Arctic Gambit

EPILOGUE

Afterward, President Hardy would confess that he could not remember who he was meeting with, or why. His visitors were quickly ushered out after Joanna appeared at the Oval Office door, beaming. Without speaking, she handed her husband a single sheet of paper. Hardy read:

“It’s done,” Hardy said, almost without thinking, then pulled himself up short. “This doesn’t say much about the launch facility’s status—‘metallic transients detected post detonation.’”

Patterson sighed and admitted, “They probably don’t know, Lowell. If Kazan was in the area, they were likely too busy to watch the results.”

Instead of sitting on one of the couches, Joanna came around and perched on the edge of Hardy’s desk. He reached up to her and she took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

She observed, “We know Carter managed to launch the attack, sink a submarine nearby, and felt safe enough to send us a message.”

“And, even if they’d said the facility had been destroyed, we’d need independent confirmation,” Hardy agreed.

“I’ve had all the intelligence agencies listening hard to the Russian Navy communications network. Message traffic in the Northern Fleet and the Arctic has almost doubled, and the time frame for this activity is consistent with the time in Carter’s message. Better yet, some of it’s been in the clear, and they all describe an underwater attack and some sort of calamity.”

“Then that’s it.” Hardy called out for his chief of staff, who appeared instantly. In response to Sellers’s expectant look, he answered, “It’s good news, Dwight. Set up the press conference for an hour from now.”

Sellers nodded and disappeared. The first couple sat for a few moments, smiling like proud parents.

Joanna finally stood and announced, “If you’re going to have a press conference, I’ve got work to do.” She stroked his cheek. “And you’d better shave.”

First word of the attack reached Defense Minister Trusov early that morning; the phone call from Admiral Komeyev seemed too incredible to believe. Unwilling to take the commander-in-chief of the Russian Navy at his word, or hopeful that he had somehow been misled, Trusov took the time to speak directly to the Prima base commander. The minister spent precious minutes absorbing the news, questioning Admiral Gorokhov for specifics, and struggling to overcome the surprise and shock he felt. He couldn’t delay reporting to the president for long, though, and finally yielded to duty. He called the president’s aide to arrange the earlier than usual meeting, got dressed, and headed for the Senate Building

As soon as Fedorin saw General Trusov’s expression, he knew it was bad news.

“Comrade President,” the minister started out slowly. “I regret to inform you that the Drakon launch installation has been destroyed.” Before the president could ask the obvious question, Trusov continued, “It appears to have been a direct frontal assault by multiple American submarines. The Sever sensor net reported torpedo noises and explosions near the launcher, as well as numerous submarine engagements between our forces and the enemy. The Navy CINC reports that two American submarines were hit and sunk during the battle.” Trusov sighed heavily, and added, “We have also lost contact with Kazan, and it is likely she was sunk.”

The Russian president listened to Trusov; he seemed distant at first, then furrowed his brow, concentrating, as if trying to understand the minister’s words. “That can’t be right,” he finally responded. “The launch site is heavily defended. There must be an error.”

“I confirmed the Navy’s report with the base commander himself,” Trusov answered patiently. “The recordings from the Sever net will be sent to St. Petersburg for analysis and confirmation, but at the same time as the explosions, the control station on the island showed alarm lights on all six launch tubes, as well as the four loaded torpedoes themselves. Gorokhov reports that it’s impossible to launch any of the weapons. He was sending divers to survey the damage.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Fedorin suddenly responded. “It’s vital that the launchers be repaired immediately. The weapons as well, if they have been damaged. When did you speak to the base commander?”

Trusov checked the wall clock. “Perhaps an hour ago.”

“Then call him now. We will hear what the divers have discovered.”

Trusov had expected this, and it only took a few moments to arrange the call. He handed the receiver to Fedorin. “The base commander is Vice Admiral Gorokhov,” he reminded the president.

Fedorin almost snatched the receiver from the minister’s hand, while Trusov listened in on a second handset. “Admiral Gorokhov, how quickly will you be operational again?” demanded Fedorin. Trusov even heard an optimistic tone in the president’s question.

“Operational?” Gorokhov sounded astonished, even incredulous. “Comrade President, the divers have only completed a preliminary examination, but the damage is severe. They say the supporting launcher frame is completely wrecked. The Drakon torpedo transport launch canisters are either crushed or badly deformed. Radiation in the area is above norms, as well.”

“But can it be repaired?” Fedorin repeated sharply. “How long to restore the complex so that any undamaged weapons can be launched?”

Trusov could almost hear Gorokhov shrug. “Comrade President, I would need a detailed survey, which will take several days, before I could give you even a rough estimate of the time to repair — if it is possible at all.”

