Shattered Trident

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Why hadn’t Vinaship Sea’s owners made the connection? Marine losses were widely reported in the trade journals and on the Web. And one would think her owners would want to explain the loss of a vessel worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

If Vinaship Sea had been hijacked without making a call for help, which seemed unlikely, that would explain her position. But then what had blown her up? He wanted to solve the riddle, but part of him loved the mystery.

He made a new entry in Bywater’s Blog, titled “Two Mysteries or Just One?” He laid out all the known details, and started asking questions. “The cause of Vinaship Sea’s loss remains unexplained. Why are there no reports of her being in distress along a heavily traveled sea lane? Instead, a second (reported) loss has appeared, with gross cause (explosion) and location explained, but no company or nation has stepped forward to claim the casualty. Rough calculations indicate the cargo included at least four tons of high explosive or its equivalent, possibly much more.”

Mac stopped the entry there. He didn’t need to mention “arms smuggling.” It was an obvious, if fantastic possibility. It could easily be something more prosaic, but much more complicated. And even if it was arms smuggling, what made them explode?

His nautical investigation had carried him to almost two in the morning. Then it took him a while longer to fall asleep, his mind still searching for new possibilities.

* * *

The phone woke him a little after 8:00 A.M. It was a young woman’s voice. “Is this Mr. Hector McMurtrie? My name is Christine Laird. I’m a journalist with CNN. Are you the administrator of a ‘Bywater’s Blog’?”

Her tone made it clear she was unsure of the name, but her introduction had given him a chance to force his eyes open and unstick his tongue. “Mph. Garh…”

“Did I wake you, sir? I’m very sorry, but we’re short on time. We’re preparing to run a story on the loss of a merchant ship and your blog…”

That woke him up completely. “You mean Vinaship Sea?” he interrupted as he switched the receiver to his other hand. That allowed him to reach for his glasses. He certainly didn’t need them to speak on the phone, but putting them on banished the fuzzy vision and made him feel more awake.

“Yes, exactly,” she said brightly, even as she seemed surprised that he’d know the name of the ship. “We’d like to quote your blog during our piece, and your claim that the Vinaship Sea was the victim of sabotage—”

“No,” McMurtrie spoke quickly, “I never said that.” It took fifteen minutes to make her understand that there were two separate locations and that the facts were complete in neither case. Trying to work in a bigger mention of the blog, he began explaining how others had worked with him to investigate the loss, but she was obviously frustrated with having to report a mystery rather than an incident. Her replies became more impatient, and he could tell she was ready to end the conversation.

Then he remembered the idea about the captain of Hanjin Malta.

5. SORTIE

26 August 2016

1500 Local Time

USS North Dakota

Off Hainan Island, South China Sea

Control was buzzing with activity as they prepared to launch one of the UUVs, but Jerry’s mind was elsewhere. He was back on Guam.

After the brief, Commander Richard Walker, the squadron’s operations officer, quietly whispered to Jerry, “The commodore wants a few words, if you’re available.”

Well, of course he was available. Jerry was a commander, Simonis was a captain. Jerry was a sub skipper, Simonis was his squadron commander. He’d damn well better be available.

Simonis was waiting in his office, and stood as Jerry entered. “Commander Mitchell… Jerry, thanks for coming by. This won’t take long. Coffee?”

Walker quickly served them both cups of what smelled like really good coffee, then left, closing the door behind him.

The commodore smiled broadly. “I couldn’t say this in front of my other three skippers. I certainly don’t want to show any favoritism, but I’m really pleased to have you and your boat attached to the squadron. It’s a little embarrassing, but I’m not as familiar with a Virginia class’s capabilities as I am with the Los Angeles boats. And I know even less about a flight three Virginia.”

The commodore was speaking directly to him, but kept shifting his gaze downward. Jerry wondered if he’d skipped a button on his shirt, and automatically checked, thankfully not finding anything, but his hand brushed against the “fruit salad,” the rows of ribbons on the left side of his shirt, under his dolphins. He was understandably proud of his decorations: the Navy Cross and Purple Heart he wore drew attention, and then mystery when people found out that he couldn’t talk about what he’d done to earn them.

