Arctic Gambit

9 CONNECTING THE DOTS

The drone of the four turboprops had a hypnotic effect. The rhythmic beating of the engines, combined with staring at sonobuoy displays filled with background noise for hours, weighed heavily on the eyelids. The Tu-142MZ antisubmarine aircraft had been in the air for over eleven hours, and the crew was nearing its limit, and they still had another two hours of flying before they got back to base. Known as a Bear F Mod 4 by NATO, this large patrol aircraft was a variant on the Tu-95 Bear strategic bomber, and had incredible endurance. Patrolling just off the Russian coast didn’t even come close to testing the aircraft’s combat radius.

The Bear F had sortied from the Kipelovo naval air base deep inside Russia to conduct an antisubmarine patrol near the Norwegian border, and to loosely follow three Gazprom seismic survey vessels as they made their way to Murmansk. The survey ships had operated out of the former Olavsvern submarine base, near Tromsø, under lease to Gazprom. That was until early July, when the Russian government suddenly terminated the contract. President Fedorin announced the end of the lease personally, claiming that he didn’t want the ships and their crews vulnerable to being held hostage by an aggressive NATO nation.

The aircraft had watched as the three ships chugged along, and once they were far enough away, dropped a standard twenty-four-sonobuoy search pattern. The fifty-by-fifty-nautical-mile search box ran parallel to the coast, from just inside the twelve-mile limit to well out into the Barents Sea. The two sonar operators struggled to stay alert as they monitored the RGB-16 sonobuoys drifting on the waves below them. Each man was responsible for twelve sonobuoys and rotated through his set at five-minute intervals. With the brief exception of two false alarms, there was little to break the monotony.

A drawn-out yawn distracted one of the operators, causing him to miss the weak line that had started to form. Two minutes later, the automatic detection function lit up on one of the buoys in the first line. Selecting the sonobuoy’s output, he saw a distinct, stable, but very faint line in one of the lower frequency bands. The lack of a signal in any of the other bands suggested a submarine. Sighing, he activated his mike and reported.

“Sonobuoy Operator One to Combat Navigator, I have a possible submarine contact, buoy three, band five.” A collective groan from the other crewmembers erupted on the internal communications net. The major at the command console rubbed his face in frustration. “Not again,” he mumbled. Still, he had to acknowledge the contact report. “Sonobuoy Operator One, verify contact on buoy three. This had better not be another false alarm, Oleg.” The major’s tone was one of irritation.

“Combat Navigator, contact verified. Sonobuoy in position three has a weak narrowband signature in one band only, band five.”

“Sonobuoy Operator Two, confirm contact on buoy three,” demanded the major.

“Confirm contact, yes, sir. Stand by.” The other sonar operator had already begun switching his display over to receive the sonobuoy’s data, but he had to wait until the signal started showing up on his screen. It took but a minute for the waterfall display to reveal the thin line; there was definitely something there. “Sonobuoy Operator Two to Combat Navigator, confirm contact buoy three, band five.”

The major lifted his face from his hands; his eyes were now wide open. He briefly paused to look at the radar display — nothing was even close to the sonobuoy field. With the two operators reporting a detection on the same sonobuoy, and given the lack of a corresponding radar contact, the object, whatever it was, had to be submerged. Any fatigue was forgotten. The hunt was on.

“Sonobuoy Operator One, prepare to drop a circular localization pattern; use four RGB-26 buoys.” Before the man could answer, the major announced over the circuit, “Combat Navigator to Pilot, I have control of the aircraft.”

“You have control,” the pilot replied.

“Circular localization pattern set,” called out the sonar operator.

“Executing maneuver!” the major called, while simultaneously pushing a button on the command console. The combat computer immediately began sending instructions to the autopilot and the large, clumsy-looking aircraft dipped down as it commenced a graceful turn to port. Lining up, it flew along the east-to-west axis, dropping two RGB-26 sonobuoys on either side of the alerting buoy. The aircraft then banked to starboard, circling around before running down from north to south, again dropping two more buoys. But before the last buoy could even deploy its hydrophone, two of the other buoys had already transmitted contact data.

“Sonobuoy Operator One to Combat Navigator, buoys twenty-five and twenty-seven have positive contact. Position uploaded for MAD run.”

The major stared at the command display. The contact had to be a submarine, and it was operating eight miles outside of Russian territorial water. Ordinarily, they’d issue a contact report and track the boat for as long as they could. But these weren’t ordinary times.

