Part 14: Session Fourteen: I couldn't get away
Session Fourteen: I couldn't get away
Wheeler. He's the traitor. He's the reason we keep dying. If it wasn't for him, we could have just gone deep and let the battle group handle it. Instead, now I haven't slept in a fortnight.
I can't even bear to look at his face. He knew all along, and he just continued to pretend to be loyal.
I don't bother telling anyone. No one's believed anything I've said so far, so why would this be any different.
I just want to punch him every time I see him. But that doesn't do any good... and he could probably beat me up anyway.
It's obvious he won't afford me any such kindness.
---
Wheeler: Whadya think's inside of here, guys?
Wheeler: About 4-500 pounds of C4, that's what... and about fifty gallons of torpedo fuel. That'd make a pretty noise, wouldn't it?
What do I even say someone like this?
---
(Option 3 is disallowed. Also, you may notice a slight change in dialog. I neglected to transcribe that line last time. It has been added to the previous post as well. Sorry for the confusion.)
VOTING RESULT: 1
CO: Put the gun down, Wheeler, you don't really want to hurt anyone.
Wheeler: Especially the folks back home, huh? Another espionage scandal? Now, that hurts, people. That shakes their faith in the American way, huh?
XO: Why, Wheeler? Why'd you do it?
Oh, watch me look smart. Ahem. "Money, man."
Wheeler: For the money. Back in the Eighties, the Russians used to pay real well. But that sorta dried up. I really thought I was done.
Wheeler: I thought I was out of it, but they came to me right before we left King's Bay and they told me they wanted me to attach that gizmo to the sail or else they'd go public with our little... past performances together. And that would have been embarrassing.
Master Chief: And now you're gonna kill 155 men?
Wheeler: Exactly.
Wow, there are that many guys on this boat? Hey, I wonder if the word 'many' comes from 'man.'
No time for that right now.
Wheeler: Well, goodbye gentlemen.
Won't someone do something? Won't someone step up to save us?
Wheeler: Augh!
What was that? Some sort of angel?
Holland: I always wanted to cold-cock an officer.
Not exactly the angel I was expecting, but I'll take it.
Master Chief: I thought I had you handcuffed to your rack.
Holland: You did, Master Chief. But I had a Swiss army knife in my pocket. I had to use the head, so I filed my way out.
Head means toilet, right?
Oh, I just thought of it! You missed a perfect time to use some double-meaning nautical slang. You could have said you needed to "hit the head." You'll never make it as an action star if you miss perfect opportunities like that.
XO: Put yourself in for sailor of the month, Holland.
We have a sailor of the month? How come I've never heard of this? I bet it's just a bunch of pictures of XO on a wall somewhere.
XO: Cuff Wheeler better than you did Holland, Master Chief.
Foster: Can someone take this from me? They really make me nervous.
You and me both, homeslice.
---
MEANWHILE
Commander: Give me the stick, Brucie.
Neff: We've got negative fuel numbers. We've got to get back to the boat, or we're gonna swim.
Danny: He's gone active with his sonar.
Commander: Active?
Neff: We oughta drop a Mk-48 on their back deck.
Danny: He's setting up a torpedo shot.
---
Foster: Conn, Sonar. Hydrophone effect. Contact Sierra-27. Evaluated to be Akula class submarine making 15 knots on one 7-bladed propeller.
It just never ends...
Foster: Captain, Akula has gone active with her sonar. She is setting up a firing solution.
Master Chief: Guess who she's aiming at.
You're still so sarcastic... you have no idea what it's taken me to get this far...
---
VOTING RESULT: 3
CO: Take us deep, XO. Put some distance between us and the Akula.
XO: Helmsman, all ahead flank.
Helmsman: All ahead flank.
XO: Diving officer, 20 degree down bubble. Submerge the ship to 800 feet.
Diving Officer: 20 degree down bubble. Submerge the ship to 800 feet.
Foster: Target sierra 27 course change. Now bearing opening target course 090.
Man, that makes even less sense than usual.
---
XO: Conn, Sonar. State your contacts.
Foster: Torpedo is no longer a factor, sir. We've also lost contact with Sierra-27. Sonar holds no contacts at this time.
---
Dinner time. My first dinner in weeks... but I don't feel much like eating. I keep watching that clock, and begging for those hands to move faster. Somehow, I feel that if I get past 12:01, I'll be okay... it will be over...
XO seems to share my concern, but he doesn't say anything either.
Foster: Conn, Sonar. Hydrophone effects bearing 350. Evaluated to be incoming torpedo.
OOD: Battle stations, torpedo.
They all spring to duty. I hesitate for a second. I think about sneaking into the kitchen to get seconds... or maybe even some coffee.
But duty calls. I might as well pretend we'll survive this.
XO: This is the XO, and I have the conn.
Hey, just because I'm late, you think you own the place?
XO: Snapshoot 2-1. Firing point procedure. Sierra-27.
Weps: Weapons: All tubes ready, sir.
XO: Orders, Captain?
Oh, NOW you want to hear what I say? What if I don't want to give orders now?
---
VOTING RESULT: 1
CO: Shoot!
XO: Weapons, Conn. Tube 1. Single fire ADCAP. Standby.
Weps: Weapons standing by, sir.
XO: Shoot.
Foster: Mk-48 ADCAP torpedo course 045. Run is enabled. Range is 8500 to target Sierra-25.
Weps: Mk-48 running, Sir.
Foster: Sierra-27 course change. Now bearing opening target course 090. Mk-48 continues to track.
...'K.
---
VOTING RESULT: 1
CO: Ready tube two.
XO: Firing point procedure. Sierra-27. Tube two. Single fire ADCAP.
Weps: Weapons. All tubes ready, Sir.
Alright, fir-
Foster: Torpedo has gone active.
Hey, what about firing that torpedo.
Foster: Sixty seconds to impact target Sierra-27.
Torpedo? Anybody?
Foster: Fifty-five seconds.
Fire? Shoot? Boom-boom?
Foster: Fifty seconds.
Alright, fine, forget it.
Foster: Uh-Conn, Sonar. Target course change. Sierra-27 now steady on course 060. Speed increasing. Seirra-27 is now making 37 knots. Repeat, Thirty-Seven knots.
Why do they call them 'knots' anyway? Why not just miles?
Foster: Impact in 3... 2... 1.
(distant boom)
Foster: Conn, Sonar. Hydrophone effect. MK-48 ADCAP detonation. Range 2000. Bearing 045.
Master Chief: We get 'em?
Foster: Hostile weapon continues inbound. 150 seconds to impact.
Foster: Torpedo continuing to close.
XO: Sound collision alarm!
Master Chief: All hands, collision alarm!
Foster: Incoming torpedo has aquired. Torpedo is active. Torpedo continuing to close... 200.
Foster: Range... 150 yards.
---
Sailor: Admiral, SOSUS station east of patrol area Yankee Victor. They just picked up an underwater explosion.
Plaskett: Oh, Hell.
---
XO: Damage control, report! Damage control! (pause) Somebody talk to me.
Let me guess, the bowplanes aren't responding.
Master Chief: Bowplanes are not responding.
Told ya.
Master Chief: We're in an uncontrolled dive at a ten-degree down bubble.
I look at the clock. It seems like forever away from 12:01... we certainly won't last until then, and even if we did, there's no chance we'd be rescued from there, and then I might die for real.
I give the XO the Conn and walk slowly back to my cabin... I wonder if maybe I can get back there, it will help me feel less disoriented.
A giant rushing wall of seawater had other ideas.