Arctic Gambit

4 GRIM NEWS

“You just used the word ‘datum,’ Commander Chang. Is that where you — I mean the Navy, of course — think Toledo is?”

Commander David Chang was from Navy Public Affairs. His summer whites were almost blindingly bright, and he wore both a submariner’s dolphins and a command pin. He’d most recently commanded Annapolis, an attack boat out of Groton, but was currently assigned to “hazardous” duty in the Pentagon.

“It’s a Navy term that means her last known location. It’s the starting point for our search,” Chang explained.

Christine Laird asked, “And when did that search begin?”

“About fourteen days ago, when we became concerned that she wasn’t responding to our messages.”

“And yet the Navy only declared her overdue on July fifth,” Laird pressed. “Why the delay?”

“Mostly, to avoid alarming anyone, hopefully unnecessarily,” Chang answered quickly. “Submarines have been out of extended contact before and returned safely. But when Toledo didn’t return by the scheduled time, the crew’s families deserved to know.”

“And yet, in that two weeks, knowing where to look, you didn’t find a trace of the ship?”

“We call them ‘boats,’ Ms. Laird, and the initial search area involved millions of square miles. We’ve actually only scratched—”

Laird interrupted, “Could you show us on a map where you’re searching, or where this ‘datum’ is?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. That location is classified.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s inside her patrol area, and the Navy doesn’t want anyone to know where its subs are when they’re on patrol.”

“What about the families? Do they know?” She sounded hopeful.

Chang could see where Laird was headed. “Definitely not! They were told that Toledo would be operating in the Northern Atlantic Ocean. It was the same when my boat was at sea. Our families were only told the general geographic area where we would be operating. Information on a submarine’s location and its operating area are strictly limited, even within the Navy.”

“Well, can you tell us how much of the search area you’ve covered?”

“I’m afraid not. But even if I could, the search area will expand as we shift further and further away from the datum. Thus, any number would be meaningless.”

“How is the Navy searching for Toledo?”

“All types of platforms are being used, including surface ships, submarines, and aircraft. Even satellites. The search is being coordinated between Submarine Squadron Twelve, in Groton, Connecticut, and Commander, Submarine Forces in Norfolk, Virginia.”

“How are they searching?”

“Visually, for signs of anything on the surface, and with sonar, ma’am. We have side scan sonars accurate enough to give us an image of the seabed, but they only show a very small part of the bottom at one time.”

“Could you search with radiation detectors?” she suggested.

“No, Ms. Laird. A submarine’s nuclear reactor is so well-shielded that its gives off very little radiation, and actually, radiation detectors have a much shorter range than the imaging sonar.”

“But if the — boat’s — been damaged, could the shielding be cracked or breached, somehow? More radiation would be released then.”

Chang disagreed. “The detection range underwater would still be very short; water is actually a very good shielding material. Besides, the pressure vessel that holds the reactor core is built to withstand tremendous force. The Kursk explosion in 2000 was so big that seismic detectors around the world picked it up, but her two reactor vessels remained intact. If something like that had happened to Toledo, we’d know where to look.”

The commander sighed, hoping his impatience wasn’t being televised around the globe. “Water is hard to see through. That’s why submarines are so hard to find. The only sensor that works well in water is sound, and we are searching with that, guided by the best experts in the field.”

“And when will the Navy finish its search? I did some research on the Internet, and the wrecks of lost World War II submarines are still being found. Isn’t there a good chance that the Navy will never find Toledo?”

“As I mentioned earlier, the search area expands as we move outward from the datum. So, when we’ll be finished, I really can’t say. But we are nowhere close to stopping the search.”

“Even though it’s unlikely that any of the crew are still alive?”

He looked grim, but determined. “We won’t stop looking while there is any hope of finding Toledo, whatever its current status,” Chang declared firmly. “She experienced some sort of trouble, and we owe it not just to the families of the crew, but the entire submarine force, to find out what happened to her.

“After Thresher was lost in 1963, the Navy went to a lot of trouble to explore the wreck and figure out that the accident was caused by a combination of hardware problems and incorrect operating procedures. As a result, the Navy created a program called ‘Subsafe’ that made changes to submarine designs and training, so that failure would never happen again.”

Laird picked up a sheet of paper. “I’d like to read part of a letter from Congressman Mark Rikell, head of the House Armed Services Committee, to the secretary of the Navy, that was sent two days after news of Toledo’s disappearance first broke.” She asked, “Have you seen this?”

Chang seemed to be having trouble not frowning. “I’ve read it, along with the rest of the Public Affairs Office.”

“The entire letter is available at our website under the heading ‘Toledo’ but I’ll just read the third paragraph.

