Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 04 - Piranha(and Jim DeFelice)(2003) (27 page)

 
          
“The
chain of command is going to make little difference in Leavenworth,” said Dog.

 
          
Dog
wasn’t particularly tall; fight pilots rarely were. Woods was only an inch or
two taller than Dog, though his frame held at least thirty more pounds. The two
men glared at each other, their eyes only a few millimeters apart.

 
          
“Colonel,
uh, I have a link pending here from NSC. Need your voice confirmation,” said
Hernandez. Among other things, the Whiplash team member had helped make a
daylight rescue under fire during Gulf War, but his voice now had a worried
tremble to it.

 
          
Dog
managed to
unball
his hands.

 
          
“I
have to get that,” he told Woods. “The computer won’t let the communication
proceed with anyone else in view, even if I wear headphones.”

 
          
“Understood,”
said Woods.

 
          
The
two men held each other’s glare for a few seconds more. Then simultaneously,
Dog turned toward the com area, and Woods nodded to his men. They filed out
quietly, undoubtedly glad to escape without having been scorched. Hernandez
looked at Dog, silently asking if he should go too. Dog decided it might be an
appropriate diplomatic gesture and nodded.

 
          
Woods
stood quietly by the table, out of line-of-sight of the com screen. Dog,
meanwhile, picked up a headset and spoke his name into the microphone. Jed
Barclay’s face snapped into view.

 
          
“Hi,
Colonel.”

 
          
“Jed.
What’s up?”

 
          
“Wanted
to brief you on the situation with China and India. Um, and um, to uh, well,
the way you got the news, I would’ve preferred to give you a better heads-up.”

 
          
“Understood,”
Dog told him. “You’re just the messenger.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir.”

 
          
“It’s
all right, Jed. I’m a big boy,” said Dog. When he’d first met Barclay, he
hadn’t thought much of the NSC aide; he was a pimple-faced kid who stuttered
when he spoke. Hell, he was also a computer whiz, quite possibly as adept at
the science as Jennifer Gleason, though his interests were more in
international politics than hand-constructed integrated circuits. Barclay
combined the technical knowledge with a surprisingly deft feel for foreign
relations, and could analyze the international implications of anything from
ATM machines to U/MFs. What he did for Dreamland and Whiplash—basically acting
as a liaison for the NSC director and the President—involved perhaps one
one-hundredth of his skills.

 
          
“Well,
okay,” said Jed. He began running down the situation between China and India,
starting with the present force structure.

 
          
Dog
stopped him.

 
          
“I
have Admiral Woods here,” he said. “Maybe he ought to listen in.”

 
          
“Okay.
Sure. Good idea,” said Jed. While he authorized the feed from his end, Dog took
off his headset and called Woods over.

 
          
The
admiral too had calmed somewhat. He came over without saying anything, frowned,
then looked at what was now a blank screen.

 
          
“You’ll
have to give your name and rank to the computer,” Dog told him. “Just do it
once, and do it in as natural a voice as you can. If the voice pattern is not
already in the system, you’ll be asked for a retina scan and a fingerprint. You
put your hand there.”

 
          
Dog
pointed toward a small glass panel at the side of the auxiliary keyboard to the
com set. Woods nodded.

 
          
“Authorize
additional com link,” began Dog, starting off the procedure. He nodded at
Woods, who spoke so slowly the computer asked him to repeat in a natural voice.

 
          
Dog
suppressed a grin as Woods repeated his name, this time somewhat sternly. When
he finished, the admiral started to laugh.

 
          
“Jesus,”
said Woods. “It’s come to this.”

 
          
“Please
maintain level composure,” snapped the computer.

 
          
“What
the hell does that mean?”

 
          
“It
needs to look at your eyes. Poor choice of words,” said Dog.

 
          
Woods
began to laugh. “What does it know? It’s a computer.”

 
          
Dog
started to laugh too, though not quite for the same reason. The words had been
chosen by Ray Rubeo, who was twice as arbitrary as any computer in existence.

 
          
Jed
Barclay’s face came back on the screen.

 
          
“So
here’s the thing,” said Barclay, launching back into the point he’d been making
earlier. “The Indians use new technology, the Chinese feel they have to
retaliate. Up the ante. They’re in big trouble domestically, and if they can’t
go to war against us, and quite another for the Indians to do it. They have a
second carrier en route; we suspect two more subs—nukes this time.”

 
          
“Two?
The
Xias
?” asked the admiral, referring to the most
advanced submarine the Chinese were known to have.

 
          
“Actually,
Admiral, we think they’re Trafalgar clones. We’re still trying to develop
information on them. that’s uh, what we want from Whiplash. I mean, from the
Dreamland contingent.”

 
          
“Where
would the Chinese have gotten British attack submarines?” asked Woods.

