Empire Rising (18 page)

The man beside her noticed her movement and released his arm from around her. He reached down, retrieving a thin tube he bent with both hands. The tube began to glow a soft green and he held up one hand, displaying five fingers. Christine shook her head, not understanding. The man retracted one finger, then another, until there were none left, then returned to five fingers. Christine nodded her head this time, pretty sure he meant they would reach their destination in five minutes.

The man dropped the glow stick over the side and wrapped his arm around her again. Christine had no idea who he was, but she welcomed the warmth of his body, shifting her weight gently toward him, careful not to place too much pressure on her arm. She felt around inside the thin blanket. She was still in her clothes, but a bandage had thankfully been taped to her arm. The last thing they needed was a trail of blood in the water. With her luck tonight, sharks wouldn't be far behind.

Five minutes later, Christine felt the submersible slowing, and for the first time she noticed there was a second, identical mini-sub ten feet to her left with four divers in it. It drifted to a halt as Christine's vehicle continued toward a mammoth black shape materializing out of the darkness. They were headed toward a submarine, coming up from astern over the submarine's missile deck. At the forward end of the deck, just aft of the sail rising before her, were two nine-foot-diameter chambers, each with their door swung open ninety degrees.

Christine's submersible slowed to a hover behind the right chamber, sinking until it came to rest with a gentle bump on a set of rails extended from the chamber. Two divers appeared along each side of the submersible, quickly latching it to the rails as the two men in front of the mini-sub and the one beside her pushed themselves up and out of the vehicle. The man next to Christine extended his hand, guiding Christine out of her seat as she shed her blanket. With a powerful kick of his fins, he pulled Christine into the chamber.

Christine joined the three men from her submersible on the starboard side of the chamber, and once their vehicle was retracted inside, they were joined by the four divers who had tended to the mini-sub. The large chamber door shut with a gentle thud. Red lights flicked on, and an air pocket soon appeared at the top of the chamber, the water level gradually lowering. When the water level fell below her neck, Christine and the divers removed their facemasks.

The man next to Christine turned toward her, and she stared into the eyes of someone she hadn't seen in over twenty years. Jake Harrison flashed a brief smile before he spoke.

“Welcome aboard
Michigan
, Chris. It's been a long time.”

*   *   *

Before Christine could respond, Harrison continued, “How's your arm? I did the best I could underwater.”

Glancing down, Christine noticed what looked like two giant Band-Aids taped to her arm, one on each side. The bullet had passed clean through, entering the back of her triceps and exiting the front of her arm.

She looked up at Harrison, her teeth chattering between words. “You did great.” She knew she should say more, but had difficulty finding the right words. She would need time to process her thoughts. And emotions.

The water finished draining from the chamber and Harrison stood. “Do you feel strong enough to make it on your own?”

Christine nodded. Although her arm ached, she felt fine otherwise, except for the deep chill throughout her body. Harrison shed his scuba gear and assisted with Christine's, then escorted her to the rear of the chamber, dropping down through two hatches. Christine followed, shivering uncontrollably, climbing carefully down a metal ladder inside what looked like a missile tube. Two levels down, she stepped onto a steel deck in a space outfitted with showerheads along the perimeter of the tube.

Harrison spun the hand wheel of a two-foot-diameter hatch in the side of the tube, and the hatch opened outward. He stepped through, thrusting his hand back inside to help. Christine took his hand and slid through feet-first. She emerged to be greeted by Harrison and three men wearing blue coveralls—a Commander and two enlisted petty officers based on the insignia on their collars—standing in a narrow passageway.

The Commander surveyed Christine with a critical eye, glancing at her arm as he wrapped a thick blue blanket around her. “I'm Commander Joe Aleo, Miss O'Connor, the Medical Officer aboard. I understand you've been shot in the arm. Do you have any other injuries?”

Christine shook her head, still shivering. “I think I'm fine otherwise.”

“Let me get some quick vitals on you first, then we'll get you warmed up.”

