Near-Life Experienced: Near-Life Experienced

Copyright © 2023 by Michael Ignatius

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REV. DATE: 03/24/2023

NEAR-LIFE

EXPERIENCED

A Novel

Michael Ignatius

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Certain long-standing institutions, agencies, and public offices are mentioned, but the characters involved are wholly imaginary.

To my oldest and wise son Matthew.

A true United States Marine Corps hero to me and so many others,

as well as a literary genius in composing his own life’s work.

near-life

[neer-lahyf]

noun

A life that doesn’t feel fully lived; a life that we are not completely engaged in and present with; a life that leaves us feeling that something is missing, despite how relentlessly busy we are: A near-life experience has unfortunately become the default for many of us living in the modern, industrialized world.

experienced

[ ik-speer-ee-uhnst ]

adjective

wise or skillful in a particular field through experience: an experienced teacher.

having learned through experience; taught byexperience: experienced through adversity.

endured; undergone; suffered through: experienced misfortunes.

Prologue

Pre-Flash

The sound of the vital signs monitor was almost annoying despite its job to detect the signals of life through the electronic transmission from the body to which it was attached. The Henry Shein Eden M3 blared on, with its loud, rapidly constant, shrieking, high pitched beeee…

Flatline.

Dr. Lauren Colangelo commanded the ER triage team of five medical specialists to stand back. Twice already she had expertly secured the plates to the patient’s chest. Mickey Rybak had already experienced the two previous jolts from the medical device but to no avail. His heart rate was still registering a convincing already gone signal. This would be her last attempt. According to her Hippocratic oath, she had to do it, even though she was certain her patient was dead and this would only add to the burnt flesh she had already inflicted on his body by the typically lifesaving device’s untold side effect. Her heart told her as much, yet her soul was not at all convinced.

Prep one-hundred migs of adrenaline stat! Elapsed time? Colangelo barked, as she inquired how much time had passed since the onset of the flatline began.

Six minutes and forty-nine seconds, the anesthesiologist returned while staring at the Eden M3’s screen, oblivious to the irritating sound it spewed forth. It was enough time to have brain cells die. At the ten-minute mark, the waves would cease completely. Mickey Rybak was in that zone between clinically dead or alive.

This would be the third and final syringe to enter his heart with adrenaline to jump-start it again. After three injections of adrenaline, if no pulse returned, then the time of death was to be recorded from the prior injection. All part of the standard operating procedure.

After Dr. Colangelo stabbed Mickey’s chest for the last time, she then seamlessly moved to the electronically charged cups to apply the next automatic external defibrillator (AED) bolt of electricity to his chest while rubbing their surfaces together.

Clear!

The familiar command compelled the staff to get at least a foot away from the patient and not touch his bed’s frame.

Stretching her arms out as far as they could reach over Mickey’s chest, due to her short stature, she then pressed the handle trigger and applied the electric surge. The powerful pulse caused Mickey’s upper torso to raise his chest to the point of practically breaking his back. The third AED pulse delivered again the three-thousand-volt charge in less than a thousandth of a second. That’s with enough electricity to light a hundred-watt bulb for twenty-three seconds. She then immediately stared at the M3’s signal.

Suddenly, a steady, low, and slow beeping returned. Amid the chaotic procedure, the calmness of the machine’s voice seemed to well up tranquility, like an echo call hello across a vast mountain range.

He’s back!

Dr. Colangelo’s jubilant voice broke the momentary silence and would have awakened even the most agnostic staff member in the ER. Life was real. Near life was far more complicated.

He is alive! Numerous voices proclaimed.

Mickey Rybak may have been comatose, but he was still alive. Thanks to Dr. Colangelo and her team, he lived to see another day. It was his birthday this very day, after all.

Born again.

Mickey Rybak’s mind had gone from a cognitive dream-like state while being wheeled through the doors of the ER. Then everything went pitch black. Nothing. No sight, no thought, no sound. And then the bolt of light came just as the monitor flatlined.

