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Friese had been celebrating his wife’s birthday all evening and was quite drunk.

  “Lizzen up, Luzzenum Cabana Orbo, you’re just not (hiccup) lookin’ hard enough.” Orzo tapped the phone and said, “I’m sorry sir, but we seem to have a bad connection. I’ll call you later.” He heard a loud snore just before he hit the end button. Orzo then called Admiral Gary Roughead, Chief of Naval Operations.

  “I tried to call Admiral Friese, sir, but we were unable to communicate.” (A very true statement, thought Orzo).

  “Did any nearby ships report an explosion?” Roughead asked.

  “Negative, sir. We’ve contacted all ships within 20 miles of the California, and no one saw or heard an explosion.”

  “Call the Coast Guard command in Charleston,” Roughead said to Orzo. “Give them the last known position of the California. Tell them to launch helicopters and begin a sea rescue operation immediately.”

  “Aye aye, sir” said Orzo.

  Admiral Roughead worked up the chain of command and called the Secretary of the Navy, who then called the called the Secretary of Defense, who placed a call to the White House.

  As the phone rang, Roughead wondered how the hell a cruiser could just disappear?

  The California had been missing for seven minutes.

  Chapter 2

  The nuclear guided missile cruiser USS California (CGN 36) had been taken out of mothballs and recommissioned as the Navy’s only nuclear powered surface ship except for aircraft carriers. The ship launched in 1971 and was commissioned in 1974.

  On the morning of April 10, 2013, under the command of Captain Ashley Patterson, the ship left its homeport in Norfolk, Virginia and steamed toward Charleston, South Carolina. The ship would anchor near Fort Sumter for a ceremony commemorating the first battle of the Civil War on April 12, 1861, the bombardment of Fort Sumter. Civil War reenactors from around the country would be on hand for the ceremonies. The California was scheduled to deploy to the Persian Gulf after the ceremony at Charleston.

  The ship has enough fire power to unleash Biblical hell on an enemy. Her armaments include: Harpoon anti-ship missiles; five inch, forty-five caliber Mark 45 guns; the Phalanx anti-ship missile defense system; an ASROC anti-submarine missile system; two Mark 13 guided missile launch systems; Mark 46 anti-submarine torpedoes, and 12 newly installed Tomahawk Cruise Missiles. She is also equipped with an Apache attack helicopter and two unmanned drone helicopters, both for surveillance and attack. The USS California was designed to instill fear in an enemy, and if fear didn’t work, to destroy it.

  Besides a platoon of 16 SEALs, there is also a platoon of 16 marines scheduled to disembark the California when they arrive in the Gulf. Counting the SEAL and Marine platoons, the ship has a complement of 630 crew members, including 31 officers.

  With its nuclear power plant, the USS California can stay at sea for years. The only tether to the world beyond the ship is its need for supplies. The USS California is a key in projecting American power in the world.

  On the morning of April 10, 2013, the California was on its own.

  Chapter 3

  Ashley Patterson was scared. Her years in the Navy exposed her to countless challenges, all of which she handled. She had graduated fifth in her class from the United States Naval Academy in 1999. At age 36, as Captain of the USS California, she is the youngest commanding officer in the fleet, and the first African American woman to command a nuclear combat ship. She's six feet tall and strikingly beautiful. During a CBS 60 Minutes segment on women in the military, Ashley was featured. Captain Patterson is a rising star in the Navy, and she’s on a lot of short lists to make admiral.

  But on the morning of April 10, Ashley didn’t feel like a rising star. She always had a concern, although she never let it show, that she was not up to the task, that she was in over her head, that her station in life had gotten ahead of her. Why couldn’t she be a math professor at a small college in the Midwest, her original career goal? There is a petulant little girl inside of her who wants to be coddled, who wants someone else to make decisions, who just wants to be left alone. She calls this little girl “Splashy,” a nickname given to her when she was eight years old by a little friend missing her front teeth, who found it impossible to pronounce Ashley.

