The final countdown, p.10
The Final Countdown, page 10
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The polished tones, perfect in every reflection, played for every emotional value, carried from the speakers. Not much attention was being paid to the speech, even if the speaker was President Franklin D. Roosevelt. The bridge of Nimitz was occupied with far more pressing matters. Dan Thurman and Warren Lasky stood near Captain Yelland as he listened to the voice of Commander Bill Damon from the Combat Information Center. Finally, at a sudden annoyed gesture from Yelland, the officer of the deck switched off the radio background of the speech. Damon’s voice came in clearly.
“Captain, close-in visual contact by the fighters of that radar contact.”
“Patch me in immediately,” Yelland ordered.
There was a momentary pause, then Damon s voice came back in. “Sir, patch complete. Command eleven, if you please.”
Yelland’s finger stabbed a button marked with the number eleven; he now had direct contact with the flight of two Tomcat fighters.
“Alert One, this is Old Salt. What have you got out there? Over.”
“Old Salt from Alert One. Sir, we’ve overflown the vessel. It’s by itself. A private motor yacht, estimated
eighty feet. Looks pretty old to be this far out to sea. It-”
“What flag?” Yelland interrupted.
“Star and stripes, sir.”
Yelland mulled that over. “Okay, that’s fine. Alert One, we’ll keep a Hawkeye up at altitude for down-look radar. They’ll take over monitoring. Return to your departure point, and take up a CAP station. You’ll hold angels fifty. Over and out.”
Yelland turned to Thurman and Lasky. “We’ll keep them as carrier air patrol at fifty thousand feet, and they can relieve the aircraft now airborne.” He touched his lip mike. “Mr. Damon, did you monitor?”
“Yes, sir,” Damon’s voice came across the speaker.
“Launch a tanker immediately. Modify the CAP orders to take on a full fuel load, then take up their high station.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Within sixty seconds they saw a deck elevator raising a big twin-engine tanker to the deck, crews waiting to move it immediately to its catapult position. The speaker came alive again.
“Captain, COMM here.”
“Go ahead,” Yelland said.
“Sir, this is Kaufman. We’ve been monitoring all channels as you ordered. Captain, I really don’t understand what’s going on. It sounds like, well, sir, it’s as if every station has gone bananas on the nostalgia scene. We’ve had that old broadcast of President Roosevelt, and the music we’re hearing is out of an old collection of records. One more thing, sir. We’re still picking up the broadcasts in the AM range, and it’s all mono. No stereo like we’d get from FM.”
“You consider that significant, Mr. Kaufman?”
“Very much so, sir.”
“Bring me a report on one page as soon as you can, mister. Bridge out.”
Yelland turned to look at the two men with him. He knew he was still up against that mysterious wall Lasky continued to present to him, as if he were trying to shield deep inner thoughts. To the devil with that, Yelland mused. He’d go around the man. He turned his gaze to Thurman.
“Well, Dan, you heard Kaufman. What do you make of it?”
“Sir, I’m a bit confused. We’ve had plenty of nostalgia programs, but I don’t understand the wavelengths on which they’re broadcasting. Besides—”
“Besides,” Yelland said dryly, “what the devil would Armed Forces Radio be doing broadcasting nostalgia on an AM band after a nuclear war was under way?” He snorted his own disbelief. “It. doesn’t tie. It just doesn’t tie.”
“Maybe it does, sir,” Thurman said. “If we really do have a nuclear exchange, they could go to AM instead of the regular channels. It would show we were still operating and the enemy wouldn’t know just how badly we’d been hurt, or even if we had taken damage at Pearl.”
Lasky spoke so quietly they had to strain to hear. “There’s always the chance that all this is a surprise war games test, I suppose.”
To his astonishment, Thurman didn’t pick up the sarcasm in the remark.
“There are always people who’d like to see how we would react under just this kind of pressure,” he said in agreement
“Commander,” Lasky sighed, “I withdraw the remark. Not even the best stunt men in Hollywood could have cooked up that storm for a war game.”