He guided Christine to a short equipment cabinet nearby, using it as a makeshift chair. Christine slid onto the top of the cabinet, her teeth chattering as one of the petty officers wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her left arm and the Commander pulled a small flashlight from the breast pocket of his coveralls. After a quick examination of her pupils, heart rate, blood pressure, and injured arm, Commander Aleo seemed satisfied.

Stepping back, he turned to Harrison, hovering nearby during Christine's evaluation. “We've got it from here. Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“Sure thing, Doc. I'm going to warm up in the shower,” Harrison replied, then turned to Christine. “See you around, ma'am.” He stepped back through the hatch into the missile tube, pulling the door shut behind him.

Aleo turned to the two petty officers. “We need to warm Miss O'Connor up as well.”

One of the petty officers replied, “Should we kick Lieutenant Harrison out of Tube One and send him to Tube Two with the other SEALs?”

Aleo thought for a moment. “No. We'll need more privacy to coordinate everything. Take her to one of the Missile Compartment heads.” He returned his gaze to Christine, his eyes examining her from her chest to her feet. “I'll get some dry clothes for you, and do my best to find something that fits. What size shoes do you wear?”

“Size seven and a half, women's.” Aleo gave her a blank stare for a second before Christine clarified. “That'd be a size six in men's.”

Aleo smiled. “Thanks, Miss O'Connor. I'll see what I can do.”

The two petty officers acknowledged Aleo's order, then led Christine to a staircase at the forward end of the compartment. After descending to the next level, they headed to the starboard side, then aft until they reached a bathroom, which consisted of a pair of shower stalls on one side and four sinks on the other, with a bank of three toilets against the far wall.

“Stay in the shower until you're warmed up,” one of the petty officers said. “Just holler if you need anything. We'll be waiting outside.”

The petty officer closed the door and Christine turned her attention to the three-by-three-foot showers. She selected the first stall, adjusting the water temperature to as hot as she could stand it, then stripped her wet clothes off, dropping them on the floor. Stepping into the shower, she pulled the curtain closed behind her. She let the hot water cascade over her head and down her shoulders, letting the warmth seep in, alternately letting the water flow over her chest and down her back.

The submarine began to tilt and Christine braced herself against the shower wall until the deck leveled out. She stood under the shower, her skin eventually changing from pasty white back to its normal color. The chill faded from her body, yet she was still shivering. She wondered why, then realized she wasn't shivering; she was trembling.

She had survived by the narrowest of margins. Along the way, Peng and their driver hadn't been so fortunate. Why did she get to live while others died? She was going to chalk it up to luck, but then she recalled a flash of metal and strong hands pulling her from the car at the bottom of the lagoon. No, it wasn't luck. One of the SEALs, probably Harrison, had cut her seat belt and pulled her from the wreck. Christine took a deep breath, forcing herself to breathe slower, trying to release the tension from her body. Her trembling gradually eased, then stopped.

Deciding the shower had done its job, she turned off the water and pulled back the curtain in search of a towel, and was startled to find another woman leaning against the bank of bathroom sinks, towel in hand. She was dressed similarly to the men she'd seen so far, wearing one-piece blue coveralls and white sneakers. Her blond hair was cropped short and she was remarkably tall, almost six feet.

She stepped forward, handing the towel to Christine. “Lieutenant Commander Kelly Haas, Miss O'Connor. Welcome aboard
Michigan
.”

Christine took the towel and began drying herself as Kelly continued her introduction. “I'm the submarine's Supply Officer and one of three female officers aboard.”

Christine recalled that the Navy had finally decided to integrate women into the Submarine Force, and in 2012 the first wave of female officers, in sets of three due to the officer stateroom sleeping accommodations, had begun reporting aboard Ohio class SSBNs and SSGNs.

As Christine finished drying herself, her eyes went to a stack of clothes on the sink next to the Lieutenant Commander. Kelly followed her gaze. “I was able to scrounge up two female coveralls that should fit. We call them poopie suits.” She paused, eyeing Christine's naked body critically. “Although they'll be a tight fit in the chest area for you. I think they do that on purpose.” Kelly offered a wry smile. “As for underwear, we don't have any in supply, so I had to borrow some. Doc said you were pretty close in size to Lieutenant JG Clark.” Kelly placed her hand on the set of white bra, panties, and socks. “As long as wearing someone else's underwear doesn't squick you out.” She offered another wry smile. “Hmmm, bra size is going to be a problem. Lieutenant Herndon may be able to help out. Just skip it for now.”

