Arctic Gambit

by Larry Bond

  Eventually, they’d settled on Pendleton Hill in Stonington, forty-two acres purchased in the 1890s by a robber baron that fancied himself a gentleman farmer. Hardy and Patterson got it at a good price, since the previous owners had not been able to keep it properly maintained. The place would have to be renovated anyway, before the new occupants could move in. There was a small stream on one edge of the property, which would have to satisfy the president-elect’s desire for water.

  Jerry had been there once before, with Emily, at the official housewarming for the “Connecticut White House.” He remembered the first guard shack, just after turning off the main road. They didn’t even stop, but Jerry knew they’d been reported.

  The real security came five minutes later, at a converted gatehouse that now served as the Secret Service’s local headquarters. Everyone showed their IDs, while dogs checked the car. Jerry, in the middle of his second, more thorough reading of the document, replaced it in the envelope and offered it to Adams, but she waved it away. “Please keep it for your meeting. The Secret Service will keep your luggage until you’re done.”

  Once past the gatehouse, they drove by an ornamental garden dotted with small statues, as old as the house. Any further security was well concealed, and aside from a few people working on the grounds, there was nobody in sight.

  The car pulled around to a side entrance, where Dwight Sellers was waiting for him inside. Hardy’s chief of staff greeted him warmly. “You’re early. That’s good.” He pointed to the envelope. “Did you get a chance to go over it?”

  Jerry barely nodded yes before Sellers had them moving down a long central hall. He apologized, “Lately, the weather’s been good in the morning, and the president and first lady have been taking breakfast in the garden, but today they’re in their private dining room.” Jerry, his mind filled with what he’d just read, completely understood. He didn’t want even a sparrow to overhear their conversation.

  “I’ve cleared his morning, so you shouldn’t feel rushed. We weren’t sure how long he would need—how long this meeting would take,” Sellers explained. “But there’s a lot going on…”

  “I understand,” Jerry replied as Sellers knocked lightly and opened the door.

  The first couple were seated, but they both rose and Joanna Patterson almost ran from behind the breakfast table to where Jerry stood, sweeping him in an enthusiastic and familiar embrace. “Jerry, it’s wonderful to see you.”

  Jerry responded with a small squeeze and a peck on her cheek, but turned as quickly as he could to face Hardy. “Good to see you, Skipper.” Hardy’s handshake was firm without being competitive.

  Jerry served himself from a trolley loaded with fruit, bacon, pastries, and almost anything he could imagine asking for. He noticed the other two were both eating light, and resisted the impulse to load up. As he sat, Joanna asked about Emily and Charlotte, and then Hardy asked about how the squadron was reacting to Toledo’s loss.

  More questions followed. It seemed like they were hungry for news, or more properly, unfiltered, personal news. Jerry and Emily occasionally sent photos and short messages to a special e-mail address they’d been given, but they’d been reluctant to clutter the first couple’s inbox. As the conversation progressed, he made a mental note to send more personal e-mails to Hardy and Patterson. They might as well be living in a foreign country for all the contact they had with their old friends.

  Jerry waited patiently for Hardy to get around to business. The three finally cleared the dishes away, by themselves, onto the bottom shelf of the trolley. It was clear to Jerry that this was to be a very private conversation. Hardy poured a second cup of coffee for all three of them, and then asked, “What’s your opinion of Lou Weiss, Jerry?”

  That was an easy one to answer. “He’s very good. He took over Carter about a month after I arrived, so we’re both the ‘new guys’ in DEVRON Five. It’s his first command, but he’s done well, witness his last two outings. He’s energetic and methodical, almost to a fault, and is always thinking about what comes next.” Jerry gestured to the manila envelope, now resting on one corner of the table. “He’s got as good a chance as anyone in the fleet of getting this done.”

  “What do you think of Overcharge? Any qualms about attacking a Russian base in Russian waters?” Hardy asked.

  Jerry almost laughed. “After all we’ve been through? It’s almost old home week.” Then his tone became more serious. “I haven’t heard anything about this base since I was at the Toledo debrief. When I got the phone call, I wondered if Bolshevik Island was involved.”

