by Cliff Happy
Ahadi waited patiently as his sonar room continued to give updated information on the lumbering giant moving south through the Persian Gulf toward the Strait of Hormuz. The huge tanker was over five hundred thousand dead weight tons, and was completely unaware it was being hunted. It took nearly ten minutes to load the two torpedoes. Hardly satisfactory, but Ahadi knew his men would grow more proficient as they gained experience with the new equipment.
“Torpedo room reports tubes one and six loaded and ready, Captain,” his weapons officer reported.
“Flood tubes one and six. Open outer doors,” Ahadi ordered. He checked the tactical display, verifying there were no other vessels close by.
“Tubes flooded and outer doors opened, Captain,” came the report a few seconds later.
The two torpedoes were the revolutionary rocket torpedoes designed by the Russians, and could cover the two thousand meters in less than a minute. The supertanker would be split in two, and millions of gallons of Saudi Arabian crude oil would spill into the Persian Gulf. There was nothing but restraint to prevent it, but restraint was enough, this time.
“Very good, weapons officer,” Ahadi concluded. “Close outer doors and secure from battle stations.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“A-hem,” the Russian, Captain Zuyev, cleared his throat, getting Ahadi’s attention.
Ahadi turned to speak with the Russian. He didn’t like only being nominally in command, but he knew the Russian had far more experience handling nuclear submarines than anyone in the Iranian Navy. “Yes, Captain?”
“I would save the Shkval torpedo for emergencies,” he explained. “They are too valuable to waste on something as defenseless as an oil tanker.”
He was right, of course. Ahadi filed the knowledge away, knowing he was still acting like a child with a new toy instead of the professional he was. “What else, Captain?” he asked, wanting a full critique.
“You can’t assume you are the only hunter in the area,” Zuyev explained. “The Americans, French, British… there are numerous other navies that might have a submarine in these waters. They could be sitting quietly just a few thousand meters away. If you launch a torpedo, they will hear you, even if the reactor is dormant. That is when you will need a Shkval.”
Ahadi nodded in understanding.
“Your torpedomen also need practice,” the Russian continued his critique as he removed a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. “Ten minutes to load two torpedoes is ridiculous.”
Ahadi didn’t like the fact his crew was still far from ready. They were improving steadily, but not fast enough. The sooner Zuyev and the rest of the Russian infidels were off his boat, the better. But, for the moment, he needed the Russian, and Ahadi was a patient man. He’d been waiting his whole life for a new Persian Empire.
Chapter Fourteen
Female Officer Quarters USS Seawolf
Kristen stood in her small, makeshift cabin, the recent encounter with Brodie in his cabin barely thirty minutes old. She’d yet to finish drying her hair or braiding it which she knew would help her push errant thoughts aside. The slow, methodical, intricate French braid took time, and fixing her hair was almost therapeutic to her psyche.
She was overlooking something significant. She couldn’t shake the haunting realization. With effort, she forced thoughts of everything but their mission aside, and focused on the dilemma facing them. She leaned her head against the wall, closed her tired eyes tightly, and gently tapped her head against the metal bulkhead above the mirror. “Think, girl, think,” she told herself. “It’s right in front of you.” She was sure of it. She’d felt it for days, and the certainty was maddening.
She opened her eyes and found herself looking down at the small mirror as droplets of water slowly traced their way down the glass surface. There was nothing at all significant about the drops as they slid inexorably downward toward the deck below, gravity working its magic as it had for billions of years. But, the image shook her memory.
“Water,” she whispered to no one as she stood back up.
Her eyes narrowed in thought as she stared at the water droplets cascading slowly down the mirror and dripping onto the deck. A sudden rush of disjointed images and memories flooded into her thoughts all at once. Literally tens of thousands of pages, chemistry textbooks, classified reports, satellite images… it was like a tsunami of information rushing forth. For a moment it was overwhelming, and she literally had to brace herself against the bulkhead as she struggled to sort through it all. But, the realization came.
She knew.
