Chapter 5: "Smoke and Mirrors"
1 November 2023
Sometimes, the time difference between the new UEO Headquarters at New Cape Quest and the base in Pearl Harbor was a real pain. Like now, when the vidlink started trilling while Nathan was still face down and asleep in his apartment.
A quick glance at the clock showed him that it wasn't even four in the morning, yet. Great. I've been in bed for less than three hours. Levering himself up on his elbows, Nathan glared at the caller's identification code before answering:
"Why are you calling me on a secure line at three…forty-nine in the morning, Bill?" he asked tiredly, blinking.
"Bad news, Nathan. We just got word that Howland and Baker Islands have joined the Alliance of Macronesia."
"What?" Now he was sitting up straight, and didn't even notice when both his pillows landed on the floor. Howland and Baker were the UEO's two closest islands to Macronesia; former US possessions that had gained independence in the last decade, the islands' populations had boomed after undersea colonies had expanded both their resources and their real estate exponentially. Neither was very significant in a strategic sense, but both had been firm allies of the UEO. Until now, apparently.
"President Bourne claims that they voluntarily swapped sides, but there's evidence of some pretty significant arm-twisting," Bill replied tightly, looking worried.
Nathan's mind whirled. His first assessment of neither island being very significant was still true, but the fact that both were now Macronesian allies was disturbing, even if neither had swapped sides willingly. Their new status brought the border between the UEO and Macronesia about seven hundred nautical miles east, gaining them somewhere in the vicinity of 1.8 million square miles of territory if they pushed the rest of their border out to meet the new acquisitions. And that's seven hundred miles closer to Pearl Harbor.
If actual war did break out, only an idiot would think that one of Macronesia's main goals would not be Pearl Harbor. Long a bastion of naval power, the base was the UEO's most significant foothold in the Pacific, far stronger than the Johnston Atoll Naval Base a thousand miles away. Nathan had been involved in various war games over the last few decades, and he knew that he was sitting on top of one of Macronesia's key objectives. Pearl was the one place Macronesia had to own if Bourne truly wanted to control the Pacific Ocean, and he was certain that the base's security types would be working long hours to make sure that it was secure.
But he wasn't the base commander, so why was Bill calling him?
"Why tell me personally, Bill?" he asked tersely, his mind still working its way around possibilities and probabilities. "I'm sure I'll see the update in the morning."
The news would be all over message traffic, after all, and there wasn't like there was a damn thing Nathan could do about the situation, anyway. The news was bad, but it could wait. Not that I'll go back to sleep, now, Nathan knew. No, he knew himself. He'd spend the rest of the morning staring at the ceiling and contemplating which ways the coming war would go.
"UEO Command is holding a top secret Strategy Board meeting on the twenty-eighth. I want you there."
He wanted what? Nathan blinked, staring at his old friend. "I'm just a captain, you know."
"You're seaQuest's captain, Nathan," Bill countered. "This isn't a time for false modesty. You've fought more undersea wars than anyone else on the Strategy Board, and if we're laying down actual war plans, I want you involved."
He couldn't dispute a word of what the admiral was arguing, but thus far in his career, Nathan had avoided becoming anything more than a warfighter—and only that when he had to be. He had always tried to keep himself operating on the tactical and operational level, and he disliked the idea of playing chess with military forces, particularly when his fellow chess players were armchair admirals, by-the-book generals, and politicians. But on the other hand…
On the other hand, this was a chance to change the things he usually wound up complaining about.
Nathan had held several significant commands in World War III, and he'd spent much of that time—and his time on seaQuest, truth be told—chaffing under the idiotic orders that so-called "strategists" came up with, or ignoring those orders when he felt the need to. He'd been in the Navy for thirty-one years (ignoring his seven year "leave of absence", as Bill often called it), and had seen plenty of brilliance and stupidity in equal parts, much of it in war games…and some of it during actual war. And it wasn't like he had no experience on the strategic end. Nathan had always had a gift for looking beyond the tactical situation to the overarching strategy behind it, which had served him very well during seaQuest's last tour.
