D. M. Ulmer 01 - Silent Battleground

by D. M. Ulmer

  Captain Sherensky squinted as the briefing officer pointed to a spot on the Washington coast. His aging eyes were troublesome, but he would not reveal this to the medical division until his tour as Zhukov commanding officer ended.

  “Satellite surveillance shows naval activity here. Based on the amount of equipment being moved in, it is likely a refit facility. We shall permit the Americans some time to make substantial investment then knock it out with an SS-N-21 land attack missile. We will permit their hopes to build then dash them again. Several days ago, the Americans towed a disabled 688 class SSN, likely dragged from Bremerton yard on the eve of the war and hidden until our attack abated.”

  Immediately, thoughts came to Sherensky’s mind. Does not sound good. The Americans must have expected the attack and competent submariners took action. They are a force to be reckoned with. Better such thoughts not be spoken aloud in the presence of so many zampolit.

  The briefer’s pointer indicated the position of Bremerton then he continued. “There may have been others as our satellite is unable to discern submarines among the rubble here. Perhaps they evacuated all of them. The one we have found appears without propulsion and it is not likely the cautious Americans will permit such extensive repairs at a temporary base.”

  More thoughts by the Soviet captain, American writers make much of Soviet problems with submarine nuclear propulsion systems and conclude this an indication of poor combat readiness. He did not consider the flawless American peacetime reactor safety record an intimidating factor in the current fight.

  Vasiliy Baknov also sat in the audience, equally unnerved over the briefer continually finding no significance to new findings on the Americans. The Briefer apparently ignored the lessons of World War II. Admiral Yamamoto’s prophecy given the day after Pearl Harbor, ‘We have succeeded only in awakening a sleeping giant and filling him with a terrible resolve.’ He thought, Surely we will not let that happen again.

  Many questions ran through Vasiliy’s mind. Where were the surviving submarines? How did they know to leave? Had they cracked the most closely held secret in Soviet history and knew of the planned attacks? Also, why wait to hit the replacement bases? Surely, the Americans recognized the Soviet submarine land attack capability and prepared accordingly. Why not dispatch Zhukov to hit these bases before suitable defenses can be installed instead of diverting her attacks on dispersed merchant ships in the Southwest Pacific? How many days have passed since the Tango went missing? How do we explain her fate?

  Warned by his captain, Vasiliy would withhold his concerns lest the shortsighted zampolit interpret them as more evidence of his disloyalty to the Party.

  The briefer continued, “Our submarines of the Northern Fleet have denied allies use of the Atlantic. Materials and personnel must be flown, thus draining resources of the United States Air Force. And the shipments fall well below the allies’ needs. Our fighter-bombers further impede this effort and our superior numbers take their toll. The Americans are unable to replace losses without replenishing strategic materials by sea and they are not likely to recover this capability. Time is a comrade for our cause, but to exploit it, we must maintain control of the sea. Our submarines are pivotal in this endeavor.

  “Put up the chart of the waters adjacent to Vladivostok.

  “We have a visitor in the Sea of Japan. Intelligence concludes with high probability it is the USS Denver, a 688-class attack submarine, recently completed overhaul at Bremerton. Her tactical priorities are questionable. She torpedoed and sank a tiny reydny traishchik that cost much less than the ADCAP torpedo that took her to the bottom with ten of our brave comrades. Our Alfa class Legeroff reported an attack by a 688 near this position.”

  A spot-point flashed three hundred miles northeast of Vladivostok.

  “The attack failed, thanks to a newly developed defensive tactic, the Zhukov Maneuver, named for the ship that originated it. A description is included in all your operational packets and is now tactical policy. Familiarity with this maneuver is a required pre-condition to all future deployments.”

  Vasiliy’s heart throbbed with excitement. His child, the Zhukov Maneuver had saved a Soviet submarine. But what went wrong? It should also have resulted in the death of the 688.

