The Trident Deception Read Online Free Page B

combat. The three months of intense training culminated in a weeklong exercise at sea, the students split between two submarines, pitted against each other day and night, their Torpedo Rooms filled to the gills with exercise torpedoes.
    The Houston was supposed to go head-to-head against another fast attack, the Scranton, but an electrical turbine casualty sent the Scranton to the yards for repair, and the Kentucky was hastily drafted into service. When the students assigned to the Houston learned the Kentucky, which specialized in launching missiles instead of hunting enemy submarines, had replaced the Scranton, their reaction was glib; they were confident they would defeat the Kentucky without breaking a sweat.
    They couldn’t have been more wrong.
    Wilson’s gaze swept across his now humble students, stopping on Commander Joe Casey, headed to the USS Texas, one of the Virginia -class fast attacks. He’d been the most boisterous of his students, loudly proclaiming they’d crush the Kentucky in every scenario.
    “Commander Casey. What’s the most important lesson you learned this week?” Casey looked up, and Wilson knew from the look in the young commander’s eyes that he had learned his lesson.
    Casey said, “Don’t be too cocky.”
    Wilson smiled. “That’s exactly right, gentleman. Never underestimate your opponent, which is exactly what you did this week. When you found out the Kentucky replaced the Scranton, you expected a cakewalk. Going up against a ballistic missile submarine instead of one of our fast attacks was going to be like what, Commander Bates?”
    Doug Bates, standing next to Casey, looked up and answered quietly, “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”
    “Things didn’t turn out quite the way you expected, did they? Just because the Kentucky is a ballistic missile submarine doesn’t make her any less capable than a fast attack. All of her department heads have served on fast attacks—and don’t forget, I trained her commanding officer and executive officer. True, her sonar and combat control systems are a generation behind what we have on our fast attacks, but they are capable enough in the hands of a crew that understands the ship’s strengths and weaknesses, and most important, doesn’t underestimate their opponent. When you lead your submarine into the Western Pacific or through the Red Sea into the Gulf, you’ll be pitted against what could easily be considered an inferior adversary, lacking the sophisticated equipment and training you enjoy. But all it takes is one mistake, one incorrect assumption, one torpedo to send you and your crew to the bottom.”
    Wilson’s ire began to build as he contemplated the fate of his students. He ought to fail them all, permanently ending their careers, a fitting reward for their inability to lead their crew in combat. But as he scanned the faces of the sullen and embarrassed officers, he wondered if instead of this being his worst class, it was his best. No other group of Prospective Commanding and Executive Officers had learned this critical lesson more thoroughly than the men standing in front of him.
    “Excuse me, sir.” The Houston ’s Junior Officer of the Deck interrupted Wilson. “The Captain requests your presence on the Bridge. The Kentucky has returned to periscope depth and is requesting release.”
    Wilson acknowledged the officer’s report, then finished addressing his students. “When we get back to port, I want a complete reconstruction of each encounter, with detailed analysis of what you did wrong and what you could have done better in each scenario. You have seventy-two hours to complete reconstruction of all twenty events.”
    *   *   *
    A moment later, Murray Wilson emerged onto the Houston ’s small Bridge cockpit, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright daylight, joining Commander Kevin Lawson, the Houston ’s commanding officer.
    “Looks like I’ve got some work to do,” Lawson said, a look of