___________________________FLASH! _________________________

Chapter 1

Vision

As the flatline signal remained on the Eden M3’s screen, Mickey had a vision of himself. He was suddenly above everything and viewing what was happening. He could see himself on the emergency cart. He could see Doctor Colangelo attempting to revive him. Then, he saw a bright light that started as a dot in the center of his field of vision. It grew larger until it filled his entire view. Bright white. Nothing but bright white light.

Suddenly, he heard a voice inside his mind. He tried to speak and asked, What is that?

It started speaking to him.

The voice said, You have lived a miraculous life. You have had so many experiences that most people will never have. There were so many close calls, yet you managed to survive them all. Throughout your entire life. You have also been committed to a cause. Your philosophy of serving—in the order of God, family, country and yourself last is commendable. Yet it has not always been practiced in that order. There are so many unresolved issues. You have put country first many times. Has it not been putting yourself first? You have also lived the order in reverse. Now, you have to decide. What you decide, will determine where and how your life goes from here. Will it go on in the world as before? Or do you choose to leave that life and enter into immortality? Do you want to resolve all those things left unresolved? If you do, there is no guarantee you will ever be given this choice again. The outcome is still to be a mystery until you decide. Then and only then it will become clear to you.

Mickey asked aloud, as his voice seemed to echo, How? How can I be sure of making the right choice? The appeal to somehow go into the light was growing stronger. Stronger than anything he had felt before. It pulled at his heart as he felt a warmness inside start to fill him and surround him.

He heard a voice again. This time, it was a pleasant woman’s voice. You want assurances, that cannot be given to you. You will only know what lies ahead when you finally decide what to do. You can go back and finish what you started, or you can leave now and start into a new life, one that is eternal. That life is a result of how you have already lived. But you can’t know beforehand what that life will be. It is just simply a choice you must make for yourself without any foreknowledge.

Mickey tried to speak, but no words would come. The thought of what was offered brought an immense feeling of peace and love. His whole body felt a tingle, like the excitement he felt while riding a rollercoaster.

Next, he had brief visions of his mother and father who had both died long ago, along with a childhood friend, who died shortly after graduating high school, even further back in time. Mom was there. Dad was there. Linda was there. They all simply smiled at him. They all looked just as they were when he last saw them. His mother was elderly. His father distinguished and spry in his early fifties. And Linda looking just as she did senior year of high school before the asthma killed her.

He didn’t see Chrissy, his wife. She too had died like the other three. Was she there? Wait! A strong feeling of realization overcame him. The voice! The voice he was hearing. It was hers!

The voice, now clearly sounding so sharply like Chrissy’s, continued. You’re at the brink now, Mickey. If you continue, there will be no going back. This is the point of no return for you.

The appeal to give in to her words was overwhelming.

"You are being given a great gift. You will now get to see different scenes of your life flash before you. This is all to help you decide whether to continue along this new path you are being offered, or to go back. There is no rhyme or reason for the visions you will experience again. They all just simply occurred at some time during your life. But if you pay close attention, you may notice a theme or a reason for you to have this chance to decide once and for all. To come, follow now, or to go back. It is your life review. As you know, some famous researchers have called it that.

Notice the intention you have toward others in the scenes. This is important and will help you decide. You can end up judging yourself based on your worth as a human being. Much of this enhanced awareness will come to you, as you now can review your life events through the prism of the other’s objective perspective. This is something to notice as you are shown these scenes in your life. Some of them you have been unable to remember or may have taken for granted for several reasons, until now. Especially the events of your younger years.

Suddenly the voice changed. It once again was that of a man. It sounded like Mickey’s younger brother Peter speaking. After a recent heart attack, he too had died. He was a year and a half younger than Mickey.