“Possible?” Fedorin had trouble with the word.

Gorokhov’s voice softened, as if he was bracing someone for bad news about a family member. “All the divers agree that the damage is quite extensive. Comrade President, please remember, they have all been involved in building the structure since the beginning, and they know it well. They report it may be faster to just start over. As for the weapons themselves, I fear they are damaged beyond recovery and will—”

Fedorin suddenly hung up, backing away from the phone. Trusov had to thank the admiral for his report before breaking the connection. The president laid his head down and covered it with his hands.

“It’s gone, Aleksandr Aleksandrovich,” Fedorin groaned, his voice filled with grief. “The entire operation depended on that single installation. It was the foundation for everything else that we planned. It was supposed to hold the Americans in check, and free us to act. And without the operation, what of Russia?”

Fedorin’s sadness washed over Trusov like a wave. The president had always identified with his country, and often spoke of his fears for its future. The invasion they had planned was designed to forestall that fate. But there were worse fates, like starting a war they could not win.

“Comrade President.” Trusov had to repeat himself before Fedorin lifted his head to face the defense minister. “We should begin issuing recall orders.” Fedorin didn’t respond immediately. The minister reminded him, “Some special warfare elements have actually infiltrated their targets, waiting for the code word to begin the operation. We have to extract them before they are discovered.”

“But why…”

“Every minute our troops are deployed is costing us millions. If we are not going to go forward, then we should stand down. We will need to conserve…”

“No! Just that quickly, we’re giving up?” Fedorin straightened up in his chair. “Let’s launch the operation now, this minute. NATO isn’t ready. They have admitted their military forces can’t stop us.” Fedorin’s sudden enthusiasm almost convinced Trusov, but that option had been studied and gamed out long ago. The West always won.

“With American reinforcements they can push us back, and even if they eventually lose, it would be a long war, which would ruin us.”

“We can increase the attacks by special forces and cyber warfare. Paralyze Europe, and then move.” Fedorin was animated, excited by the idea.

“It would take too long to have any effect, Comrade President. And they would only encourage NATO to fully mobilize. Remember the American reinforcements that are already coming. Time is against us.”

“Then let’s just concentrate on one part of the original objective. Focus on the Baltic States…”

“No, Comrade President.” Trusov felt like a schoolmaster, correcting a student’s recital. “They would be able to concentrate their forces in that region. And even if we won, the reward would be far less.”

Out of ideas, Fedorin sat back, shrunken. “I could see the future so clearly, Aleksandr Aleksandrovich.”

“And you shared your vision with us, Comrade President. We wanted it as well, but it’s over now.”

Fedorin’s secretary opened the door with only a perfunctory knock. “Comrade President, Comrade Minister, the American President Hardy is on the television…”

Trusov cut her off. “Yes. I know. He’s announcing that America is sending reinforcements to NATO.”

She shook her head, with a worried look. “No, sir. He’s past that. Now he is talking about a Russian base in the Arctic.”

Fedorin reached the remote first, and turned on the wall screen. It only took a moment to find a channel carrying the American president’s speech. A Russian-language translation scrolled across the bottom.

“… weapon announced just a short time ago. This secret Arctic base, armed with a new nuclear weapon system capable of a covert first strike, was an immediate and direct threat to American lives and territory. On my authority, I ordered a U.S. Navy submarine to destroy the launch facility, which they did a little over three hours ago.”

Fedorin muted the sound and carefully set the remote down on the corner of his desk. He remained silent, but his expression spoke of failure and ruin.

Trusov, who had been standing since he’d entered Fedorin’s office, sat down heavily. “They knew,” he whispered. “Somehow they learned of the base… the weapon… and our plan. My God, Comrade President, they knew it all!” The silent TV showed Hardy was continuing to speak. Trusov thought the American president looked grim, almost angry.

They both sat quietly for some time. Fedorin finally said softly, “Give the orders.”

Jimmy Carter’s transit back home had been much quicker because she could steer a direct route and transit at a higher speed. Although they had accomplished their mission, Weiss gave the crew little rest. Too many routine tasks had been deferred during the transit north, and the captain insisted on a thorough field day of the entire boat, with an inspection the day before they reached port.

They could have arrived as early as the evening of the eleventh, but had been ordered to arrive off the sub base at 0830 the next morning, and be docked half an hour later. Carter had been ordered to dock at Pier Six, because its landward end adjoined a large parking lot, which had been taken over for the occasion.

Ensign Truitt brought the submarine in. Jerry wasn’t sure if Captain Weiss was training, testing, or punishing the young officer. There was a slack tide, and only a gentle breeze from shore, so the navigational hazards were minimal. If the ensign could ignore the distractions, like the spectators, the band, the media, and the distinguished guests, it should be a simple landing.