  Then he shuddered, not entirely theatrically. “Overcharge scares the hell out of me, because there is a small, hard-to-measure chance of triggering World War III…”

  Hardy nodded reluctant agreement.

  “But it seems like Fedorin’s getting ready to start one anyway. If not now, then whenever he feels like it, and we wouldn’t be able to stop him. I completely agree with what someone wrote in the plan about it ‘being the best way to remove a key element of the Russians’ strategy.’”

  “Do you see any problems with the mission plan?”

  Jerry sighed. “The only dicey spot I can see is having to snoop around and figure out the layout of the place before they can place the beacons. The Russians are still working there, so it’ll be a lot like a boat slipping into an enemy harbor during World War II, dodging the escorts until he can get close enough for a shot. If the UUVs are spotted before they start putting the beacons in place, or even before they’re done placing them…” Jerry shrugged. “And we’ve no idea of their timeline?”

  “None,” Hardy answered, “except that the weather’s going to get progressively worse, and they won’t be able to work at all starting in October. It’s reasonable to assume they’re close to being done.”

  The president added, “I’m also working with the Joint Chiefs on a massive no-notice deployment ‘exercise’ to Europe. The planners don’t know anything about Overcharge and don’t need to, but if this”—Hardy tapped the envelope—“fails, then the troops won’t be taking part in an exercise. They’ll be the first wave of reinforcements in what will be a very bad war.”

  “It will work, Skipper. Lou is new, but he’s had time to learn his boat and his crew.”

  Hardy made a face, not quite a frown. “But he’s never fought. He’s done well with the UUVs, and you just pointed out how tricky this will be…”

  “Skipper, do you have some concern about Lou Weiss? Please, tell me.”

  “Jerry, I’m putting you aboard Carter as mission commander.”

  “Then you are concerned about Lou’s ability,” Jerry accused.

  “No,” Hardy replied sharply. “Not a bit, and I understand what this will mean for both you and him, but as I told Commander Weiss yesterday, there’s a better chance of the mission succeeding with both of you aboard than just him. And this has to work, Jerry.”

  Jerry didn’t reply immediately, sorting through the implications, then asked, “So Lou knows, then? How did he react?”

  “I told him myself yesterday evening. And as you’d expect, he wasn’t happy,” Hardy admitted, “but he took it aboard. ‘Two heads are better than one.’ His own words.”

  Jerry was still frowning, and Hardy pressed his point. “You have more time with UUVs than almost anyone else in the Navy, and you’ve used them in combat situations. You’ve fired torpedoes in anger; he hasn’t. I need that experience on board Carter.

  “The arrangement will be awkward, but I think the two of you will figure out how to deal with it. After all, if a pair of hyperactive Type A’s like Joanna and I can do it…” Hardy looked toward his wife and smiled. Patterson stuck out her tongue. “Then you two can.”

  “And if the president of the United States gives me an order, it’s up to me to do my best to follow it.” Jerry nodded solemnly. “We will make it work somehow, sir.”

  “Which gives me a better feeling about this mission,” Hardy replied. “
Dwight will get you down to Groton. Carter sails tonight.” He offered his hand. “Godspeed and good hunting.”

  * * *

  The car dropped Jerry off at the EB graving dock just before ten o’clock. Civilian workers were busy preparing for Carter’s departure. He’d been involved with enough undockings to see that everything was proceeding properly. There were few sailors visible in the basin. There was plenty for them to do inside.

  The quarterdeck watch was waiting for his arrival, and a messenger ran up to collect his bags. He would have liked a moment or two to gather his thoughts, but realized he’d just be stalling. As he saluted and crossed the brow, he heard a bell ring four times, and “DEVRON Five, arriving.”

  Jerry started to follow the messenger down the forward escape trunk, then paused. Instead, he told the quarterdeck, “Ask Captain Weiss if he can come topside for a few minutes.” The OOD relayed the message, and Weiss appeared only moments later. He approached Jerry, standing on the aft casing, and snapped a salute sharp enough to cut a mooring line.