Almost since the time he had gained his first command, he had played the enemy for war games, because he was known for his strategic and tactical sneakiness. When he was being honest with himself (something he had had to do a lot of in the last few months), Nathan knew he was damn good at his job.
And now Bill was offering him a chance to make a difference. How could he say no?
The admiral must have seen the look on his face. "I'll have a military flight waiting for you on the evening of the twenty-sixth. Factoring in time differences, you won't miss more than a day of work."
"All right, Bill," Nathan gave in.
He wasn't sure he liked the fact that he'd been invited, but he wasn't sure that he didn't either. His conflicted thoughts brought the old Robert E. Lee quote to mind: "It is well that war is so terrible—lest we should grow too fond of it."
Nathan had spent a lot of years dwelling on the terrible parts of war, and now he found the fascinating elements of it creeping up on him: the challenge, the adrenaline, the feeling of doing something that mattered. The part of himself that answered war's siren call was one he had thought to leave behind a long time ago…and now he found that service to his homeland again called him to use those skills.
He could accept that need, in theory. He could even embrace it as a way to protect the crew who had become his family during the last tour on seaQuest. But Nathan felt that he ought to at least partially hate that acceptance…and he could not.
Not anymore.
6 November 2023
The last place Jonathan really wanted to be was back at the squadron, but the commander of UEO SUBRON (Submarine Squadron) 3 was his boss, and information like this was best amplified in person. He'd sent his report to Commodore Allan after returning to homeport five days ago, but even then he had known that any report containing references to a mysterious Macronesian stealth sub—particularly one Atlantis had never managed to track for more than an hour—was not going to go over well.
Allan hadn't liked the report one bit, of course, but that hadn't stopped him from sharing it with Jonathan's fellow captains…or at least the ones that weren't underway. One of them, Commander Whitney of Magellan, was an old friend, so Jonathan had no worries about his reaction, but the other one was waiting on him when he came out of Allan's office that morning.
Leave it to Oliver Hudson to go looking for a confrontation, Jonathan thought, trying not to groan. He's bored, of course. Perhaps someone ought to tell him that when you lose a boat, you have to wait a few months before you get a new command. Maybe then he'll be more careful with the next one!
Word on the street was that Hudson was going to get Scorpion, which was the newest, shiniest boat in the fleet. Scorpion was the best command a captain could ask for, and it rankled just a bit to know that his rival was going to get her. Not that he would trade Atlantis for anything, but he was still a bit annoyed, despite his best efforts not to be.
He didn't mean to be stuck in this never ending competition with Hudson. It just seemed to have happened anyway.
Hudson was stuck in the SUBRON headquarters right now, though, since he wouldn't get Scorpion until her first CO left in a few weeks. He didn't really have a job, per se, no more than Jonathan had when he was kicking his heels in the months after losing SeaWolf. Hudson served as Commodore Allan's all-purpose hatchet man, bouncing between tactical development and overseeing training for other boats when they were in port. He was good at both jobs, but he was also good at driving Jonathan insane.
"I saw your report, Jonathan," Hudson started off in an offhand tone. "Made for interesting bedside reading."
"I'm glad you found the report about an advanced enemy submarine to be compelling reading," Jonathan replied dryly.
"Compelling fiction, maybe. You don't have an ounce of proof that such a sub actually exists, and we both know that there's nothing in the water like that. If Macronesia had some advanced stealth submarine, they wouldn't waste it attacking a supply vessel."
Jonathan had to rein his temper in sharply. "I was there, Oliver. Unless you think those torpedoes that blew the tug out of the water came from aliens."
"Don't be ridiculous. There are plenty of logical explanations for how a sub could have slipped past you—such as subpar sonar operators."
This time, he didn't try to stop his anger. "Miguel Ortiz is the best sonarman in the entire Navy. I'd stake my career and my reputation on it."
"Seems like one hell of a gamble..." Hudson trailed off meaningfully.