  ***

  When the ship was 10 miles offshore, Captain Patterson ordered a change in course to head north along the coast and dropped the speed to a modest 10 knots. This was the nautical equivalent of taking a walk around the block to clear one’s head. Take it slow, sort things out.

  “Lieutenant Bellamy, take the con,” Captain Patterson said to the officer of the deck. “Steer the current course and maintain speed until further orders.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  She also told him to cancel the General Quarters status, thinking it unnecessary to add to everyone’s stress by keeping them at battle stations.

  She turned to Commander Philip Bradley, the Executive Officer.

  “Phil, gather all department heads in the wardroom right now, please. We’re going to look for answers.”

  Answers to what? she wondered. What, precisely, is the question? We’ve gone from reality to science fiction in a matter of minutes and I’m calling a goddam meeting. Get a grip girl. This is your ship, your responsibility, your problem.

  Chapter 4

  The wardroom, the place where the ship’s officers take their meals, is a modest-sized space at 22 by 28 feet. An industrial green carpet covers its deck, complementing the typical gray walls or bulkheads. On the bulkheads hang prints of famous naval battles of World War II. The dining table accommodates 18 people, which works because there are 31 officers on the ship, many of whom would be on watch at mealtimes. Two round tables at the far end can sit an additional 12 diners.

  The captain is seated at the far end of the table. Ashley Patterson runs a tight meeting. She asks questions, listens to the answers, and will not tolerate political sideswiping. Over the years she had attended enough gatherings run by pompous assholes to convince her that running an efficient meeting is a matter of personal pride. Every attendee has the confidence that he can speak without fear of having a foot shoved in his mouth.

  “It’s been 35 minutes since the Daylight Event, as people are starting to call it,” Ashley said. “I think it’s safe to say that everyone in this room is baffled.” Heads nodded. “We went from an uneventful cruise to an amazing event that we can’t explain. But it’s not our job to stand around with our mouths open and scratch our heads, although that may be our inclination.”

  The captain’s job, and theirs, is to handle the situation, make rational decisions and, well, do something. But what? What are they up against?

  “Phil please bring us up to date.”

  ***

  Commander Philip Bradley was a mystery to Ashley. He’d been her Executive Officer for just over eight months, but she never felt the bonding that occurs between a commanding officer and the second in command. There was something in his attitude that she couldn’t put her finger on. He’s smart, competent, and professional, but she wasn’t sure she can trust him, a feeling that she didn’t like.

  ***

  Bradley began his briefing. “At 0309 we experienced the Daylight Event. We went from a dark night to a bright day in an instant. We’ve lost all satellite navigation, Internet connection, cell phone reception, and all communication with air, sea and shore. Our two-way radios work but we get no response from the shore or other ships. We know that the USS Ticonderoga was steaming 20 miles from us, and I spoke to the OOD on her bridge a few minutes before the event. She hasn’t answered repeated attempts to raise her. We were also in communication with the Office of Naval Operations at 0230. We can’t raise them either. Since the Daylight Event we’ve received no communication from anyone, including the weather service. We’ve tried to raise the Port of Charleston, our destination, but we’re as cut off from them as we are from everyone else. All of our shipboard systems appear to be working. We
have radar, sonar, and communications with every space on the ship. Our inertial navigation system was before the Daylight Event, as we all know. There's a problem with the gyrocompass. One of our main jobs in Charleston was to meet with engineers from the manufacturer to get it up and running. As a result we've relied on GPS positions backed up by celestial fixes and positions from shore sightings. Because we lost satellite navigation we’ve relied on our paper charts and fixes by visual and radar. The problem is that none of the navigational aids, including buoys, are in the right place. The only visual object that conforms to the charts is the flagpole at Fort Sumter at the entrance to the harbor. There’s another problem. The depth readings are way off by as much as 40 feet. To summarize, we appear to be cut off from the world beyond the USS California.”

  Captain Patterson took over.

  “Thank you, Commander. Folks, it may sound like a hackneyed phrase but we need to think outside the box. We are outside the box, so we may as well think that way. I’ve considered just steaming into Charleston Harbor, but I don’t want to put the ship at risk with depth soundings we can’t count on. Also, I don’t like navigating among buoys that are out of place. If we slip outside the channel we’re aground. I won’t risk it. Any comments?”

