Empire Rising (36 page)

They had only ten minutes left to complete the repairs. The modified LANT air wing, consisting of four Super Hornet and two F-35C Lightning II squadrons, twelve Growlers, and four Hawkeyes, had sucked the refueling tankers dry and were approaching Bingo Fuel. Sending out another round of refueling tankers was not an option; the pilots could remain aloft for only so long. They would either have to begin landing now or head back to Hawaii for rest, followed by another attempt the following day. Landing the aircraft today wasn't essential, but Berger was more concerned with the pace at which his flight systems were being returned to service. The longer the arresting wires took, the longer it would be before the Tiger Teams turned their attention to the catapults.

Berger's thoughts were interrupted by the Air Boss's voice, coming across the 23-MC speaker from the O-9 Deck, directly above the Bridge. “Captain, Air Boss. Two Wire has been repaired. Request Green Deck.”

Captain Berger reached over to the console beside his chair, pressing the small green button as he slipped the microphone from its clip with his other hand. “Air Boss, you've got Green Deck.”

A moment later, the first aircraft materialized through the steady downpour, barely distinguishable against the backdrop of dark gray skies. Berger glanced at the Number Two arresting cable, stretched across the Flight Deck, hoping the arresting engines worked properly.

Berger's attention shifted between the wobbling jet, buffeted by strong winds as it approached, to the Landing Signals Officer, standing on the Flight Deck in the rain. The LSO held a radio handset close to his mouth with one hand, advising the approaching pilot on engine power and glide path. In his other hand, he held the
pickle switch
controlling the Optical Landing System, containing red
wave-off
and green
cut
lights, which directed the pilot to either abort the landing or make additional adjustments during his approach. Berger watched as the green
cut
lights flashed periodically during the jet's descent, sending last-second guidance to the pilot.

The Super Hornet angled down toward the deck, its tailhook extended. With only one operable arresting wire, the odds of a successful landing were reduced. Land a split second too late and the jet's tailhook would miss the cable. The pilot would have to
bolter
, pushing his engines to full throttle to regain sufficient speed for flight before he ran out of carrier deck.

Berger followed the Super Hornet in, its wings wobbling one last time before the jet touched down. The aircraft's tailhook snagged the arresting wire and the jet screeched to a halt. Forty-five seconds later, the fighter was headed to the forward starboard elevator as a second Super Hornet touched down. One by one, as darkness settled over the Pacific Ocean, the modified Atlantic Fleet air wing landed safely aboard the Pacific Fleet's last carrier.

 

57

USS
MICHIGAN

Eight hundred feet beneath the surface, USS
Michigan
rested on the ocean bottom, listing ten degrees to starboard. Seated on the Conn, bathed in yellow emergency lighting, Christine rubbed the arms of her thick green jacket. With the ventilation fans and heaters secured, the temperature inside the submarine had plummeted, dropping until it matched the temperature of the ocean bottom. Moisture from the air condensed on the submarine's steel hull, trickling down the curved bulkheads, and the crew's breath condensed into white mist when they spoke.

Standing on the Conn next to Captain Wilson, Lieutenant Commander Faucher had just arrived after completing another review of battery voltage and discharge rate, ensuring there was enough power remaining to complete a reactor start-up. They were pushing the battery to its limit, and Christine could see the concern on Faucher's face, wondering if Wilson had pushed it too far. However, it didn't seem like they had any choice. Sonar pings still echoed periodically through
Michigan
's hull. At least one Chinese submarine was still out there, unconvinced the American submarine had been sunk.

“We need to commence a reactor start-up now,” Faucher repeated. “If we wait any longer, we won't have enough power.”

Wilson shook his head. “We can't afford to start up yet. Our feedwater and seawater pumps are too loud. We have to wait until the Chinese submarines depart.” A powerful sonar ping echoed through the submarine's steel hull, adding emphasis to Wilson's statement.

Faucher replied, his voice straining as he attempted to contain his frustration. “Then what is your plan, sir? How do we complete a reactor start-up without enough energy in the battery?”

Wilson hesitated a moment before answering. “We'll do a Fast Recovery Start-Up instead of a normal start-up. That will buy us an hour.”