With some bargaining, Dr. Cavanaugh had been authorized to act as a lookout during the maneuvering watch, happily wearing a parachute harness and snapping photos every few moments as Carter smoothly approached the pier. The lookout’s perch was the only way he could be topside, since the cockpit was more than crowded with the bridge crew, Captain Weiss, and Commodore Mitchell.

Public works had set up bleachers, with reserved places in front for the family members who had flown out from Bangor. A separate box with more comfortable seating held the president’s party and the navy brass. The media had chosen the pierside corners for their cameras. Cavanaugh thought his position, precarious as it was, gave him the best view.

He heard the Navy Band serenading the crowd during their approach and the sub’s turn toward the pier. Even Tug Paul looked a little neater than usual as it gave Jimmy Carter the nudges it needed to maneuver against the river current. The bandmaster timed it so that there was only a brief pause between the last popular song and “Anchors Aweigh,” which began as the first line was wrapped around the bollard. With only the gentlest of bumps, the sub’s hull kissed the fenders and she was secured to the pier.

As arranged, the moment the gangplank was in place, the entire crew, except for the duty section, in their best whites, hurried out of the access hatches onto the pier and formed ranks in front of the distinguished visitors’ box. The band continued to play, following “Anchors Aweigh” with Sousa marches.

Jerry was the second to the last to disembark, with Captain Weiss the last to step ashore. The two senior officers walked quickly down the pier and, after Weiss received the XO’s report that the crew was “present or accounted for,” took their places in front.

President Hardy stood and approached a microphone. “Welcome back, Jimmy Carter and her valiant crew. I won’t even try to describe the service you have performed for your country, because it would take too long to do it justice. I will say that it was difficult, a little dangerous, and performed brilliantly, in the best tradition of the U.S. naval submarine service. Attention to orders!”

Carter’s crew came to attention, and the chief of naval operations assisted President Hardy with the decorations. Captain Weiss was awarded the Navy Cross, and Jerry received one as well — his fourth. After teasing Jerry about “his collection,” President Hardy ended the ceremony with “I am pleased to award USS Jimmy Carter with the Presidential Unit Citation, and also to announce, with the exception of the duty section, liberty for the crew!”

The cheer that followed almost drowned out the first notes of “Victory at Sea.” Jerry and Captain Weiss quickly disengaged from the many well-wishers, and hurried back aboard. They had a reception to host.

Everything was in readiness when the two arrived in the wardroom. This left Jerry and Weiss at loose ends, especially when word came down that the president and first lady were taking time to shake hands and pose with the crew and their families.

“Never too early to think about the next election,” Weiss commented philosophically.

“I think he’d get their votes anyway,” Jerry replied. “By the way, a word of warning. The first lady is a hugger.”

Weiss’s eyes widened a little. “Really.”

Jerry nodded sagely. “Just go with it. She was probably sweating our safe return more than the president.”

“I can do that,” Weiss answered. His hand kept going up to touch the medal Hardy had pinned to his uniform. Jerry wasn’t sure if he was worried about it being on straight, or was just checking to see if it was real.

A mess specialist suddenly popped out of the pantry; two cups of fresh, steaming coffee in his hands. “Here you go, Skipper,” he said.

“Thank you, Olson. I’ve been waiting for this.”

Jerry graciously accepted his cup and raised it… the smell was incredible, and the taste was even better. “Whoa! Lou, where did you get this coffee? This isn’t standard Navy issue, that’s for sure!”

Weiss was slow to answer; there was an awkward look on his face. No, a better word would be sheepish.

“What?” asked Jerry with concern.

“I, uh, got this from the EB engineer that runs Shippingport, Commodore… before we left.”

“You mean to tell me you had this coffee with you for the entire run north!?” Jerry’s expression was one of utter disbelief.

“Ahh, yeah… I, uh, kind of forgot I even had it, sir.”

“Forgot about it!? Coffee this good!? Mister, we need to have a serious talk about your priorities!” Both men laughed heartily.

The wardroom fell silent as they enjoyed their relaxing time together. Weiss looked down at his award again and slowly shook his head.

“Something wrong?” Jerry inquired.

“No, sir. I’ve just been looking for the right opportunity to say ‘thank you’ for not relieving me during that fight.”

Jerry shrugged. “Sometimes not shooting something is the best course. What matters is that you grasped the situation and handled the boat brilliantly. You’ll be a much better captain now because of what you’ve learned. And truth be told, Lou, that’s really the best part of my job — to help train my COs.”