“Combat Navigator to crew, stand by for attack run with depth bombs.”

The sonar operators turned toward one another; both were surprised and a little concerned by the announcement, but they had heard their orders as well as everyone else before they took off from Kipelovo. Any contact closer than twenty-five nautical miles was to be prosecuted and driven away. To that end, depth bombs were to be employed. No homing torpedoes.

The autopilot reduced the Bear F’s altitude as it lined up for the initial MAD run. They had to get the position just right as the magnetic anomaly detector had a very short range, even against a larger nuclear submarine. The major doubted they were dealing with a U.S. or UK attack boat; far more likely the contact was a Norwegian diesel sub.

The aircraft roared over the submarine’s estimated position and the detector registered the distortion in the Earth’s magnetic field caused by the submarine’s hull. Its precise location was recorded and fed back into the combat computer. Once again the big plane began another tight turn to get back over the area as quickly as possible.

As soon as the powerful Kuznetsov turboprops had hauled the aircraft around, the bomb bay doors slowly opened. Leveling out, the plane rapidly accelerated, racing to 450 knots. Just before it reached the sub’s location, the first PLAB-250-120 depth bomb dropped away from the aircraft’s belly, then another, and yet another. The Bear F then suddenly pulled up, climbing away from the ocean surface just as three large grayish-white geysers broke the surface and shot skyward.

Dr. Joanna Patterson leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh; she’d just wrapped up the final details for her next event at a local science and technology magnet school. Thankfully her chief of staff had done all the legwork and Joanna just had to review and approve the agenda. She had found, much to her surprise, that she didn’t mind many of the public responsibilities of being the first lady. She was particularly eager to promote education programs, especially those that focused on science, technology, engineering, and mathematics, but the more pure “social” aspects were drudgery.

The Office of the First Lady was on the second floor of the East Wing, about two hundred yards and one floor away from her old workspace in the West Wing. She’d rarely visited this part of the White House before, and was surprised by the size of the office… and the staff. In addition to her chief of staff, Joanna had a dozen other assistants that helped her with everything from press releases, social events, state parties, floral design, and ad hoc special projects. Then there was the White House executive chef, Rob Wells. Chef Rob had an impressive culinary repertoire that spanned virtually all cultures and ranged from hearty rustic fare to extravagant, refined haute cuisine. Lowell had reluctantly commented after an exquisite meal that perhaps, possibly, maybe he was over-indulging a little in sampling Chef Rob’s creations.

Still, Joanna’s primary duties as first lady didn’t prevent her from dipping her fingers in the national security matters bowl every now and then. And while the president didn’t “formally” include her in the policy-making structure, he was no fool, and recognized that her talents and expertise were invaluable. They’d tackled more than a few complex problems together in the past, and both knew they made a good team. The real problem was with some of members of the Hardy administration and Congress.

She was unique; no first lady had served as the national security advisor in a previous administration, so there wasn’t any precedence on how to handle such a complicated couple. President Hardy was sensitive to the awkwardness of the situation, and while he allowed Joanna to retain her clearances and access, he wanted to clearly separate her first lady responsibilities from those of unofficial NSA emeritus. This included her office in the East Wing. No classified information was allowed there, nor was there access to classified networks or a secure phone. If Joanna wanted to review classified documents, or discuss them with others, she had to physically move to a small office Lowell had set up for her near the Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing.

On the plus side, she was free to do her own analysis, provide opinions and recommendations, but she wasn’t allowed to assign work or give orders. That last bit chafed. It had taken some getting used to, but by and large Joanna was satisfied with the compromise that was widely viewed as fair and reasonable. But that didn’t mean everyone was thrilled with the arrangement.

Joanna still had a good hour before her husband would wrap up his day, and she wanted to catch up with the ongoing Russia crisis. She hurriedly cleaned off her desk and headed for the door, bidding her secretary “good evening” as she left. Aware that she too was suffering from Chef Rob’s expansionist policies, she took the stairs down to the first floor at a brisk pace and crossed the East Colonnade into the residence villa. Strolling through the Center Hall with its arched vaulted ceiling, Joanna admired the beautiful architecture and the fine art on display. She then crossed the West Colonnade before entering the West Wing. After another set of stairs down to the ground level, she found herself back in her old haunts. Several people warmly greeted Joanna as she approached her “other” office. It was surreal; only seven months earlier these people had worked for her.