  “What if we head north and return to port in Norfolk?” said Lieutenant Commander Nick Wartella, the engineering officer.

  “Remember, we can’t raise Norfolk either,” Ashley said. “Something’s very wrong, and I don’t think location makes much of a difference.”

  Ivan Campbell, the navigator, said, “Why don’t we send in the motor launch, tie up to shore and find out what’s going on?”

  “I’ve thought of that Ivan,” said the Captain, “but I have a concern, one that I can’t explain. Maybe one of you can explain it to me. We find ourselves in a very strange situation, and I believe we all agree.” Heads nodded. “Something tells me that stealth is in order. Again, I don’t know why, but it seems the safest choice.”

  Lt. Commander John White, the ship’s Communications Officer, spoke. “We have a detachment of SEALs aboard. They not only think outside the box, they trained outside the box. Weird situation management is in their blood. They’re not just tough, they’re smart, and they know a thing or two about stealth. They can hit the ground, recon the area and talk to people. Why don’t we send a SEAL group ashore this evening to see what the hell is going on and report back?” The face of every officer in the wardroom told Ashley Patterson that John White had just nailed the answer.

  “Phil, call Lt. Conroy and tell him to come here immediately.”

  Chapter 5

  Lt. Frank Conroy commanded a platoon of 16 SEALs, part of Seal Team 10, headquartered in Little Creek, Virginia. The platoon was assigned to the USS California as part of her deployment to the Middle East. They were scheduled to disembark from the California at a secret location in the Persian Gulf region.

  Navy SEALs are legendary as a unique fighting force. SEAL is an acronym for Sea, Air and Land. The training is the most demanding military preparedness in the world, consisting of six months of grueling physical and mental stress. During “hell week,” SEALs spend their time swimming in cold water, crawling through mud, climbing trees and tall obstacles, and jumping out of airplanes from impossible heights like 30,000 feet. All of this is accomplished with little sleep. About 50 percent of those who start SEAL training finish. There is no other way of saying it, SEALs are tough. They are not only professional class athletes, they’re also mentally disciplined and intelligent.

  The idea behind SEAL training is to cheat reality of its surprises. When a SEAL is lying in a pool of mud and cold water, having not eaten for 24 hours, with two hours sleep, surrounded by a superior enemy force, he has one thought: “Been here, done this.” Lt. Conroy was a typical SEAL. Six feet tall with a wiry build, Conroy was ready for anything an enemy may throw against him. After two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, Conroy was a hardened combat veteran.

  But nothing prepared Conroy for the Daylight Event, and in that regard he’s just like every other human being on the California. He’s frightened. His training prepared him for explosions, gunfire, bayonets, and all the other horrors of combat. His training did not prepare him for daylight at night.

  ***

  At 0600 Lt. Conroy entered the wardroom and sprang to attention.

  “At ease, Lieutenant,” the Captain said. She explained to Conroy what Bradley had told them at the briefing a few minutes earlier.

  “Bottom line, Lieutenant, we’re out here on a nuclear powered cruiser with the best that technology has to offer, and yet we’re cut off from the world. I’m sure you’ve noticed the lack of Internet and email.”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ve noticed. I didn’t get my 0315 briefing from headquarters in Little Creek, which I can usually set my watch to.”

  “Lieutenant, I’ve decided to send a SEAL squad ashore to assess what’s going on. The problem is, we don’t even have a theory or a hypothesis to give you. What we need is information, and your mission is that simple, to gather information. Recon and report.”

  “One of my people could be our best source of information,” Conroy said. “Petty Officer Smith told me that he was here in Charleston about five months ago visiting his cousin. Since he can’t call her, maybe he’ll just ring her doorbell.”

  “Who will be in charge of the mission?” Captain Patterson asked.