  Later Sherensky discussed the briefing with his junior officer. On hearing of Vasiliy’s concerns, the captain comforted his weapons officer. “Ah, Vasiliy. You wish to have everything at once. Be happy for enabling us to fend off the enemy. You have silenced a major impediment to our war plan. If we continue to nullify the cream of the American battle fleet, we’re sure to win. Let’s not draw hasty conclusions based on a single engagement. We’ll continue to perfect the ZM and I shall ensure our learned zampolit knows of your hand in this important achievement.”

  Saving his comrades in Legeroff pleased Vasiliy, especially because two of her officers were personal friends, but he still felt deprived. He hungered for vengeance against an enemy he believed responsible for his and his mother’s grief.

  Later Vasiliy visited the security vault and paged through the intelligence brochure on Denver. Zhukov would sail in a few days and with luck would encounter this hapless 688. He found foreign names difficult to pronounce, Bostwick, Olsen, Patrick. Ah, there he is, my counterpart. Lieutenant Brent Maddock, weapons systems officer. U.S. Naval Academy, 1982, submarine school, nuclear power school, previous service in a 637 class, married, one child, Vasiliy read. The intelligence community had not yet recorded the divorce. So here is my foe, thought Vasiliy and said aloud, “I look forward to our meeting and providing you a peaceful sleep beneath the waves.”

  That evening, Vasiliy and his mother dined at a Vladivostok restaurant on the eve of Zhukov’s deployment. Ekaterina looked well for a woman in her sixties. Years at the dance preserved for her the figure of a most attractive woman.

  “I have an announcement, Vasiliy. I’ll stay here at Vladivostok until your return. There is little for me in Kiev and summer will soon be upon us. Spring is lovely here and I plan to enjoy every second.”

  “This pleases me. You will stay in my apartment, of course.”

  “No, Vasiliy. I have taken a flat in the new building. You must permit an old woman her independence.”

  “If you say so, Mother. But if you change your mind, I’ll leave a key.”

  At that moment, the waiter brought their drinks. They touched glasses and toasted with excellent vodka. In the Motherland, there is no other kind.

  “To your success and good fortune, my son.”

  “And to yours, Mother.”

  “I’ve already had more than my share of success. And what need has an old woman for good fortune?”

  He revisited his all consuming vendetta. “To repay you for the cruelty life has shown you because of my father’s cowardly act.”

  “Vasiliy, you must learn to forget. Put the pain and anger behind us and make the best of our remaining days together. You smile so infrequently. Why is this? A mother’s favorite gift is a smile from her handsome son.”

  “My life’s a constant reminder of father’s disdainful act. It follows me constantly, most lately in the attitude of comrade Commander Poplavich, our zampolit. He regards my father’s defection as cause to question my loyalty to the Party.”

  “Pay him no mind. You do well in the Navy and I am proud. Now make me happy. Put this anger aside and enjoy your life. Find a good woman and give me a grandchild to dote over.”

  “War is not a proper time to bring children into the world. Perhaps when Capitalism is destroyed, the world will again be such a place.”

  “Ah, Vasiliy, you turn even pleasant thoughts into grist for your vendetta. Learn to forgive Yuri. He loved us but he is an artist. Art can be a cruel master.”

  He had never heard his mother speak her husband’s name. Before, it had always been your father or my husband.

  She continued, “He could not find artistic freedom here. You see some of this yourself, Vasiliy, in the actions of the zamp
olit. You have ideas about your profession but they are thwarted. Try to understand. If we continue to find cause to put off the important things in our life, we’ll never get to them.”

  She reached across the table and pressed her son’s hand.

  Vasiliy did not agree but could not bring himself to deny his mother her tender moment. He blamed America for the misery she tried to hide, as well as for the plight of the downtrodden throughout the world. He intended to play a major role in hastening the defeat of his hated enemies.

  “You have given me much to think on, Mother, and I shall,” Vasiliy lied.

  Eve Danis exclaimed, “Bea Zane! Ooh, your mother. You have so much of Dale it’s like seeing her again.”

  Bea had driven to Hoquiam to gather up Eric’s wife for a weekend at the Digs. They had not seen each other for over ten years so the women embraced warmly. Eve and the Zanes had been close friends when their husbands shared junior officer days.