You will also be able to see what is occurring in the present, by looking down on what is happening to you right now, with startling accuracy. This is to give you a clear view for your choice and provide the option of returning to how you were before. But you will soon reach a barrier—the end of the line, where you must decide, which path to take. You are given two choices. The one you choose will determine your place in eternity. It is your decision. It always has been. Now you will see.

___________________________ FLASH! _________________________

Chapter 2

Comm COB

Alright, People! I need some accurate response data yesterday!

It was Vice Admiral David E. Hedberg, barking yet another order in the all too familiar of Naval colloquialisms to his crew of computer experts sitting like stoic robots, in front of their terminals.

I have a good tone on the main target bogy! A complete intercept according to my model. Sir!

It was Rybak again.

Well, at least HE moved! What do you have Ensign Rybak? Hedberg queried.

It is only a seventy-five percent confirm, sir. I haven’t been able to key in the last if-then-else statement yet.

Yeah, whatever the hell THAT means! Hedberg thought was genuine. There’s no more time to wait. We’re goin’ with it! Get me the Charlie, Echo, Oscar on the Lucia, now!

Aye, aye sir! The unknown connecting chief at Comm COB responded in his usual deadpan toned acknowledgment.

Within three seconds, the CO on the Lucia, Captain Chuck Willard, a United States Navy Viet Nam veteran, was openly and securely communicating from his sub, deeply emerged in the Sino-Asian Sea, with Admiral Hedberg at his safe command post back at Comm COB. (Meaning Communication Central Operations located in Boston, Massachusetts.)

Hedberg and Willard both thought the comm abbreviations were a bit of a joke. All the officers in the command centers had known and could easily recognize each other’s voices for years. The location of the newest and most intrinsically state-of-the-art support center, located in Boston (MIT’s hometown), was why the B annotation was added to the standard, well known Comm CO prefix, a familiar reference to anyone who had a reason to know such typical Naval acronyms (Command of the Commanding Officer).

Immediately, the chief petty officer aboard the Lucia connected and confirmed the contact with Vice Admiral Hedberg, directly. Willard, Lucia’s skipper, had accumulated enough battle equity to gain the chief executive officer spot on one of the newest Trident II carrying pre-Ohio class nuclear subs in the American fleet. The Lucia was strategically positioned unofficially, and officially unknowingly in the dead center of the East China Sea. She was submerged at a depth of eighty-three fathoms (roughly five-hundred feet), just three hundred nautical clicks off of the coast of Japan, in that ostensibly ignored aqua region in 1978. It was still one that was a coveted and the perfect spy outpost, deep in the no man’s sea-land between the Jap islands and post-war Viet Nam.

The now supposedly open sea region, after Nam, was also unofficially known among the other Navy intel specialists as the Free Sino Alley, (the FSA as it was commonly called in official briefing documents at the Central Intelligence Agency) or more colloquially, among the officers who were charged with actually monitoring the action across the surface and the far more deadly assets that lurked below, as the Sushi Shipping Sea, or SSS for short. It was their twisted reason for the more realistic reference to the sea region, as it became aptly known simply as the Snake Waters. Based on the obvious hissing sound of the three S abbreviation.

The three S hissing sound reference was probably, and far more realistically, the most accurate nickname for the turbulent ocean of the Sino-Asian seaway because it was, indeed, infested with an assortment of the world’s most powerful, and equally as dangerous, undersea mutually destructive killer-type occupants. It was the world’s most venomous waters. It held an assortment of submarines that were stationed below. They were all cautiously swimming and choosing who would be the greatest survivor in the reality of the supposed war games that they were engaged in. Each had the choice of whether or not to swim below the deep surface wall, the internationally accepted no-kill zone that started just below the five-hundred-foot depth, or to emerge above it and engage. While undersea, to kill an adversary and escape without notice would be a great bonanza. The reward was the priceless intelligence feedback to the operations that backed them, along with an undetected kill of an enemy asset. It was also an impossible choice because it truly was one of life or death to the inhabiting crews.

