food was a lot better last time," he complained lightly. "I don't think this morning's Danishes did anything to agree with my stomach."
"I think it was that trash the Air Force served on the plane," Bill replied, making a face. "Either that, or it's the fact that I can't count how many time zones I've been in over the last four days. Or is it three days?"
"I think it's three, Bill."
The admiral waved a hand wearily. "Semantics."
"You do know you pulled me away from my crew moving aboard the boat today, don't you?" Nathan griped for about the eighteenth time.
Bill snorted, and said the same thing he had every other time. "You've got a good XO, don't you? Right now, your time is better spent looking at the big picture strategically, not doing administrative bullshit, no matter how necessary it is."
"Shut up." Nathan was too tired to have this argument again. Apparently, Bill was, too, because he changed the subject.
"I think the meeting went pretty well, at least. Even Frank Thomas didn't have much to complain about." Noyce laughed without showing much actual amusement. "I think he likes you, Nathan."
"You mean that he's forgotten about me blatantly defying his orders about hunting down Max Scully."
"Oh, that's old news. It's a new world, now." And not a better one, neither of them added.
"So ask him to send me a Christmas present of about two million dollars," he replied, rolling his eyes. "That's what it's going to take to keep pushing the schedule like this, you know. Maybe more."
"I'll find it somewhere. You just worry about getting that boat launched and ready."
"Launched is a long way from Plan Calcimine, Bill," Nathan felt obligated to point out, and then shook his head tiredly. "Or whatever we're calling it now."
"Operation Wildwood. Has a better ring to it. Calcimine sounds like some sort of toothpaste."
He shrugged. "Right. My point stands, though. We're doing an awful lot of planning that revolves around a boat that hasn't even gone through sea trials yet. What are you going to do if you need Calc—Wildwood—before seaQuest is ready?"
"Pull you off her and send you out on another boat," was the immediate response.
"I'm trying to be serious here." Nathan glared.
"So'm I. Sort of, anyway," his friend replied. "Look, Nathan, you and I both know that you're the only active duty captain we have who has ever done independent operations like Wildwood in wartime. Hell, we don't even have any admirals who have—precious few of the boats we sent out in the Aegean Campaign came back, and everyone else either retired or got themselves killed in some other conflict along the way. You're the subject matter expert on this, so frankly, I'm not sending someone else out for this job. You're it." The admiral gave him a significant look. "Why do you think I was so set on having you at these meetings, anyway?"
Nathan scowled. "I'm just a captain, Bill. And I like being a captain."
"Don't you think I know that? If I thought I could pry you off that boat of yours, I'd have slapped stars on your collar a long time go."
Glaring at Bill didn't seem to make him change his mind, but Nathan already knew that yelling at him wouldn't, so he was left with no better option than giving his friend the dirtiest look he could manage. Besides, he was tired, and shouting consumed energy he didn't have. And there wasn't even time for a nap before his flight out left in two hours—he and Bill still had to refine a few pieces of Operation Wildwood, because Nathan knew he'd be too busy to do it any other time. He was flying on another military flight, which had the advantage of being nonstop (they'd refuel in air so that they didn't have to), but Nathan also had work to do on the plane, which meant he wouldn't be napping there, either.
He started trying to count the number of hours he'd gone without sleep, and then stopped himself when nothing added up properly. He was too damn tired for this, but Nathan was a big believer in the old saying about how proper planning prevented piss poor performance, so that meant he'd keep working.
Besides, he could sleep when he got home. The flight was getting in sometime in the evening—he thought—so, at least he'd eventually wind up in his own bed.
A/N: The next few chapters, like this one, will include some time skips as we close in on the fun stuff. Stay tuned for Chapter 10: "Deck the Hull with Blood and Glory". In addition to obviously being the Christmas chapter, it features some shenanigans on the part of the politicians running the UEO, and an appearance from one Lieutenant Brody, whom I'm sure you all remember. In the meantime, please let us know what you think!