  “Mrs. Danis, it’s great to see you again and looking so well.”

  “Please, Bea, call me Eve. Mrs. makes me feel so ancient, which I am, of course.”

  “If you’re ancient,” Bea hesitated then used the offered invitation, “Eve, I hope time flies by quickly, because I can’t wait to look that good.”

  “A way with words … from your dad, no doubt. He was full of them. Never believed him but loved hearing what he had to say. When will I see him?”

  “This evening. He’s really excited about the weekend. Whenever Captain Danis comes to town, Dad tries to get him out to the Digs but it never works out. It took you to come along to make it happen.”

  “I’m pleased to be the culprit.”

  Bea changed the subject, “So, how do you like Hoquiam?”

  “I really can’t tell the difference between here and the other places I’ve lived. Just put our things around and from the inside, all houses look the same. So far I’ve only been out enough to hit a few grocery stores.”

  “You’ll love Washington, especially in the spring. We get great weather and best of all, no food shortages at the Digs. We live on clams, fresh salmon, Dungeness crab and fresh veggies from the garden. Old Dad, the squirrel, has laid in a lifetime supply of vino. There are enough empty cardboard wine boxes under the house to be a fire hazard.”

  Eve replied, “I’m so excited.”

  “Then let’s be off. It’s not all that far but the roads there are not the best.”

  They drove west out of town on state highway 109 that bent north along the coast ending at Ocean City State Park. The park, originally intended as a year-round 170-acre campsite, featured ocean beach, dunes and dense thickets of shore pine. Campers came to watch migratory birds and to comb the beaches. War changed it to a refugee camp. Makeshift shelters built by nuclear attack survivors marred a once idyllic site.

  Refugee agencies provided food, medicine and other essentials. Early arrivals fabricated domiciles from many of the existing structures but tents and other shelters made from plastic sheets abounded throughout the makeshift camp.

  Obvious burns and loss of hair by many of the survivors signaled they’d not likely survive. Their spirits, despite all that had happened, seemed high. The world’s highest standard of living does not soften Americans to the point of being unable to adjust to disaster. For the third time in this century, they exhibited no intention of knuckling under to hostile attempts to control their world. Not a distant war in a strange land, but an offense to their own treasured quality of life and they would not tolerate it.

  Continuing their conversation, Eve said, “It’s dreadful to think of what these poor people have lost, but at least they have their lives. Material possessions can be replaced.”

  “Most of the workers who man the base live here. It’s good that it’s spring, especially for the children. Winters here can be cruel.” Pointing off to the west, Bea continued, “The base is about five miles over that way.”

  They left the paved highway and drove onto a gravel road leading to the Digs.

  “Well Bea, let’s hope the boys get done with what they have to do so we see them at a decent time for dinner tonight. I’m so happy to be rescued. I can’t stand to look at another packing box.”

  Bea replied, “The fate of a Navy wife. You become a moving specialist.”

  “On that subject, I hear there’s a thing between you and Lieutenant Maddock on the Denver. Is that talkable?”

  “It is. Brent’s very nice and we see a lot of each other. That is when he’s here. The Denver is out, you know.”

  “Oh there has to be more than that. You wouldn’t deprive a snoopy old lady of grist for her mill?”

  “Not a bit, Eve. It’s more than just a passing thing. We do discuss the future. Nothing definite, mind you. No proposals or rings yet.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “In love? Yes, I think so, but neither of us has mentioned it. Brent makes it obvious he cares for me. He’s a good listener and very considerate. He took me to the Nutcracker on our first date … his first ballet. A real chore for him but he toughed it out with not a single complaint.”

  “When I was a girl we called that sort keepers.”

  Bea said, “Maybe that’s the problem. Brent’s too good to be true.”

  “That’s a problem?” Eve smiled.

  “He was married but now divorced.”

  “Oh?”

  “Brent wants stability. I get a sense he’s ready for another marriage but needs to be certain it will succeed. Frankly, Eve, Brent is not an easy person to get to know. He sends signals but doesn’t volunteer anything. It’s easy to tell when you’re into a sensitive area with him because that’s when the simple yes and no answers start. There are problems too.”

