Cold Choices

2. PROTECTIVE RESPONSE

8 September 2008

Northern Fleet Headquarters, Severomorsk, Russia

The four men marched down the main hall of the Northern Fleet Headquarters building in perfect, if unintentional, unison. The echoes of their footsteps reverberated sharply off the ornate walls, giving the illusion of a much larger contingent. The mood was somber, the air formal, the countenance of the men stern and determined. “How perfectly Russian,” mused Captain First Rank Aleksey Igorevich Petrov. Flanked by his eskadra and diviziya commanders, Petrov followed the staff functionary as he led the way to the fleet commander’s conference room. “Finally,” thought the young captain, “we will finish this godforsaken fleet acceptance process and I will be able to take my boat to sea.” Frustrated and irritated by the unceasing paperwork, inspections, and constant bickering with the shipyard, Petrov longed for the peace and serenity that only the sea could provide.

He was born in Severodvinsk on the Kola Peninsula, the son of a senior shipyard engineer, and submarines were in his blood. He remembered many visits to the shipyard with his father to watch those underwater behemoths as they were rolled out of the great construction halls.

As a boy, he’d dreamed of commanding one, and that dream had never changed. And it was with great pride that he bid his parents farewell to join the Soviet Navy to pursue his dream. He graduated first in his class from the Lenin Komsomol Higher Naval Submarine School in Leningrad, and everything seemed to be going according to plan when disaster struck in December 1991.

The fall of the Soviet Union brought nothing but chaos and poverty to the “new” Russian Navy, whose members lost the respect of their countrymen along with their paychecks. Petrov didn’t care about the fate of the Communist Party. They had brought this on themselves. He was deeply concerned, however, about the effects their sudden collapse had on the navy in general, and his career prospects in particular.

Good fortune smiled on him, however, as he was assigned to a fairly new Project 671RTM attack submarine in the Northern Fleet. Known as an Improved Victor III class SSN in the West, they were some of the quietest and most capable boats in the Russian order of battle. Being relatively new, it was fully functional and not suffering from the neglect that was all too common with the older boats, brought on by the decaying Soviet maintenance infrastructure.

Petrov also considered himself to be doubly blessed, as his commanding officer was the master tactician Captain First Rank Dmitriy Makeyev, a brilliant and cunning hunter who handed numerous NATO submarine skippers their heads on a silver platter. Even some of the vaunted American 688-class submarines fell victim to the “Dark Lord,” as he was called. According to the waterfront gossip, Makeyev had never been caught unawares. He always maintained tactical control, only revealing himself when he wished and usually by a vicious lashing with his main active sonar.

“To be victorious in submarine combat,” he preached, “one has to be aggressive. If you are not aggressive, you lose. If you lose, then you die. It is that simple.”

Aleksey Igorevich accepted, believed, and lived by this tactical philosophy, so eloquently coined by his first captain, throughout his career. And it had served him well; very well indeed, as it enabled him to chalk up an impressive history of success in whatever he did. Now Petrov was the commanding officer of the newest and most advanced attack submarine in the Russian Navy— Severodvinsk. The very thought of being in command of his home’s namesake filled him with immense pride. Now if only the damned bureaucrats would release their icy grip and allow him to command his boat, then the dream that he had worked so hard for would finally become a reality.

Petrov’s half-musing, half-stewing daydreaming was brought to an abrupt end when the staff officer opened the large double doors to the conference room. Inside the spacious hall were over a dozen flag officers milling about, drinking tea or coffee and chatting in small groups. As soon as Petrov and his commanders entered, a large man at the far end quickly made his way over toward them. Although Petrov had met him only once before, it was hard to forget the commander of the Northern Fleet, Vice Admiral Sergey Mikhailovich Kokurin. Rounding the corner of the table, Kokurin grasped Petrov’s eskadra commander’s hand and shook it heartily. It was well known within the fleet that the fleet commander and Vice Admiral Pavel Borisov were close friends.

“It is good to see you again, Pavel,” boomed Kokurin as he slapped Borisov’s shoulder. “How is Irina? Well, I trust?”