Punching him won't make him any less of an ass, and will only get you in trouble, he reminded himself firmly, hating the fact that he needed to. "That sub made it past five UEO boats before it got those torpedoes off. I could maybe believe one sonar operator missing it, but five? I don't think so."
"Stranger things have happened," the other captain retorted. "And that's certainly no less fantastic an idea than some Macronesian super sub wandering about in our waters. Someone would have detected them by now, or they would have at least gone after a decent military target and given themselves away."
"Would you give yourself away, if the circumstances were reversed?" he asked. Stupid question. Of course he would.
"I'd do something useful, rather than just sneaking around."
"And get yourself blown out of the water. Again." He shouldn't have gone there, but Hudson was deliberately pushing his buttons, and Jonathan had too many other things on his mind to care about Oliver Hudson's delicate sensibilities.
Hudson bristled, but his voice was cold. "Because you'd know nothing at all about losing a boat."
"At least I wasn't needlessly risking people's lives. You got people killed, Oliver, and for what? Your pride?"
"People die in war, in case you haven't noticed, Jonathan," the other captain snarled. "If you can't live with that, you should have stayed at home with your mother—or better yet, gone and found some unarmed research vessel to command. I'm sure your talents wouldn't go to waste there."
"Damn it, Oliver, there's a difference between people dying and letting them get killed!" He barely managed to keep his voice below a shout, standing outside the commodore's office not exactly an appropriate place to be having it out with a fellow captain. "You just want to play hero—"
"You have no idea what I want or don't want," Hudson cut him off, stepping closer to Ford. His voice was dangerously quiet, now, and Jonathan thought for a moment that Hudson might hit him—if he didn't hit him first. But Oliver continued roughly: "My people died doing their jobs, and they died bravely. I'd go back and save them all if I could, but I wouldn't sacrifice civilian lives to do it, because our job is to stand between innocents and the enemy. Don't you dare imply that I care nothing about them. I'd trade places with any one of them in a heartbeat."
Jonathan didn't back down, even though he knew he should, judging from the amount of raw emotion filling the other man's voice. "And you got damn lucky that the civilians at Sierra Colony all made it out safely while you were busy sitting at the bottom of the ocean."
"Yes, I am lucky. And I'll never forget that." The other captain's expression closed off suddenly. "But at least I didn't stand aside and watch them die. I don't think I could have lived with myself if I did that."
That seemed like a low blow in an already dirty fight. Jonathan clenched his fists tightly at his sides, snarling before he could stop himself: "There wasn't anything I could do to save those people. Attacking the Macronesians would have only gotten my crew killed too." He shouldn't have to defend himself against Hudson for the choices he made, but he'd learned long ago that life wasn't fair. "I made the only choice I could."
Hudson shook his head, suddenly looking tired. "I didn't mean that you didn't. Believe it or not...I do think you made the right choice. You were too far away to accomplish anything. I wasn't. We each did what we had to."
Somehow, he had never expected the other captain to sound so sad.
Jonathan blew out a long sigh. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day. Look, even if you don't believe the Macronesians have the stealth capability I think they do, just... stay alert. The UEO can't afford to lose any more boats."
"Well, at least we agree on that," the other captain replied dryly.
He managed a wry smile. "It sucks, doesn't it? Sitting around and waiting until they give you another boat?"
"Sucks isn't exactly the word I'd come up with. A new kind of Hell, maybe. Or at least purgatory."
"At least you know they won't keep you out of the water forever," Jonathan said. "That would be Hell."
"That it would," Hudson agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to."
Jonathan nodded, doubting that there was actually any meeting to get to, but appreciating Hudson's desire to end the conversation before they came to blows. "Of course."
Hudson stepped away, thankfully heading away from Commodore Allan's office—if the Commodore had not heard the argument, Jonathan had no urge to have him learn about it through Hudson's telling of the tale. He turned away, too, struggling to get hold of his temper, and almost jumped out of his skin when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.
"You look like you could use a drink."
He turned around. "Katie, you scared the Hell out of me."