So while the entangled enemies had their complete assortment of battle vessels sailing above, carriers, battleships, cruisers, and the lot, all playing the usual avoidance strategies, their undersea counterparts, the new submarines fully-fitted with nukes and all the other more conventional subs were tangoed below in a far more serious, and far more lethal dance of war games.

Games?

They went completely unnoticed because their entanglements were being jousted below the surface to escape the attention of the world. But it wasn’t below the pulse of the sonar of the submarines. The reality in the post-Viet Nam war world deemed it an international power play to be necessarily set in motion. Each nation in the game was positioning itself, seeking to gain status in the continuing escalation of the Cold War—a war that was being waged directly among enemy combatants without any official recognition of their actions.

At first, it was just a way to hone in and advance covert skills. Thereby a country could assess its forces concerning other friendly forces. The undersea drama had somehow escaped the collective press’s coverage from every nation that had a key player involved. From the perspective of what went on in the waters above the surface, it was quite different and a far more uninteresting and especially a far less incriminating story than what was developing below. Just the usual check and balance violations into an enemy’s space followed by, Sorry! Just a test! The all too typical response. It was routinely followed by the supposed surface operations making adjustments to avoid a future mistake. What lurked below the surface was another story entirely.

Only three U.S. Navy ships were cruising the surface in the region as usual and were being openly detected by known un-friendlies. Then again, according to the template, the world press would easily take the bait as they usually did. The usual paraphrase among the IT Naval Intelligence specialists responsible for manufacturing the encounters was to engage them HLC (hook, line, and sinker). See the top? Focus on that. Pay no attention to what is happening below. Nothing to see here folks!

It was the same lure that made the press and the world believe there was a peaceful alternative that was manifesting itself after the Viet Nam conflict. Of course, it was a far cry from what was happening. A covert and very brutal war was being waged under the cloak of a now seemingly peaceful ocean surface. It was escalating to the point of mutually assured nuclear destruction, far ahead of when the term became a popular reference during the future Reagan administration.

The U.S. press especially, claiming to be the world’s eyes and ears, were all clueless to the ravages taking place in the Sino Sea between the adversarial snakes slithering below the surface. For the time being, the world press had all their collective eyes focused only on what was happening above the water’s crest. That suited Admiral Hedberg and Captain Willard and the rest of the U.S. Navy command, juxtaposing their attack positions, just fine. A rare opportunity to kick some Soviet ass without the consequences of knowing what was about to happen to them was worth the risk of being exposed to the clueless world press.

The snaking subs came from every Cold War adversary imaginable, and all of them were enabled with their own individually designed deadly fangs; albeit in the form of torpedoes, or nuclear missiles, or sonar decrypting technology pingers, and the newly developed Sea Hunter DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) sub hunter drones. They each had their particular edge. But, of course, America was the pole-height setter. So, the rules of engagement were never realistically subtle but instead vital to survival. All sides agreed it was a worthy challenge.

The stark veracity of what was happening underwater was truly remarkable from both an overall strategic and singular tactical battle engagement perspective. The intelligence chiefs, especially the CIA and the KGB, shared a strange type of adversarial alliance. Neither would acknowledge the actual engagements taking place. Yet the two leading Cold War rivals welcomed the real-time opportunity to test their battle-ready capabilities. Here, in these supposedly now calm and post-war-torn waters, was the perfect place to test their supposedly superior and well-equipped troops—to the death if necessary.

They were all in the game. The Americans, the Soviets, the Chinese, the Israelis, the English, even the Australians had a new player. Many naval battles were engaging below the visible plane of the world’s grid. It was a playground of military testing. Only the intel operation centers of the willing combatant countries knew what was happening. And they preferred to keep it that way. Oddly enough, whenever a kill was made, no nation ratted out the killer. So, the silence was kept. Each of them knew the only real way to test their newest conceived and implemented technological advantage, was in an actual battle situation. So, the silent war games continued.