Thurman turned red. And defensive. “I’m not so sure about everything you’re saying, Mr. Lasky. It appears a strange coincidence that you show up on this carrier, without notice of your identity until you’re on board, replacing someone else assigned to this vessel, and then all hell breaks loose. Maybe you were sent here to watch a lot more than we gave you credit for.”
Yelland showed the trace of a smile. “A neat possibility, Mr. Lasky. Care to comment?”
“Sure. I arranged that storm, and the electromagnetic pulse effect, and from my bag of magic tricks I blanked out the satellites, and those lunar stations, and—”
“We get your point, Mr. Lasky,” the captain interrupted.
Lasky stayed in there. “Do you, really? How in the name of hell can you even entertain such nonsense in your minds? Doesn’t anyone remember that storm was seen long before I ever got here—even if there was the astonishing, impossible, and totally insane possibility of any other consequences of my presence? You’re all befuddled and you’re not thinking. You’re reacting. Don’t take this as a personal criticism or a challenge. I’ve watched you pick up the pieces and operate instantly as a beautifully oiled machine. I daresay I doubt if I could have done the same.”
“Is that a backhanded compliment, Mr. Lasky?”
“No, Captain, it’s just the truth.”
“Tell me more, then,” Yelland said in an exchange that he and Lasky only could understand. But Lasky stood firm. “You’ve got to find out for yourself, Captain. It’s the only way.”
“I could order you to—”
Lasky flared. “No disrespect intended, Captain; you can’t order a damned thing from inside my head.” Thurman started an angry protest, but Yelland brushed it aside. “Stand easy, Mr. Thurman. We’re having our own private chess game.” -“COMM to the bridge. Urgent”
Yelland pressed his mike transmit button. “Bridge. Let’s have it.”
“Kaufman here, sir. I know it’s, ah, a bit strange, but we’re getting a news broadcast and I feel you should hear it directly.”
Yelland reacted with an angry gesture. There were so damned many parts and pieces to this damned puzzle! “All right, Mr. Kaufman, switch it to Plot. I’ll listen in there.” He turned to the two men with him. “Come with me.”
They left the bridge for Captain’s Plot. Several men were working feverishly on electronics equipment. Wires were strung in all directions, but the men stiffened to attention as Yelland entered. He gestured easily. “Stand easy. Stay at your work,” he ordered. Yelland went to a master communications console and flipped a switch. A strange voice came from the console speaker.
“… the headlines. For the first time the Germans appear to have suffered some reverses in their Russian campaign. Soviet resistance has stiffened unexpectedly with the onslaught of freezing weather and sharp counterattacks have thrown the Nazi blitzkrieg off balance. In North Africa, Tobruk is still holding out gallantly against the armored forces of Field Marshal Rommel, but supply lines to the Allied bastion remain cut and its collapse is now considered only a matter of days. On the other side of the world, Japanese troops continue to slice deep into China with major gains on all fighting fronts. In the meantime, the Japanese peace envoys to the United States are now… .”
“Turn it off.”
Kaufman’s face reflected his bewilderment at the sudden interruption of Yelland. “I said to turn the damned thing off!” the captain snarled. Silence followed, and Yelland looked slowly about the room. Everyone was as baffled as he was—except that damned Lasky—and they were a hell of a lot more frightened. That’s what comes with living so long with death, Yelland mused to himself. It helps you fight off what scares you more—the unknown. And there it was, he knew. He was some ancient Don Quixote rushing with his giant carrier at an enormous windmill flapping in the fog and he could never quite come to grips with that haunting shape.
The door opened suddenly and they turned to see Commander Bill Damon standing still, making absolutely certain Yelland was here. Then the operations officer blinked several times, as if snapping back from somewhere else in his mind. He handed an envelope to Yelland. “Captain, sorry to break in like this, but—” He pointed to the envelope. “You’ve got to see these immediately.”
