Starcross

Chapter Four - Part lll

USS Florida SSGN 728

North Atlantic Sea

Beneath the grey surface of the Atlantic

5 March 2020

 

            Castle hadn’t slept since he received the orders to prepare the missiles earlier the day before, even though he promised himself he would so that he would be somewhat fresh for if, or when, the moment came. Instead he sat in his padded chair on the bridge, ready to slide down the ladder to the CIC at a moment’s notice and sipping on hot chocolate, he decided that he had had enough caffeine in his system to last him a week. Beagle, on the other hand, had retired to his quarters a few hours earlier when he realized that the Captain wouldn’t. In fact, most of the bridge crew was sent to get some sleep so the normally crowded room that was encircled with specialized electronics was unusually empty.

            Earlier, before the Florida sank back beneath the waves, Castle had sent a few emails to some of his friends on other ships. Naturally he refrained from sending anything about the order to prepare to launch the nukes, but he still tried checking in with the Pentagon to see if Kings Bay, Florida’s home port was still standing, however the Navy refrained from telling him.

            “Sir,” Ensign Jordan looked up from his consol. “Should we change course soon? I’m only asking because you sent the navigator to bed and if we keep going the way we’re going I believe we’ll crash into Newfoundland soon…”

            Castle, now pulled from his dark thoughts, smiled and checked the charts. “Yes, Ensign. Bring us about to zero-two-eight.” That course would take the back out into the open ocean.

            “Zero-two-eight, Aye.” The Helm responded. The submarine tilted to the right as the rudders on the back of the ship turned, changing the water current and pushing the back end to the left. Submarines often acted more like an airplanes than an actual vessels of the sea; they dived and climbed to change depth and tilted left and right to change direction the same way an aircraft would.

Castle rubbed his eyes again and checked his watch, and then cross checked it against the ships chronometer which synched to the Navy’s master computer to make sure it was accurate. “And while you’re at it bring us up to periscope depth.”

“Periscope depth, Aye,” The Helmsman reported. The ship leveled out on the horizontal plane on the Conning Tower tilted backwards as the nose rose. Within a few moments, and a few groans from the ship as pressure was taken off the frame, the needle on the analog bathometer, which told the Captain how deep they were, indicated that they were only a few feet, less than a meter really, from the surface. Castle walked over to the periscope and turned the electronic knob that raised the hydraulic piston. During times of war he wouldn’t dare raise the metal tube all the way on the off chance that an enemy warship was in the area and saw this mysterious metal tube rise from the depths, or a passing aircraft might see the feathery wake left behind and the tube as the ship moved through the water. But right now, as far as he knew, they weren’t at war so he raised the mast all the way and peered out the viewfinder; besides, he didn’t feel like crouching so low in order to look out.