“Congressman Rikell writes, ‘I am unhappy with the information provided by the Navy to this committee. We find it impossible to exercise our proper oversight function when so much information regarding the search is being withheld from the members, even when meeting in classified session. Questions the Navy refused to answer included the duration of the search, the exact area where Toledo could possibly be located, and whether anything related to her mission could have caused her loss. We are very concerned that the Navy will not say how close the submarine was to Russian waters, or whether Russian assistance was requested.’”

Laird said. “Thanks to your explanations, I believe I can understand why the Navy hasn’t disclosed the location information, but certainly the Russians know whether we’ve asked them for help. Is there any reason why the American people shouldn’t know? So, I’ll ask you here: Have you asked the Russian Federation for assistance in searching for Toledo?”

Chang smiled. “Congressman Rikell could have given the Navy a little more time to respond. Since the question involved a foreign country, the secretary of defense had to consult with secretary of state before answering, and the answer is ‘No, we haven’t,’ and do not plan to.”

“And can we deduce from your answer that you are not searching near Russian territorial waters?”

“You may draw any conclusion you like, Ms. Laird. I cannot tell you whether it is correct or not.”

The quick-look report, the first information on what Jimmy Carter had found, transmitted within a day of the discovery, was just two pages. It was also classified at the Top Secret level, at least for the foreseeable future. Jimmy Carter’s UUVs had found Toledo rather quickly, which in one sense was great news. The crew’s loved ones wouldn’t have to wonder what had happened.

The second report was sent as Carter left the area. It wasn’t much longer, but it confirmed everyone’s worst fears. Toledo lay on the bottom, about 150 fathoms down, on her side with a hole in her hull that could not have come from any type of internal accident. The wreck was just a mile outside Russian territorial waters.

All sorts of emotions fought each other in Jerry. He felt pride for Weiss’s work. It had taken considerable skill, as well as a little luck, for Lou’s boat to locate Toledo so fast. Acoustic and bottom conditions were terrible in that part of the ocean, and having the Russians close enough to throw rocks at them had constrained his movements significantly. Jerry knew he’d be writing up another Meritorious Unit Commendation for this boat.

But conclusive word of Toledo’s fate also brought the dreaded sadness — delayed, deferred, and denied until hard proof tore away all his defenses. As much as Lenny’s death saddened him, Jerry’s thoughts went to Berg’s family. They hadn’t been informed yet, and wouldn’t be until the higher-ups reviewed Carter’s full report and decided how much they could be told.

Weiss’s boat wasn’t due to return to Groton for another thirty-six hours, and that was with her making her best transit speed. It wasn’t flank, but they weren’t stopping at the gift shop on the way back, either. Until then, the “official” search would continue, while the Navy tried to absorb and understand what Toledo’s loss implied.

The few photos that were included with the transmitted report had been made by the UUV from a close distance. Thankfully the water was clear, but the UUV’s lights still didn’t reach very far. The image showed a ragged but roughly circular hole in a smooth surface. There was no hint of the hull’s curve in the image, which confirmed the photos were taken from very close range. There was no sense of scale, and no details could be seen inside. The edges of the hole were pushed in, consistent with a weapon impact.

Weiss’s report said that the hole was about two feet in diameter, located amidships, probably near the boundary between the forward and reactor compartments. Two feet was more than big enough to sink the boat. The Improved Los Angeles—class submarines only had three compartments, with the watertight bulkheads surrounding the reactor. On either side, there was nothing to stop the water from filling that part of the ship.

A hit in the forward compartment would quickly flood the front half of the sub, as well as knock out the control systems the crew would need to recover. If the weapon hit the engine room, aft of the reactor compartment, it would have been just as fatal. The boat would have lost all propulsion and electrical power. Even a hole this large in the reactor compartment would have overwhelmed the emergency blow system. U.S. submarine design emphasized stealth, not battle-damage resistance — at least not from a torpedo hit.

Naturally, the next question would be what made the hole, but Carter’s UUVs had actually answered that question before it had a chance to become a mystery. Toledo’s area of uncertainty had extended into Russian waters, but going across the border, at least during the initial search, had been ruled out. However, the two UUVs, dubbed “Walter” and “José,” after the Jeff Dunham characters, had searched right up to the edge of Russian territorial waters. And they found something.

A long line of moored propelled warhead mines loosely followed the twelve-mile limit between October Revolution and Bolshevik Islands, blocking the approaches to Shokal’skogo Strait. A minefield? Jerry’s surprise was understandable. Not only was it completely unexpected, but he could think of no reason to lay a minefield there — no reason that anyone knew of.

After Jimmy Carter’s UUVs had found the minefield, Weiss had shifted the search plan to check area near the Russian border first. That had been a good decision, although there was no joy in the outcome.

