four in his party. Salas sat back down.
“That was COMNAVMAR, Admiral Frank Duenas,” said Camacho. “He’s Chamorro. That’s his XO, Captain Marlene Hagen, and the other woman is Captain Brenda Whitehurst, CO of Guam’s sub base. They’re big supporters of Joe and our work. I don’t know those other two guys.”
“Good afternoon everyone,” began Duenas. “There’s a lot to cover, so we’re going to get started. This is an investigation and lives are at stake, so we’re all bound to get a little emotional. That’s fine. But it’s imperative that we work together as the White House and the Pentagon are going to need answers.” He looked at the two men that Camacho couldn’t identify and nodded. They stood up and moved to the front of the room. The civilian, a short but robust gentleman of about 55, remained standing while the officer sat at the laptop position.
“Thank you, Admiral Duenas. Good afternoon everyone, I’m Dr. Dan Aurelia, director and chief investigator at the Naval Undersea Incident Investigation office in San Diego. This is Commander Ben McLaren and we’re going to take you through what could possibly be the worst submarine disaster since the Russian Kursk sank with all 118 crewmen way back in 2000.” Aurelia’s clear British accent commanded authority, and his face was serious and grim. “Now, I’m going to be frank about this presentation. What you are about to see is going to shock you. And I’ll confess, that in my more than 40 years of subsurface experience in the Royal Navy; first as a sub rider, then sub skipper, deep salvage contractor, then as an undersea investigator; I have never experienced nor imagined what Ben is about to show you on the screen.”
He nodded to his partner and the image of an American submarine—the USS Texas (SSN 770)—filled one screen; on the other was the sub’s unclassified information: class, size, length, weight, armament, homeport, etc. McLaren flashed up images of the sub as Aurelia read some of this information aloud. He put up the official command photos of two individuals and kept them up on the screens side-by-side.
“Captain Sandra Lynn Frost and Commander Roy Lesher, the CO and XO of the Texas,” Aurelia started again. “Some of you may know them personally.” He paused and gave time for the officers from COMSUBPAC who arrived from Hawaii to reflect on their colleagues.
“The USS Texas sent its last tactical report at 2230 on the night of the 15th, last Thursday. In that report it stated that she was in pursuit of an unknown-class, unknown-origin subsurface contact, some 78 miles west of Saipan. SUBPAC gave Frost the authorization to investigate and to go as low as test depth if need be. The final sentence in the TACREP was that they were in pursuit and descending. There have been no other messages since then. No TACREPs, no SITREPs, no position reports, no e-mails, nothing.” After another long pause, Aurelia sat down and McLaren stood up. He retrieved a spherical metallic object the size of a cantaloupe from a large carrying case and held it in his hand.
“Many of you are familiar with this device. It is one of several camera balls that is attached to the photonics mast on all modified Virginia-class subs. This mast replaces the traditional optical periscope in the sail, so it’s as if you’re looking through a digital camera lens, which can be zoomed, widened or adjusted for certain light and densities. But this mast has another function, taking photos.” He tapped on his laptop and the photos of Frost and Lesher were replaced by a series of photos of the photonics masts and its cameras.
“Of the several masts on the sail such as the data delivery mast, the ESM mast and others; the newly designed photonics mast is the only one that can detach from the sub and float to the surface. This was designed so subs could take high-res photos of undersea terrain, sunken objects, mine patterns, diving and salvage operations, damage of hulls, etc. and let them float to the surface for pick-up and analysis. A sub could stay submerged and working at incredible depths, while their photos could be analyzed on the surface.
“Captain Frost, being at such depths and unable to transmit her message, did the only thing she could: She jettisoned the photonics mast and all the cameras with it.”
“What message are you referring to, Commander?” asked Admiral Stone, clearly confused.
“Her cry for help,” he answered grimly.
The room rumbled in quiet tones as questions drifted amongst the individuals. Kira looked at her team and they all had puzzled looks. Aurelia stood up to speak again as McLaren returned to control the laptop.
“The camera balls were extracted from the water by Guam’s Coast Guard. There’s a locational beacon in each ball that activates once they hit the surface. They were brought here and we were called on Friday. We spent all of Saturday and Sunday analyzing the data. We will now show you what the Texas saw in her final moments.” McLaren put up the first set of photos which drew numerous questions as expected.
“It’s a submarine of some type,” Aurelia acknowledged. “But in these pictures it’s simply a dark object getting larger like an approaching whale.” Then the next set of photos were shown when the sub was at and less than 100 meters distant.
“Oh my God!” gasped several voices. “What is that!?”
The next set was displayed when the object was at 50 meters and hands were now covering mouths.
“Look at that! It’s a monstrosity!”
“This is the bogey just before it impacted the Texas.” Aurelia stepped back and just let this image stay on the screen. “Ben, go ahead and enhance it.” He looked at the audience. “With our digital enhancement program we were able to clear up the smudges, haziness and murkiness of the sea water.”
As McLaren tapped the necessary buttons, the audience waited silently for the colors, shading and contrasts to melt into the image.
“Here it is,” Aurelia announced. The room nearly fainted in mass at what they saw.
“SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!” exhaled Admiral Stone. In fact, the room was filled with numerous religious personalities spoken in different combinations but with the exact same level of despair and discomfort.
“The next set, please.” When McLaren put them up the audience fell silent with disbelief. They watched the enhanced images of the intruder’s blades cutting into the Texas’ hull and spilling its guts in a cloud of debris.
Salas’ eyes were full of dread, as were everyone on his team. McLaren pushed the sets on until photos of the severed aft end of the sub came into view, rolling and plummeting into the darkness. By then most of the audience was in tears, holding their faces in their hands, or covering their mouths as they wept. Admiral Duenas turned to Salas, both men’s eyes shimmering with emerging tears. The images then went blank and the screens returned to their digital blue color.
“Unfortunately ladies and gentlemen, that’s where we are,” said Aurelia. He surveyed the audience and felt their tremendous grief. He went back to his notes as the sobs, the sniffles and the silence pervaded the room. McLaren spun up his next set of images on the screens—detailed images of the intruder both actual and digitally rendered.
“Based only on the images you’ve just scene, Ben was able to piece together what we think this thing looks like.” More gasps ensued as they looked at the 3D rendering of the sub. “It’s approximately 450 feet long, 45 feet wide, and displaces 16,000 tons submerged. Five tons make up for its outer body armor alone. It didn’t fire any torpedoes; instead, it used its speed and these bladed edges to rip the Texas apart.” He pointed to the open scooped face. “We don’t know what it is, but there’s something hidden inside here. You can see that the lower jaw is hinged, so it may carry mini subs or mines.”
While