While Joanna logged into her top secret computer account, one of the duty officers stopped by with a fresh cup of coffee. They chatted for a brief moment as the classified network brought up her e-mail account. As the duty officer departed, he said a number of reports on Russia’s latest impolite behavior were waiting in her inbox. He was sure she’d find them of considerable interest. He was right.

At the top of the electronic pile was a FLASH precedence message from NATO’s Allied Maritime Command Headquarters in Northwood, Great Britain. The message briefly described an attack on the Royal Norwegian Navy submarine Uredd (S 305) by a Russian Bear F maritime patrol aircraft. The Bear F had made two passes on Uredd, dropping a total of six depth bombs before the Norwegian submarine could shake off the large ASW aircraft and escape.

The first five bombs were dropped at some distance from the submarine and caused no damage. The last depth bomb, however, detonated much closer, shaking the submarine violently. There was moderate damage to the periscopes and masts, minor damage to the combat system, and a hydraulic leak that was subsequently contained. The message also reported four personnel casualties, one serious. Joanna shuddered as she read the damage report; she knew exactly what Uredd’s crew had gone through. Even though it had been sixteen years, she could still vividly recall when a Bear F had bounced Memphis.

But it was the last paragraph that caused her the greatest apprehension. The Norwegian submarine had been well away from Russian territorial waters at the time of the attack. Given the deliberate, unprovoked nature of the incident, NATO was issuing a warning to all ships, submarines, and aircraft that Russian conduct was becoming increasingly erratic and belligerent.

Still shaking her head, she started looking at the other files her ex-staff had sent her; the majority was on the recently announced Resolve-2021 exercise. It didn’t take long for her to realize that this exercise was going to be even larger than Center-2015. That exercise had mobilized over one hundred thousand members of the Russian Federation armed forces. In addition, Resolve-2021 was nationwide, involving all four military districts, not just two; the sheer number of messages on troop movements was mind-boggling. She grabbed the secure phone and punched a number.

“George, can you drop by if you have a minute? Good. Thanks.”

Two minutes later there were two sharp knocks on the door. Joanna looked up and saw George Hendricks standing in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am, what can I do for you?”

“This exercise the Russians are spinning up, do you have a summary of the units involved? It looks like they are calling up four or five of their armies.”

“Six, actually, Dr. Patterson.”

“Six?”

“Yes, it looks like the Second Army got their marching orders the other day. We’re starting to see train cars stack up at a marshaling yard near Samara.”

“What does the JCS think of all this?”

Hendricks shook his head. “Ma’am, we’ve all been whipsawed by this guy lately. Just as soon as I think we’re finally starting to figure out what the hell is going on, Fedorin pulls some more crazy ass sh… crap, and we’re back to square one. It’s… it’s quite frustrating.”

Joanna thought she detected something more in his voice, but let it go. These weren’t her people anymore. “What do we know of the exercise’s intent? Is there a clear theme?”

“Nothing has been formally announced, other than the exercise’s name, but all the indications are that this is a multi-theater, general war exercise. However, given the number of units moving westward, I’d have to say there is a very strong anti-NATO flavor to this one.”

“I noticed that the navy and the air force aren’t involved anywhere near as much as the army. Any theories?” she asked.

“Both the navy and air force appear to have a lot equipment down for repair. There certainly was nothing to suggest this exercise was part of the annual training plan; on the contrary, we’ve heard of some bellyaching from unit commanders.”

Joanna took a deep breath, this whole thing was a “soup sandwich,” to quote her husband. She looked back up at Hendricks and smiled. “I’d better let you get back to work, George. Thank you for coming by.”

“No problem, Dr. Patterson. It’s always enjoyable hashing stuff out with you; just like old times. I’ll send you the summary in a minute.” As Joanna watched him depart, a concerned frown slowly appeared on her face. She’d heard the guarded words, the tight tone of Hendricks’s voice. She made a mental note to ask Bill Hyland how things were going. Her musings were interrupted by a new e-mail with the list of Russian units and a map showing the rough deployment locations for the exercise.

She opened the list and map and started tracing the units’ movements. The general shape of the exercise locations was a shallow crescent running all the way from the Kola Peninsula down to the Georgian border. But as she looked at the assessed starting positions, they looked more than a bit odd. Two of the armies had already started moving following the Belarusian reunification, and then after the incident in Estonia, the Sixth Army near St. Petersburg began moving westward.