The mines were not relics from the Great Patriotic War. The UUVs’ high-frequency sonars were good enough to get images from more than one angle, and Weiss’s report identified the devices as very modern Russian PMK-2 mines. They were antisubmarine weapons, moored well below the surface. Each mine had its own sonar that would listen for an approaching submarine. The mine was smart enough to filter out noises that were not from subs. When it heard the right sounds, the mine would go active to determine the target’s exact location and then release a torpedo that would home in and attack the sub.

But why was there a minefield around the northwestern edge of Bolshevik Island?

Jerry had never heard of it before, and had to look the place up. Off the central part of Russia’s northern coast, it was one of the larger islands in the Severnaya Zemlya chain and marked Russia’s northernmost territory, jutting well into the Arctic Ocean. An Internet search turned up information on a scientific base on the northwest corner, on Cape Baranova. The “ice base,” as it was described, had no residents other than the people at the base, and no industry. The island’s principal exports were ice, rocks, and birds.

Weiss’s report said that the hole in Toledo’s hull was consistent with the size of a small torpedo warhead. The UUVs confirmed that the sub’s location was consistent with the mine’s detection range, and was within the range of the torpedo. In fact, while searching the ocean bottom around Toledo, Walter had mapped debris that could be part of a 324-millimeter torpedo propulsion section. The second report, brief as it was, conclusively answered the question of how Toledo had been lost.

There would be no accident investigation for Toledo and her crew. She had not been lost to mechanical failure or human error — the Russians had sunk her.

Even if the Russians hadn’t wanted to sink anyone, they’d planted a very lethal minefield that had functioned exactly as designed. Whatever that minefield guarded on an island two hundred miles north of nowhere was important enough that they were willing to kill anyone who came too close.

SUBRON Twelve’s cover letter to the two reports said that they would be continuing the official search, while waiting for guidance from above on what, and when, the families would be told. Jerry could well believe that Commodore Bob Dorr was seeking guidance from higher up in the chain.

Jerry’s first impulse, and he imagined everyone’s, was to tell Toledo’s loved ones immediately. But revealing the location, and especially the cause of Toledo’s loss would trigger an international crisis that would reveal the current “media firestorm” as the petty exercise in political theater it was.

If the navy told the Toledo’s families what happened, it would have to publicly accuse Russia of sinking her. Questions would be asked about why the boat had been so close to the Russian border. Jerry didn’t know the exact purpose of her mission, but Fedorin wouldn’t miss the opportunity to raise a stink and accuse the U.S. Navy of being up to no good. Especially now with Hardy as the president of the United States; the man the Russian leader held responsible for the loss of Gepard.

But the Russians were clearly up to no good. The longer they thought the Americans were in the dark, the better.

Jerry’s yeoman called into his office, “Commodore, your wife is on line two.” Emily usually called in the early afternoon, after Carly came back from daycare. Emily claimed it was her desire to hear another adult voice, but it was really just a chance to spend a few minutes together, at least over the phone.

As soon as he answered, Emily asked, “Have you been watching the news?” The squadron office usually had at least one TV set turned to an all-news channel, but Jerry had ordered that the sound be muted unless something important was happening.

“They just aired a short piece saying that the Navy was searching close to Russian territory. That was news to me.” She didn’t sound entirely happy.

“It’s news to me as well,” Jerry replied. It was only a small fib, since while he did know where the search area was; it was indeed news that the media had found out — and not good news. How much more did they know? “Hang on one moment please, honey.”

Jerry called to his yeoman, “I need to see Commander Gustason, please,” and Jerry’s chief staff officer appeared at his door just a moment later. “Emily’s seen media coverage saying that the Navy’s looking for Toledo near Russia.” Gustason’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but he could see Jerry’s hand covering the phone, and remained silent. “Find out what they’re saying.”

Gustason nodded and disappeared. The couple chatted about Charlotte’s day and exchanged reminders about an upcoming house project. Jerry tried very hard to focus on his spouse’s words, while the back of his mind processed the media’s latest revelation. It kept intruding with a nagging question—What else did they know?

Gustason reappeared at his door after a few minutes, and Jerry excused himself. “Dylan’s waiting to talk to me, honey.” She finished her thought and hung up, yielding to the needs of the navy.

Jerry waved him in as he said goodbye and hung up. “I got more from the Internet than CNN,” the commander reported as he sat down, “but it’s very limited.” Jerry relaxed a little, and his CSO continued. “A news article on CNN cites ‘unnamed sources,’ and just says that they’re searching for Toledo in the Arctic Ocean, not the northern Atlantic, and that the searchers were concerned because of how close they had to go to the Russian border.”