  “Welcome aboard, Commodore.” After Jerry returned the salute, as crisply as he could, they shook hands.

  Jerry asked, “Can you step off the boat for a few minutes, Lou? Can they spare you?” He tried to sound as sincere as possible. The last thing he wanted was to slow down preparations while he and Lou Weiss hashed things out.

  “Certainly, sir. It’s going pretty smoothly, and you know as well as I that the XO is doing most of the work,” Weiss reported, gesturing toward the brow. As he followed the commodore, he added, “Everyone’s been waiting for the ‘go’ signal.”

  Jerry saw the quarterdeck watch preparing to render honors again as they stepped ashore, but he waved them off. “We’ll be close by,” he explained.

  Electric Boat’s graving dock was surrounded by a concrete apron as wide as an eight-lane highway. While there was plenty of activity near Carter, they quickly found a quiet spot in sight of the boat. They sat on a low, wide packing crate long enough to hold a school bus. A cool breeze off the water offset the sun’s heat, reflecting off the surrounding concrete.

  Jerry knew Weiss would wait for him to speak first, and lacking anything better to say, he tried to sound positive. “I just came from a meeting with the president; that’s when he told me I was going along. This is still your mission, Lou.”

  “Thank you for saying that, sir, but it can’t be, not with you aboard.” Jerry opened his mouth to respond, but Weiss held up a hand and kept talking, the words pouring out. “I’ve seen how you operate, and I’ve done my best to follow your example. I’d be nuts not to. But I have to be honest. Every time I give an order, my guys will be looking to you for confirmation. You are senior, and you are much more experienced.”

  Jerry couldn’t disagree, but there was more to it. “I don’t want the crew looking to me. That moment of indecision could be disastrous. The president told me to back you up, not take over. I won’t tell you how to run your boat, Lou. My job is to advise you and help you complete the mission.”

  Weiss nodded. “And it makes sense for you to come along. You’ve got more command time and combat experience, not to mention working with UUVs.”

  “You did good work with them on your last patrol,” Mitchell offered.

  After a short pause that threatened to get longer, Jerry explained, “If it’s any consolation, the president knows exactly what he’s asking us to do. I was with Lowell Hardy when he was the CO of Memphis and Joanna Patterson was the mission commander—also assigned by a president. That was my first boat, and my first patrol. I watched them not work together. It took time, but they hammered out an arrangement that got the job done.”

  “So that story is true?” Weiss asked.

  Jerry shrugged. “I don’t know which version you heard, but there was a ‘process’ both of them had to go through.” He smiled. “But they managed to work it out. We can do that, too.”

  “She wasn’t Navy,” Weiss observed.

  “And she had a lot of learning do to, which we can skip,” Jerry countered. “Saves time. Think of it this way—let me be your consigliore. You have seen The Godfather?” he asked.

  Weiss nodded. “Yep, and you’d be a wartime consigliore at that.”

  Jerry relaxed a little, and expanded his idea. “On the trip up, we are going to work out tactics for Carter and the UUVs, and drill until they’re second nature. If we have any differences, that’s when we resolve them. Later on, if things get sticky, or you’re looking for a second opinion, I’ll be there.”

  Weiss was considering what Jerry said, but he still looked like a kid who’d just gotten underwear for his birthday. He might really need it, but he didn’t have to like it.

  Jerry said, “I really don’t expect, and don’t want to ever give an order when I’m in control. If I do have to give one, I’ll expect you to follow it, but that’s not how I see things sorting out. Think of me as a coach, prepping you for the big game, and standing by on the sidelines while you run the plays.”

  “I like the consigliore analogy better,” Weiss observed. “Thanks for taking the time to talk about this, sir.”

  “I owe you at least this much, Lou.” They shook hands again, then turned back toward Carter.

