Submarine Warriors: The Enemy Beneath (2 page)

“Something feels different this time,” the Captain thought to himself as he stared at the never-ending horizon of dark blue water. “You’ve got to keep it together for the sake of the rest of the crew.” He gazed one last time at the lighthouse at Cape Flattery on the port side of his sub. With a final puff on his cigar, he climbed down the ladder and closed the hatch above him.

“Diving Officer, submerge the ship.” The Captain dropped from the ladder onto the deck of the control room.

The control room is the nerve center of the sub and a very busy place. Here you find the Helmsman and Planesman who drive the sub, the Quartermaster who navigates, the Chief of the Watch who maintains the ship’s buoyancy, the Fire Control Technician who launches torpedoes and missiles, the Diving Officer who maintains depth, and the Officer of the Deck who orchestrates everyone’s activities.

At the Captain’s direction, the Chief of the Watch called out, “Dive, dive!” on the 1MC microphone and then sounded the claxon.

Large vents on the hull of the sub opened and released air from the ballast tanks. Someone observing this from afar might mistake this for a whale spraying air and water from its blowhole. As the tanks filled with water, the Alaska became less buoyant and slipped beneath the waves to enter the Pacific Ocean.

“Dive, make your depth four hundred feet,” the Officer of the Deck ordered.

“Make my depth four hundred feet, aye,” replied the Diving Officer.

With that, the crew began its normal watch rotation for their seventy-day patrol. It was business as usual for America’s latest generation of submarine warriors. One-third of the crew was on watch, and the other two-thirds were working, reading, playing video games, taking college courses, watching movies, or sleeping. Most were unaware of the secondary mission in store for some of their shipmates.

Captain Connery met with his senior officers in the Wardroom, a small room in front of the Galley where officers eat their meals and hold meetings.

“Gentlemen,” the Captain called everyone to order.

“As you know, we have a secondary mission that will commence in a few hours from now. The logistics of this mission require us to rendezvous with the Navy’s newest and most advanced Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle, the USS Omaha Beach. It’s currently waiting for us, one hundred nautical miles off the coast of Washington State and is manned by a single pilot. The Weapons Officer and three senior Petty Officers representing sonar, radio, and navigation will be joining me for this operation. When we transfer to the Omaha Beach, the Executive Officer will be in charge of the Alaska and it’s his job to keep her safe.”

The Captain glanced at the XO with a wry grin. “I’m not really sure what we’re getting ourselves into here. All we know is that a cruise ship disappeared in the same area where our satellites detected an unusual heat anomaly coming from the bottom of the sea. Some think it’s a new Bermuda Triangle and others speculate it’s an underwater volcano. XO, I’m preparing for the worst, so I want you to keep the Alaska at a safe distance while monitoring our activities.”

“So how will I know what a safe distance is, Captain?” asked the XO.

“Stay ten miles away and monitor us with passive sonar. The Omaha Beach will send you continuous telemetry data via High Frequency Internet Protocol (HFIP) so you’ll always know our status. If things start to go badly for us on the Omaha Beach, I want you to get the Alaska out of harm’s way at flank speed. Mr. Wyatt, assemble the rest of the team and meet me at the aft escape trunk in thirty minutes. We’re adjourned here.”

USS Omaha Beach

Out of the murky darkness of the North Pacific, a bright, silvery object slowly converged on Alaska’s position as it arrived at the rendezvous point.

The Omaha Beach represented a radical departure from deep submergence rescue vehicles (DSRV) of the past. Looking more like a futuristic space ship than a miniature submarine, the Omaha Beach boasted its own small nuclear reactor to provide it with years of electricity and propulsion. The steam from its next-generation reactor could spin its propellers fast enough to achieve submerged speeds in excess of 100 knots. This enabled it to outrun almost any of the world’s fastest torpedoes. Its flexible, titanium-composite hull allowed it to reach depths greater than 5,000 feet below the surface. Rather than having a giant bubble of glass in the front to see out of, the Omaha Beach was covered with tiny sensors and cameras. What appeared to be a wall of glass to anyone inside the sub was really a flexible Organic Light Emitting Diode (OLED) display designed to replace the typical forward viewport. This was safer than glass and allowed other information to be layered on top of the underwater view. Crewmembers could make hand gestures in front of the display to move pictures, text, video and other items from one part of the screen to another.

