Free D. M. Ulmer 01 - Silent Battleground by D. M. Ulmer

did not buy CNO’s view that the impending war would be limited to non-nuclear weapons.
     
    An eerie red glow bathed Denver’s Attack Center to protect the conning officer’s night vision; essential in case a periscope observation is needed.  Rig for red is enforced between sunset and sunrise and gives the crew a sense of conditions in the world above the waves.  Brent enjoyed the quiet time. 
    Miracle of miracles, he and the captain saw eye to eye on reverting to the traditional four-hour watches. The previous six-hour watches brought on fatigue, boredom and a loss of touch with ship’s operations.
    The captain’s training schedule took five full days.  Brent’s day began at 0330 when called for the morning watch then came a full day of drills, followed by watch again from 1600-2000.  Brent kept his word and squeezed three hours of new weapons training into each day.  Land Attack Tomahawk Missiles,TLAMs,loaded in vertical outside the pressure hull, got the most attention.  Operation and maintenance had to be conducted from within the ship.  The Tomahawk Ship Attack Missiles, TSAMs, stowed in the torpedo room, were accessible, but limited because of being encapsulated.
    Brent nursed a cup of hot coffee, not so much for enjoyment but for the wakening effect of the caffeine.  At 0530, he executed sunrise and the Attack Center returned to normal lighting.
    Denver cruised three hundred miles off Oregon’s coast, submerging deep enough to avoid motion imparted by large swells on the surface as she made her way south toward San Diego and home.
    A voice crackled over the 21MC, “Conn, Sonar.  Can you come in here a second, Mr. Maddock?”
    Brent called back, “On the way,” and then said to Senior Chief Cunningham, “COB, you got it for a few minutes.”
    “Aye, sir,” Cunningham replied.
    Brent entered the sonar shack to find a pair of operators monitoring a maze of green lines on the sonar video displays,  “What’ve you got?”
    A sonarman replied, “Don’t really know, sir.  I’ve never heard it before.  It sort of rumbles at frequencies too low to get a good bearing.  They come generallyfrom the east, though.  Look, sir, there goes one now.”
    “Run that back on the LOFAR.”  Then he and two sonarmen reviewed the Low Frequency Analyzer Recorder (LOFAR) trace but could make no sense of it.
    “An earthquake?  Or maybe Mount St. Helens erupting again?”
    The sonarman disagreed, “Don’t think so, sir.  I’ve heard a few quakes and volcanoes and they don’t sound anything like this.  I’ve got some tapes if you want me to run them, Mr. Maddock.”
    “That won’t be necessary.  Keep track and log everything.  We’ll want trace-recorder sheets from LOFAR annotated with times.  Advise me of any changes.” 
    An ominous feeling built in the pit of Brent’s stomach.
    “Aye, Mr. Maddock.  Will do.”
    Brent went back to the Attack Center and advised Cunningham of his return then he picked up the telephone and dialed the captain’s stateroom.
    Bostwick’s sleepy voice mumbled, “Captain.”
    “Conning officer, Captain.  We’re picking up strange sounds on sonar, sir.  Low frequency, very powerful, a long way off to the east.  I recommend you come up and listen, sir.”
    A slight pause then Bostwick said, “No, but let me know if there are any changes.  Pacific Ocean can make weird noises when it wants to.”
    “I don’t think these fit that format, Captain.  Request permission to proceed to periscope depth and hoist an antenna.  Maybe we can pick up some traffic on what’s happening.”
    “Alright, Brent, I’m coming up.  You and your damn war scares.”
    Brent bit his lip.  “Hope it’s nothing, Captain, but we ought to be sure.”
    “You’re right, it’s nothing.”
    Brent accompanied Bostwick to the sonar shack.  The captain listened and again classified the sounds as natural. 
    He said to Brent, “As long as you got me out of bed, let’s go to