Simonis perched on the corner of his desk. “I’ve given you the hot spot, right off Yulin and Yalong Bay, because you’ve got the best boat and…” He paused for a moment, then said, “I’ve heard some stories, and I won’t ask which ones are true, but I have high expectations.”

Jerry wondered just what the commodore had heard. The submarine force might still be nicknamed the “silent service,” but that only applied to outsiders. Inside the community, sea stories spread faster than the speed of truth. Jerry had heard accounts of his own exploits that he hardly recognized.

“There’s no time to go over my command policies, but I encourage open discussion with my boat captains, and Jerry, I promise I will listen carefully to any recommendations you make—about your boat’s capabilities, the tactical situation, anything that you think I need to know.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jerry acknowledged. He had wondered what type of squadron commander Simonis was. He’d heard little before coming to Guam, and obviously there’d been no time to sound out the other skippers. But this was a good start.

“There’s one other matter.” Simonis’s tone had an uneasy note in it. Again, he didn’t meet Jerry’s eyes, his attention still fixed on his ribbons.

Simonis sighed, then walked back and sat down behind his desk. “I’m like most of the fleet. Politics is something you read about in the newspapers. Getting a squadron command meant learning a new skill set. I keep abreast of Asian politics. I have to, or I can’t effectively implement U.S. policy out here. I get a lot of guidance from PACOM and others, but it’s no different from knowing the acoustic environment around your boat.”

Jerry nodded and prompted, “Of course.” Was this fatherly advice? Jerry might command a squadron someday.

“This Dr. Patterson. You know her well. That’s very valuable to me, Jerry. I may be up to date about Asia, but I don’t understand Washington. You’re an insider. Your old skipper’s a senator, and his wife, the deputy national security advisor, has shown up here to give us a personal briefing on our mission. I’ll be honest. I’m not comfortable with this level of attention.”

Jerry wasn’t surprised. Some people enjoyed being in the spotlight, but many did not. Evidently, the commodore liked to keep a low profile. Maybe he wasn’t the type to take risks, or he might have doubts about his own abilities. What kind of boat captain had he been? Jerry was also a little irritated. Simonis wasn’t the first officer to think he had a hotline straight to Washington, but it always rubbed him the wrong way.

When Jerry didn’t respond immediately, the commodore continued, “Let me say this clearly. This is an important mission, and I’m worried that she hasn’t told us everything.”

He saw Jerry begin to react, and quickly added. “No, not in that sense. Of course Dr. Patterson isn’t deliberately sandbagging us, but what’s the background? Is there an agenda that we need to know about?”

Now Jerry looked confused, as well as a little irritated, and the commodore asked, “Do you think she could be looking for us to prove or disprove something? When you spoke with her, did she say ‘We’re looking for this,’ or ‘I need you to find out if this is true’?”

Jerry sighed. The commodore was asking an honest question, even if it implied an ugly truth. Still, Jerry resented being asked, and it was a question he never would have thought of.

“I understand, sir. No, I don’t believe so. She hasn’t shared anything special with me. I’ve known Dr. Patterson for a long time and she isn’t one to grind axes.” Not anymore, anyway, Jerry added to himself. He stated flatly, “In my opinion, sir, they’re looking to us for information, to help them understand what is going on. They don’t know enough yet to have an agenda—or shouldn’t, anyway.”

Simonis didn’t answer right away. Jerry realized that the commodore was now evaluating his credibility. In his mind, anything touched by Washington was suspect until proven otherwise.

* * *

Four days out from Guam, Jerry kept going over the conversation in his mind. He thought about Simonis’s worries, not about armed conflict between China and Vietnam, but about what his bosses wanted to hear. He was driven, at least in part, by fear, and Jerry resolved to remember that, both while he commanded North Dakota, and if he ever got a squadron. Fear replaced more useful motivations.

“Five minutes to launch, Skipper.” Lieutenant Kurt Franklin, the boat’s communications officer and current officer of the deck, had given him periodic updates, and Jerry acknowledged the report that began the launch sequence. Jerry wouldn’t say a word unless Franklin made some mistake. “Command by negation” was all about letting your officers practice their trade and become independent thinkers. It was ironic that one of Jerry’s most important duties as captain was to teach his people how to work without him being there.