Free Ghost Fleet : A Novel of the Next World War (9780544145979) by August P. W.; Cole Singer Page A

of the last times he would command the bridge. He’d let Riley know what he’d decided when they arrived in San Diego.
    Petty Officer Third Class Randall Jefferson, a young sailor on the bridge, approached, looking almost sheepish when he saw the XO lost in thought.
    â€œSir, I am sorry to disturb you, but you asked me to notify you if anything came up,” said Jefferson. “The sonar grid picked up movement. It just flashes in and out, right up near the ship. It’s probably some fish or a dolphin . . .”
    â€œDon’t apologize for not letting your guard down in port. Deploy REMUS 21 and let’s take a look.”
    He gave the orders to lower what looked like a neon-yellow torpedo into the water. REMUS, the remote environmental monitoring units, had actually started out in the commercial sector, much like its mother ship’s original design as a high-speed ferry. The unmanned underwater system, essentially a robotic miniature submarine, had been developed at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in Massachusetts, mainly for civilian applications like port facility inspection, pollution monitoring, and underwater surveying. It was a mainstay of Discovery and Travel Channel sims. But what worked to capture Shark Week footage also worked for underwater guard duty.
    Simmons entered the bridge and stood behind Jefferson, who was now operating the mini-sub with a first-generation Sony PlayStation–type controller. The handheld video-game-style controller 22 was supposed to be intuitive for the sailors, but it felt more like a relic to a generation who now gamed in 3-D immersion. The vid from REMUS played out alongside a live overhead satellite feed of the ship’s position, a pattern analysis of surface and air traffic around their position, and a multicolor spherical chart that showed status reports of the crew and ship systems.
    â€œNot picking anything up on thermal, sir,” said Jefferson. “Let’s see what visual has.”
    â€œGive me the full screen,” said Simmons.
    The camera pivoted and showed a gray mass of shadows on the screen. Simmons squinted, as if willing the murky water to reveal its secrets.
    â€œHello there,” said Jefferson. He zoomed the camera in on a dark form slowly circling under the ship’s stern. The camera began to focus.
    There. No mistaking it. Against the dark blue background was the faint silhouette of a diver.
    â€œSome damn fool local out messing around where he shouldn’t,” said Jefferson.
    But then the diver stopped and raised his arms above his head as if praying beneath the LCS’s hull.
    â€œHe’s got something in his hands,” said Jefferson. The diver held what looked like a trash-can lid. He lazily kicked his feet and inched closer to the
Coronado
’s hull.
    Simmons fought down the coffee climbing back up into his throat.
    â€œSound Force Protection alert! Possible terror attack, FP Condition Delta!” shouted Simmons. “And wake the captain. Tell him we have a diver placing what looks like a limpet mine on the hull.”
    He picked up a headset and steadied his voice, knowing any fear in it would resonate throughout the ship.
    â€œThis is the XO. Force Protection security team to the port side. Cycle rudders and energize sonars. Set Material Condition Zebra,” Simmons said. “FP team, we have a diver attempting to place an explosive device on the hull. I want him off. Batteries release. Fire at will.”
    Chaos broke out as sailors ran to the port side and tried to see where the diver was. Through the bridge’s open hatch, Simmons heard the shouts getting increasingly desperate.
    â€œThere he is.”
    â€œNo, he’s over there!”
    â€œGet the hell out of my way!” yelled Petty Officer Anton Horowitz. He had been standing guard duty by the gangway on the starboard side, and he pushed his way through the scrum to the port side.
    Horowitz