The Viral Epiphany (37 page)

“Oh crap,” the copilot said, “You’re right.
 
Wait, let me call the navigator.”
 
He switched channels on his headset and then called the navigator, “Hey NAV, you there?”

“Yes, sir” he replied, “I’m here.
 
What’s up?”

“Are you cross trained at the radar navigator position?”

“Yes sir.”

“Where you from, NAV?”

“What?
 
I’m from Boston. Why?” Ted turned and gave a thumbs up to Captain Jeffries.

“OK.
 
Good. You’ll have to do two jobs today,” he said, “Onions won’t be coming with us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Minutes later, Joe “Onions” Romer had finished signing the release documents for the weapons that had been loaded on the aircraft. As he was preparing to reboard the B-52 an Air Force police vehicle raced up to the plane with all of its lights flashing and two armed men quickly stepped out and approached the radar navigator.

“Are you Lieutenant Romer?” one of them asked.

“Yes, I am.
 
Listen, if this is about that speeding ticket, I was going to pay that last week, really.”

“Sir, you won’t be flying on this aircraft,” one of the policemen replied.
 
“We have new orders for you,” he said and, taking him by the elbow, led him to the police truck.

Five minutes later the doors to the Stratofortress bomber were closed and the eight T-33 jet engines started. As Captain Jeffries taxied the plane towards the runway the sun rose above the horizon and the clear morning light revealed a frozen, featureless landscape covered in old, slightly brownish-gray, snow. The orange, thirty mile per hour, windsock at the end of the runway was aligned straight with the runway.
 
The
Valkyrie
slowed as it neared the end of the taxiway; then it turned onto the runway and stopped.
 
He could see the long line of B-52s that had been behind him and were now waiting for their turn to take off.

“OK,” he said to his co-pilot, checklist complete?”

“Checklist complete, sir.”

“Roger, Minot tower,
Valkyrie
is ready for takeoff.”

“
Valkyrie
cleared for takeoff,” came the instant reply.”

“Roger, cleared for takeoff,”
he said as he pushed the throttles forward to full power.
 
Huge clouds of black smoke poured from each of the engines as they roared to life and the entire airframe began to shake from side to side.

“We’re at full power,” his copilot said.

“Minot tower,
Valkyrie
is rolling,” he said as the plane began to move down the runway.
 
A minute later it had lifted off, it’s wings seemingly outstretched like a gigantic bird of prey, in that menacing, slightly nose down attitude that is characteristic of the B-52. It was undoubtedly the most horrific Valkyrie that had ever taken to the air in search of lost souls.

Thirty-Seven

T – 2 Hours.

           
The full moon cast a clear, pale light on the cold and black waves of the Celtic Sea as the
SSN Seawolf
came up to periscope depth, south of Galley Head light on the south coast of Ireland.
 
Charlie Murray, the
Seawolf’s
navigator, sat at the control room’s situational awareness display and watched as the first video pictures came in and were displayed on the VISIRO (Visible with Infrared Overlay) integrated surveillance system.
 
The submarine was continuing to slice through the water at emergency speed as it passed Clonakilty Bay and also, unknown to the crew, the wreck of the
Saint-Étienne-du-Rouvray.
 
Charlie stared intently at the scene as the
Seawolf
passed.
 
The remains of the ill-fated boat couldn’t be discerned in the moon shadows of the rocky coast of Dunowen Head, but suddenly Charlie shivered.
 
He didn’t feel cold, nor was he afraid.
 
He didn’t know why he shivered.

           
He shook his head.
 
This is definitely my last voyage,
he said to himself as he looked down to his navigation map.
I’m too old for this.
 
He looked over, from the corner of his eye, at the other crewmembers who were manning their positions at the console.
Look at them,
he thought.
They’re all kids, listening to rock music while they’re pushing their buttons.
 
They’re not sailors like us in the old days. They don’t feel it – the sea, the mysteries, all the…what did Melville call it in Moby Dick?
 
Loomings. Yeah…that’s what these kids don’t feel - loomings.

           
Charlie’s next checkpoint on his map was the Old Head of Kinsale, and, in accordance with the orders of Captain Andrews, he was maintaining a course that kept the boat a safe distance off the Irish coast.
 
It wasn’t long before the bright beacon of the lighthouse appeared on the periscope display.
 
The submarine’s computer calculated a range of five miles to the light.
 
Charlie looked back at the Captain to see if he was watching the display but he seemed to be absorbed in conversation with another member of the control room crew. He thought he heard them say something about target locations and something called Clean Sweep.
 
The Captain’s almost as bad as the kids
, he thought,
he doesn’t even know where we are.

           
A few minutes later Charlie closed his eyes for a few moments and quietly said a short prayer as the
Seawolf
glided over the slowly disintegrating remains of the Cunard liner
Lusitania
.
 
It had sunk just below them on May 7, 1915 after being torpedoed by a German U-Boat with the loss of 1,198 lives.
 
Local fishing boats had brought the few passengers who had survived to Cobh.
 
Charlie opened his eyes and looked around to see if anyone had observed him, but no one had noticed, not even Captain Andrews who was still intently discussing timelines and countdowns.
 
It seemed to Charlie that the Captain was in a great hurry to get to Cork and then get out again as fast as possible.

