Tension is a serpent that attacks slowly, so slowly that its effect is unnoticed until it has taken a firm grasp on its victim. Its ability to gradually invest the human body is comparatively similar on a mass level.
The patience of a large segment of the American people was becoming strained by international events. They had learned to be skeptical of their own government during Vietnam, and that distrust had never completely evaporated. Each time a potential international conflict developed far from home, there were certain members of political circles, the media, and the citizenry who automatically cried wolf before they understood all of the facts. Their opposite number would normally identify a complex plot aimed specifically at the United States regardless of the location or nations involved.
Few Americans have been schooled in the significance of the Far North. Anything beyond the Arctic Circle is considered frozen and therefore of little value. Little credence was given to the fact that all of Norway, not just her southern half, was as much a part of NATO as the Mediterranean countries. Furthermore, claimed the detractors, there was little strategic value in ice and snow, not to mention an ocean that was covered by ice and therefore unnavigable.. The government, and those few who really understood the Arctic in the Soviet scheme, attempted to explain the USSR’s reasoning for their current position.
Tension, invisible at first, managed to infest the general populace. Here was another potentially dangerous situation that once again could burst into warfare with the Soviet Union, and most people immediately anticipated nuclear war. It was much like being a passenger in a huge plane—since only the crew could understand its operation, there was a sense of futility among the passengers, feeling they had no control over their own destiny.
The physical reaction to such anxiety was no different in the Soviet Union. Television news also carried selected messages concerning this growing confrontation. Their news was controlled in that there was only one aggressor, and that aggressor would be challenged directly in this situation. Such bravado brought only one message to the Soviet citizen: The United States possessed nuclear weapons and the desire to use them if the situation demanded such action. While the news belonged to the state, the Soviet citizen shared much the same dessert as his American counterpart—futility, which spawned tension!
And the leaders on both sides had yet to reveal the sinking of Fahrion. It was an incident that neither side could be proud of and one that was pushing them both irretrievably to the edge of conflict.
7
ADMIRAL REED’S Houston led the way through the Bering Strait with Olympia abeam, the latter to continue along the coast on the surface. Her damage was superficial but there was no reason to dive until repairs were complete. Helena remained astern of Imperator to block any Soviet sub attempting to sneak through the strait for a stern attack. Friendly aircraft, unseen overhead but certainly there, added to his security. Reed was certain there would be no further trouble from the Russians after their Badgers had been downed so easily.
The challenge lay beyond the Bering Strait. Andy Reed anticipated the Soviet hunter/killer (HUK) group somewhere ahead of them. Houston moved out on the point. Being considerably smaller, she could dive, even in the shallow Chukchi waters, and act as a forward listening post for Imperator. The four submarines communicated freely by radio while cruising on the surface. It was understood that Snow would continue to operate independently although Reed desperately hoped he could locate the Soviets before Imperator was able to go deep. The advantage, as in almost any encounter, would go to the boat able to initiate an attack. Once they both were aware of each other, it would become a cat-and-mouse game.
As Imperator navigated the thickening ice of the Bering Strait, Andy Reed spent much of his time at the computer. Everything available on Danilov and his three submarines had been relayed by satellite during their surface transit. There was little difficulty in selecting the most obvious route for a submarine departing Polyarnyy. He was uncertain only when they would arrive in the vicinity.
In analyzing Abe Danilov’s character and career, Reed found even more that was similar to his own. Their strong family ties seemed to follow the same pattern. Danilov was aggressive, as ruthless as Reed had been when he sank the two Soviet subs the previous day, and he was cunning. It was a mistake to take any competitor for granted. Reed’s assumptions were reinforced by the computer.
Danilov’s submarines wouldn’t surface. That was obvious. They would remain invisible in the safe confines of deep water far enough off the continental shelf. It also would be senseless for the three Soviet submarines to stick together. If the decision was Reed’s, he would leave one along the Alaskan coast in deep water and position two well apart to prevent Imperator from racing due north toward the pole.
The ice became thick to the north. Floe ice was heavy beyond the Bering Strait and totally impassable that time of year well into the Chukchi Sea. There was no way the Americans would be able to use aircraft to locate the Russians either with sonobuoys or magnetic detectors, nor could satellites pierce the icepack. It would be a simple case of submarine against submarine.
Reed’s intent was to confuse the Russians initially. He ordered a variety of time-delay noisemakers dispersed along and well ahead of their route. Where openings appeared in the ice, they were dropped by aircraft. The capabilities of these new noisemakers were unknown to the Russians. They were small, self-propelled units that would take off at high speed once in the water. As their fuel became exhausted, their engines fell to the bottom. The noisemakers remained motionless, suspended at a preset depth. Then, at a predetermined time, they would employ almost every natural sound that existed in that part of the ocean until their batteries died. They were so sophisticated that it would be impossible for all but the best sonar operator to distinguish between the natural and the man-made sound. This tactic would initially offer a confusing, protective sound barrier and would prevent Danilov from recording and analyzing Imperator too soon. Reed intended to make it a pursuit of the unknown for as long as possible.
