Sea of Shadows eBook - Navy Thriller.com

ARABIAN SEA (SOUTH OF OMAN)
WEDNESDAY; 16 MAY
1604 hours (4:04 PM)
TIME ZONE +4 ‘DELTA’
SEA OF SHADOWS 127
Had it been a little larger, Flag Plot aboard USS Kitty Hawk could have
easily doubled as a movie set for the infamous War Room. The dimly lit
compartment was crammed floor to ceiling with electronic equipment.
Four large-screen tactical displays dominated the forward and starboard
bulkheads. Each of the six-foot–square screens was speckled with crypticlooking
tactical symbols representing ships, submarines, aircraft, and shore
installations within the carrier’s area of responsibility. The symbols were
color-coded: blue for friendly, red for hostile, and white for neutral.
The remaining two bulkheads were lined with computer terminals,
automated status boards, radio comm panels, and radar repeaters, all
designed to provide the admiral and his staff with the information required
to effectively manage the aircraft carrier and her attendant strike group.
Despite the nearly continuous flurry of activity, the room was quiet.
The equipment operators spoke to each other in low tones, using handsfree
communications headsets very much like those used by astronauts.
Slouched in his raised chair at the center of the room, Admiral Curtiss
Joiner read the closing lines of the CNO’s message for about the seventh
time. “What a crock of shit,” he said under his breath.
The admiral’s chief of staff, Commander Ernesto Ortiz, was standing
next to his chair. “Pardon me, sir?”
Admiral Joiner looked up. “What? Oh, sorry, Ernie. It’s just this
message. It doesn’t make sense. We’ve been asked … no—we’ve been
ordered … to haul ass to the Gulf of Aden and bottle up a pack of German
subs before they can sneak out of the Red Sea.”
Ortiz nodded slowly. “Is this the same four diesel boats that gave
Abraham Lincoln the slip over in the Med, sir?”
“It’s the same guys all right,” the admiral said.
“They made LANTFLEET look like idiots,” Commander Ortiz said.
“Now I guess it’s PACFLEET’s turn in the barrel.”
The admiral shook his head. “I’m an old man, Ernie, too old to worry
about looking like a fool. But if I’m going to pull my pants down in
public, I’d like to have some degree of confidence that nobody’s going to
shoot me in the ass.”
Ortiz frowned. “You think that’s a real danger here, sir?”
“They sure as hell didn’t have any compunctions about shooting the
Brits,” Admiral Joiner said. He waved the message printout like a fan. “It