Intelligence Analyst Ensign Mickey Rybak was a key man at a key time for the Navy. He had the task of programming Lucia, the highest roller of all the players. His safe post back at Comm COB was in stark contrast to Lucia’s crew. Trouble was, he also realized it, as his talents were always self-recognized as blessings. He constantly wondered about the implications that fate had provided for him.

Talents were meant for doing good things, right? Perhaps he thought about it too much.

The Lucia, being America’s newest and best nuclear class underwater warrior, was the Asp, the prima donna of all the snakes as she swam among her adversaries while looking for her next lethal target. She already had a worldwide reputation as being the deadliest of all underwater serpents since the time of her launch. Now she had just detected a cobra, the second most deadly of the similar sub serpents. Of course, everyone knew the cobras were all Soviet Russian in design and most likely boarded with a highly respected, and unforgiving, ruthlessly boar-headed, Soviet Navy crew.

The cobra was located three miles off her starboard bow, as detected by the Lucia, and was perhaps the most formidable sub in the Soviet Navy. The Russian sub was instantly regarded to be a must-have skill level, kill. It was a formidable attempt for Lucia’s relatively new onboard staff. The word resonated with them. Their orders were to knock out anything at level one or two. The president himself told the crew just two weeks prior privately at a pre-launch dinner, Knock ‘em out! If necessary, sink the bastards! It was a remarkable Thanksgiving meal.

The newly acquired target was officially named the Soviet nuclear sub Chertoff, and it was the second newest addition to the USSR’s growing number of submerged nuclear hell-raisers. Based on the sonar ping, intercepted by Rybak back at Comm COB, The Chert, as she was called, admitted her true unique identity without any doubt. Rybak was able to use the welcomed and very unfortunately exposed info (for the Chert that is). He was able to process it on the DEC 3000 mainframe computer available for his and the other comp-techs usage. It was very skillfully retrieved and computed by Rybak, as he employed programming techniques that he had recently learned in his current systems analysis class at Boston College. His other Navy compatriots who were at other schools had not received such breaking knowledge in programming. Even though it was only old-school analog data retrieved from the intercept, he was able to use it, translate it to digital using the conversion program he had written earlier, and confirm the Soviet sub’s exact location relative to the Lucia with pinpoint accuracy.

After quickly converting the analog data into the numerical representation necessary to construct the proper attack model on the computer, he ran it. It took only fifty-five seconds. Perhaps it would have been even faster if he knew how to type! Naval Intelligence had reached a new level of fast. It was becoming more reliant on technologically driven reactivity. Rybak was one of the new normal premier maestros, even though he lacked the apparent, and necessary, keyboard typing skills to make it so. He continued to hunt and peck across the keypad as quickly as he could. All the while, the desire to impress his CO and beat the others with the demanded response readings was his true motivation.

Sir? came the call back from the seasoned skipper, Captain Willard of the Lucia.

The American sub itself had a recently commissioned, and very green high-tech crew. It was in the hope of utilizing the most advanced technological tools onboard. It made her a killer punch of an asset but one lacking battle experience. She was added to the Navy’s seventh fleet just two short years earlier. Her inauguration was confirmed and admitted into the Navy’s active fighting team, after being blessed by Betty Ford’s christening touch with a high-priced bottle of Krug Grande, smashing the sub’s forward hull at Electric Boat in Groton, Connecticut. The light and celebratory event seemed like an eternity ago to Willard who was now notably nervous of his new sub being detected, judging by the beads of rolling sweat now continuously draining off his forehead.

Betty Ford concluded the traditional smash with the words, God Bless the Lucia! And may God bless the United States of America! The First Lady’s exact words.

In that same moment, Mickey also recalled the christening of the Lucia, having been there to witness the event during summer break. God Bless? God Bless a machine designed to kill on a nuclear level of destruction?