She looked the same as always, even though he hadn't seen her in years—not since the summer during which they were building the second seaQuest and she was in command of HR Clinton. In fact, if he wished hard enough, he could imagine the two of them back on seaQuest again, as if nothing had changed. Katie's smile was slightly naughty. "I'm so sorry. Sir. I'd never mean to do that."
"No, of course you wouldn't," he said dryly. "And if it wasn't the middle of the work day, I would say yes to that drink."
"How about lunch, then?" she countered. "You look like you could use a little break."
"Tell me something first, Katie—like how haven't you led a mutiny against your captain yet?" Jonathan asked.
"He's not that bad all the time," his old friend answered with a shrug. "But if you want more details, you'll have to buy me lunch. You're the one making Captain's pay, after all. I hear they're giving out nice bonuses these days."
She took him by the arm.
"C'mon. I know a great place down by the water. It's a hole in the wall, but the food's good."
"Lead on, Commander," Jonathan replied, finding himself grinning. He missed everyone from the seaQuest, and Katie's dry sense of humor had put him right at ease. Suddenly, he realized that Katie was right; he really did need a break. The pressure of being a captain, with no one to confide in, was one thing, but having Hudson seem to second-guess his decision had made him want to punch something. Jonathan had not realized how close he'd been to the edge, but it was nice to be able to pull himself back.
Things are only going to get worse, Jonathan, he told himself. You'd best get used to the pressure. Your next patrol is going to be another independent one, and there's no one to lean on out there. Just you.
Ben felt old. He shouldn't be the one having to do this, acting the part of the responsible adult. The idea in itself was laughable, but Tim had already tried—and failed. If Ben couldn't manage, they wouldn't have a choice except to go to the captain, and neither of them really wanted to do that.
Or they'd have to go to the new XO, who still hadn't been identified even though the XO was due to report by the end of the month, and although Ben would have trusted Ford with such a delicate task, he wasn't going to hand Lucas to a stranger. Not when the kid just didn't get it.
Ben knew Lucas wasn't acting out in a malicious manner. He got his work done, within or ahead of schedule. And he was unfailingly polite to most of the workers and crewmembers. But he had managed to miss five out of the six department head meetings since he'd reported, even after Tim had spoken to him about it. Ben had spoken to him once before as a friend, but after he had failed to show up again that morning, he and Tim had both agreed that maybe they needed to try something different.
How Ben had ended up being the one stuck with this job was still beyond him, but probably had to do with the fact that Tim had ordered him. Neither of them were very believable at 'hard ass'. Especially where Lucas was concerned.
So now here he was, hovering outside the small cubicle assigned to the computer expert, mustering up every authoritative bone in his body. He knocked on the metal frame to get Lucas' attention.
"Yeah, just a minute," Lucas replied, not looking up from his screen as he typed something furiously on his keyboard. Ben had never managed to master touch typing, even growing up in a world inundated by technology, so watching Lucas work always left him feeling a little awed. He had to force himself to remember why he was there, though.
"We need to talk, Mr. Wolenczak," Ben said. Being formal was good, he figured. Remind the kid they weren't just pals, but coworkers too, and that Ben was the superior officer. The use of his last name certainly did the trick; Lucas' head snapped up to look at Ben in confusion.
"Can it wait, Ben? I'm in the middle of trying to debug this code," Lucas replied. Ben resisted the urge to leave Lucas to his work. This casual attitude was part of the problem, after all.
"No it can't, Lieutenant." Ben's use of Lucas' rank made the kid's forehead crease, but at least it was keeping his attention. He pushed away from his desk, turning to face Ben full on.
"What's wrong? Did something happen?" Lucas asked.
"Let's go for a walk," Ben said. He really didn't want to have this conversation in the middle of the office, where anyone could walk by and hear it. Praise in public, discipline in private. That was something he'd had drilled into his head at the Academy, and Lucas was young enough that his ego would be sensitive to such things.
