Silent Hunter

by Charles D. Taylor

  Two amphibious transports were ready to transfer their field-equipped marine contingents to the submarine. In less than three hours, under the protection of a solid cloud cover, Imperator received marines and their supplies. Air-cushioned landing boats, mechanized landing craft, and helicopters converged on the submarine, transferring their cargo into well-marked holds that appeared in the massive hull. The submarine swallowed over fifteen hundred men and their equipment as fast as they could be transported. When she was full, the mysterious submarine disappeared to the north faster than any surface ship they’d ever seen. Before the crews of the amphibious ships returned to their bases to report this wonder, Imperator would already have completed her mission and would no longer remain a secret.

  Gulls from the Pribilof Islands, sensing a foreign presence invading their environment, swooped low. Hovering over Imperator’s sail, as curious as any cat, they searched for a life form that might identify this creature. But there was nothing—no animal appeared, there were no sounds, Nothing of any concern to a gull.

  Overhead, satellites automatically reoriented to this aberration in the Bering Sea. Infrared sensors detected minute changes in the water and air temperatures, but there was nothing to be gained that wasn’t already known. Soviet fishing boats lounged off the nearby Pribilofs and further north by St. Lawrence Island. They would be efficiently nudged aside by Coast Guard patrol craft at the first sign that sophisticated sound gear had replaced fishing nets.

  Carol Petersen was aware of Snow standing behind her in the computer center before he spoke.

  “You certainly do concentrate, don’t you,” he exclaimed. “I was outside for a while, wandering up and down in front of these windows, even waving. You were so intent I was actually afraid I’d startle you if I just barged in. So,” he concluded with amusement, “I finally barged in—after knocking—and still”—he shrugged—“nothing.”

  “Pull up a chair, Captain. Perhaps I do get a little paranoid sometimes, sitting down here all alone with Caesar as a companion. It can be rather disconcerting when he’s able to answer a question before I’m quite sure how to enter it. I’m beginning to think he’s taught himself how to read minds.”

  “Then he’ll know I’m here under false pretenses.” How curious, Snow thought, referring to Caesar that way. Ships are automatically women. They become a she to the men who sail them. And here’s a computer that’s already been christened a male. . . even referred to that way. “Here.” He handed her a list. “Caesar’s going to conduct surface exercises with me today. From here on there’s nothing more than seventy-five meters of ocean under us.”

  Her eyebrows raised as she scanned the list. “It’s easy enough to have Caesar do all this. It’s part of his program, but is it a good idea to override him in the middle of all this? Are your OODs ready . . .?”

  “I think so. Anyway, I’ll be in the control room as soon as you get started. One of the first things the OOD will do is call me up there. If it looks too bad, I’ll ask you to put him back on the line.”

  “What if any Soviet units approach when his sensors are down?”

  “I’ve already talked with Andy Reed. He’s taken over the guard. No problem. If you accept the way I drive submarines, I’ll put all my faith in you and your friend, Caesar.”

  “Fair enough. Let me call up the damage control program.” Waiting for Caesar to bring up the detail she requested, the thought that had been on her mind since they left the fishbowl finally erupted. It had been on the tip of her tongue so many times before. “None of you have ever sailed with a woman before, but is anyone going to accept that it’s finally happened?”

  “Not on a submarine.” There was no change of expression.

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “If I have to sail with a computer, I guess I can sail with a woman.”

  “That’s still not what I mean. You know damn well I’m getting tired of the men staring at me. Some of them, the old-fashioned sailors, hate having a woman aboard. Some are curious, and . . . and I suppose some of them are just plain horny. I don’t know that I like that . . . I mean I know I can’t do anything about anyone’s attitude. Oh, I don’t know what I mean.” She sighed, her eyes still on the screen. “I guess it’s a lot like being the only black person surrounded by whites. I’m not scared of anyone . . . oh, do you see what I’m driving at?” It seemed impossible to put into words.