“She is quite well, sir,” replied Borisov as a devilish grin appeared on his face. “But, I regret to inform you that she is most displeased with you. Twice now, you have been to Gadzhiyevo without stopping by to visit and she is very disappointed that. ”

Kokurin interrupted, waving his hands in mock surrender, a pained expression sweeping across his brow. “I know. I know. I… I am guilty as charged.” Sighing heavily, and placing his large hands on Borisov’s shoulders, he said, “Please tell Her Highness, the tzarina, that I will pay my respects the next time I must travel to the submarine base at Sayda Guba. You have my word!”

“I will gladly inform her of your most wise decision,” jabbed Borisov. Both men burst into laughter.

Composing himself, Borisov then gestured toward his two officers. “Sir, this is my new Commander of the Twenty-fourth Submarine Diviziya, Rear Admiral Vasiliy Vitalyevich Vidchenko.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” replied Vidchenko stiffly.

“Ah, yes. Welcome to the Northern Fleet, Admiral. I hope your transfer has gone smoothly. You came to us from the Baltic Fleet, did you not?”

“Yes sir. The trip north was uneventful, and I am getting acquainted with my new duties.”

“Excellent. I look forward to working with you and the submarine commanders in your division,” responded Kokurin as he mentally took stock of the junior admiral.

Vidchenko acknowledged the fleet commander’s comments with a slight bow and stepped out of the way as VADM Borisov brought Petrov forward. “And you know Captain Petrov, of course.”

“Good day, sir,” Petrov said politely

Kokurin took a slow deliberate step toward Petrov and offered his hand. “Welcome to Northern Fleet Headquarters, Captain. And today is a very good day indeed. It has been far too long since we took acceptance of a new podvodnaya lodka atomnaya and I have been looking forward to this day with great anticipation.” Petrov was surprised by the old admiral’s sentimental tone and the intense emotion in his eyes. This man truly cares for the fleet, thought Petrov, and receiving a new atomic submarine after nearly eight years was, in this fleet commander’s mind, a cause for celebration.

In the old days of the Soviet Union, shipyards turned out three or four nuclear submarines each year. New classes followed each other in quick succession, each improvement closing the quality gap with their Western adversaries. Now it was years between commissionings, and Kokurin’s celebratory mood was well justified. Petrov’s pride was all the greater. He’d had many rivals for Severodvinsk.

“I have read every inspection and evaluation report with great interest,” continued Kokurin sincerely, “and I am very impressed with your crew’s performance. You have done well, Captain Petrov.”

“Thank you. sir,” replied Petrov uneasily. “I will convey your compliments to the crew.” It had been a very long time since he had received a favorable comment from a flag officer. Petrov was far more accustomed to the lectures and stern criticism that had been the staple of his crew’s training diet throughout the long certification process.

“I must also ask for your patience today, Captain.”

“Sir? I, ah, I don’t understand.” Petrov was now completely confused and it showed.

Amused by the young captain’s response, Kokurin’s face broke out into a broad smile. “You and your crew have gone through a lengthy, trying, and difficult certification process. One that I demanded to be more rigorous than usual. Now that the end is in sight, I know you just want to get this over with so you can take your boat to sea.” Petrov felt his face flush, like a schoolboy caught by the headmaster with his hand in the cookie jar. Can this man also read minds?

The fleet commander chuckled loudly and said, “I was once a young new submarine commander itching to be set free from the fleet’s bureaucratic clutches. So I know exactly how you feel. But today, many of us old men, some with more ballast than we need,” Kokurin patted his protruding abdomen as he spoke, “are reliving those memories through you. So please, be patient with us today. I promise the proceedings will end this afternoon.”

“Of course, sir,” responded Petrov confidently. And then with heartfelt sincerity, “It is an honor to be here today, Admiral.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Kokurin happily. But as the elderly submariner looked up, the smile quickly vanished from his face. For over at the head table was his chief of staff pointing in an exasperated fashion at his watch.

“Bah,” sneered the fleet commander with a curt dismissing wave.