Rybak’s Catholicism had a problem with the customary Naval logic of her name, especially due to his connection to Fátima, and the name, Lucia, being the same as the last living visionary who warned the world to turn against war and embrace the need for peace among all nations. She also now infamously shared the same name of the most destructive submersible weapon in the Navy’s arsenal. The future would continue the disturbing trend, the most notable being the Corpus Christi (which means: Body of Christ). Also, at that same moment, her keel was about to be laid down in Groton and would eventually be commissioned in 1981. Catholic sacramentals were being used for U.S. Navy submarine names. Did they name it after Lucia? The world was truly upside down! Rybak thought.

It was now ultimately up to Willard, as the skipper of the Lucia, to decide whether or not to take action. He had the command, and with it, the mortal ability to respond to the real intention of the current Soviet submersible threat. The enemy sub had easily allowed herself to be traced on Lucia’s sensors and had been confirmed as a level one threat. Now he had the Chertoff in his gun sights.

That was thanks to Rybak back at Comm COB. Periscopes had become a dying technology. Heat sensor and raid-scan technology feedback were far more accurate than trying to see the enemy through a scope or confirm through sonar pings. Willard needed a more robust computer analysis to scrutinize the data taken by the newly implemented technical readings on Lucia, especially given her an unseasoned staff. The captain also knew he had another extension to his onboard crew, a team of geeks back at Comm COB, who were pouring over the very same real-time data to assist and confirm his observation.

Chuck according to our best cumulative intel, you’ve got a point-blank bingo scenario coming your way, ready the torpedoes. This is not, I repeat, NOT a drill! Hedberg made it more than obviously clear he was indeed ultimately in charge from command, more than six thousand nautical miles away.

Roger. Got that!

Captain Willard, both during and after the Viet Nam conflict, quickly advanced in rank due to his amazingly nuanced abilities in submerged warfare tactics against the Cong and the Chinese. He had commanded several submarine crews and each of them respected his call in a battle situation. Now the crew of the Lucia was facing one and they too depended on their skipper to pull them through. He matter-of-factly leveled out the orders to get his team ready to initiate the kill.

Ready four torps NOW! Ready to fire one through four, on my mark!

The cascaded responses of: Aye! Sir! both alerted him and at the same time reassured him that all he had to do now, was to give the fire order, and the Soviet sub, a mere three and a quarter nautical-miles away would soon be at the bottom of the sea. It was still sitting there, positioned lengthwise and thankfully, still for the moment, three and a half degrees off Lucia’s starboard bow.

Another direct hit just waiting to happen!

He did have great confidence in his firing team. They too were all seasoned combatants except for the two newest sonar geeks. To Willard, it was old school or no school. Before initiating an action that seemed like an instantaneous instinct to Captain Chuck, there was now always a need to pause and take another step. As Willard often expressed it, while chomping down on his characteristically unlit Cuban cigar, Ready that! Time for the ‘check with Comm COB first’ bullshit again! Nevertheless, it was becoming elementary to the mainstay of his war-seasoned sailors and the few Marine grunts who always seemed to be around. The bulk of his main fighting crew were all veterans of Viet Nam and had repeated this dutiful task enough times that they had forgotten how many bad guy boats were at the bottom of the sea due to their mastered and expertly executed deadly strikes. Their loyalty to their captain was never an issue. Despite the obvious changes to the new functional procedure.

The only question for Willard was, as he blurted out under his breath, Does Hedberg’s damned computer geeks, back at control, know what the hell they are doing?

All current Navy battle engagement situations now needed to constantly check back with Comm… whatever… It was a required procedural step, added to the new normal, as issued by the Joint Chiefs. For the most part, it was still highly despised among the troops (as all changes customarily were). Yet another bureaucratic operational step to get in the way according to Willard’s and so many other Navy boat skippers’ way of thinking.

Back at Comm COB, Hedberg beckoned his own (and admittedly favorite) lead analyst again, Ensign Rybak, damn it! Do you have that final reading yet? I needed it a minute ago!

