Seawolf End Game

by Cliff Happy

  “Not well, sir,” she admitted. Kristen tried not to think about the very real possibility they were now in a shooting war. “We don’t have enough information on the Borei or the Gagarin to complete the simulation. We’re now uploading the data for the German’s 212.”

  Brodie’s face was a mask of concentration and bull headed determination. It sounded like the rapidly approaching war had suffered its latest series of casualties, and the Seawolf was racing right into the middle of a no-holds-barred fight. Alone in the passageway, he lowered his voice as he faced her. “What good’ll that do us?”

  She then explained how she hoped to get at least some indication what an operational boat using a fuel cell drive might sound like. “Maybe it’ll give us an idea what we’re looking for.” She hesitated for a moment, a question on her lips.

  “What?”

  “Captain, is there any way I could get the sound recording the USS Albany made of the Borei before losing contact?”

  He nodded. “I’ll have it for you in our next data dump from CENTCOM.”

  They were standing in the passageway forward of the control room between the radio and sonar shacks. Kristen’s back was to a bulkhead with Brodie on one side and Graves on the other.

  “How are the drills coming?” Brodie asked him.

  “They’re sharper than I’ve ever seen a crew, Skipper,” Graves answered with a satisfied expression. “But tired and a bit on edge.”

  Brodie leaned against the bulkhead next to her, his head slightly bowed, deep in thought. He nodded his head in satisfaction with their answers and looked back up at Graves. “All right, secure the drills. I want everyone in the rack. Cancel all training.” Brodie then added in a whisper, “As far as I’m concerned this boat is at war, and I want everyone rested when the fight starts.”

  Graves nodded in agreement and then cut his eyes toward Kristen. “Everyone, Skipper?”

  Brodie nodded in agreement as he glanced at Kristen. “Whatever you got cooking, I want you to secure it in six hours and then get some sleep.”

  “Sir, I don’t think we’ll be finished in six hours,” Kristen protested softly.

  “I don’t care,” he told her in the same calm, yet uncompromising tone she’d come to expect when he’d made up his mind about something. “In six hours shut it down and get some sleep. We’re gonna need everyone fresh when the time comes, especially the sonar personnel.”

  Kristen hated not finishing something, but nodded her head in agreement. “Aye, sir.”

  She went back to work, feverishly adjusting the program to fit the new profile. She knew Martin was at least as tired as she was, but he stuck with her, which she felt counted for something. After five more hours, they had the program ready to run and were still running it when they felt the Seawolf begin to slow and come shallow. It wasn’t uncommon for the boat to approach the surface periodically to receive message traffic, and Kristen hardly noticed it as she stood, unable to stay awake any more if she stayed in her seat. Martin was in his chair, and his head had fallen onto his chest. He snored softly as the program ran. She checked her watch, her brain having reached the point where she had to concentrate hard to figure out how long it had been since she’d last slept.

  She saw the program concluding and donned a set of headphones to listen to the computer generated noise the program had developed. The program was designed to actually provide the other ambient noises in the sea while listening for a submarine. But she heard nothing but normal sounds associated with the ocean.

  Kristen glanced at her wristwatch and saw she was out of time. Brodie had ordered her to get some sleep after six hours, and she’d passed her allotted time. She made a digital recording of the sound the program had created to analyze later and was just finishing when a radioman delivered a flash drive to her.

  “The captain said you needed this, Miss,” he explained.

  Kristen, her head feeling like it was in a fog, vaguely recalled her earlier conversation with Brodie where she requested the sound recording from the Albany. She downloaded everything she had to her MP3 player including the recordings from the Albany, planning on listening to it during her free time in the event she could discern something.

  She got Martin up and began shuffling him out of the DPER prior to her crawling into her bunk and getting some much needed sleep. But, as she said goodnight to Martin, they heard the 1MC speaker on the bulkhead come to life.

  “All hands, this is the captain.”