  25 July 2021

  1900 Local Time

  The Admiralty Building

  St. Petersburg, Russia

  * * *

  Vasiliy Lavrov was a frustrated man. It had been over two weeks since the Jimmy Carter had first arrived in Groton … sixteen days, and half that time was spent in a dry dock. He threw the latest report from the embassy’s observer back on the desk. The man was nearly useless. He had no way of knowing what was going on, even though he spent many hours each day peering across the Thames River. Once the Americans put Carter in a covered graving dock, he no longer had an unobstructed line of sight, and yet he still reported there was evidence work was ongoing.

  Rubbing his face to ward off the effects of fatigue, Lavrov struggled to figure out where his analysis may have been flawed. Could it be that he was still right, but mechanical difficulties prevented the spy submarine from heading toward Bolshevik Island? There were plenty of news reports of a problem with the submarine’s main propulsion train, and the Americans did move Carter into two different dry docks. The observer had taken plenty of photos of the submarine as it was moved first into the dock at the submarine base, and then to an Electric Boat graving dock.

  Stretching, he tried to understand the Americans’ activities. Was the boat truly suffering from a significant mechanical failure? Or was this just part of a well-run disinformation campaign? Drugov and Komeyev were both convinced the submarine was broken and no longer a concern. Lavrov’s instincts couldn’t accept that; he had to know what was actually happening. Grumbling, he sent an e-mail to the embassy demanding their observer expand his efforts beyond staring at a covered dry dock from across the river. The captain suggested that the man frequent some of the local bars and listen to the workers’ conversation. Perhaps he might learn something that would shed some light on this vexing situation.

  13

  NEW AND OLD

  25 July 2021

  1015 Eastern Daylight Time

  Graving Dock, Electric Boat Company

  Groton, CT

  * * *

  Cavanaugh tried his best to keep out of the way as they prepared for leaving the dry dock. The excited tone he’d heard in the wardroom now infected the crew’s conversations, although he still heard a lot of speculation about where they were headed. Ensign Truitt brought him to the sub’s office, then disappeared, reappearing while the civilian was just finishing his paperwork. “Here’s your TLD … a portable dosimeter,” he explained, placing it in Cavanaugh’s hand. “Wear it at all times when you’re up and about the boat. Just loop it through your belt.” Truitt pointed to his own on his waist. “But I’d recommend having the case under your belt. You’re less likely to snag it on something. And trust me, there are a lot of s
omethings to snag on a submarine.”

  “Yes, I’ve discovered that,” Cavanaugh replied, reminded by the aches in his shin and shoulder.

  Truitt smiled. “So, ready for a quick tour? This won’t be very detailed; it’s just to show you how Jimmy’s laid out.”

  “Do you have the time right now?” Cavanaugh wondered. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry.

  “My guys are ready. Actually, it was going to be my turn to take her out, and normally I’d need some time to prepare for that, but the skipper decided that my boss, Lieutenant Commander Norris, will take her out of the dry dock.” Truitt scrunched up his face a little and intoned, “‘There will be ample training opportunities later.’”

  Cavanaugh had to laugh at the ensign’s impersonation. It was very bad, but still clearly recognizable as CDR Weiss. “Has the Captain ever seen your impression?”

  Truitt grinned. “Why do you think I’m still an ensign?” He gestured toward the office. “This is a good place to start. We’re about as far forward as you can get. The only things in front of us are the three main sonar arrays, basically one big ball that is passive, listens only, with a smaller active array under it. The third is a low frequency bow array, a series of hydrophones that wraps around the entire front end of the boat.” He pointed down. “The torpedo room is below us. Follow me.”

  It was only a few steps to the control room. Cavanaugh had seen enough submarine movies to recognize it immediately, although it was not as spacious as he’d imagined. It wasn’t manned, of course, but crewmen—and women, he noted—were busy at different terminals. “We’re right under the sail,” Truitt explained, then pointed a single cylindrical pole in the middle of the room. “We only have one traditional periscope now. The other is a photonics mast that doesn’t penetrate the pressure hull. Both feed that console over there, but we can route the output to one of many video displays.” Cavanaugh wanted to ask questions, but Truitt kept moving.