Leviathan. Joaquin De Torres

see that her crewmembers were visibly anxious, staring rigidly at their instruments or at the IMAX screen. The image on the screen showed the digitally-detailed rendering of the Texas from an aerial and side view, moving closer in behind the computer-generated oblong shape labeled “Unidentified.” Also rendered was the topography of the area they were in, such as undersea ridges, mountains and canyons.

      “Three hundred meters, Captain.”

      “Roger that. Open the window, Roy.”

      “Roger. IMAX transfer to outer view.” As if someone had turned off the interior lights and drew open the curtains, the IMAX screen’s view transformed from digital images to live. Like standing behind the glass of a SeaWorld aquarium, the view of the ocean came alive. Using the outer underwater cameras embedded into certain parts of the hull, the IMAX program was a new edition to the submarine fleet.

      Created by the nation’s famed WEPS design laboratories, it allowed commanders to see and supervise undersea rescue operations, cable laying, topography surveying, mine placement and defusing, and under-hull repair of other ships without sending out divers. But in this instance, it would be used for visual ship identification.

      When the IMAX cameras turned on, the scene was grey and dark. Foam and bursting water bubbles filled the screen.

      “We’re in her baffles.”

      “Two hundred and fifty meters.”

      “Thank you, Miss Evans. Decrease speed back to 18 knots.”

      “Aye, Captain. Reducing speed to 18 knots.”

      “Let’s get out of this bubble bath. Come right 15 degrees. Angle out.”

      “Come right 15 degrees. Angle out.”

      With Frost’s every order, repeated by the XO, the action or maneuver was executed by the navigation, propulsion and sonar watch officers and technicians.

      Whether on the bridge itself, or from the engine and maneuvering rooms back aft, the sailors of the Texas moved the sub exactly as Frost commanded. She had trained them brilliantly and they took pride in her trust. It didn’t matter where the answers or results came from, Frost trusted the people who stated them, and acted on their instincts as if they were her own.

      “Two hundred meters, Captain. One hundred and eighty and slowing. One hundred and fifty meters and steady.”

      “Distance to the object?”

      “We’re 70 meters abeam of her.”

      “Roy, bring the camera view left. It’s still pretty murky. Can any of you see anything?” The bridge crew of 15, split between officers and enlisteds shook their heads. “Turn on the exterior search light from the mast.”

      “Search light on, Captain.” With the powerful light beaming into the depths, they penetrated the dark waters for about 70 meters. A few fish, and a swarm of krill swam in and out of the glow of the light. Other than that, there was only blackness, bubbles and the silhouette of the forward part of the sub.

      “Swing the light on her, Roy. Let’s see this thing.” Lesher used the console-imbedded mouse ball and turned the mast light to the left.

      “Oh my God!” a startled voice exhaled. Other whispers were clearly audible in low, nervous tones.

      “Look at the size of that thing!”

      “It’s gotta be nearly two times the size of the our boat!”

      “The shape!” voiced Lieutenant Bingham, the weapons officer. “Look at those sharp edges and fins. Look at those angled slats, like something extends out of them.”

      “Is it Chinese? North Korean? Russian?”

      “More like Romulan!” Lesher mused.

      “Let’s calm down everybody,” Frost soothed. “This is obviously an experimental design of some sort. Look for any written or imprinted identification.”

      “Captain, sonar imagery has this thing close to 100 feet longer than the Texas, and about 30 feet wider,” Evans stated in near disbelief.

      “It looks like it’s got armored plating,” breathed Lieutenant Christiansen, the communications officer. “Yes! Layered, armored plating.”

      Lesher moved to Frost’s side and away from listening range of the others.

      “What do you think, Sandra Lynn?” he whispered.

      “I don’t know what to think. But something tells me we should get the hell out of here and report this.”

      “I agree completely.”

      “But we need to take pictures first and get them to the analysts at Pearl. This could be a prototype of some kind. Prepare the photonics mast for rapid shoot. We won’t have the luxury of time.” Lesher nodded and left to attend the console that controlled the masts of the sail.

      “Okay, Captain. We’ll start at her props then work our way forward. Commencing photo run now.” The mast camera took the first photo with a brilliant flash that lit up the churning propeller area. Suddenly, as if stung by a bee, the vessel swung its massive hull to the right.

      “SHE’S COMING RIGHT!” yelled Evans. “SHE’S GONNA HIT US, CAPTAIN!”

      “Hard to starboard, Mr. Price,” ordered Frost coolly. “Emergency dive, 40 degrees down angle. Execute.”

      “Emergency dive, 40 degrees down angle! Executing!” repeated Price as he shoved the bow planes wheel forward.

      “Sound collision alarm, XO.” Lesher hit the button.

      The bridge pitched down sharply. Everyone braced against their consoles as the sub dove, narrowly escaping the hulking mass swinging over them like a giant crane.

      “Great move, Captain!”

      “Secure collision alarm. What’s our depth?” The clanging alarm ceased.

      “Approaching 2,000 feet,” answered Lesher. “Getting close to test depth.”

      “You’re right, Roy. Level out at 2,000 and reassess our position.”

      “Leveling out, Captain. Two thousand feet depth,” reported Lesher who was standing over Price.

      “Miss Evans, where is that monster?”

      “It’s. . .it’s. . .” Evans’ mouth hung open in disbelief, unable to answer. Lesher saw her momentary paralysis and moved quickly to her and looked at her monitor.

      “It’s in front of us, Captain. Thirty degrees starboard at 1,300 meters.” He turned to Frost. “It’s coming right at us!”

      “Jesus! That fast!?” said a voice behind Frost. But she didn’t hear it.

      “Sound general quarters.”

      “Sounding general quarters!” The repetitive drone of the alarm filled the speakers throughout the sub as every sailor hurried to their assigned emergency battle station.

      “What’s her speed?”

      “Twenty-five knots!”

      “Let’s get closer to the surface so we can send a message to SUBPAC. Increase speed to 25 knots. Take us up. Thirty degrees up angle.”

      “Increase speed to 25 knots. Bow planes 30 degrees up angle,” repeated Lesher. The room now rotated upward in a 30-degree angle, and the crew’s voices again throttled with adrenaline and nervousness. All, except Captain Frost’s, who maintained her controlled demeanor.

      “Bogey at 1000 meters!”

      “Mister Bingham, flood forward torpedo tubes.”

      “Yes, ma’am!”

      “Mister Avila, prepare a message for SUBPAC on our contact with the bogey. Coordinates and time of contact, et cetera.