The Omaha Beach attached its docking collar over Alaska’s aft escape trunk with a thud. Captain Connery spun open the hatch and greeted the Omaha Beach’s pilot. The rest of Alaska’s away team made their way into the high tech sub and manned their respective stations to begin the mission. The pilot undocked the DSRV from the Alaska and it began to hover. Quartermaster First Class Love entered the coordinates of the mysterious heat anomaly into Omaha Beach’s navigation system.

“I heard the best minds from DARPA and US Navy research created this sub.” Captain Connery surveyed the interior of the sub with the amazement of a child.

“Yes, sir,” replied the Pilot.

“Then it’s time to show me what this thing can do. Pilot, make best speed to our target.”

Everyone felt themselves pushed back in their seats as the sleek Omaha Beach quickly accelerated to 100 knots and raced towards its destination.

Radioman First Class Grant created an HFIP link with the Alaska to send her telemetry data about vital systems and the surrounding environment. “Wireless is online,” Grant announced to the rest of the team. “Everyone can now remotely control their stations from their personal devices and communicate with the Alaska via Voice over Internet Protocol (VoIP), instant messaging and email.”

“Knowing my daughter Caroline and all your kids the way I do, I’ve got to believe they would love this futuristic sub,” the Captain remarked to the rest of the crew.

“I second that!” Petty Officer Love had an excited look on his face.

“It’s nothing short of taking command of the Millennium Falcon or the Starship Enterprise,” added Petty Officer Timbers.

“I’ve never travelled at 100 knots per hour underwater before.” The Weapons Officer pointed at the digital speedometer. “I’m sure our kids would think they’d made the jump to light speed.”

A short thirty minutes later, the Omaha Beach closed in on the source of the heat signature. The sub’s compass moving erratically was the first clue that something wasn’t quite right. To make matters worse, the DSRV began to be pulled downward by an invisible force.

“Captain, I’m losing depth control,” exclaimed the Pilot. “At 100 knots per hour, this should be next to impossible. I’ve got the diving flaps on full rise - with no effect. ”

“Everyone run a full diagnostic test on all ship’s systems,” the Captain ordered.

“All systems nominal,” reported the team members one by one as their results were displayed.

“All stop,” barked Captain Connery to the Pilot.

“All stop, aye,” the pilot replied.

As the Omaha Beach’s forward movement slowed, its downward momentum increased dramatically.

“Radio, send a distress signal to the Alaska and the Commander of the Pacific Submarine Fleet!” the Captain exclaimed.

THE OMAHA BEACH HAS ARRIVED AT THE COORDINATES OF THE HEAT ANOMALY

AND IS BEING PULLED TOWARD THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN.

DEPTH CONTROL IS LOST.

The message quickly went out to the Alaska and was routed to COMSUBPAC in Pearl Harbor via Extremely Low Frequency radio.

“Omaha Beach, this is the Alaska. What’s your current status?” the XO asked over the underwater connection.

“XO, we are accelerating toward the sea floor and it seems like there’s nothing we can do to stop it. You should be receiving our complete ship’s status via the telemetry feed.”

“It doesn’t make sense, sir. We’re seeing the data, and your sub is in perfect condition,” replied the XO. “Everything we’re receiving shows that the Omaha Beach is operating within normal parameters.”

Suddenly, the various display panels around the DSRV began to flicker and show distortion.

“Omaha Beach, your telemetry readings are starting to break up.” The XO’s choppy voice echoed through the DSRV. “I’m no longer receiving your complete stream of data. I’m also noticing some inconsistencies between your ship’s compass and the inertial navigation system.”

Unexpectedly, the sunken cruise ship appeared on the large display on the front of the Omaha Beach control room. Captain Connery spread his hands apart causing the image of the cruise ship to zoom-in and fill the entire screen. She appeared to be perfectly intact with no structural damage.