  Kristen heard the ominous tone in Brodie’s voice and paused to listen.

  “We just received word from COMSUBPAC that at approximately 0237 local time, the Beast Buoy for the USS Virginia began signaling, indicating she’s gone down.”

  Kristen felt her legs weaken slightly, and she gripped the edge of the doorway to steady herself. The BST-1 Buoy or “Beast Buoy,” was an automatically launched distress beacon built into every American submarine. It automatically launched if the buoy’s internal timer wasn’t reset at least every ninety minutes; this way if a submarine had a catastrophic accident and every member of the crew was killed, the buoy would automatically launch, giving the downed submarine’s last location.

  “Although we cannot be certain of the cause of her loss, we picked up several explosions coinciding with the time the buoy began transmitting, and it appears likely she was lost due to enemy action.

  “I’m sure we all share the same sense of loss and a desire to see to it our fallen comrades did not die in vain and that the forces responsible for the Virginia’s demise aren’t allowed to simply walk away from this unchallenged. With this in mind, we’re currently enroute to the region and will hopefully have a chance to see those responsible for this disaster brought to task.”

  Brodie was not the kind of man to make threats, and she felt her own smoldering desire to punish whoever was responsible for this catastrophe.

  “That is all.”

  Kristen looked at an ashen-faced Martin.

  “Do you still think we can negotiate with these people?” she asked him bitterly.

  Despite her exhaustion, Kristen had trouble sleeping. The loss of the Virginia weighed upon her as she considered what might happen next. Going ashore in Korea had been terrifying to say the least, but it had also been fast. She hadn’t had time to consider just what she was getting herself into. But now, as she lay tossing and turning in her bunk, she had lots of time to think. Too much, in fact, and she didn’t like where her wayward thoughts led her.

  She was exactly where she had always wanted to be. She was on a submarine. She’d been accepted by the crew and felt her skills were appreciated. But now, with the loss of the Virginia fresh in her mind and the Persian Gulf looming large, she found herself second guessing her entire life.

  Kristen recalled the words Patricia said to her when they’d parted in Sasebo, reminding her she needed to begin enjoying her life. Kristen had lived her entire life sacrificing everyday pleasures so she might have the future she wanted. Now she had that future; she was on the Seawolf. But now that she had it, all of the sacrifice seemed folly. Patricia had always warned her that she would regret the time spent immersed in books, and Kristen feared her friend’s prediction was proving true.

  The Seawolf was racing toward an uncertain destiny. Charging toward a narrow, shallow speck of water where her designers had never envisioned the submarine battling for her life. The Seawolf was a deep-ocean killer, not a shallow-water knife fighter. Fighting in the littorals had been why the Virginia was designed. Yet the Virginia was gone, and her crew entombed in a watery grave.

  Kristen was tired and knew exhaustion was contributing to her sense of uneasiness, but at the same time she couldn’t dismiss the reality staring her in the face. After so many years of sacrifice, the future she had dreamed of suddenly looked to be violent and very brief.

  She drifted in and out of sleep, listening to the recording of the sound file the computer had given her as a possible match for the two Russian subma
rines plus the sound profile on the Borei taken by the Albany. Her dreams were a chaotic mixture of ocean sounds, self-recriminations, and brief visions of the life she now only fantasized about.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Kremlin

  The Russian president sat thoughtfully smoking a cigarette as he considered the latest news from the Persian Gulf. The Iranians were reporting they’d sunk an American submarine, although his own forces in the region reported the American had struck a mine.

  Regardless, American blood had been shed. As long as the fighting had stayed between Arabs and Persians, the president had been confident he could control the escalation of force as he had in North Korea. But now, he was forced to consider a possible change of plan. He’d hoped to avoid a fight with the American Navy. Although he had forces in the region and he’d formally recognized Iran’s claim to the Musandam Peninsula and the entire Strait of Hormuz, such recognition meant nothing if Russia wasn’t willing to defend those claims.