Snow was tired. Though Carol Petersen had insisted that the computer could navigate the Bering Strait with better eyes than any man, he remained on the bridge. He was imbued with the tradition of generations. The night was black and there was very little water under the keel. A captain must remain on his bridge in such a situation . . .
The Bering Strait was anything but busy at that time of year because, floe ice was still thick. Caesar plotted the paths of occasional fishing craft long before Snow saw any of them. Whenever he marked one with the radar cursor and punched a locator number into the computer, the response was instant. At one point, out of curiosity, Snow requested a pictorial surface-situation report. Instantly, an accurate display of the area appeared with Imperator in the center, and the narrowest part of the strait just ahead of them. Fairway Rock lay a couple of miles on the port beam and Cape Prince of Wales, the westernmost point of Alaska, stood to starboard. Little Diomede Island, just two-and-a-half miles from Russian territory, lay off the port bow. Ahead, the waters opened onto the Chukchi Sea. Andy Reed’s three submarines were still clearly evident.
The air picture was quite the opposite. There were no landmarks but the sky was crowded—with friendly aircraft. The consortium was taking no chances. Choke points were attack points, and the Bering Strait was the most obvious place to stop Imperator. Sheer logic demanded that she be protected from any further threat. It was worth forcing an international incident if the Russians attempted to stop her.
From this point, they would follow a course allowing as little of the submarine above the surface as was safe. Once they were in deeper water, Imperator would dive and remain submerged.
As the American submarines headed north, a meeting was taking place on the top floor of a high-rise along the Potomac in Alexandria, Virginia. There, not only were the rooms secure but there was less chance of certain members of the group being recognized than if they had met at the Pentagon. Before the c
hairman convened the meeting, a videotape of comments from various commentators on each network was shown. The network analyses were not unpleasant, for there was little information to work from. But the atmosphere they created was heavy with innuendo, leaving an inference that once again the White House might be involved with a project bearing future military implications without congressional knowledge.
The consortium was a small, intimate group. All were male. The civilians dressed in expensive suits, while the military members were resplendent with gold and stars. No junior staff members from the military were present, nor had any of them ever been to one of these meetings. Decisions were reserved for what the media would call power brokers. Such meetings were held only when circumstances demanded instant decisions.
On the previous day, their strategy had been frustrated by an Eskimo and a scientist in a skin boat. The eventual announcement of Imperator’s existence had been carefully planned. But perfect orchestration of the media had evaporated on the day they planned to hand out smoothly designed press releases. Exposure of the unknown had automatically generated suggestions of mistrust. Therefore, the logical response was to reveal nothing. When questioned at a news conference, the president’s press secretary said only that the report was being investigated.
There was nothing to be gained by Moscow’s reporting their version of Imperator’s true mission. The limited details provided by a scientist and an Eskimo bobbing about the Bering Sea in a skin boat provided little to refute. Imperator, regardless of the extent the consortium might eventually reveal about the submarine and its mission, would remain a contradiction.
Kremlin leaders focused on one clear objective. No matter what was or was not acknowledged about Imperator, their singular goal was to ensure that the submarine would never again surface once she dived under the icecap. With the head of Service A (the KGB’s directorate controlling disinformation) recently relieved, the reliability of any propaganda efforts remained at a low ebb. Let the world think what it might concerning the American submarine. Let the world ponder the facts after Imperator was at the bottom!
As silence echoed through Kremlin hallways, the civilian power structure in Washington grew increasingly confused. While they were angered at being the foils of a well-kept secret, they were equally concerned with the speed of the Soviet buildup on the Northern Flank. It was difficult to sort out the most critical concern facing them. Was it at home or within the Kremlin? They were shocked at the alert of Soviet polar commandos. When that factor sank in, it took little time to evoke a similar response from Washington. Force would match force.
Danilov snatched the headphones from his sonarman. “I’ll listen,” he growled. “It’s been too damn quiet—until now.” With little neck to speak of, Danilov assumed a froglike appearance with the dark-padded phones enveloping his ears. He cocked his head to one side, eyes staring sightlessly into space, concentrating on the sounds outside the sub. He made a motion with his hand to the sonarman, who began to manipulate his dials very slowly, eyes closed, listening to the same sounds.
The listening device could be concentrated on a very narrow beam to magnify the sound and isolate its source.
Danilov held up his hand for the sonarman to stop the dial. The admiral listened intently, then said, “Sergoff . . . the recorder. I want this on tape.” To the sonarman, he added, “You fiddle with the dials. When each sound is at perfect peak, Sergoff will record it for me.”
The process went on for half an hour. Danilov would move his index finger in a small circle, indicating they should go on to the next clear signal. When he put up his hand, the dialing would stop and the sonarman would fine-tune his equipment until it was at its peak for recording.