The knowledge hadn’t been in front of her, but had been in her past, and the memories now rushing forth held the answers.
“Oh, my God!” she gasped, dropped the hairbrush and nearly tore the curtain used as a door to her living space as she rushed out. She pulled the hatch to the passageway open so fast she startled a computer technician who’d been about to come in and check the equipment. “Gangway!” she ordered in a rush and ran down the passageway into the control room where she found the XO seated on the periscope platform doing some paperwork. She didn’t see Brodie anywhere. Kristen desperately needed to see the captain.
No one else would believe her.
Next to Graves was Mike Massanelli, the submarine’s assistant damage control officer, and Kristen assumed the two men were planning the next drill. As she approached, both men looked at her curiously, and she understood why. She looked disheveled. She’d made it a rule never to leave her quarters without looking as professional as she could manage. But now her usually neatly braided hair was hanging in long wet clumps along each side of her head and down her back. Kristen ignored several sideways glances from the control room crew as she walked right up to the XO.
“Lieutenant?” he asked a bit taken aback. “I assume there is a reason for your appearance.”
Kristen didn’t have time to explain, feeling as if one of the Russian submarines haunting her dreams might be right behind them as they spoke. “Sir, I need to see the captain, right away.” Despite her attempt at calmness, she felt her tone might be a little shrill, and she struggled to stay calm as the enormity of what she’d realized continued to reverberate through her.
“What’s happened?” he asked sharply as he stood, his eyes flashing with a hint of anger. Kristen realized he probably thought someone might have sexually harassed her or some other trivial thing.
“Nothing like that, sir,” she assured him. “But it is extremely important that I see the captain at once.”
“Can you at least tell me what it’s about?” he asked, hesitant to disturb Brodie. Kristen knew why. More than anyone else on board, Brodie was pushing toward the brink of physical and mental collapse. They were all tired. It had been one hell of a patrol so far, but the exhaustion Kristen and her fellow crewmen were feeling was compounded in their captain. As the XO, Graves was trying to protect Brodie from being disturbed with trivial matters.
Kristen paused, forcing herself to at least appear calm as the enormity of what she now knew for certain weighed upon her. She glanced about the control room, thinking about how explosive her conclusions were and not certain the information she had should be disseminated to the crew. “I can’t talk about it in here,” she explained. “I’m sorry, sir. But I have to see him right now.”
Graves exhaled deeply, showing a hint of irritation as he did so. His dark eyes studied her sharply, and she understood that if she forced him to disturb the captain and it turned out to be nothing, she would pay a serious price. “Okay, Lieutenant,” he told her skeptically. “I’ll take you to him, but it better be damn important because he’s supposed to be sacked out.”
Kristen followed the towering Graves aft to officers’ country and the captain’s cabin where Kristen hoped Brodie would still be awake. At the door, the XO hesitated a moment and glanced back at her. “Are you certain about this?” he asked seriously. “Because if you aren’t…”
Kristen nodded her assurance as she heard the clear sou
nd of the captain exercising on his Versaclimber on the other side of the door. “At least he’s still awake,” she commented anxiously.
“I’d have preferred him sleeping rather than killing himself on that infernal machine,” Graves muttered as he knocked.
They heard the protesting machine slow down and come to a stop before hearing Brodie’s curt, “Enter.”
Graves opened the door and stuck his head in. “Sorry to trouble you, Skipper,” he apologized.
“No sweat, whatcha got, Jason?”
Graves opened the door the rest of the way and jerked a thumb toward Kristen who was still in the passageway. “Lieutenant Whitaker said it’s important.”
Brodie was covered in a thin film of sweat and breathing heavily. Assuming she was here about the incident in the bathroom, he said, “Lieutenant, if this is about what happened a little while ago in…”
Kristen shook her head. “No, sir, that’s nothing…” she said in a rush, wanting to assure him she wasn’t troubling his rest period over what had occurred in the shower. She then blurted out, “I need to see those photographs,” she told him. “The satellite images from the briefing,” she explained almost frantically. “It’s important.”