           
“How long before we get to Cork?” Captain Andrews said a few moments later as he placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
 
He had been looking at the VISIRO display as he asked the question, but he then turned towards Charlie to hear his reply.

           
Charlie pointed to his map. “At this speed we’ll be passing Robert’s Head within twenty minutes, Captain. I assume you’ll want to enter Cork Harbor and tie up at the deepwater anchorage at Cobh.
 
Is that right?”

           
Captain Andrews studied the map for a few minutes before replying. “I don’t like the look of the harbor entrance, Charlie.
 
It’s pretty narrow and easily patrolled. It could even be easily blocked.
 
We need to be able to get out fast. What are our other options besides Cobh?”

           
“Well, there is the outer anchorage over here at Roche’s Point, just outside the harbor entrance,” Charlie said pointing to the map. “But it’s definitely not the most auspicious place to anchor.”

           
“What do you mean?” the Captain said. Charlie could see his eyes narrow in concern.

           
“Captain, Roche’s Point was the last place that the
Titanic
ever dropped anchor. It sailed from there in 1912 and sank a couple days later in the North Atlantic. If you ask me, I’d rather take my chances and dock at Cobh.”

           
Captain Andrews only laughed.
 
“Charlie, you’re one of the best navigators I’ve known, but you’re just too damned superstitious!”

           
Charlie looked at the Captain very seriously and whispered, “No, sir. It’s not just superstition.
 
There’s something funny here – the way things are going.
 
I don’t know…I felt something earlier, when we passed Clonakilty.
 
I’m not sure what, something that kind of gave me goose bumps, you know? And then, just a few minutes after that, we passed directly over the Lusitania!
 
Did you know that?
 
Right over it! So now, if we drop anchor at
Titanic’s
last anchorage at Roche’s point, that would be three in a row, sir!”

           
“Three what?” the Captain replied with a very skeptical frown on his forehead.

           
Charlie saw his look and said nothing for a few moments. Then he said, “I don’t know, Captain…I get these uneasy feelings sometimes.
 
I just think it’s unlucky, that’s all. Three in a row, you know?”

           
Captain Andrews patted him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, Charlie.
 
This is the new Navy now, and we’re not leaving anything to chance or superstition.
 
Seawolf
can handle anything in the sea.
 
We’ll be fine. Now, plot us a course for Roche’s Point!”

T – 1 hour and ten minutes.

           
SSN Seawolf
slowed to a full stop and quietly surfaced in the light fog that was now beginning to shroud the coast.
 
With its anchor dropped two hundred yards east of the Roche’s Point lighthouse and its decks awash it waited for the planned rendezvous with Dan and Sheila.
 
After Captain Andrews had decided to anchor at Roche’s Point President Cranston had called Dan and the meeting had been set to take place as soon as they arrived.

While the submarine’s inflatable boat gently slid into the water, Dan and Sheila drove Brendan’s old Renault past the half dozen houses that lined the lighthouse road. The misty fog and the early winter darkness had turned the bright and cheery blue and yellow houses into a row of shadowy gray sentinels.
 
They drove downward, as quietly as they could, to the paved landing at the foot of the hill on which the lighthouse was built.
 
For several minutes, as the fog thickened and the cold damp began to coat the rocks below, they stood and looked out to sea and listened for the sound of an approaching boat.

           
“Listen!” Dan suddenly whispered to Sheila, “I think I hear something.” Sheila held her breath and listened intently and then she too heard the muffled sound of a single small engine mixed with the noise of the breaking waves at the landing’s edge. Seconds later a black-clothed sailor secured the inflatable craft to one of the rocks and President Cranston, entirely alone, clambered over the rocks and stood before them on the pavement.

           
“Are you Doctor Quinn?” the President asked.

           
“Yes, sir. I am,” Dan replied, surprised to see the President without any escorts, “and this is my associate Doctor Sheila O’Neill. I’m sorry that my student Brendan MacDonnell couldn’t be here to meet you also. He would have been very excited; however, he is very busy with vaccine distribution efforts right now.”

           
“I understand.” the President said, looking at Sheila then back at Dan in the dim darkness.
 
Dan was younger than he had expected and, perhaps a bit too handsome for a doctor, he thought.
 
He had a sudden doubt about the vaccine’s effectiveness. “My congratulations to you and your team, and, of course, my deepest gratitude.
 
Your vaccine is the only hope for everyone on board our submarine.
 
I hope it works!”

           
Dan smiled in reassurance. “We have every reason to believe it will be very effective, sir.”

           
The President nodded but said nothing as he turned back to Sheila for a moment.
 
There was something disconcerting about her.
It’s her eyes,
he thought.
It’s like she’s looking right through me.
He looked back at Dan who was now holding out a small package to him. “Is this the vaccine?” he asked.

           
“Yes,” Dan said as he handed it to him.
 
“There’s enough vaccine in the package for one hundred and fifty people.
 
I’ve also included instructions of how to administer it.
 
Do you have a doctor on the Seawolf?”

           
“I believe we have a medical corpsman on board.”

           
“That’s fine. He should be able to have everyone on board immunized within half an hour.”

           
A look of relief swept over President Cranston’s face. “Well, this is wonderful,” he said patting the box, “Wonderful.” He looked at his watch and then turned back to Dan, “I’m afraid I have to leave very soon, but tell me, how are your efforts going here? Are you making much progress in fighting the disease?”