  But could he risk open warfare with the Americans? So far, he’d lost none of his own men or vessels, and no one could prove Russia had anything to do with the loss. With him were his most trusted advisors from the Security Council, and so far the rest of his government didn’t know what had transpired. His Defense Minister, Sergei Sokolov, mused thoughtfully, “You know, Vladimir,” he said, “if you ordered our submarines to defend the Strait of Hormuz, it would be keeping with international law.”

  The president knew it wasn’t that simple. Iran had seized sovereign territory by force, and although he could prevent the United Nations from acting, he couldn’t control world opinion which was decidedly against the Republic’s naked aggression.

  “And if one of our submarines is lost?” Veronika Puchkov, his foreign minister asked, “Would you then recommend declaring war on the United States?”

  Such a thought was out of the question, but she made her point.

  Sergei countered, “Of course not, but it is clear the Americans and Brits are probing the Iranian defenses and testing our resolve. If we don’t answer forcefully, we risk them choosing a military option instead of a diplomatic one.”

  None of them wanted a real war. Instead, they hoped to make the situation in the Gulf palatable enough to preclude the Americans forcing the issue. But the loss of the American submarine had raised the stakes markedly. The president turned his eyes to Vitaliy Shuvalov, his spy master. “Vitaliy?”

  The youth hadn’t offered any comments yet. He was normally tightlipped, but the president valued his counsel. “The Americans have an expression,” he said softly, “the carrot and the stick.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We must push the diplomatic solution,” he offered. “This is the carrot. The Americans will hesitate to use force if they think they can resolve the conflict peacefully.”

  “They just lost a nuclear-powered attack submarine!” the Defense Minister countered. “What makes you think they won’t demand retribution?”

  “We can use this loss to help jump start new negotiations,” Vitaliy explained. “We can say that this tragedy should illustrate the explosive nature of the crisis and call upon all parties to take a step back and reconsider a peaceful settlement. Meanwhile, we use the stick…”

  “The stick?” the president asked.

  “We tell the world that until there is a peaceful solution to the crisis, our forces will defend Iranian sovereignty in this matter,” the youth concluded.

  “While at the same time stressing the diplomatic option,” the president concluded.

  Veronika interjected, “World opinion might be swayed in our favor by such an overture since everyone appreciated our intervention to resolve the Korean fiasco, but I don’t think we can count on the Americans sitting still for this.”

  The Defense Minister nodded in agreement. “Then we must convince the Americans we’re serious about helping the Persians, or else the blockade across the Strait of Hormuz is meaningless. They’ll run over the handful of Iranian vessels currently patrolling the Strait and the game is over.”

  Veronika offered another thought, “And if we don’t announce our determination to defend our ally’s waterways, then the Iranians might wilt before the growing American forces arrayed against them. For all their faith in the hereafter, none of our Persian friends are in a hurry to go there.”

  The president knew his next decision would be the most critical. Anything short of ordering his forces to defend the Strait would amount to surrender on his part. However, Sergei had a final thought, “Plus, for the moment, the only Western forces in the region are submarines. If we opened fire on one of their boats, they couldn’t prove we did it.”

  The president had already decided what he had to do, but it was nice to hear his most trusted advisors agree with him. “Very well, Veronika,” he began, “make overtures to the Americans and her allies. Tell them we are deeply saddened by this tragedy and explain we want an immediate cease fire by both parties. Tell them we are willing to act as intermediaries between the Iranians and the rest of the world to bring a peaceful end to the crisis. Offer assurances that we will make sure the sea lane in and out of the Gulf stays open to civilian traffic. However, make it clear that to guarantee the cease fire, our forces in the region will fire on any vessel making an offensive move.”

  “And our forces in the region?” Sergei asked. “If we leave them there, we must give them the ability to protect themselves. Plus, if the Americans don’t believe we intend to back up our words, then this entire conversation is moot.”