The more the stress, Lasky noticed from the side, the better Matt Yelland handles it. The captain took the envelope but made no move to open it. Keeping Bill Damon cool was equally important to him at this moment. “What’s in it?” he asked his operations officer.
“The reconnaissance photographs from the Vigilante of Pearl Harbor, sir.”
Yelland’s expression froze. He turned to the technicians working about them. “Everybody outside,” he said quietly. “Stand by in the corridor to resume work when we finish here.”
With the room cleared, Yelland opened the envelope, withdrew large glossy photographs, and placed them in a table beneath a bright light. They watched in silence until, without removing his eyes from the pictures, Yelland gestured Thurman and Lasky closer. “Look at these, gentlemen, if you would,” he said calmly.
The pictures were in sequences of three—three pictures of each particular scene. The first had been taken in visible light, and few of these revealed much detail, obscured as they were by the heavy cloud cover. A second picture, computer enhanced for clearer readout, had been taken in ultraviolet to penetrate much of the cloud. But the third picture of each sequence was the most effective; this was a radar scan of the subject under search. Computers enhanced the radar image, then translated the return into the equivalent of visible-light photography.
“Tell me again, Bill,” Yelland said “What area is this?”
Damon looked at the photographs of Pearl Harbor, showing the 1941 United States Pacific Fleet at anchor, most of the heavy warships clustered about Ford Island.
“Sir, it’s Pearl, like I said.”
Dan Thurman tapped the pictures. “The hell it is. I know Pearl and I know this area and it is not Pearl Harbor. It may look like Pearl Harbor, but—”
“It’s Pearl,” Yelland said heavily. He pointed to a row of huge warships, then selected one in particular, secured to its dock. “Do you know what that is?” Yelland continued.
Damon leaned forward between them. “It’s a battle-wagon, all right. But it looks ancient, and—” He looked at the others. “The only battleships we have are national monuments. Or maybe some in mothballs.”
“That ship is active,” Yelland said. “Now, look at the raked afterdeck.”
Thurman’s voice was hollow. “It can’t be,” he said, dragging out each word. He picked up the photograph, studied it through a powerful magnifying glass. “My God,” Thurman said.
“Something like that,” sighed Yelland. “It’s what it looks like. It’s the Arizona.”
Thurman forgot himself. “Goddamnit, Captain, she’s intact! he shouted.
Yelland ignored the outburst and turned to his side, eyes locked on Warren Lasky. “You don’t seem very interested in these photos,” he observed, a bit too easily. They held heavy eye contact for several moments, their message known only to themselves and not shared by the others about them.
“I—shall we say, anticipated them?” Lasky countered.
“You know what they show without looking.” It was a statement from Yelland and, significantly, not a question.
“Yes, Captain,” Lasky said quietly.
“And that’s all you’re going to say?”
“Yes.”
“The same reasons?”
“Yes.”
“I have come to respect your thinking, Lasky, but there is one question I demand to have answered And I want it out straight and honest”
“Ask.”
“Did you know any of this before you came aboard Nimitz?"
“My God, Captain—no.”
Yelland smiled. “You improve my emotional wellbeing, Mr. Lasky. Seeing you frightened reduces the issue to something I do believe we can fight.”
“The word, Captain Yelland, is adapt.”
The smile on Yelland’s face vanished. Then he studied Lasky with new interest, for the scientist’s face suggested a sudden absorption, as if he were just now remembering something seen before, vital to this moment, but remembered anew. There was a memory, a connection. Lasky snapped his fingers. “Captain!” He spoke as if he’d just come awake with a shout.
Yelland again found cause to smile. “I’m wide open to whatever suggestion you’re brewing, Mr. Lasky.” “Sir, ask Commander Owens to bring to us the photographs he’s using to illustrate that historical work he’s writing. I think we can get to grips.” He looked at the others. “But when we do, Captain, I want it alone. You and me, nobody else.”
“You have it,” Yelland snapped. He turned to Thurman. “Get Owens to bring that material here immediately.”