Then she saw that the bulk of the Russian forces were moving south, toward Ukraine and Georgia, and north toward the Baltic States. The center was held almost entirely by Belarusian army units. Neither of these made a lot of sense; surely the Russian General Staff couldn’t possibly believe that either Ukraine or Georgia would ever consider launching an attack against the motherland. Nor was it realistic to imagine that NATO would conduct a major thrust through the Baltics. The logistic lift required for such an offensive operation was well beyond NATO’s current abilities. Suddenly, a distant memory tugged on her consciousness.

In 2015 the Rand Corporation ran a series of war games that highlighted the vulnerability of the Baltic States from a Russian invasion and recommended that NATO shore up its conventional deterrence on the eastern flank against this unlikely, though plausible scenario. The debate over the published report’s conclusions waged for many months. Several detractors thought that putting additional forces on Russia’s northeastern border would only stir the pot, but improving the alliance’s existing warfighting capabilities was worth considering. Others believed that the deterrent power intrinsic in the North Atlantic treaty’s Article V was sufficient to keep a struggling Russia at bay. All sides of the debate believed that a war would be catastrophic, nor did they believe it would stay conventional.

Joanna pulled up the report’s executive summary. Even though the judgments were in reference to Vladimir Putin, they were equally applicable to Ivan Fedorin, if not more so. The key assessment that hit home the hardest was the Rand study’s conclusion that Putin viewed NATO’s “presence on Russia’s borders as something approaching a clear and present danger to his nation’s security.” The debate that followed hashed its way through Congress and the NATO hierarchy with an agreement, in principle, to send additional forces to the Baltic States. But before any troops could be deployed, the Sino-Littoral Alliance War erupted and the subsequent worldwide economic crash eliminated the funding. Years later, little had been done to bolster NATO’s eastern flank. However, Russia had fared even worse when the two traditional sources of her national income, arms and oil, dropped to record lows.

She closed the file and slumped back in her chair; none of this was helping her explain Fedorin’s aggressive conduct. If anything, Russia’s economy was in a recession and open warfare is expensive — simply put, they couldn’t afford a war. Even when she tried to look at the situation through Fedorin’s “zero sum game” approach to diplomacy, it still didn’t make any sense. Try as she might, Joanna couldn’t justify her hypothesis that Russia was seriously considering, or actively implementing, a plan to attack the three smaller NATO nations simultaneously with an invasion of Ukraine and Georgia. “NATO would respond,” she said to herself. “We would respond, and then nobody wins.”

Staring at the map, her eyes followed the line of the Russian border from Estonia all the way down to Georgia. She was momentarily distracted by the slight dip around the tiny country of Moldova. Joanna sat upright; Moldova was split pretty much down the middle between pro-Europe and pro-Russia factions. The Russia-leaning group regained power in the 2016 election and civil unrest had been slowly brewing ever since. Then it dawned on her. If the Baltic States, Moldova, Ukraine, and Georgia could all be swept up in one swift stroke, Fedorin would re-establish the western boundary of the former Soviet Union. The Russian Federation would then have the buffer he claimed was desperately needed to keep NATO at bay.

But it always came back to NATO’s commitment to the Baltic States, more accurately the United States’ commitment, as most of the other NATO nations were suffering more from the global economic downturn. For his audacious plan to even have a chance, Fedorin would have to find a way to isolate NATO from the U.S. The Russian president had often used saber rattling to buttress his response to perceived alliance hostile intent, to include the threat of nuclear weapons. Fedorin’s recurring reference to Russia’s nuclear arms as the first line of defense disturbed many diplomats and national leaders, but this was just a cranky, unhappy Russian’s babbling, right? Joanna then remembered an interview with Fedorin in the Moskovsky Komsomolets newspaper. In the article, Fedorin had quoted his predecessor as he outlined his “defensive” strategy to counter the increasing threat to Russia from NATO, both conventional and nuclear—“If a fight’s inevitable, you must strike first.”

“You must strike first,” she mumbled. Suddenly, a cold shiver of awareness sped down her spine.

“My God!” she said gasping. “That’s what it’s for!”