Graves’ eyes opened incredulously. “Lieutenant?”
However Brodie stopped him in mid-sentence with a calm wave of his hand. “It’s all right, Jason.” He exhaled deeply and asked her, “Why?”
Kristen was certain she was right, but needed the photographs before she could prove it to herself. She had to see with her own eyes again to make certain she hadn’t imagined it. She was literally trembling with nervous energy. “Captain, I can’t explain. You would never believe me.”
“I seriously doubt it.” Brodie shook his head in disagreement as he turned away from the door and stepped over to his wall safe.
Kristen stepped through the door, feeling the disapproving eye of Graves on her. He clearly thought this was a lark, and he didn’t like it.
“Have a seat,” Brodie offered and opened the safe.
She did as instructed and waited while he removed several files before removing a thick, codename-classified file with the name RED SPARROW on the jacket. He opened it and removed only the pictures from inside the file, leaving the rest of the contents undisclosed for the moment. He then set the photographs in front of her. There were at least forty in all.
“All right, what’s this all this about?” Brodie asked, looking down at her, his chest still heaving from the workout.
Kristen pulled her gold-rimmed glasses from her pocket, a bit self-conscious for some reason now as she pulled them on, having never before cared what anyone thought of her needing glasses. “I’ll find it in a minute, Captain,” she offered and began going through the photographs, glancing at each one. Some she stared at for only a brief second before tossing them onto a growing discard pile.
Graves sat backward in a chair, resting his arms on its back and exchanging curious looks with Brodie. Kristen did her best to ignore them and stopped on one photograph. Her eyes squinted tight as she studied it closely. Brodie opened a drawer containing some office supplies, pulled out a magnifying glass, and offered it to her. Kristen took it without saying a word and resumed studying the photographs. She continued discarding those she found of no value, carefully setting aside those she felt she could use to prove her case. Brodie took a seat across from her, leaned his head back against the bulkhead and said no more. It took nearly ten minutes for Kristen to find the necessary six photographs needed. Once ready, she looked up, but saw that Brodie was asleep, his head resting against the corner of the bulkhead.
She was excited now and anxious to explain but hesitated, glancing at Graves who still glared at her angrily. But Graves understood her hesitation to awaken their captain, so he spoke to Brodie, “Sean?”
Brodie’s eyes opened and he sat up, looking at Kristen. “All right, Lieutenant,” he replied calmly, but clearly with a slight edge in his voice. He was tired, bone tired and had no interest in playing games.
“Gentlemen, I’m sorry. But I couldn’t be a hundred percent certain until I saw the images again. Ever since the briefing you gave us two weeks ago, I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to piece this all together. But I think I’ve finally got it.”
“Cut to the chase, Kristen.” Graves ordered, his patience wearing a bit thin.
She hesitated, still not certain they would believe her but then stated, “The two new Russian boats, the Borei and the Gagarin,” she stated positively. “They’re using a hybrid nuclear and hydrogen fuel cell drive system.”
Graves looked at her blankly, not certain he heard correctly. Brodie was also looking at her with some skepticism. “Are you speculating here, Kris?” Brodie asked her in all seriousness, the mask of command slipping away and the man beneath coming to the surface.
“Well,” she admitted, “I could be wrong, but it’s the only thing that makes sense, and I think I can prove it.” She could see Graves thought she might be a bit off her rocker but was encouraged when Brodie nodded and motioned for her to proceed. “During my senior year at the Academy, I was part of the Trident Scholars program. My capstone project involved the possibility of combining the endurance and raw power of a nuclear reactor with the unmatched stealth of a hydrogen fuel cell plant in a single hull,” she explained. She decided not to mention the fact that when her final report was submitted, it was snatched up by Director of Naval Reactors, including her laptop’s hard drive, and all of her notes. Everything was locked away before her research mentor had even finished reading half the final paper.
Graves shook his head. “I’m not following.”