  Snow was immediately uncomfortable. His answer was dry and elusive. “The captain’s supposed to be available to everyone aboard and listen to every problem.” He chewed at his lower lip for a moment. “Frankly—since you’re so frank—I was really hoping you wouldn’t bring it up, ’cause I wasn’t quite sure how to answer it . . . and I’m still not.” Snow folded his arms. “Do I bother you. . . personally?”

  “No, that’s not it . . . not really.” The menu ran down the screen before her. She responded by typing more detail on the keyboard. It was easier to study the screen than to look at Snow. “Actually, I rather like you, Captain. And this isn’t the place for that, is it?” She poked at the keyboard again, then turned. “That’s why I wondered how long you’d been standing behind me. I don’t want you to think I’m paranoid, and I don’t want you to think I’m standoffish.”

  Snow’s expression was an answer. “Well, that’s a different attitude than I’ve noted among any of the other members of the crew lately. It’s almost unheard of for any crew member to tell the captain whether or not they like him. As far as the crew’s attitude, it was probably something I would have avoided mentioning for another day or two myself.” What the hell else do you say, he wondered? This is why women have been barred from warships . . . what with the navy’s Victorian attitude toward women. “Since I am this ship’s only captain, I should have an answer for everything you’re thinking. I don’t,” he concluded with finality.

  “I’m not the last unicorn, but I’ve been feeling more like one since we got underway.” She looked at him curiously, then turned back to the screen. “Enough said. Caesar says he’s ready.”

  “Start at the head of that list. We’ll secure Caesar’s transmission lines forward of frame two hundred and try a fire in the forward pump room.”

  Within moments, the familiar “Captain to the control room” echoed through Imperator. By the time Snow arrived in control, the OOD had employed remote control to secure the pump room area. Electrical cross-connections had been completed to check temperatures in the area. The drill was effective. If high temperatures had actually been recorded in any space, automatic sprinklers would have activated until a fire-fighting team took control. At the same time, engineers would have been at work restoring Caesar’s control to that section of the ship.

  With the crew normally functioning in the after third of Imperator, more than eight hundred feet existed that were controlled mostly by a faceless, soulless computer. Remote sensors were therefore critical to normal operations. Computer monitoring became essential. Secondary units provided a backup to Caesar, their main purpose being to signal breaks or interruptions in the submarine’s engineering integrity. If Caesar was unable to respond to an emergency, his provisional features included a report to the control room concerning those areas of Imperator no longer under his protection.

  Snow had always been an authoritarian, one who had determined that the best way to manage a submarine was by leaving no doubt about his absolute control. He was convinced Imperator’s size required a captain who exercised his powers without the slightest doubt in his own ability. Snow’s talents were legendary in the submarine force and the respect for him when he returned soon expanded into a sense of awe.

  Snow’s normal method of command was to remain aloof, giving orders when needed, allowing his subordinates generally to manage the ship’s affairs. These exercises allowed him to develop a better grasp of each individual’s capabilities. It was one of the few times he actually became a part of the crew and involved himself in their exercises.

&nb
sp; The commander of the marine unit, Colonel Campbell, joined them in the control room since the forward spaces now became the responsibility of his men. Campbell knew very little about submarines but before the day was over, he left no doubt with Snow that his men could manage the forward section of the ship in an emergency.

  Each of Snow’s watch sections had the opportunity to respond to fires, flooding spaces, collisions, torpedo ruptures, steering failures, reactor scram, and a shopping list of other emergencies. Operational control was lost three times. Each time Caesar concluded that Imperator would also have been lost. He provided a printout of alternate methods to bring him back on-line shortly after he reported the submarine sunk each time.

  The final exercise expanded Snow’s confidence in Caesar. He was shut down completely throughout the ship. The only access remained down in computer control with Carol Petersen. Communications to various sections of the boat gradually failed. Power winked out. Air grew stagnant. The loss of sensors left them blind to the world outside. Losing Caesar was akin to shutting off the sun. An aircraft carrier of the same size could continue through the wits and courage of the six thousand men aboard. The sixty people who sailed Imperator were unable to respond to their ship’s needs as Caesar slowly failed.