She grabbed the phone and punched Lowell’s number. The secretary answered after the second ring. “Evangeline, it’s Joanna, is my husband still in the Oval Office? He is? Good. Please don’t let him leave until I get there. Thanks.”

With one hand she slammed the phone’s handset while fumbling for a notepad with the other. She hastily scribbled a few notes and then logged out of her account. Before the screen had gone black she was already jogging for the stairs. After that it was a very short walk to the Oval Office.

Mrs. McDowell took one look at Joanna’s face and motioned to the door. The secretary had seen that expression many times before and knew Joanna’s urgency was authentic. So had the Secret Service agent who opened the door without a single word. Joanna gave him a stiff nod as she strode into the office.

As she walked into the Oval Office, she saw Lowell with Dwight Sellers and Bill Hyland huddled around the president’s desk. All shared the same troubled expression. Hardy heard the door open, looked up and saw her as she walked in. He rose and greeted his wife with a thin smile.

“Good evening, Joanna. I must apologize for being waylaid, but there has been a troubling development with Russia.” No sooner had he spoken than he saw her wince and understood she already knew. “Ahh, I see you’ve read the NATO message concerning the attack on the Norwegian boat. Brings back fond memories, eh my dear?”

Patterson ignored her husband’s poor attempt at humor, and got straight to the point. “Lowell, I think I know what the Russians are trying to do.”

Both Sellers’s and Hyland’s heads twisted instantly in her direction. Hardy leaned against his desk, folded his arms, and said, “I’m listening.”

Marching over to the desk, she asked him to bring up the map she’d just been looking at. Joanna then pointed out where the Russian units were being positioned for the supposed exercise, highlighting the fact that it was largely Belarusian army units that were holding the center against NATO assets in Poland. Next, she summarized the Rand report and brought up the list of recent hybrid warfare-like events in Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova.

“Now, if Russia were to use the six deployed armies, over half of her standing ground forces, in a sudden surprise attack, they would almost certainly overwhelm all six countries before NATO could even mobilize. The hardest nut to crack would be Ukraine, but I think Russia is allocating at least two and a half armies against her. That’s more than four to one odds, based on troop levels alone.”

“But Dr. Patterson, there is very little air and naval participation in this exercise,” countered Hyland. “Combined arms training is the hallmark of Russian command and control exercises. This suggests the exercise is more of Fedorin’s ‘strategic messaging’ to us and the NATO Alliance.”

“Normally I’d agree with you, Bill, but in past spur-of-the-moment exercises there were far more scenario events that called for air, air defense, and naval involvement — even if the number of participating units was on the low side. Resolve-2021 appears to be unusually ground-force heavy, uniquely so.”

“Concur. And that’s why I believe this is just a stern message, to us in particular.”

As Sellers listened he nodded his head slightly, he knew where Joanna was going. “But Bill, moving well over a hundred thousand troops, and their equipment, is very costly. You said earlier today that the Russian economy is sliding deeper into recession, and the debt burden has skyrocketed in the past four years. From all that we’ve heard, this exercise wasn’t part of the annual training cycle; the Russian MOD hadn’t budgeted for it. Normally, supplies for this type of deployment are pre-stocked. This time they weren’t, and some unit commanders have requested permission to dip into wartime reserve stocks to support it. That’s a very expensive message, isn’t it?”

“Not to mention that the navy and air force are doing everything backwards,” added Joanna. “Many of the front-line units are down for maintenance, now, before the exercise. Normally the participating units go into a maintenance period after an exercise due to the higher wear and tear.”

“So you’re suggesting they’re intentionally limiting the use of their ships and aircraft to keep them in prime operating condition? And that this was preplanned?” asked Hardy.

Joanna nodded. “Yes, and there appears to be a higher than normal number of ships, especially the major units, and Backfire bombers undergoing some type of maintenance. But what’s just as important is that these assets aren’t the limiting factor if you’re planning an offensive, moving army units into position is.”

“But what’s the motivation? What does Fedorin hope to achieve by starting a war?” challenged Hyland.

“Take a close look at the map, Bill. If you fold the Baltics, Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova back into the Russian Federation, along with Belarus, you get…”

“The Soviet Union!” Sellers almost shouted in surprise. “Well, at least the western end of it.”

“That’s a pretty ugly picture you’re painting, my dear,” concluded Hardy. “What I don’t get is why you think Russia would even consider risking a war with NATO?”