Yes, sir! Three more seconds, sir. A pause, and then, I’ve got it! Mark it at thirty-two degrees whiskey, fourteen degrees sierra. According to my calc, Shit! It’s a fuckin’ direct hit, sir! I mean, a direct hit, sir! Sorry, sir.

In that split second, Mickey Rybak realized his enthusiasm advanced beyond his sworn duty to observe the U.S. Navy code of conduct. (Swearing was not part of the code.)

He’s such a damned Boy Scout! Hedberg thought. Disregarding that last comment! I didn’t copy it. My headphone seemed to temporarily malfunction. But I did get the coordinates.

Mickey thought to himself, Hedberg is one slick CO!

To Mickey, the Vice-Admiral was so much like his own father it was frightening. He loved his Dad. Everyone called him Hank. He was very tough-minded and straight, but a consummate compassionate, strong man. Always willing to communicate on multiple levels especially with his first-born son, Mickey. Even though he was his boy, he spoke to Mickey as any best friend would. Hank was a man’s man. To say Mickey respected him was an understatement.

But now, the newfound father-son realization between Hedberg and Ensign Mickey Rybak was mutual. The Vice-Admiral admired Rybak more than the other smart-assed NROTC pukes. For one, he was truly a stand-up guy, and also an amazingly talented programmer. Sure, he would be very useful to the Navy’s ongoing battles in the brave new world of covert warfare. That was a given beyond a doubt. But perhaps, he could end up being a key instrumental force to be reckoned with in the country’s political battlefront as well? It was a vision of Mickey’s future that not even he, Mickey himself, dared to realize or imagine. Hedberg had a self-driven passion for opening up roads of opportunity to the people he liked and Mickey happened to be one of his chosen few.

Copy that mark, Ensign Rybak. Lucia, ready for initial fire contact at thirty-two whiskey, fourteen sierra. Being live on the intercom, he simultaneously confirmed the strike coordinates back to Willard on the Lucia.

Roger command, readying the firestorm on your mark. Willard echoed the expected return.

Ensign Rybak, do you have any other suggestions? Son? Hedberg was checking for one last time before giving the ultimate kill order.

Son?

Negative, sir. It’s a direct hit according to all my models. You might want to spray the two following lags another seven degrees in both directions to compensate for a possible sonar reading from the bad guys. If they hear us coming, they will be desperately trying to correct course to ‘right full rudder’ and avoid our trace on them.

Hedberg realized firing the third and fourth torpedoes was a complete waste of the taxpayer’s money in addition to Rybak’s predictably rookie status, but he decided to boost Rybak’s self-esteem by letting them fly anyway. Though he wouldn’t do it in the range of Mickey’s advice, a typically schoolboy-geek mark.

The torps had to at least hit something! Hedberg thought.

Roger, that Ensign Rybak. Lucia! Load three and four and spray five degrees in each wingspan to cover on a possible bogey reespo. Over.

Hedberg adapted his firing adjustment by two degrees less than Rybak’s, hoping there would still be something left of the Soviet sub to hit. There wouldn’t be. He already knew that.

Rybak noticed his chief exec’s adjustment on three and four, and waited for the same response that everyone at Comm COB was keyed into, and intently listening to hear.

We hear you, sir! Ready. Awaiting your command to trigger. Over.

Rybak?

Fire! Fire right . . . NOW! Sir! Rybak was completely bombastic in relaying the order.

Lucia, Fire! Hedberg gave the final kill order.

Lucia is firing! Control! Go one! Go two! Adjust number three five degrees Whiskey. Fire three! Readjust mark four, five degrees Echo and fire four!

From the unknown chief petty officer on the Lucia, came the all too anticipated and welcome reply, All four are away. Sir!

Then came the wait.

For twenty seconds, which seemed much longer, there was nothing but the quiet, and