“Is something wrong, sir?” inquired Borisov after seeing his friend’s abrupt mood change.

“It’s just my personal nag, Pavel. He’s complaining that I haven’t started the conference on time.”

“Pardon me, sir, but I do believe that is his job,” replied Borisov with a hint of sarcasm.

With a deep sigh and resigned nod, Kokurin said, “You are correct, as always, Pavel Dmitriyevich. But I just wish he wouldn’t take such joy in exercising his duties. There are times when I wonder who really is the Commander of the Northern Fleet!” Turning back to his chief of staff, Kokurin politely gestured for him to call the conference attendants to order.

“Comrades,” announced VADM Radetskiy, “please take your seats so we may begin.”

As the various admirals and captains shuffled about getting to their assigned chairs, Kokurin turned one last time toward Borisov and said, “Admiral Borisov, I want you, Admiral Vidchenko, and Captain Petrov to remain once the conference is completed. I have another issue, of a more operational nature, to discuss with you afterward.”

Sensing the shift from friend to superior, and recognizing when an order had just been given, Borisov drew himself to attention and answered with a militarily appropriate “Yes, sir.”

As Kokurin walked back toward the head of the table, Vidchenko and Petrov both looked at Borisov with bewilderment. With a mild shaking of his head, and a puzzled expression, Borisov signaled to his subordinates that he didn’t know what the fleet commander meant either, and motioned for them to take their seats.

Petrov moved quickly to his chair and looked around the conference room as the flag officers slowly sat down. He recognized many of them, since they headed numerous inspection teams during the various stages of the certification process.

The chiefs of navigation, armaments, communications, and the technical directorate had been tough judges of his boat’s capabilities. Petrov respected their findings and accepted their recommendations, even though it hurt his pride a little. But the chief of combat training, VADM Vlasov, was the devil incarnate. Nothing Petrov or his crew did seemed to ever satisfy this man and he was particularly acidic in delivering his critiques during the combat training exercises. If there was one member of the certification board who could hold up Severodvinsk’s acceptance into the fleet, it was him. Realizing that he was staring intently at Vlasov and that his resentment was growing, Petrov shifted his gaze back to Kokurin, who had taken his place at the head table.

“Greetings, comrades,” boomed Kokurin as he rose, “and welcome to the fleet acceptance board for PLA K-329 Severodvinsk. I do not believe it would be inappropriate for me to remind everyone that this is the first new atomic submarine in nearly a decade to join the ranks of the Russian Navy. Because of this unfortunate hiatus, I have been doubly hard on the inspection teams, as well as the commanding officer and crew of the Severodvinsk. To this I make no apologies. I had to be certain that with all the problems the shipyard encountered during this submarine’s construction that we are accepting delivery of a fully functional combatant, and not a floating Potemkin village. Therefore, I must stress that these proceedings are no mere formality. And I expect everyone to be truthful with his findings, opinions, and recommendations. Our goal is, and must remain focused on, ensuring the proper certification of the crew of the Severodvinsk for independent operations.”

Petrov heard earnestness in the admiral’s voice, and understood its source. Kursk, their newest and best guided-missile submarine, the pride of the Northern Fleet, had been lost in 2000 with all hands during an exercise. The investigation that followed had found many instances of training requirements ignored, certifications lapsed, procedures not followed. Sloppy maintenance by poorly trained personnel didn’t mix well with explosive torpedoes and volatile oxidizers. In the wake of the disaster, the entire Northern Fleet command structure had been relieved. There were rumors that similar problems were behind the loss of Gepard in 2005, although there were an equal number of rumors that claimed she had been sunk by an American submarine. Regardless, the results were the same and most of the senior officers in the Northern Fleet were relieved for cause. Kokurin was the “new broom.” He meant every word he said.