Joanna smiled and motioned toward Hyland. “Dwight touched on this a moment ago. Bill’s group has been banging the rocks together on the Russian economy; it’s anemic and appears to be deteriorating more each year. What if the situation is worse than we think? Our information is limited; Fedorin’s isn’t. What if the Russian economy is in a nosedive and the government either can’t, or doesn’t know how to stop it before it plows into the dirt?”

Lowell’s eyes popped open. “It’s the collapse of the Soviet Union, all over again!”

“Precisely, but only this time it would be the collapse of the Russian Federation. Fedorin’s motivation is rooted in fear. If he seriously believes the existence of the Russian state is at risk, that NATO would be in a position to pick off fractured republics in a piecemeal fashion, then this would be sufficient justification for him to consider striking first. He said as much last year.”

“I can see Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova, but even Fedorin has to know NATO wouldn’t allow him to invade the Baltics.” Hyland’s voice had a desperate edge to it, as if he was looking for something that would disprove her theory, but didn’t expect to find it.

“Agreed. But without us, NATO doesn’t have a chance.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s absurd! Why would we not be involved?” protested Hyland.

“Oh, we would eventually get our act together and support our NATO allies, but by the time we did, it would be too late.”

“I’m sorry, Joanna, but I don’t understand why you think we wouldn’t stand with our allies,” replied Hardy. His demeanor reflected both confusion and annoyance.

“Because all of us here in this room would likely be dead, or struggling desperately to find some path out from under Russia’s nuclear blackmail.” The stunned look on their faces and complete silence told Joanna they hadn’t made the linkage yet.

“Lowell, this is what the Dragon torpedo is all about. Fedorin knows that a war with NATO will very likely include the use of nuclear weapons, and therefore, he would want to find a way to strike first. The Dragon is a covert first-strike weapon. And, if the weapon itself could be kept completely secret, as was their plan, then the surviving national command authority would have to prove it was a Russian nuke. It would be extremely difficult to justify the damage a full-scale nuclear exchange would cause based solely on a hunch, even a good one.

“By then the Baltic States will have been overrun, and the rest of our NATO allies will be asking the question if Tallinn, Riga, or Vilnius is worth Paris, London, or Berlin. The ultimate goal of this new weapon being built at Bolshevik Island, Mr. President, is scaring us or knocking us out of NATO. Demonstrating that the Article V mutual security guarantee is meaningless dissolves the glue that holds NATO together. Without it, the alliance would fall apart.”

Hardy’s expression was a mix of astonishment and anger.

Sellers was tight-lipped and shaking his head. Hyland was dumbfounded; he just couldn’t believe what he had heard. “That’s insane, Dr. Patterson,” he howled. “No nation, regardless of their economic situation, could ever view war as a preferred path. The damage from a nuclear exchange would be catastrophic!”

“Wrong, Bill!” snapped Hardy. “Japan, 1941. Many of that country’s leaders believed it was preferable to go to war than lose face. As disturbing as my wife’s conclusion is, she’s put together a strong argument supporting it. And…” He paused as he looked toward Joanna and smiled. “She has an annoying habit of being right most of the time.”

“Dwight, Bill, this is your top priority. Pitch the theory to the intel community, get them to give it a thorough scrub, take it apart if they can. But do not, I repeat, do not, say whose theory it is. I need some good, old-fashioned, impartial analysis of this assessment, not a bunch of ‘yes sir, brilliant theory,’ understood?”

USS Jimmy Carter rested high and dry on the keel blocks inside the floating dry dock. Out of the water, its true bulk was revealed — and Carter was a big boat. The Electric Boat dry dock supervisor made it a habit to inspect all submarines in his dry dock at least three times a day, but this was his fourth walkabout in as many hours. The U.S. Navy may own Shippingport, but it was Chad Sheridan’s people that did the actual work. The problem was, he had no idea what work had to be done. There was nothing in the work breakdown section of the contract. Zip. Nil. Nada.

The submarine had been in the dry dock for twenty-four hours, and no one had a clue as to what had to be repaired, replaced, patched up, or painted. Sheridan had spent most of the day wandering from one senior executive to another at the Electric Boat shipyard main office only to get the same response, a shrug along with an aggravated “I don’t know.” It wasn’t until Sheridan caught up with the vice president for Groton Operations that he got any useful information.

“Look, Chad, it’s the Navy’s dry dock. They can put anything they want in there. We just do the work.”