  “Aren’t there always? How dull life would be without them.”

  “I’m not sure Brent is totally out of love with his first wife. They have a son he adores. He didn’t want the divorce.”

  “Has she remarried?”

  “Yes, and here’s the funny part. He likes her husband. It’s as if he still feels responsible and wants to be sure she’s well provided for. I don’t know if I can really handle that.”

  “She’s no threat, Bea. Apparently, she doesn’t want him and has made another commitment. I suspect his ex-wife is only a perceived obligation. But show me a man who honors obligation and I’ll show you a winner.”

  Bea seemed relieved to change the subject. “Well, here it is.”

  They turned off the gravel road and into Digs’ rustic driveway. Mid-afternoon found the sun high in the western sky. The Pacific opened in a vast panorama of esthetic beauty, revealing nothing of the lethal and hostile devices concealed within her depths. The women were pleased with the prospect of what the weekend would bring and delighted they’d be together with Eric and Dave for the first time in many years. Both wondered how many more remained in the offing but neither confided this feeling to the other.

  Lt. Vasiliy Baknov had the watch when the attack came. Sounds of an ADCAP torpedo racing toward Zhukov could be heard through the hull, striking terror into hearts of the crew but the men went about their business like the professionals they were.

  Keeping his voice steady, Vasiliy ordered, “Open the muzzle door and fire,” as he sounded the collision alarm, which quickly brought Captain Sherensky to the Attack Center and Zhukov to her highest state of watertight integrity.

  Zhukov shuddered as the ET 80A ejected from its launcher and turned to the bearing of the inbound ADCAP.

  Vasiliy had planned everything down to predicting time of the attack to within three hours of when it occurred. He had pre-positioned a torpedo in a flooded and pressurized launcher so he could counter-fire almost at the instant the michman detected an inbound torpedo. A rough pre-positioned gyro angle setting in the torpedo would direct the weapon toward the baffles, the general direction of attack correctly expected by Vasiliy.

  The Akula had entered Vasiliy’s Zhukov Maneuver by the time
Sherensky arrived.

  Vasily reported, “Inbound bearing changing rapidly, Captain, running up the starboard side. The maneuver is working. I’m certain it can’t find us.”

  “Let us hope not. How long has our unit been running?”

  “One minute, Captain. If the Americans play their usual game, we’ll hear an explosion in two minutes, fifteen seconds.”

  Sherensky marveled at Vasiliy’s composure. While the others held their breath, Vasiliy concerned himself only with the prospect of a kill. If successful, Vasiliy’s quick shot would give Zhukov the margin they needed to evade the inbound. At minimum, it would put the attacker on the defensive and cause his evasive actions to sever the torpedo guide wire.

  The michman reported, “Enemy weapon opening ahead.”

  Vasiliy gloated, “Ah, good. Now all that remains is to await the explosion of our torpedo.” Certain Denver was the attacker; he tried to recall names of officers he’d read about in the intelligence directory. So, Lieutenant Maddock, it appears we will not be adversaries much longer. Vasiliy counted down the seconds, “Five, four, three, two, one—”

  No explosion.

  His frustration mounting, Vasiliy said, “Comrade Michman, search the target area and report.”

  The michman replied, relief clear in his voice, “A high noise level, steady bearing, growing fainter.”

  Vasiliy exclaimed, “Damn all! He’s running for it. If he goes to maximum depth, our weapon won’t catch him. He must have fired from a greater range than estimated. Comrade Captain, we need weapons with greater catch up margin if we expect to sink 688 class submarines. Let us go after him, Comrade Captain.”

  The captain held a decidedly different point of view. He grew up in a submarine force, a distant second to the Americans. Deployment of the 688 class in 1974 appeared an insurmountable gain by the west. But with help from the Walker spy ring and new propeller technology sold to them by allied countries, they produced equipment that brought them closer to the Americans.

  A Voltaire quote hung on the wall of Admiral of the FleetSergey Georgyevich Gorshkov’s office, “Better is the enemy of good enough.”