Captain Wilson's words seemed to hit the Engineer like a physical blow. Faucher straightened his posture and cast a glance in Christine's direction, aware she was sitting close enough to hear the conversation. He turned back to Captain Wilson, lowering his voice in a failed attempt to conceal his words. “That's not allowed, sir. We've been shut down for too long. If we conduct a Fast Recovery Start-Up from such a low temperature, we risk fracturing the reactor vessel. We're talking about a complete core meltdown if that happens.”

Wilson's eyes locked onto his Engineer's face. “I understand, Eng. That's a chance I'm willing to take. It's my call. Enter it in the logs.”

An uneasy silence hung in the air between the two men, interrupted by the submarine's Weapons Officer arriving in Control with a second class petty officer whom Christine recognized as Sam Walsh, a Machinist Mate assigned to Torpedo Division. The Submarine Force had eliminated the Torpedoman rating, and Machinist Mates now manned the Torpedo Room. Wilson turned toward the new arrivals.

“Sir,” the Weps began, “Petty Officer Walsh may have a solution to our torpedo problem.”

Wilson's eyes brightened as they shifted to the Machinist Mate. “What solution is that?”

Petty Officer Walsh explained. “The message we received said the algorithm that shuts down the torpedo is located on the primary Signal Processing card. I spent three years at our torpedo maintenance facility in Yorktown, and I know how to take apart the torpedo and remove the affected circuit card.”

Wilson replied. “Will the torpedo function properly without this card?”

“It should, sir,” Walsh replied. “There are two SP cards in each torpedo. They're not completely identical, but each has the ability to take over for the other if one card fails. If we remove the primary SP card, the secondary card will assume the first has failed and take over. The message we received implied the algorithm was loaded only on the primary SP card, so the torpedo should function normally after we remove it, ignoring the Chinese sonar pulse. I don't know that for sure, but I figure it's worth a shot.”

“How long will it take to remove the card?” Wilson asked.

“With enough help and the proper tools, about two hours per torpedo. But I can do two torpedoes at once, one on the starboard side of the Torpedo Room and the other on the port side, without slowing me down too much.”

Wilson nodded thoughtfully. “Great idea, Walsh.” He turned to the Weps. “Get Walsh whatever help he needs. We've got another hour before we commence reactor start-up, and another hour before we'll be coming off the bottom. We may need a functioning torpedo or two about the time Walsh is finished.”

“Aye, sir.” The Weps and Walsh stepped off the Conn, the two men already conversing as they headed down the ladder from Control.

*   *   *

An hour later, Christine was in the Torpedo Room along with the Weapons Officer, watching Walsh and five other petty officers gathered in the center aisle of the Torpedo Room. The six petty officers were disassembling two of the submarine's MK 48 Mod 7 torpedoes, one on the inboard starboard stow and the other on the inboard port stow. Christine watched from the aft end of the crowded compartment, filled with eleven of the submarine's thirteen green MK 48 warshot torpedoes. The other two were still loaded in Tubes Three and Four, ready for launch.

Both torpedoes Walsh was working on had been separated into two pieces. On each torpedo, Walsh had removed the joint band connecting the Guidance and Control section to the torpedo's warhead, fuel tank, and engine. Thick black cables had been disconnected and were dangling from the torpedo innards, and Walsh and another petty officer were sliding a heavy, one-foot-long metal Guidance Control Box from the front half of the torpedo. The GCB was the torpedo's brain, containing the two SP cards as well as a slew of other critical microprocessors.

The GCB was extracted from the Guidance and Control section and placed onto a rubber mat between the two halves of the torpedo. Walsh removed the hex screws from the front plate of the GCB and stared into the torpedo's electronic brain. In the dim yellow emergency lighting, it was difficult to see inside, so the other petty officer grabbed a nearby flashlight, aiming the white beam into the GCB.

Walsh wrapped an electrostatic guard around his wrist, with the other end of the cord attached to the submarine's metal hull. He reached carefully inside the GCB, working his hand back and forth, extracting a four-by-eight-inch circuit card. He examined it closely, as if he could visually detect the faulty algorithm loaded onto one of the several dozen chips embedded in the green circuit board.