 
          
“Well,
these aren’t
Trafalgars
per se,” said Jed. “Though we
think they do have the pump-jet propulsion system. We’re pretty sure about
that. The question is whether they’re some kind of Chinese take on the
Akula
or a totally different design. We’re really
interested in the diving capability and we don’t have a sound signature, for
obvious reasons.”

 
          
“You
guys are losing me,” said Dog. “Give me a little background, okay?”

 
          
Woods
explained the
Akula
was a very good Russian nuclear
attack boat, capable of high speeds and deep depths. The British submarines
were also among the best all-around attack subs in the world, though the Trafalgar
class represented a slightly different philosophy, one that emphasized silence
over sheer performance. Its pump-jet propulsion system was notably quieter than
a traditional propeller-driver boat. With their hulls covered in a special
rubber material and a range of other improvements, the submarines were about as
quiet as anything in the ocean, including diesels using batteries.

 
          
“They
can dive to about the same depth as the
Akula
,” said
Woods, “though the Brits tend to be more conservative than the Russians. Pick
your poison really—they’re both excellent subs. If the Chinese have anything
similar to either, they’re pretty potent weapons.”

 
          
He
turned back to the screen. “But nowhere in any briefing that I’ve seen has
anyone said the Chinese have such advanced submarines. We haven’t seen them at
sea, certainly. They had plans to purchase two
Akula
from the
Ruskies
, supposedly, but that hadn’t gone
through. This is out of left field.”

 
          
“Which
is my point,” said Jed. “The two boats left
Behai
eighteen hours ago. We have a good read on their initial direction, but beyond
that we’re empty.”

 
          
“
Behai
? On the Gulf of Tonkin? There’s no facility there.”

 
          
“Yes,
Admiral, exactly. The thinking is a shallow-water facility in some sheds about
fifty yards from the waterline. They’re doing a history run on satellite
photos. It’s at least technically feasible. Otherwise the subs just appeared
from nowhere. Pacific Fleet has the northern coastline bottled up,” Jed added.
“So we don’t think they could have snuck down past.”

 
          
Woods
furled his brow.

 
          
“What’s
most important,” Dog asked. “Kali or the subs?”

 
          
“The
six-million-dollar question,” said Jed. “NSC is split. CIA wants both.”

 
          
“That’s
not very helpful, Jed,” said Dog.

 
          
“Tactical
situation to dictate,” said Jed. “Uh, the exact assignment would be Admiral
Allen’s call. He’s already been informed.”

 
          
“Okay,”
said Dog.

 
          
“That’s
all I have,” said Jed.

 
          
“Thanks.”
Dog cut the connection by pushing a button on the console. “My plan was to use
Piranha to track the Indian sub,” Colonel Bastian told the admiral. “We can do
the same for the Chinese. We have two units available; they can operate for
roughly eighteen hours. We’re bringing in additional control units so we can
run the Megafortresses in shifts gathering the data. We hope to have other
probes out here shortly.”

 
          
“Right
now, our orders are to keep the sea lanes open. That’s our top priority,” said
Woods. “But I would say the more information about the Chinese submarines the
better. From what Barclay just said, they’d probably be hunting for the Indian
sub anyway. We might be able to catch them all together.”

 
          
“Okay.”

 
          
“
Akula
can be a true pain in the ass,” said the admiral,
speaking as if from personal experience. He took a step away, thinking. “Can
the Megafortresses look for the submarines while keeping tabs on surface
shipping? Send back data, I mean.”

 
          
“You
mean tell you what ships are down there while we’re running Piranha? That’s
easy.”

 
          
“That’s
what we’ll do. My carrier group will soon be close enough to handle the surface
patrol. We’ll move in ASW units to help you.”

 
          
“Okay,”
said Dog.

 
          
“I’ll
talk to Admiral Allen right away. I know you’re one of the Jedi, Bastian,” he
added. “I’ll try not to hold it against you.”

 
          
“I’m
not really involved in Beltway politics,” said Dog.

 
          
Though
the exact usage varied, “Jedi” was a term often applied to a group of military
officers and others connected with defense issues who advocated different
approaches to traditional forces and thinking. It was generally used in a disparaging
way.

 
          
“You
think the Navy’s obsolete,” said Woods.

 
          
“Not
at all.”

 
          
“I’ve
read the report that led to Whiplash,” said Woods. “Asymmetric technology
edge,” he added. The phrase, which had been one of the section subheads, had
become a buzz phrase in the administration—unfortunately, without the context
that followed the headline.

 
          
“The
report clearly noted that conventional forces still have a primary role,” said
Dog. “The idea is to develop next-generation weapons and get them into use as
soon as possible. Piranha’s a good example.”

 
          
“I
know you don’t like me,” said Woods. “I’m not asking you to. I understand you
have a lot of experience. Good experience; and success. Candidly,
Colonel—you’re a very capable officer with an enviable track record. But you
work for me now.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir,” said Dog.