Dick Owens came into the room precisely six minutes later, carrying a thick folder with him. He was puzzled, but had a good enough grip on himself to hold his questions. He handed the folder to Yelland, and the captain immediately spread them on the table beneath the bright light. He studied them for a while and then looked up at his air wing commander. “Dick, where did you get these?”
Owens was openly puzzled. “Sir? These pictures? From the archives, Captain. Some from Anacostia and the others from the Smithsonian. A few from the air force, as well. I even got some from the private collections of Japanese pilots.” Owens stared at the glistening photographs moved to one side of the table. “But I haven’t got a thing as clear as these!” he said with sudden excitement
“Your photos are not like these,” Yelland said. He was making a determined effort to keep his face straight, to show no emotional reaction.
“May I look at them, sir?” Owens asked. Yelland nodded and Owens studied the pictures. “They’re magnificent. I would never have believed they could do high-altitude photography like this back in the early forties.”
“They didn’t, Commander Owens.” The CAG officer looked up. “These pictures, Dick,” Yelland said softly, “were taken by the Vigilante recce mission no more than two hours ago.”
Owens’s answer was instant. “Sir, I don’t believe you. It’s some kind of joke.”
“No joke.”
“But that’s impossible!”
“Yes, it is.”
“Damnit, sir, these are pictures of the fleet that was clobbered by the Japanese on December seventh and… .” His voice trailed away. “With all due respect, Captain Yelland, I do not understand why this hoax is going on.
The hotline speaker came alive in the room. “CIC to the captain. C3C to the captain. Priority One, repeat, Priority—”
Yelland hit the contact button. “Yelland here. Let’s have it.”
“Lieutenant Perry, sir. The high radar patrol reports two bogies, angels fifteen, course zero nine zero, very slow moving, current distance one hundred twenty-five miles. Over.”
Yelland acted as if he’d had a shot of adrenalin. “Very good, Mr. Perry. Notify CAP to move out for an extreme altitude lookdown over the bogies. They are to make every effort to avoid even visual contact Out”
Nimitz’s first pair of Tomcats had descended in a swooping curve from fifty thousand feet to rendezvous with the turboprop air-refueling tanker at thirty thousand. One fighter was already tanked, holding off to one side as the second Tomcat took on a fast and heavy fuel load. In both cockpits the pilots received the same message.
“Alert One, this is Old Salt. Condition Red, Condition Red. Vector Two One Zero at angels five zero for overfly two bogies low and slow. Respond to call sign Buster. Avoid visual contact if at all possible. Read back your orders. Over.”
Moments later the Tomcat still hooked to the tanker fell back to disengage lines. The two fighters eased into formation and swung to a heading of 210 degrees, climbing swiftly to fifty thousand feet and leveling off.
Yelland pulled the lip mike to touch closer to his face. He had returned to the bridge after swearing to strict secrecy the men who had studied the Vigilante reconnaissance photos, the subject not to be even mentioned without his direct order. Warren Lasky went with Yelland and was requested to remain by Ids side. “Right now, Mr. Lasky, I don’t believe your computers need you. Or should I say, our computers. Our people will tend to whatever’s needed. I want you by my side at all times, because I have the definite feeling you may just develop a hole in the side of your brain and all those thoughts you’ve been clutching so tightly may spill out before me.” Despite himself, Lasky grinned. No wonder they’d put Yelland where he was at the command of the mighty Nimitz. What they faced now with the great carrier was enough to chew apart a man’s mind, even more so than danger to life itself.
At the moment, Lasky’ s interest matched that of the captain’s. The captain had assumed direct contact with the two Tomcat fighters on their intercept vector of the two unidentified aircraft. “Buster, this is Old Salt One. You copy? Over.”
The radio speakers crackled with the sharp transmission. “Ah, roger that, Old Salt One. Buster One here.”
“Very good. What have you got, Buster? Over.” “Buster flight at angels fifty. I’ve got binoculars out now. Radar confirmation two bogies, holding close together just above the cloud deck. Estimate six to nine thousand, and doing about two hundred knots. They— man, I don’t believe this.”