He placed the card on the rubber mat, then replaced the GCB's cover and tightened the fasteners. The Weapons Officer checked his watch for the hundredth time; it had taken just over an hour to get to this point. Walsh slid the GCB back into the Guidance and Control section, securing it in place with additional screws. Then he instructed the other petty officers to begin the process of rejoining the two halves of the torpedo. After observing their efforts for a moment, Walsh turned his attention to the torpedo on the port stow.

*   *   *

A powerful sonar ping echoed through
Michigan
's hull, a stark reminder of the enemy awaiting them, and Christine decided to return to the Control Room. Wilson was still standing on the Conn, his arms folded across his chest, conversing with the Engineer and Navigator. As Christine approached the three men, the Navigator asked, “Why don't we stay on the bottom after the reactor start-up is complete, then wait until the Chinese submarines depart.”

The Engineer shook his head. “
Michigan
isn't designed to sit on the ocean bottom. Our main seawater intakes are near the bottom of the hull, and we sucked in a significant amount of silt during the short time it took to shut down the reactor. If we stay on the bottom more than a few minutes after start-up, we'll foul the main condensers and lose all propulsion and electrical power.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the high-pitched chirp of the 2-JV sound-powered phone system. Wilson picked up the 2-JV handset, flipping on the speaker so his two department heads could hear the report from the Engineering Officer of the Watch in the Engine Room. “Conn, Maneuvering. The battery has begun reversing. Three cells have changed polarity.”

Three of the battery's 126 cells had been drained and were now attempting to recharge themselves, adding an additional demand on the remaining cells. As more and more cells reversed, the situation would rapidly deteriorate until the battery was completely drained, leaving no power for the reactor startup.

“Maneuvering, Conn,” Wilson replied. “This is the Captain. Understand cell reversal has begun.” Wilson placed the handset back into its cradle, looking back at the Engineer. “Looks like we can't wait any longer. Commence Fast Recovery Start-Up.”

The Engineer acknowledged the Captain's order. As he left Control, Wilson approached the front of the Conn. His silver hair appeared almost blond in the yellow lighting from the emergency battle lanterns. He addressed all twenty-three watchstanders in the crowded Control Room, his breath condensing into fog as he spoke.

“Attention in Control. The battery has begun cell reversal, so we're commencing a reactor start-up. As we bring up the seawater, condensate, and feedwater pumps, we'll become more detectable, and we'll be helpless until we get an electrical turbine and propulsion restored. However,” Wilson continued, “Petty Officer Walsh believes he can fix our torpedoes, making them impervious to the Chinese sonar pulse. He's working on two now, and they should be ready by the time we complete reactor start-up.”

The crew sat up at their consoles as Wilson spoke, but when he finished, there was little for them to do. Their consoles were still dead, staring back at them with dark displays. Christine pulled back the left sleeve of her thick green jacket, checking the time. The reactor start-up would be complete in about an hour. She settled into the Captain's seat on the starboard side of the Conn, preparing to wait as the minutes ticked by.

*   *   *

Christine shivered inside her foul-weather jacket, observing Lieutenant Kris Herndon, the Officer of the Deck, standing between the two lowered periscopes, supervising the dormant Control Room.
Michigan
still tilted to starboard at a ten-degree list, but no one seemed to notice aside from the Night Baker, who entered Control carrying a tray of coffee mugs held at a slight angle. Petty Officer Sam Meade had somehow managed to brew hot coffee without any electrical power. Steam rose from the ceramic mugs as Meade made his round, exchanging twelve empty cups for full ones. He delivered the last three to the Conn before retreating down the ladder toward Crew's Mess.

Christine wrapped her cold hands around the hot mug as she took a sip of black coffee, savoring the heat more than the flavor. Wilson flipped on the 2-JV speaker, listening to the communications between Engine Room watchstanders and Maneuvering, where the Engineering Officer of the Watch directed reactor plant operations. They had commenced withdrawing control rods from the reactor core, adding a significant drain on the battery as the Control Rod Drive Mechanisms lifted the rods inside the uranium fuel cells. Additional battery cells began reversing, and Christine glanced at Wilson each time to assess his reaction. His face was placid, exhibiting no reaction to the news. Suddenly, an announcement came across the 2-JV.