Reminds me of myself…
Except Ben knew he'd never been as bad as Lucas, at least not in regards to military discipline. Sure, he wasn't the poster boy for discipline, but he liked the structure the Navy offered him. He always knew where his place was, in the grand scheme of things. Lucas' problem was that he'd never properly fit into the structure, and no one had ever tried to force him.
He closed the door to the conference room behind them. "Sit down, Lucas," he ordered, taking a seat of his own across the table. "We need to talk. And I don't mean Ben and Lucas, I mean Commander Krieg and Lieutenant Wolenczak. Do I make myself clear?"
Lucas leaned back in his chair, half grinning. "Good one, Ben. What do you want? I really was busy, you know. Are you just trying to get Tim to yell at me for a change instead of you?"
"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you, kid?" Ben asked with a sigh as Lucas gave him a slightly irritated look.
What would Katie do? He had to think about that one long and hard before he finally came up with a serious answer.
"Look, Lucas, you and me, we're pals. But you made the decision to join the Navy, and that makes us fellow officers, too. And right now, I'm talking to you as your superior, not your friend. I know it's not something you're used to, and that's why Commander O'Neill and I have been trying not to give you a hard time about this. Trust me, I'd rather not be sitting here giving you this lecture. But I also don't want to see you getting into trouble.
"When we're out of uniform, it's fine to act like nothing's changed since we all served together last time. But when you show up for work in the morning and you're wearing that uniform, things are different. If I ask for your attention, it's not What's up, Ben? It's Yes, sir? I know this is going to be hard. I remember how hard it was when Katie got promoted and suddenly I had to salute her," Ben said, trying to lighten the mood. Lucas didn't look amused.
"Have you got a point, sir?" Lucas asked, tone laced with all the sarcasm Ben remembered him reserving only for those people who irritated him the most and that he respected the least.
"You're headed for trouble, Lucas. You chose to join the Navy. No one forced you to do it. Hell, most of us would have tried to stop you, had we known. But you're here, and you have responsibilities now. You can't keep blowing off your meetings with Commander O'Neill and the other department heads. I know, I know," Ben added, before Lucas could get a protest in. "You're not doing it intentionally. But you have to make more of an effort to take your responsibilities seriously. And to treat the commander and me with the respect due to our rank."
He hated having to try and lay down the line with Lucas. He felt like a jerk, and he could tell Lucas thought he was one, too. Tough love, I know. But why does it have to be so tough? This is why I could never cut it as a parent.
Lucas was slouched in his chair, looking for all the world like he was a surly seventeen year old again instead of almost twenty-two. Ben made a brief mental note to bring him out for drinks before turning back to the situation at hand.
"I'm a horrible role model, and I probably shouldn't be the one to be giving you this lecture. But better me than whoever our new XO is. And you and I both know it won't be pretty if the captain finds out." Ben didn't like dangling that threat over Lucas' head, but nothing else seemed to be working.
Lucas shot out of his chair onto his feet, startling Ben with his anger. "What is this, the second grade? Are you going to tell on me, Commander? Fine, whatever. I'm out of here. I've got work to do." Lucas left the conference room, not even waiting for a dismissal.
Ben sat in his chair, shocked at how things had ended. "Well that went well," he said to the empty room. "Note to self: next time Tim asks you to counsel someone, tell him no."
7 November 2023
"How are you settling in, Miguel?"
"Ow!" Hearing Captain Bridger's voice coming from behind Miguel made him jump; as a consequence, he hit his head on the bottom of the sonar console he had been underneath. "Ow. I mean, fine, sir."
"Don't kill yourself down there," was the captain's chuckling response. "I'm pretty sure that none of the sensor systems on this boat will work any better with your blood mixed in."
Miguel crawled out from under the console, rubbing his head. "I think I just found that out, sir."
"Welcome back." Bridger held a hand out to him. "I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to say that earlier—it's been a busy week. I take it Tim got you settled in and everything?"
