Free Fatal Thunder: A Jerry Mitchell Novel by Larry Bond

We currently hold six sonar contacts, all are classified as merchants, and all have very low bearing rates. Combat system TMA indicates none are close; tracks are displayed on the port VLSD. I’ve completed a baffle-clearing maneuver with no additional contacts. ESM and radio are manned and ready. Request permission to come to periscope depth and establish a link with SUBRON Fifteen.”
    As soon as Iwahashi had completed his status update, Jerry looked at the large flat-screen display hanging on the control room’s forward port side. None of the contacts were headed toward him. They had been tracked for some time and the sonar data said they were all distant. A quick glance at the command workstation confirmed the ship’s course, speed, and depth. With everything as it should be, he ordered, “Very well, OOD, bring the ship to periscope depth and establish a link with SUBRON Fifteen.”
    “Bring the ship to periscope depth and establish a link with SUBRON Fifteen, aye, sir,” replied Iwahashi, repeating the order to ensure he heard and understood it correctly. Turning toward the ship control station, he commanded, “Pilot, make your depth six five feet. Copilot, raise number-one photonics mast.”
    As the boat took on a slight up angle, Jerry nodded to Thigpen and motioned for them to head to radio. Once inside the small room, the XO leaned over and asked, “Any ideas why the commodore wants us to contact him?”
    Jerry shrugged. “If I had to guess, it may have something to do with the Pakistani nuke.” He phrased his answer carefully; he didn’t like lying outright to his XO.
    “Isn’t that a little outside of our theater’s area of responsibility?”
    “True, but India is in our AOR,” Jerry replied frankly. “Anyway, I’m sure Captain Simonis will graciously answer all our questions.”
    “That’ll be a first,” groaned Thigpen.
    “Skipper, number one HDR mast has been raised, and I have a signal,” said the radio room watchstander. “The VTC handshake is nearly complete. I should have SUBRON Fifteen up momentarily.”
    Jerry acknowledged the report and kept his eyes on the display. Seconds later, the test screen was replaced by the Squadron Fifteen conference room. In the foreground were Captain Charles Simonis, the squadron commander, and his chief staff officer, Captain Glenn Jacobs. There was a small group of tired-looking people behind them.
    “Good morning, Captain,” greeted Simonis. “My apologies for the early call, but I have a situation that was dropped into my lap forty-five minutes ago that we need to discuss.”
    Simonis’s voice had a definite edge to it. He was not a happy camper. Jerry kept his response casual. “Good morning to you too, sir. What can I do to help you?”
    The commodore cut straight to the heart of the matter. “Captain, have you had direct contact with Dr. Patterson recently?”
    “No, sir. Per your orders, I have not spoken to or e-mailed her without your permission.”
    “I see. Then could you enlighten me as to why she asked the CNO to expedite getting you to San Diego?”
    “San Diego?” Jerry asked carefully, trying hard to look confused. “Commodore, I don’t recall ever asking anyone to send me to San Diego. Did Dr. Patterson provide any explanation for her request?”
    “No, Captain,” shot Simonis tersely. “Nor does the national security advisor to the president really need to, now does she?”
    “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
    Simonis sighed deeply; the man was uncomfortable with any kind of Washington political intrigue. And while he greatly valued Jerry’s out-of-the-box thinking and tactical innovations, his close personal ties to the Office of the President of the United States was incredibly annoying. “All right, Captain. Terminate your patrol and return to Guam at best possible speed. I have to get you to San Diego in six days.”
    14 March 2017
    0900 Local Time
    Director General Naval Projects, Ship Building