“No worries,” Christine said as she exchanged the towel for the clothing. “Anything dry right now will be wonderful.”

“Great,” Kelly replied. “Let's get you dressed and introduced to the ship's Captain. Or would you rather go straight to Medical?” Kelly eyed the bandage on Christine's arm.

“I feel fine. Just a flesh wound,” Christine said, wondering if Kelly would get the
Monty Python
reference.

Kelly laughed. “All right. Captain first, then Medical. Then we'll get you settled in. You'll be berthing with the XO. He's got a spare bunk in his stateroom and a private bathroom he shares with the Captain. Overall, it's probably better than cramming you into our stateroom and forcing Clark and Herndon to hot-rack. Plus, all the dignitaries sleep in the XO's stateroom. We can't be treating you any different because you're a woman, right?”

“Right.” Christine agreed in principle, although she honestly preferred to be crammed in with the women.

As Christine donned the dry clothing, she asked Kelly about her age. “You look a bit older than I'd expect a new submarine officer to be, fresh out of college.”

“I'm thirty-three,” Kelly replied, “on my third sea tour, although this is my first submarine. The first trio of female officers sent to a submarine typically includes a more senior Supply Officer who can provide guidance to the two junior officers. I've already been around the block a few times, just on top of the ocean's surface, not beneath.”

Christine zipped up her coveralls, which fit remarkably well aside from being tight around her chest, then donned a pair of new white sneakers, which turned out to be a perfect fit. She tied her hair into a knot behind her head, then examined herself in the mirror. Under the harsh fluorescent lighting, with no makeup and wet, stringy hair dyed jet black, she looked like death warmed over. But at least she was alive. And she had delivered the flash drive to the submarine.

She bent down to her wet slacks on the floor, sliding the flash drive, still in its waterproof bag, from the slit in the seam, and deposited it into the right pocket of her coveralls.

She stood and turned toward Kelly, who opened the door to the bathroom.

“Follow me, ma'am.”

*   *   *

Lieutenant Commander Kelly Haas led the way forward, describing the submarine compartments along the way, then up a staircase, which the crew called a ladder, two levels into Control. There were about ten men in the twenty-by-thirty-foot Control Room, crammed with equipment consoles and two periscopes, both lowered. Haas and Christine stopped near four men leaning over an electronic display table—a Captain, a Lieutenant Commander, and two Lieutenants. The four men didn't notice Christine's arrival in Control; they were engaged in a quiet conversation as they examined an electronic map of the coast and nearby islands, filled with dozens of red symbols.

The four men looked up as Lieutenant Commander Haas spoke. “Excuse me, Captain. Miss O'Connor is here to meet you.”

The Captain turned to greet Christine. He was much older than the other three men, by at least ten years, his gray hair giving away his age. He extended his hand, accompanied with a warm smile on his face. “Welcome aboard
Michigan
, Miss O'Connor.”

Christine rarely read people wrong, and she noticed a darkness in the Captain's eyes that belied his friendly demeanor. Glancing at his nametag on his blue coveralls, she realized why. A pit formed in her stomach and she felt the blood drain from her face. Moments earlier, she had laid eyes on a man she hadn't seen in over twenty years. Now, she stood before the last man she wanted to meet.

Captain Murray Wilson.

 

26

USS
NIMITZ

Standing on Vulture's Row, on the port side of the aircraft carrier's Island superstructure, Captain Alex Harrow leaned over the railing in the brisk wind, surveying the damage to
Nimitz
's Flight Deck. Black smoke from the fires raging belowdecks billowed upward from the forty-foot-wide crater, but the immediate danger had passed. Although the fires still burned, the carrier's ammunition magazines were no longer threatened. USS
Texas
had also arrived, already sinking two Chinese submarines and prosecuting a third. Unfortunately, while
Nimitz
had been given a reprieve, the two air wings circling above weren't as fortunate.