  “I’ll take the squad in myself, Captain.” The CO of a SEAL platoon seldom takes command of a specially tasked squad, but would send in a senior petty officer, just as the officer in charge of an Army platoon would assign the job to a sergeant. “I like to brief my people on what to expect, and, as you said ma’am, we have no idea what we'll run into. I’ll take a squad of eight, including me, just enough to fit in one of the Zodiac inflatable boats.”

  “Remember, Lieutenant, we’ve got no satellite or cell tower communication, so we’ll have to rely on two-way radios. I want radio silence if possible. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. We’ll break radio silence only for a good reason. What’s the range on your radios?”

  “We can get good reception up to 35 miles, Captain. If you could position the ship about 30 miles off the harbor entrance, that should be ideal. I’ll dictate everything we see into my recorder.

  “Do you want backup from the Marines?”

  “No ma’am. I’d have those guys covering my back anytime and anywhere, but this will be a recon mission. The fewer the better.”

  ***

  “The time now is 0730 hours,” Captain Patterson said. “Prepare to leave tonight at 2030, about 45 minutes after sundown. There’s a quarter moon so it should be very dark at that time. You’ll have six hours to snoop around. Be back at the ship by 0300 or earlier if you decide that you’ve accomplished the mission.”

  “Aye aye, Captain. 2030 hours we leave, 0300 we return.”

  Conroy called a meeting of SEAL Squad Alpha and briefed the men on their task. He called on Petty Officer Smith and told him that he had a key role in the recon mission because of his recent visit to Charleston. He told them to get some sleep because the mission would stretch into the wee hours.

  It would be a mission that none of them would ever forget.

  ***

  Ashley spent the day reviewing reports from all department heads. There wasn’t much else to do until the SEAL squad returned to give their report the next morning. She stepped out onto the portside weather deck off the bridge to get some fresh air. The day was sunny and clear, and the temperature was 62 degrees.

  From the deck below she heard shouting. She peered over the rail to see what was going on. A tall gangly kid was cornered by three other sailors. He was blond with a pallor to his skin, and his long skinny arms protruded far beyond the cuffs of his shirt. The bottom of his fatigues were a couple of inches above his ankles. He had a hard time finding uniforms that fit. He was being taunted mercilessly.

  “Hey, I’m talking to yo
u shithead. Say something,” shouted one of the bullies.

  “You’re so fucking ugly you make a fish look good,” said another.

  “Hey, dickless, open your mouth before I punch it in,” offered a third bully.

  Ashley grabbed Ensign Martin, the Junior Officer of the Deck by the arm. “It sounds like a fight is about to start on the deck below. Go break it up and get me the name of that tall skinny kid who’s being bullied.”

  “Aye aye, Captain,” said Martin. He went below and ended the incident. Martin returned to the bridge and said, “Captain, the kid’s name is Simon Planck, Seaman First Class. He’s assigned to the clerk’s office.” Martin also handed her the names of Planck’s assailants.

  Ashley called Lt. Cdr. Karen Sobel, the ship’s personnel officer.

  “Karen, please come to the bridge. I need to talk to you about something.” When Sobel appeared, Ashley told her what happened and asked if she knew Planck.

  “Yes, Captain. Planck is assigned to the clerk’s office and I see him often. He gets picked on a lot. I’ve stopped it a couple of times myself, but we can’t control what happens when he’s out of sight. It’s a shame because he’s a good kid, bright and efficient. He’s just homely and insecure, and that makes him...”

  “A bully magnet?” asked Ashley.

  “Yes, that’s a perfect way of putting it, Captain.”

  “Send him up to the bridge, Karen. Make up a story that he has to pick up a piece of paper from the Captain to deliver to you.”

  Sobel was happy that the Captain wanted to do something about this. She, like Ashley Patterson, detested bullying.

  Planck appeared on the bridge and saluted his Captain.

  “Good afternoon, sailor, how are you today?”

  Planck couldn’t believe that the Captain addressed him personally. Ashley always liked to get to the point and said, “I saw some sailors giving you a lot of shit recently. Do you have any thoughts on that?” Planck was shaken by the Captain’s bluntness.