The fleet commander paused momentarily, which gave Petrov the opportunity to glance over at VADM Vlasov. The chief of combat training was slowly nodding his head, a fully developed frown on his face. Not a good omen, Petrov thought. But at least now he knew why the inspections and training exercises had been so intense, and so difficult. He had always suspected it was due to the ridiculous length of time it took to build Severodvinsk, fifteen years instead of the normal four under the Soviet Union, but no one would ever tell him this outright. All he was told was that his crew displayed deficiencies that were noted in the crews of the Kursk and Gepard. In his heart Petrov didn’t believe this line of reasoning; it seemed too convenient and didn’t square with what he saw on a daily basis. Admittedly he was biased toward his crew, but he knew without a doubt that they were better than what they were being given credit for. And as much as it pained Petrov to sit and listen to the unceasing criticism, arguing with a flag-level inspection team is at best an unwise tactic — even if you’re convinced that their findings are full of shit. As Kokurin continued with his opening remarks, Petrov’s attention was yanked back to the head table.

“Now, there is much material to cover today during our deliberations. And I did promise the young captain that we would get through all of it by the end of the afternoon. However, before I turn this board over to my Chief of Staff, I wish to issue a special welcome to Vice Admiral Borisov, Commander of the Twelfth Submarine Eskadra, Rear Admiral Vidchenko, Commander of the Twenty-fourth Atomic Submarine Diviziya, and Captain First Rank Petrov, Commanding Officer of submarine K-329 Severodvinsk. Gentlemen, I am very pleased that you are here with us today Over the past year you have worked hard; all of you have worked very hard,” stated Kokurin as he gestured toward everyone present, “to bring us to this point. You have my thanks, and that of the Russian people. Today is truly a great day for the Russian Navy and the Northern Fleet. Rear Admiral Radetskiy, if you please.”

As the fleet commander lowered his bulky figure into his chair, still beaming with pride, Petrov suddenly realized that the board was in reality a formality, despite what the admiral had just said. And while there would probably be some unpleasant moments, ultimately the decision had already been made — his crew would get their certification and Severodvinsk would be accepted into the fleet’s combat-ready force. He would finally be able to take his boat to sea without a division babysitter. Confident that his lifelong dream was about to be fulfilled, Petrov felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It took all his discipline to maintain a proper military composure. He’d celebrate later with his crew.

“Gentlemen,” announced the chief of staff, “the binders before you contain all the final inspection reports and training exercise evaluations. They are state secrets and you are to handle them accordingly. We will now commence with the formal boarding process. Each directorate is to read a brief summary of the technical or tactical readiness of K-329 Severodvinsk, along with your final evaluation and certification recommendation. I would ask Rear Admiral Smelkov, Chief of the Technical Directorate, to get us started.”

“Good morning, comrade Admiral,” began Smelkov, looking over at Kokurin. “Over the last year, my directorate has conducted numerous inspections during the state acceptance trials to evaluate the technical readiness of Project 885 PLA Severodvinsk, hull number 160, pennant number K-329. Our findings are as follows.”

What followed was anything but brief as the chief of the technical directorate went through the whole boat, compartment by compartment and system by system, describing how each system met the design specifications established by the Russian Navy and the Ministry of Shipbuilding. He then went on to provide detailed results of the propulsion plant tests, deep diving trials, sonar calibration trials, hydroacoustic and magnetic field measurements, and on and on. Most of the discrepancies noted in technical directorate’s report were minor and had, in fact, already been taken care of. This annoyed Petrov a little, but he understood that it was all part of the game. After a little over an hour, Smelkov finally managed to get around to announcing his directorate’s verdict.

“In conclusion, it is our professional judgment that PLA K-329 Severodvinsk is in compliance with all tactical technical requirements, as well as all submarine design specifications as promulgated by state organs. We therefore recommend that the submarine and crew be certified for independent operations and accepted into the fleet.”

“Thank you, Rear Admiral Smelkov. Your recommendation is noted,” replied Radetskiy nonchalantly. “Next we will hear from the Chief of the Navigation Directorate.”

If there were any hope that the other directorates would heed the “brief summary” instruction, it was soon dashed upon the rocky shoals of administration and self-promotion. Each of the directorate chiefs for navigation, armaments, communications, medical services, and chemical services took their requisite hour or so to deliver a recommendation that could have been done in fifteen minutes or less. Petrov knew that this kind of posturing was common among junior admirals, particularly in front of a fleet commander. He also understood that even admirals had to “wave his flag,” as it were, to gain the kind of senior attention that would benefit their promotion potential. Still, Petrov held this practice of self-centered showmanship in contempt.