“Alaska, we’ve found the cruise ship on the bottom of the ocean.”

“Copy that, Omaha Beach,” replied the XO.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and speculate that there could be large pockets of air trapped inside the vessel.” The Captain stared at the ship on the display. “If there’s air, there could be survivors.”

Suddenly, the crew of the DSRV felt periodic thuds, as the lifeless, floating passengers of the cruise ship struck the hull of their sub. They looked on in horror as they saw hundreds of bodies floating toward them as they grew closer to the sunken luxury liner. Most were disfigured and half-eaten by sharks. All of them were wearing clothes that told the story of what they were doing just before realizing they were on the Titanic. A Hawaiian shirt on a shuffleboard player, swim trunks on a swimmer, an evening dress on a woman dancing, a silk shirt and gold chain on a high-roller, and a bikini on a sunbather.

“Oh my God, it looks like we’re flying into an asteroid field of bodies!” exclaimed Petty Officer Love. “What could’ve caused all this?”

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen or imagined,” the Captain replied. “Whoever’s behind this, they might be trying for a repeat performance with us. It feels like we’re being pulled toward the bottom by a tractor beam out of Star Wars, and I don’t want us to end up like those poor souls floating outside.”

“Captain, I’m picking up an increase in seawater temperature,” said Sonarman Timbers. “Luckily, it’s nowhere near the level of heat that was detected by the satellite or we’d be getting pretty toasty by now.”

Suddenly, a giant, glowing pyramid revealed itself in the distance beyond the cruise ship. The water all around it shimmered in a distorted way because of the heat it was generating.

“What in God’s name is that thing?” the Weapons Officer uttered.

“It looks like a glass pyramid sticking out of the seabed,” replied the Captain. “There’s some kind of radar or satellite dish next to it, as well. Sonar, send out a ping to determine our range to the unidentified target.”

“Verifying range to target, Captain,” said Petty Officer Timbers.

A loud, clanging sound enveloped the submarine as the Sonarman sent out the ping.

“Captain, we’re roughly 5,000 yards away from the target. I can’t get an exact reading because heat emanating from the pyramid has created a protective thermal layer.”

“Very well,” replied the Captain.

“One more thing, sir,” the Sonarman added. “Our range to target is decreasing rapidly. It appears the tractor beam is reeling us in.”

“Alaska, this is the Omaha Beach, do you read?” Captain Connery spoke into his headset.

“Omaha Be____ , th__ is the Al___,” replied the XO. “Your sig__l is bre_king up. Telemetry read__gs are all ov_r the map. We see the im_ges of the glowing crystal. We have no intellig__ce data on this. Treat as host_le!”

“Whatever foreign power is behind this, we can’t let the technology in the Omaha Beach fall into their hands,” the Captain declared aloud. He began to feel sweat trickle down his neck.

“Weaps, plot a solution and fire a torpedo at that thing on the double.”

“Captain, the fire control computer is unresponsive,” responded the Weapons Officer.

“Not like this,” the Captain uttered under his breath. “If we can’t shoot this thing and we can’t get away…”

You could hear a pin drop as the crew of the Omaha Beach looked at each other in stunned silence and disbelief. Everyone onboard knew what the Captain meant.

“Petty Officer Grant, send the following message to the Alaska and COMSUBPAC.”

USS OMAHA BEACH CAPTURE BY

ENEMY POWER IS IMMINENT. BEGINNING

SELF-DESTRUCT PROCEDURE.

“XO, this is the Captain,” Captain Connery announced into his headset. “All electronic systems onboard the Omaha Beach are behaving erratically. We’re only a thousand yards away from the ocean floor near a crystalline pyramid structure and some kind of radar dish. We cannot let the top secret systems onboard the Omaha Beach fall into enemy hands. We will therefore scuttle the ship before all our systems fail.”

Captain Connery paused for a moment.

“It’s been the greatest honor of my career to serve as your Captain. Please tell my wife and daughter that they’re the best things that ever happened to me. Have the Alaska depart the area at best speed so you don’t share our fate. XO, you’re the Captain now.”