She turned to him and explained, “Sir, we’ve been able to eliminate virtually every noise on a submarine, or dampen them to the point they’re so slight they’re virtually undetectable. But no matter what we do, the nuclear reactor makes noise. The cooling pumps, the high-pressure steam rushing through miles of pipes, condensation plants dripping… we can’t make a nuke boat any quieter than we already have because these items must—must—always be running.”
“Okay, so what about the hydrogen fuel cell?” Graves asked.
“Hydrogen fuel cells have been used for years,” she explained. “I mean we went to the moon with them in our spacecraft because they’re so simple and incredibly reliable. There are no moving parts in a hydrogen fuel cell. Simply put, there is liquid hydrogen and oxygen, each stored in separate pressurized containment vessels. Each vessel discharges the liquid which turns into gas the second it’s released from the high-pressure environment. The hydrogen and oxygen gases then meet in the fuel cell which is just a series of slender electrochemical conversion devices, each with an anode side and a cathode side. The hydrogen acts as the fuel on the anode side, and the oxygen provides the oxidizing agent on the other. The result is electricity; clean and abundant energy with no moving parts. The electricity can then be used to power the submarine and run an extremely quiet electric motor to drive the boat.”
“Don’t the Germans have a boat using this?” Graves asked her.
“Their Type 212,” Brodie answered for her as he shook his head to force his fatigue aside while she continued.
“I had to study the German power plant as part of my project. They’re able to run on their fuel cells for three weeks submerged,” she explained. “And while using the fuel cells, they’re quieter than any boat we have. The only by product of a fuel cell is water and a small amount of heat contained within the boat to keep the crew warm.”
Brodie leaned back thoughtfully, then picked up his ship’s phone and called Charles Horner’s cabin. Meanwhile, Kristen continued talking to Graves. “I had this crazy idea of actually slipping a hydrogen fuel cell module into a regular nuke boat. The benefits being multiple as the sub could operate on the nearly inexhaustible plutonium pile for thirty years if necessary, running at high speed or whatever until they needed to disappear. Then they could switch over to the hydroge
n cells.”
Brodie summoned the communications officer, and she felt the—now familiar—warmth associated with knowing he believed her and was supporting her. “When the submarine is on the fuel cell, everything else can shut down, and the reactor pile can go dormant. Once this happens, the submarine becomes less than a shadow in the water.”
“But you can only run on it for a few weeks, and then you have to make port to refuel before you can use the fuel cell again,” Graves reminded her about the biggest drawbacks to any non-nuclear submarine: their lack of endurance.
She shook her head anxiously at the beauty of the engineering. “No, not at all. Don’t you see?” she asked excitedly. “Once you run out of hydrogen and oxygen for the fuel cell, you just power up the reactor for a day or two and use its electricity to take ordinary seawater and crack it into hydrogen and oxygen atoms you can then use to refuel yourself while at sea.” The simple chemical and mechanical beauty of the idea seemed obvious to her. “A submarine like this could transcend anything we even have on the drawing boards.”
Brodie was now facing her, clearly believing her, but he tapped the photographs. “Okay, genius,” he said with no hint of ridicule or malice, “prove it.”
Graves dragged his chair next to the table, and Kristen laid out two photographs and began. “Here is a wide-angle shot of Polyarny taken twelve months ago before the Borei was completed and,” she said as she tapped the other photograph, “this is Polyarny two months ago.” She handed Brodie the magnifying glass and directed his attention to what appeared to be large, dome-like tanks. Each tank was separated from the other by over a mile.
Brodie nodded. “Okay, those might be liquid hydrogen and oxygen tanks,” he admitted, but she knew this in and of itself wasn’t enough to convince Washington.
“Look at the photo from a year earlier, sir,” she said to him. “There are no tanks.”
Brodie studied the pictures and then handed them to Graves so he could see what Kristen was talking about. She then laid out the next two. “Now, this is the Severodvinsk yard where the Gagarin was built.” She pointed to a spot on the photograph.