At one point, Danilov queried his sonarman. “When was the last time you had such perfect sound?”
“Rarely, sir.” The man shrugged. “Then again, this water is very cold. Sound travels much farther . . . and clearer,” he added as he saw Danilov’s hand raise to indicate the next loud, clear signal coming over the sonar, “The water temperature is much the same in our home waters.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever before heard anything like this in Soviet waters?”
The man shook his head. “Never, sir.”
“Nor do I think you ever will.” When he was satisfied, he removed the headset for a moment. “Now, what we are going to do”—he addressed no one in particular—“is compare these sounds we have to those recordings you train on in sonar school. Sergoff, you too—you have a good ear.”
The leading sonar technician also donned a set of headphones, and the four men listened intently as Danilov operated the equipment himself. First, he would switch on the training tapes used in sonar school. Then he would play the one they had just recorded to identify similarities.
After each comparison, Sergoff would just shrug. He could differentiate nothing. Occasionally, Danilov would note a difference, each time attracting the leading technician’s attention to it. There was little change in the man’s expression. But Danilov was persistent. He insisted on playing certain comparisons again and again, switching from the actual recording provided by the fleet sonar school to those they had just heard.
“Can’t you hear it?” Danilov exploded in frustration, aware that these men were much better trained than he would ever hope to be. “Isn’t it too perfect?”
The leading technician’s forehead wrinkled with exasperation. The admiral was correct. “Yes, I see what you mean, sir . . . but it could just be a freak of nature.”
“Can you run a comparison on the computer? You know—decibels, frequencies, clarity—whatever you people understand?”
The technician looked warily at Sergoff, who only nodded that he should concur. “Yes, sir. I will do everything I can.”
While Danilov waited impatiently, pacing from one end of the small control room to the other, the loudspeaker was turned on overhead so that they could continue to listen to exactly what his sonar was picking up. No matter where they turned, a cacophony of sound greeted them. New noises would drown out or replace others on the same bearing. At one point, Sergoff remarked that what they were experiencing must be similar to being in a madhouse.
It is a madhouse, Danilov agreed silently, once again moving over to the quartermaster’s table to consult his chart. But this is a man-made one. I am so sure of that that I would gamble my life. If that computer is as good as we are told by those greedy swine who build them, then it will agree with me. Then he paused, grinning to himself. He despised those scientists in the white smocks who built those computers and constantly told the Kremlin how wonderful they were, Now here he was, almost insisting that their computer agree with him.
“Most unusual. Admiral,” the leading sonar technician interrupted. Without a second thought, he laid his printouts directly over the chart Danilov had been studying. Sergoff’stepped forward, but the admiral, seeing how excited the man had become, waved him off. The sailor continued impetuously, “Look at these, sir. The whale sounds. We know how they may vary along a certain part of the frequency spectrum and we can often record it. But look at that.” He tapped the figures with a forefinger. “The sounds seem to vary to our ear, but the computer records this all on the same frequency.”
The man’s excitement was infectious. Sergoff leaned over to see the figures for himself. Danilov’s expression was more animated than at any time since they’d left Polyarnyy. In most instances on the printouts, the proof was limited at best, yet there was evidence that the recordings they had just made were of man-made sounds . . . at least, they were emanating from a man-made instrument.
“You see, Sergoff,” the admiral finally announced, “it is not a madhouse out there. It is more like a fanfare. These are the trumpets and the banners to announce the approach of this Imperator. Admiral Reed quite rightly doesn’t want us to record anything of value on our sonar before they are ready to meet us head to head. This is his way of preparing us. And, it is very
effective . . .” His voice softened as he considered how well thought out this ploy really had been.
“What do you wish to do?” Sergoff inquired, already certain there was no answer.
“Nothing . . . nothing at all. Wouldn’t you say that he would be planning on our moving to another position to try to locate his great sea monster?”
“I would stay right here myself,” Sergoff responded. He knew in an instant he should have added that before Danilov asked him the last question.
“Whenever a man wants you to make the first move, even in chess where you think the gentleman might be very foolish, be cautious,” Danilov said with emphasis. “It is to Admiral Reed’s advantage to find us before we find him. He would like to drive us out of the madhouse, as you called it. But, he created the madhouse.” Danilov was unconcerned that his opponent had made the first move. “So we’ll stay right here for a while.”
Hal Snow stared at the clutter of papers on his desk, trying to remember what he’d just read. None of the sentences he glossed over now seemed familiar. How many times had he read them? It was no use. He’d never been a paperwork man before, and it was doubtful that he would change now. Imperator, or rather Caesar, was sailing his vessel. The commanding officer was the senior passenger. It was something he would never accept.
Snow turned the chair to face his remote terminal, which had just been repaired. Of all the remote terminals on board, his was the only one that required repair since they’d departed the fishbowl. That hadn’t improved his attitude either.
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