Gustason sighed. “Somebody talked to a reporter. Maybe someone who was worried they’d get shot at. There must be over a thousand people who know the search plan. It’s not just SUBRON Twelve or SUBFOR. All the units taking part in the search, and all the people supporting those units, and all the people they’re reporting to at the Pentagon. They all would know.”

Jerry laughed softly, in spite of the news. “The reporters really should at least look at a map before saying we’re searching close to Mother Russia. The search area is easily over a hundred miles from Franz Josef Land, and you can bet that the search plan included ‘DO NOT CROSS THE RUSSIAN BORDER’ in bold type.”

“Written by some very wise staff officer,” Gustason replied.

“At least the leak wasn’t either of Carter’s reports,” Jerry added, patting the document in question. “Any leak concerning Toledo’s loss is bad enough, but it could have been much worse.”

“Your orders, Commodore?” Gustason asked.

Jerry scowled. “None, CSO. It’s not our ball game. SUBRON Twelve and SUBFOR will have to carry on while the Russians go into a defensive crouch. Whoever leaked this to the press was not serving the national interest.”

“Understood, sir. Oh, I’ve got your airline tickets and hotel reservation in Arlington all set. Your flight departs pretty early tomorrow morning, at 0645. Your driver will be by the house at 0430.”

“Uggh.” Jerry winced. “What an ungodly hour!”

“You’re the guy who wanted to attend Carter’s formal debriefing at the Pentagon, so I don’t want to hear any whining… sir.”

Jerry saw the broad grin on Gustason’s face. “You are a cold-hearted man, CSO.”

Gustason nodded, accepting the compliment, and then left. Curious, Jerry turned on the television set in his office. How bad had the press coverage actually gotten? He flipped through different news channels, and all of them were now discussing the “stunning” revelations about possible Russian involvement in Toledo’s loss. A bevy of talking heads chewed on the new information, trying to make speculation sound like wise deduction.

Their conclusions were unanimous. There was some sort of navy cover-up, of that they were certain. Clearly, the navy was not doing its job properly, and of course was hiding the fact. They mentioned the “growing chorus calling for congressional investigations…”

The American news channel had a Cyrillic feed across the bottom of the screen, which obscured the different banners and messages the network ran, but Captain First Rank Vasiliy Vasil’evich Lavrov couldn’t decode the scrolling characters quickly enough to make sense of them, anyway.

His spoken English comprehension was good enough to know that they were talking about the same things over and over again. The reports from the Main Intelligence Directorate (GRU) and the Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) were far more interesting. Among their many surveillance activities, the two agencies tracked radio and cell phone emissions, listening in when the transmissions were in the clear. Any that related to the Russian Arctic, and now the loss of the American submarine Toledo, were routed to his office.

A navy captain first rank, a submarine officer, appeared in the open door and knocked on the doorframe. “Admiral Komeyev wants an update on the American search for their submarine.” Lavrov started to rise, but the captain waved him down. “It doesn’t have to be in person. He just wants…”

“Regular updates. Thank you, Captain Drugov. We’ve got some new intercepts from the GRU and SVR, as well as some data from other sources. All the search activity is well to the northwest of the island — about seven hundred fifty nautical miles away. The Prima station does not appear in any of the news reports or intercepts.”

Drugov was the admiral’s deputy and chief of staff. “So no news continues to be good news.”

“The best news will be when the acoustic surveillance system is finally installed,” Lavrov grumbled.

“The cable laying ship Inguri started installing the Sever modules the minute she arrived. Many sections are already operational,” Drugov announced hopefully. “But the American news organizations are all crowing about this huge secret they’ve revealed.”

Lavrov shrugged. “When the Western news media use the words ‘near Russian territory,’ they could possibly mean anywhere in the Arctic Ocean. They peddle drama, not information. I remember they used to describe our ballistic missiles subs in the Atlantic as patrolling ‘just off the east coast of America’ when the subs were many hundreds of miles out to sea.”

After pausing a moment, he asked, “Did the admiral say anything about my recommendation that we place additional submarine patrols in the area, at least until the sensor net is finished?”

Drugov shook his head. “It was a reasonable request, but he turned it down. High submarine activity would risk drawing attention to the island. Coordinating the patrols requires more communications, both to and from the submarine. This could be perceived as unusual; it’s well away from our normal training and patrol areas.”

“And in the meantime, we are completely blind,” Lavrov complained.

“Comrade Captain, we have insufficient assets to maintain a continuous presence, there will be gaps. The next submarine patrol is scheduled for later this month.”

“Well, then,” concluded Lavrov, “let us hope the Americans do us a favor and remain ignorant for a few weeks more. The longer the Americans stay in the dark, the better.”