"Yes, sir." He had to struggle not to grin, but Miguel seemed to be doing that every five minutes since he'd come aboard the new seaQuest. "It's great to be back. I didn't even know you were building another seaQuest until I reported for 'Project Anzio', though. Why all the secrecy? If you don't mind me asking."
Years in the Navy had taught Miguel that one really shouldn't question their commanding officer so much, but Bridger had always been different. Miguel had served under some real screamers (Marilyn Stark came to mind, when she was in a bad mood), but he'd also served under some of the best…and Bridger had never minded questions, particularly if you were smart about when you asked them.
Bridger smiled. "That's because she's still a secret, Warrant. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way. It's well deserved."
"Thank you, sir." Coming from Bridger, the compliment meant a lot to him. But Miguel was also still curious. "But…I understand keeping her a secret from the public, after what happened last time. Still, why keep seaQuest a secret from the Navy? I don't think Captain Ford even knows."
"He doesn't," the captain replied, shaking his head. "Because, frankly, he doesn't need to right now. This close to war with Macronesia, we need all the advantages we can get, and if we can get seaQuest in the water without them knowing about it, that'll be one heck of a surprise."
"Yeah, I guess it will."
Part of Miguel wanted to argue that keeping people like Ford out of the loop wasn't fair, but he also knew that war wasn't supposed to be fair. Miguel had been in the Navy long enough to know that, and although he wasn't exactly keen on the idea of fighting another major war, he liked the idea of losing one even less. So, he didn't complain. Instead, he said:
"Thank you for asking for me back, Captain. seaQuest…well, she's even more amazing than the last one." Miguel couldn't help laughing, just a bit, in sheer joy. "And you've given me even better toys than last time."
His comment made Bridger chuckle. "I'm glad you approve, Miguel. I trust you'll be putting them to good use, too."
Does he have to even ask? "You bet I will, sir."
"I've got something rather specific in mind, actually," was the calm reply, but Miguel's attention perked up. He knew that look, and it meant that the captain had something interesting in mind. "I read an interesting report from Atlantis. It seems you picked up some sort of stealth submarine?"
"Yes, sir." But he had to take a deep breath. "Captain Ford forwarded it over to the squadron, and they didn't like it very much. They pretty much told us that we were making it up, and no Macronesian sub could be that quiet."
"As much as I'd like to believe that, I've got a bit too much confidence in you and Jonathan Ford to buy that one. I may not like the idea of a Macronesian stealth sub wandering about in UEO waters, but I like knowing nothing about it even less. Why don't you come show me everything you know?"
He should have known Bridger would believe him, and Miguel kicked himself for not bringing it up as soon as he arrived. "I brought a copy of Atlantis' sonar tapes with me, if you want to see them."
"I'd love to," the captain said with a smile. "But better yet, now that Lucas has her computers up and running, let's put that data into the sonar suite and see what seaQuest can make of it. From what I understand, you didn't track her long, but it might be that seaQuest's computers can piece together enough of a signature that we can identify the sub if we ever run into her."
It was a good idea; Atlantis' computers hadn't been able to do that, but seaQuest's sonar suite was built to handle a much bigger workload, and currently wasn't being used for anything else while in drydock, so there was a chance that they could discover something that Atlantis' systems had missed. Miguel felt like kicking himself for not having thought of it before, but at least he had only been on board three days—and this was only his second workday, so he supposed that he should cut himself some slack.
"Where do you want to start, Captain?" he asked, and he and Bridger got to work.
A/N: No, we really couldn't resist adding that line about aliens. Though we do promise that there will be no serious references to aliens in this fic…and certainly no extra-terrestrial appearances! As it says in the disclaimer, if we owned seaQuest…
On a more serious note, thank you all for the lovely reviews! Sol is working on replying to all of them, because we really do appreciate it. Feedback is such a wonderful thing, and right now, we've got enough written to continue posting twice a week, thanks to your encouragement! So, stay tuned for Chapter 6, "Screw-ups", in which Katie gets a dysfunctional Thanksgiving present, Lucas gets smacked upside the head (metaphorically), and Miguel finds out he's going on a field trip.