  It was a dangerous game, and the president knew it. If he withdrew his forces, then the Iranians—despite their bluster—wouldn’t stand a chance of defending the Strait. If he left his forces in the region but didn’t allow them the freedom to defend themselves, then he was risking them needlessly. If they stayed, which they had to if his plan was going to work, then he had to give them the ability to not only defend themselves, but aggressively defend the Strait itself.

  “Give the order,” he decided. “Our forces will defend Iranian territorial waters, including the Strait of Hormuz against any aggressive action.”

  The decision made, the president lit another cigarette. He was risking it all, and he knew it. If the Americans didn’t back down, there would be an undeclared war fought underneath the waves, and if his forces in the region lost, then his grand scheme would collapse. But… if successful…if the Americans backed down or were defeated in any attempt to force a passage through the Strait, then the new world order he sought would be achieved. It was a huge gamble, but the reward was equally as large.

  Chapter Twenty

  Wardroom, USS Seawolf

  The apprehension in the wardroom hung like a dark cloud over everyone seated around the table. Those present ate sparingly, barely doing more than picking at their food as each dealt with his own secret fears regarding the situation at hand. No one felt comfortable talking about what happened to the Virginia or what was awaiting the Seawolf as she continued her headlong rush toward the Persian Gulf, hell bent on challenging any and all comers.

  Kristen took a few tentative spoonfuls from a bowl of instant oatmeal, a cup of lukewarm tea at hand, her head slightly bowed and her headphones on, listening to the ocean sounds, trying to discern something within the computer-generated noise pattern. She’d managed a solid nine hours of uninterrupted sleep, but the nine hours hadn’t passed uneventfully.

  Upon arrival in the wardroom, she leafed through the classified message board and saw, during her rest period, the world above had been raging. Iran had announced the sinking of a foreign submarine in her “territorial waters.” As punishment for this trespass, Iran was temporarily restricting passage through the Strait of Hormuz as a sign of its resolve and unwillingness to be “bullied” by the “agents of Zionism.”

  An immediate result of the Iranian announcement was a skyrocketing of oil prices on global markets. Plus, there was a flurry of diplomatic activity at th
e United Nations which issued a scathing rebuke to Iran. But the UN’s admonition was a toothless warning as Russia and eight other countries walked out of the General Assembly meeting in support of the Islamic Republic. Because of the crisis, international shipping traffic was fleeing the region following a speech by the President of the United States wherein he announced America’s unwavering resolve in the matter. Kristen assumed this meant war if the Iranians didn’t back down.

  The loss of the Virginia loomed large among the officers and crew. It was difficult to find anyone on the Seawolf who didn’t have at least a passing acquaintance on the Virginia. Kristen knew one man who’d been on the downed submarine. He’d been with her at Annapolis, and even though she hadn’t known him well, the fact he was gone brought into close perspective her own mortality. Ski, who’d known the captain of the Virginia well, looked moodier and angrier than usual, and his dark mood made everyone else a bit jumpy.

  The captain—normally a calming influence—had momentarily made an appearance in the wardroom but had then been called away to the message center to receive what she assumed would be more in a seemingly unbroken string of bad news. As she stared at Brodie’s empty chair, her thoughts again turned to what Patricia had told her about being afraid to live in the present. Kristen knew Patricia was right. She’d squandered so many chances for happiness, and now, as she stared at Brodie’s empty chair, she wondered if her choices had destined her to a life alone.

  For most of her youth, Kristen foolishly thought she was the master of her own destiny. But during the last three months, she’d learned a hard lesson regarding just how little control she had over her future. In fact, she no longer felt she had control over anything, including her emotions. She’d fallen in love with a man she could never hope to have and now found herself thrust into a situation which she felt—despite her years of hard work and sacrifice—she would be able to influence only slightly. The world itself seemed to be coming apart and there was nothing she could do about it.