Weiss nodded, appreciating his boss’s compliments. Then his expression suddenly changed and he motioned toward Jerry. “You said something during the fight about a friend of yours?”

“Oh yeah, I did, and it’s completely ironic too. You see, my friend, Alex, was the commanding officer of Severodvinsk, Kazan’s sister.”

Weiss abruptly leaned forward in the chair, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Seriously?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jerry muttered while taking another sip. “Alex was over the top aggressive. I was on Seawolf, we were doing a northern run and he snapped us up, had us dead to rights. But he couldn’t just embarrass us and let it go. He kept getting closer and closer, scared the crap out of us. Then something went wrong and he plowed into us. Seawolf got smashed up pretty bad, tore open the sonar dome and sliced up a couple of the main ballast tanks. Severodvinsk slammed into the bottom… really, really, hard.

“We managed to help save Alex, and most of his crew, but he lost eighteen men. We lost one young sailor as well, one of my guys. Alex has been haunted by that tragedy ever since. He learned a hard lesson that day, letting your aggressive tendencies get the better of you can be costly… in more than one way.”

Carter’s commanding officer listened with rapt attention to Jerry’s story. He wanted to ask a host of questions, but a 1MC announcement cut him off before he could even start.

“UNITED STATES, ARRIVING.”

“Well, that’s our cue,” observed Jerry as he put the cup on the table, stood, and adjusted his uniform.

Hardy and a gaggle of guests in trail arrived a minute later. Photographers snapped the handshakes and greetings, and Joanna’s hugs of both COMDEVRON Five and Commanding Officer, USS Jimmy Carter.

As guests continued to enter the already-crowded wardroom, Hardy pulled Jerry into what had to serve as a quiet corner. He asked, “Jerry, you know, I’ve got some connections now. What can I do for you, besides giving you another Navy Cross?”

As Hardy asked the question, Jerry spotted Emily, with Charlotte resting on her hip, entering the wardroom. He’d spotted her in the VIP seats, but hadn’t had a chance to talk. She didn’t look happy to see him. In fact, she looked a little mad.

She hadn’t spotted her husband yet, and Jerry slid over a little so that he was hidden from her view. “If you could run interference with Emily, Skipper, I’d be eternally grateful.”

Hardy glanced over his shoulder, and saw Mrs. Mitchell acquire her target and commence an approach. He laughed, and answered, “Not a chance, sailor. She’ll chew my ass off, even if I am the president. I’ll delegate that responsibility to my national security advisor,” gesturing to Joanna, a few feet away.

Seizing on the advice, Jerry maneuvered to place Patterson between Emily and himself, and more importantly, placing the approaching threat in the first lady’s field of view…

“Emily! And Charlotte! I’m so glad you could fly out. Carly, how big you’ve gotten!”

Patterson reached out, and the child allowed “Auntie Joanna” to pick her up for a hug and compliments about her fancy dress. Emily, delayed but now unencumbered, circled Joanna to port and caught Jerry. To his surprise, there were no harsh words, just a hug almost fierce in its intensity, while she buried her face in his shoulder.

Jerry knew he had to say something, and finally confessed, “I’m sorry that I worried you.”

She pounded his shoulder with her fist, just once. “It’s no better finding out after the fact what you were doing. I don’t know how Navy wives do it.”

“But you’re a Navy wife,” he countered.

“And it’s hard work.” She punched his shoulder again, but more lightly. “Next time you go on a mission like that—if there is a next time — you have to tell me ahead of time, so I can brace myself.”

Jerry protested, “Emily, I didn’t know myself until I got to New London, and we left port the same day. Besides, it was classified.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Jerry felt a tap on his shoulder and it was Hardy. “Can I break in?” the president asked, smiling. He gave Emily a peck on the cheek, and said, “Carly looks more like you every time I see her.”

He turned to include Jerry as well. “After lunch, during the memorial service for Toledo, you’re sitting with us.”

Hardy glanced at Carly, who was interested in a brooch that Joanna was wearing.

Emily read his mind and explained, “Jerry’s sister Clarice came out from Minnesota. She’ll watch Charlotte while we’re in the chapel. She’s really being an angel,” Emily remarked, “but this afternoon is nap time,” she said firmly.

“What about the meeting tomorrow with the Toledo families?” Jerry asked.

Hardy nodded. “It’s on for 0900. I put my foot down and declassified the whole bloody thing. We’ll show them the photos, and tell them what happened — everything. We owe them that much, at least. Devil take the complications.”

The president checked his watch. “Do you think Captain Weiss would let me look around if I asked nicely?”

“It could be arranged, Skipper. I know the duty section would get a charge out of it.”

“Then let’s get going.”