  The sensation was eerie, similar to a large, complex city slowly coming to a standstill—subways, buses, construction, light, sound, everything would eventually disappear until decay hung ominously in the air. The pervasive whisper of silence was the most frightening. Under normal conditions, man naturally integrated with the hum of his environment until it became inaudible. As Caesar shut down, no different than a great city coming to a halt, the sense of doom became overwhelming. There was loneliness in place of confidence; a void supplanted the feeling of protection and well-being. Snow and each person aboard now understood Caesar’s significance in their lives. Caesar could give and Caesar could take away. He was their heart and soul. The sense of dependency, even for Hal Snow, was disconcerting.

  Soon after Snow secured the exercises that day, a message was copied that had been addressed to Admiral Reed: “YOU ARE DIRECTED TO ASSUME WARTIME CONDITIONS UPON TRANSITING BERING STRAIT. SOVIET HUK GROUP PROJECTED TO BE STATIONED OFFSHORE LIKELY DUE WEST POINT BARROW. DETAIL TO FOLLOW VIA SCRAMBLER 2200.”

  Captain Sergoff was the ideal chief of staff for an admiral like Danilov. There were some who considered themselves elevated to a military elite once they consorted with men whose sleeves were lined with gold, while others fawned over their admirals like wet nurses. Sergoff treated Abe Danilov as he would have preferred to be treated himself. He was a buffer for personal problems, an analyzer of data, a strategist when Danilov was unsure, and a merciless enforcer of his admiral’s orders.

  Sergoff was also clever. Years before, of all the Soviet submariners involved in the emplacement of listening devices and mines along the Baltic coast of Sweden, he was the only one to carry out his mission properly and without detection. The others had been either so cautious they failed to locate their equipment properly, or so incautious that they were noted either approaching their area or in setting their mines. Sergoff was eventually given tactical command to complete the operation.

  Captain Sergoff also possessed a modest talent for playing the foil to the angry or irritated admiral. When Danilov’s temper or patience reached their bounds, Sergoff was available to absorb the venom. Though such a situation rarely surfaced, it allowed others to note that both men were human and capable of adapting to each other’s failings. Danilov could do little wrong and his chief of staff seemed destined for greater things under his master’s tutelage.

  When Washington’s 2200 message commenced on the scrambler, Imperator was located 150 miles south of the Bering Strait. Her escort of three nuclear attack submarines were slightly ahead, cruising in a half circle reminiscent of an old convoy screen.

  One of Sergoff’s responsibilities was to screen all messages, selecting only the most critical for Danilov. The ability to intercept American communications via the scrambler system had been on-line for more than twelve months. It had proven valuable at times, though Sergoff often felt the Americans were challenging the integrity of their own system with junk that should never have been classified. He was sometimes amused by what the U.S. considered so vital to keep from the Soviets; so much of it was common knowledge within Kremlin circles.

  This time, the message proved of little value, other than the fact that the Americans knew almost as much about them as they knew about themselves. Seratov and each of her sisters were clearly identified. Danilov, Sergoff, and each of the commanding officers were covered, and details of equipment capabilities, the experience of both officers and crews, and command patterns were surprisingly accurate. It was nothing to bother Admiral Danilov with, though it was worth pointing out that American intelligence was exceedingly meticulous. Neither man had ever expected to surprise Imperator. Nor did they underestimate Andy Reed’s capabilities. The only part of the scrambler message that was unintelligible was the data for the computer. There were also times that Sergoff wondered if the Americans knew that their scrambler system had been compromised. Perhaps they did and continued to use it for the benefit of the Russians because it was too complex and costly to send their computerized (and still secure) data through a new system.

