Read Online D. M. Ulmer 01 - Silent Battleground by D. M. Ulmer - Free Book Online
Authors: D. M. Ulmer
Tags: Fiction
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expect you’ll not permit these measures to interfere with projects of higher priority.”
Brent replied, “Understand, Captain.” Here we go again . Another situation where just doing my job gets me deeper into hot water. “Captain?”
“Yes?”
His voice tone caused nervous glances to be exchanged among the other officers.
“We have a full load-out of weapons for the first time since I’ve been aboard. Two of them are new and we don’t have any experience with deploying them. If the commodore’s instructions are to be followed, I need to conduct a full-court press to be combat ready. But on the other hand, Captain, if you have reason to believe there’s no danger, I recommend you share it with us and the crew. The troops are worried about familyand friends and a word from you would relieve them immensely.”
Brent had just told the captain to either put up or shut up. The officers slumped in their seats to relieve tension.
Captain Bostwick took Brent’s comment in stride. “I appreciate your point of view, Brent, and you must appreciate mine. We are not robots. I’ve been given the commodore’s perception on the state of international affairs. The final decision on how we factor this into ship priorities remains with me. I make decisions based on how I see the situation. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear, Captain. I’ll not interfere with your agenda, but plan to work my department round the clock till we know how to use the new bullets.”
“As you wish, Lieutenant,” Bostwick replied, disregarding the submarine tradition of calling a junior officer by his first name, thus signaling displeasure over Brent’s tenacity to the subject.
The exchange made Jack Olsen’s gut churn. Concernedover growing open hostility between Brent and the captain, he also fretted over Bostwick not having shared the results of his call to SUBPAC on Danis’s war warning. Bostwick liked to gloat when higher authority confirmed his assertions and he had not done this.
“Yes, Commodore?” Lieutenant Commander Karl ‘Dutch’ Meyer responded to Commodore Danis’s summons to the temporary office.
“Hi Dutch. Grab us a cup of mud and sit down. There’s stuff we need to go over.”
Dutch responded with a grin, “These okay, Commodore?”
He held a pair of china mugs pirated from a submarine enlisted mess, each filled to the rim with black and bitter coffee, the preference of both officers. The mugs, more practical than the standard wardroom china’s dainty pieces, held more coffee and had handles big enough for Dutch to stuff his sausage-like fingers through.
Danis said, “Should’ve known you wouldn’t come in here empty handed. Forgive me for not noticing.”
A wooden chair protested as Dutch rested his bulk upon it. “No problem, sir. What’s up?”
“I just got back from SUBGROUP 9 Headquarters at the Trident Base. Pucker factor runs pretty high up there. Keep all this stuff under your hat, Dutch. It’s dynamite.”
“Count on me, sir.”
“The Chief of Naval Operations has passed to all operational commanders that a Soviet invasion of Iran is imminent and expected within the next seventy-two hours.”
Dutch whistled softly. “Dynamite ain’t the word for it. What orders are being given?”
“The general belief is conventional war between us and the Soviets, likelylimited to the Middle East. If the Reds make this move, they know we’ll try to kick their asses out. They must believe we can’t or they wouldn’t be taking the chance.”
Dutch exclaimed, “We’re in bomber range here like a bunch of sitting ducks!”
“I know,” Danis agreed, “and we’ve got to get our submarines away from here. Hitch is, we can’t alarm everybody. The public gets a strong enough whiff and concludes nuclear war . Panic will hurt us a helluva lot more than a few Soviet bombs.”
Dutch addressed his boss through a puzzled
Brent replied, “Understand, Captain.” Here we go again . Another situation where just doing my job gets me deeper into hot water. “Captain?”
“Yes?”
His voice tone caused nervous glances to be exchanged among the other officers.
“We have a full load-out of weapons for the first time since I’ve been aboard. Two of them are new and we don’t have any experience with deploying them. If the commodore’s instructions are to be followed, I need to conduct a full-court press to be combat ready. But on the other hand, Captain, if you have reason to believe there’s no danger, I recommend you share it with us and the crew. The troops are worried about familyand friends and a word from you would relieve them immensely.”
Brent had just told the captain to either put up or shut up. The officers slumped in their seats to relieve tension.
Captain Bostwick took Brent’s comment in stride. “I appreciate your point of view, Brent, and you must appreciate mine. We are not robots. I’ve been given the commodore’s perception on the state of international affairs. The final decision on how we factor this into ship priorities remains with me. I make decisions based on how I see the situation. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear, Captain. I’ll not interfere with your agenda, but plan to work my department round the clock till we know how to use the new bullets.”
“As you wish, Lieutenant,” Bostwick replied, disregarding the submarine tradition of calling a junior officer by his first name, thus signaling displeasure over Brent’s tenacity to the subject.
The exchange made Jack Olsen’s gut churn. Concernedover growing open hostility between Brent and the captain, he also fretted over Bostwick not having shared the results of his call to SUBPAC on Danis’s war warning. Bostwick liked to gloat when higher authority confirmed his assertions and he had not done this.
“Yes, Commodore?” Lieutenant Commander Karl ‘Dutch’ Meyer responded to Commodore Danis’s summons to the temporary office.
“Hi Dutch. Grab us a cup of mud and sit down. There’s stuff we need to go over.”
Dutch responded with a grin, “These okay, Commodore?”
He held a pair of china mugs pirated from a submarine enlisted mess, each filled to the rim with black and bitter coffee, the preference of both officers. The mugs, more practical than the standard wardroom china’s dainty pieces, held more coffee and had handles big enough for Dutch to stuff his sausage-like fingers through.
Danis said, “Should’ve known you wouldn’t come in here empty handed. Forgive me for not noticing.”
A wooden chair protested as Dutch rested his bulk upon it. “No problem, sir. What’s up?”
“I just got back from SUBGROUP 9 Headquarters at the Trident Base. Pucker factor runs pretty high up there. Keep all this stuff under your hat, Dutch. It’s dynamite.”
“Count on me, sir.”
“The Chief of Naval Operations has passed to all operational commanders that a Soviet invasion of Iran is imminent and expected within the next seventy-two hours.”
Dutch whistled softly. “Dynamite ain’t the word for it. What orders are being given?”
“The general belief is conventional war between us and the Soviets, likelylimited to the Middle East. If the Reds make this move, they know we’ll try to kick their asses out. They must believe we can’t or they wouldn’t be taking the chance.”
Dutch exclaimed, “We’re in bomber range here like a bunch of sitting ducks!”
“I know,” Danis agreed, “and we’ve got to get our submarines away from here. Hitch is, we can’t alarm everybody. The public gets a strong enough whiff and concludes nuclear war . Panic will hurt us a helluva lot more than a few Soviet bombs.”
Dutch addressed his boss through a puzzled
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