Starcross

Chapter Three - Part lll

USS Florida SSGN 728

North Atlantic Sea

120 Feet Below the Surface

4 March 2020

      Most people couldn’t stand being in a submarine when it was docked, much less when she was submerged; but not Captain John Castle. When he went to Kings Bay Naval base with his family when he was a child they took a tour of a sub. He was afraid at being in such a tight space at first but when he sat in the Captain’s Chair he knew that this was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Since then he had gotten used to the enclosed spaces and cramped corridors of the glorified metal tube. And though no one taking the tours really cares, there were some great perks to serving on a sub, like the food was top notch since the cooks only had to prepare food for 120 sailors instead of 3,000 like on the carriers. One of the best perks he found was the ability to submerge, which was the whole point of course, but when his ship slipped underwater whatever happened on the surface was null and void. Just like the storm that raged up above, normally it would be tossing surface ships around and making sailors sick to their stomachs but the Florida just glided beneath the waves like the ghost she was designed to be.

      Castle sipped on his coffee, a fresh brew from the galley made just for the bridge staff and a dash of nutmeg added to his for that extra kick. He sat back in his padded chair, which he had the engineering department back at port custom make for him, and rubbed his eyes debating whether or not to turn the conn over to his Executive Officer Peter Beagle. Deciding against it with a soft shake of his head, he check the ships position on the miniature LCD panel next to his chair that displayed the area sea charts with a little blue arrow depicting the ships location.

      Making her own air, water, and power, the Florida could stay submerged for more than a decade if it wasn’t the need for food and the psychological aspect of being underwater. This included an internal navigation drive which factored in the ships starting location, speed, heading, and travel time to accurately display where they were; something incredible useful when one couldn’t connect with the satellites.

      It was time for the daily check in with the tasked satellite for secure Navy communications. He checked the time and crossed checked the location before speaking. “Helm, bring us up to twenty feet.” Though he knew, and often used, the metric system, he liked to switch it up every now and then to keep his sailors sharp.

      “Twenty feet, aye,” The helmsmen, who sat at large, three-dimensional steering wheels said as they acknowledged his orders.

      Gravity pressed him deeper into his seat, and made some of the standing men grab handrails, as the ship nosed up and rose to the surface. When the ship leveled out, Castle nodded to the communications officer who raised the ships thin, whip-like antenna that would intercept any signals meant for the Florida. Almost immediately a rapid fire clacking filled the bridge as the ships telex machine intercepted and then decrypted the latest information and possible change of orders. When the clacking was complete, Beagle tore the page off and brought it to the captain without reading it as was standard OpSec, operational security, procedure.

      Castle scanned the page expecting a simple update on the Druidth attack but when his eyes hit certain words he stopped and read the page, then re-read it again, this time his jaw dropped.

      “Sir?” The XO asked, bringing him out of his trance. “Orders?”

      Castel picked up the microphone. “Fire Control, Conn.”

      “Conn, Fire Control,” The weapons bay answered.

      “When was the latest diagnostic on the Tridents completed?” He asked? Do they really mean to do it? He asked himself; when he took over command, he didn’t ever expect to do this.

      “Uh… Latest check was competed one week after we set sail, sir. Sixteen birds are ready to fly.” Sixteen of the eighteen nuclear missiles that the Florida carried in her vertical tubes were ready to ruin someone’s day at the turn of a key; four of those were MIRV missiles, or Multiple Independently Targetable Re-entry Vehicle. The MIRV was like traditional warheads up until the point where it was meant to come back down, instead of staying in one piece and striking one target the warhead split into eight little nukes that were capable of striking targets up to one-hundred miles apart. Though they were less accurate than the traditional missiles, you didn’t really need pinpoint accuracy when it came to nukes.

      “Fire up the computer and stand-by. Conn out.” Captain John said then hung up the microphone and turned to face Beagle. “I know you’re wondering…” He started, then handed him the telex sheet.

      Beagle took the sheet and read it, his face as passive as always. “If this is for real, sir, then this mess is about to get a whole lot messier.”

      “Maybe not,” The Captain replied a little too loudly, mostly for the sake of the crewmen that were sure to be listening in, desperate to know what was happening and if it would affect their families. Beagle was unmarried and Castle’s wife was visiting his parents. Though most of the men were enlisted, some of the officers did have families in base housing. “Perhaps this will be the thing to make them learn just who we are and how we are not to be trifled with.”

      “I hope you’re right, Cap.” Ensign Jordan, the Helm Engineer spoke up, catching on to the Captains plan. “Course, if we need to, I believe we can put a Trident size foot up their ass pretty quick.”

      A chorus of bravado and courage rippled through the quiet bridge. “Right. XO, take us down.”