  Sergoff’s final responsibility, one that he took seriously, was to interpret his admiral’s moods, to adjust to them or to attempt to adjust them when the situation demanded. He was more concerned about Danilov’s high and low points in the past week than he had been for a long time. At times, the man seemed deeply introspective, almost to the point of depression. Yet he could reverse these moods in a matter of hours. Sergoff had long ago accepted Anna Danilov’s influence on the admiral’s disposition and the chief of staff could accept this because of her continuous kindness to him, as though he was her son. Yet this time it was almost as if the lady were on board Seratov. It was unnerving to see the admiral’s mood switches.

  Perhaps the poor lady has finally died, Sergoff mused. She certainly deserves some relief from her suffering. Or perhaps her ghost is riding with us . . . or with Abe Danilov! The thought sent a shudder down his. spine. Women on submarines were dangerous enough. But a ghost, a personal ghost, was . . . He hoped that the current upswing in Danilov’s spirit this past day would remain.

  Andy Reed blew his nose again. The skin was raw and chapped, and he was careful. Replacing the soggy handkerchief in his breast pocket, he bent over the chart table to read the latest meteorological reports again, anything to take his mind off this interminable cold. The floe ice, sparse enough now, gradually increased until it was a solid mass approximately 150 miles due north of the Bering Strait. There it hung like a massive gray-white curtain, one that would cut them off from the outside world. There were polynyas and leads that would allow occasional communications, and they could break through the ice in certain places. The ice could often be used to their advantage during search or evasion. But, once underneath, they became as equal as enemies could be. Like boxers circling for an opening, submariners depended on speed and judgment.

  Reed picked up his baseball cap, smoothing his hair as he set it back on his head. He replaced the weather messages on the proper board, moved the pencils over to the corner of the chart he’d been studying, and announced to the staff watch officer that he was going to rest in his bunk for a while. He was forcing himself to remain awake, yet there was no purpose. Everything that he had been dallying with at the chart table were things that others were responsible for.

  Back in his tiny stateroom, Reed flopped on his bunk without kicking off his shoes. He could sleep anywhere without the normal comforts most others required. Little naps of five or ten minutes, sometimes half an hour if he was lucky, left him wide awake and rested. It was simply a matter of losing himself in a pleasant thought. He would be suddenly asleep, often dreaming of the last clear picture in his mind.

  This time that picture had b
een his one and only hobby—sailing. Since his academy days, when he raced on Chesapeake Bay, Andy Reed had been a devout sailor. Nothing pleased him quite so much as a small sailboat and a fair breeze. With just Lucy and himself, it was easily the most peaceful method of relaxation there was. With the kids, it was less so until they grew up enough to crew for him. Then the sailboats in the Reed family gradually increased in size. The fact that he sired a crew for his favorite pastime never ceased to amuse him. He would tease Lucy that if they worked at it hard enough, the Reed family could eventually crew a twelve-meter yacht all by themselves.

  They sailed the first boat on Long Island Sound when he was stationed in New London. It was christened We Two and was on the water every moment they could find from the early cold days of April until the first northeast storms in the fall. When the first baby was born, it was a joke to cross out the old name and paint in We Three. A few years later in Hawaii, the new boat became We Four, and that soon became We Five. Wherever the Reeds sailed, the crew of the We Five attracted new friends with two little children bundled in orange life jackets manning lines, and the baby asleep in the cutty up forward. When they were transferred to Charleston, the next boat was a few feet longer to accommodate six Reeds. It seemed natural to once again cross out a “Three” and a “Four” and a “Five” and a “Six” when the We Seven was christened.

  The new baby, their surprise, was born when Andy was on shore duty in Washington. Their next sailboat, a handsome twenty-six footer, was purchased when he went out to Pearl Harbor to command a new submarine. Reed simply had We Eight painted across the transom. He was sure anything other than that might bring back luck. But that name lasted only through part of their first weekend on the water. When they returned to the dock that Sunday morning, the stem had been repainted with the old Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, and crossed out and an exclamation point next to the Eight! And there was no way they would ever be allowed to change that name with the attention they attracted as the eight Reeds came down the pier that Sunday morning for a day of sailing.