“Which is backing up very nicely right now, sir. I don’t have a problem with the Navy shifting priorities; I just need to know what work is required.”

The executive was sympathetic to Sheridan’s frustration, but this was outside his purview. Sighing, he said, “Why don’t you find the boat’s commanding officer? He has to know what repairs are needed.”

It took a couple of hours to find Carter’s skipper and get on his schedule, but he was right on time. Walking toward the EB engineer along the wing wall, he was quick to introduce himself.

“Lou Weiss,” he said while extending his hand. Sheridan accepted the handshake but got straight to business.

“Chad Sheridan, Captain, EB dry dock supervisor. I’m a little puzzled as to what your boat needs. The contract is woefully lacking in any specifics. I’ve checked your main propulsion shaft bearings and they’re just fine, thank you. So what am I supposed to be doing?”

Weiss was visibly uncomfortable discussing his boat in the open. Looking around to see if anyone was watching, he asked, “Do you have a quiet place where we can discuss this, Mr. Sheridan?”

Bewildered, he replied, “Sure, my office is right over there.” Sheridan turned and started walking over to the building when Weiss shouted, “Would you like to get some coffee first?”

“Coffee? Whose coffee?”

“My culinary specialists make a fine brew. I can have two mugs up here in a minute.”

“Bilge water,” declared Sheridan.

“Excuse me?”

“I said ‘bilge water.’ If you want a real cup of coffee, then come with me.” Sheridan spun about and resumed his steady pace. Confused, Weiss followed the stocky engineer. Once inside the foreman’s office, Weiss was offered a large mug.

“This is my personal stock, Captain. I purchase green coffee beans and roast them myself; these are from Sumatra.”

While Sheridan filled the mug, Weiss scanned the office. It was small, but neat and well organized. The wall behind Sheridan’s desk was covered with a large Oakland Raiders flag. On the desk was a parrot figurine with a similar eye patch. Once Weiss’s mug was full, he thanked his host and raised it to take his first sip. The aroma was amazing, heady; the taste was rich, earthy, with just a hint of sweetness. It went down smooth, with no trace of bitterness or an acidic bite. He’d never had a cup of coffee like this before. “This is incredible!” praised Weiss.

“I thought you’d like it. Have a seat, Captain.”

Once both men were comfortable, and after another sip or two, Sheridan got back to the issue at hand. “Captain, I don’t know why the Navy had your boat put in the dry dock. Your shaft bearings are in perfect order, your hull is very clean, and I can’t find any evidence of grease leakage from your torpedo tubes, control surfaces, or masts. So what the hell am I supposed to be looking for? I really don’t mind a blank check, but a blank work order is very troubling. I have a lot of work to do on other submarines, and that’s not a parking garage out there!”

Weiss took a deep breath; he had been equally surprised by the order to put Carter into the dry dock, but understood completely after he was told why. The problem was the EB engineer wasn’t cleared to know why.

“I understand your frustration, Mr. Sheridan, but I’m not authorized to say why my boat was placed in the dock. But let’s just say that this is more of a show than an honest-to-God maintenance period.”

“I see. So you want it to appear that repairs are being done, when in reality we’re to do nothing.”

Weiss nodded, “Basically, yes.”

“Well, Captain, the show would be more convincing if we had something real to work on. I just can’t have welders cutting scrap metal in the basin; it would raise a lot of questions. And workers like to talk about strange occurrences at the bar after their shift.”

Weiss sighed; the man had a point, a good one. “Okay, get with my chief engineer and see what small jobs we can have your people do. Oh, and you could give the ocean interface doors a thorough check. I have a hunch I’ll be needing them.”

“So besides making sure HAL can open the pod bay doors, you really don’t have any exterior work?”

“That’s correct. But whatever you can do to make it look like a lot of work is going on would be greatly appreciated.”

Sheridan closed his eyes and took a deep breath; it wasn’t much, but he could at least work with it. “All right, I’ll get my folks busy. Maybe I can come up with a few odd jobs that we need to do on the dry dock itself.”

Weiss thanked Sheridan for his understanding, and the coffee. As the Carter’s CO rose and headed for the door, Sheridan called out to him. Weiss turned just in time to catch a small bag that Sheridan had thrown at him. “A little of my special roast. No man should go into harm’s way without a good cup of joe to sustain him.”