By the time the chief of the armaments directorate had finished his report, Petrov’s mind was numb with boredom. He had heard all of this before, many times before. Nothing new was presented in the final reports, and the overwhelming majority of the adverse comments were on nitpicky items that had already been dealt with by his crew or the shipyard. Of course, there was no mention of that fact. To keep up with the schedule, lunch was shortened and hurried. Breaks were few and far between. More than once Petrov cursed his excessive coffee-drinking habit. Just when Petrov thought he would either go mad or fall asleep, he would remember the fleet commander’s specific request for patience. Quietly, he sat and endured one monologue after another.

It was well into the afternoon before the chief of staff made the announcement that Petrov was longing for, and dreading at the same time.

“Our last report will be from the Chief of the Combat Training Directorate. Vice Admiral Vlasov, will you please present your findings.”

“Good afternoon, comrade Admiral,” spoke Vlasov with a severe and deliberate tone. “In accordance with your instructions, my staff exercised the crew of Severodvinsk in as thorough a manner as was humanly possible. We drove them near to the point of breaking, and then we pushed even harder.”

“No shit, you damned Cossack,” muttered Petrov under his breath. The clearing of Borisov’s throat, and a stern look, informed Petrov that the comment had been heard and was not appreciated. Chastened, he turned his attention back to Vlasov as he continued his report.

“As most of you are aware, my directorate is responsible for evaluating a crew’s performance in the execution of combat training tasks. Although we assist the other directorates with phase one and two exercises, it is the phase three at sea exercises that concern us the most. Captain Petrov and the crew of Severodvinsk completed all prescribed combat training tasks as required in the Russian Navy manual on Combat Readiness Training for Nuclear Submarines. The detailed reports are in your binders but in the interest of brevity, we found the crew to be satisfactory in carrying out their combat-readiness requirements.”

We are much better than that, you miserly bastard, thought Petrov, fuming. Many of the older boats, some that were not even able to go to sea, had crews that had earned a satisfactory rating in their combat training tasks. By contrast, his crew had worked infinitely harder, and to get the same rating was way beyond insulting. Striving valiantly to contain his anger, Petrov stewed while Vlasov droned on.

“Therefore, we assign the crew of Severodvinsk a collective grade of 4.5 for all combat training tasks, and it is our judgment that the crew is ready for independent operations. We further recommend that the submarine be accepted in to the fleet’s combat-ready force.”

Petrov sat in stunned silence and stark disbelief. The grading scheme for Russian naval readiness exercises is based on a five-point scale with 3.0 being “Satisfactory.” A collective grade of 4.5 was in the “Superior” to “Excellent” range and reflected a crew that was on top of their game. Both Borisov and Vidchenko were clearly pleased with such a good score and there were murmurs of approval from around the conference room.

“Quiet please,” barked the chief of staff. “Do you have anything further to offer, Vice Admiral Vlasov?”

“Sir, I have a personal observation that is not in the final report that I would like to bring to this board’s attention.”

A still-shocked Petrov looked at Vlasov with a mix of confusion and concern. Raising issues that were not documented in a final report was definitely not the norm for the Russian Navy.

Kokurin leaned forward, a serious expression materialized on his face as he looked intently at his chief of training, “Please continue, Admiral.”

“During the final antisubmarine exercise, Captain Petrov displayed unusual aggressiveness in prosecuting his attack against PLA K-157 Vepr. On at least two occasions he knowingly violated the one-kilometer safety zone as he executed his maneuvers. And while I believe Captain Petrov retained a firm grasp of the tactical situation, such aggressiveness has brought this fleet no small degree of suffering in the recent past.” The allusion to the loss of Gepard as a result of Admiral Yuriy Kirichenko’s unbridled aggressiveness was not lost on all those present. Even Petrov bristled at the implied comparison, especially since the after-action analysis of the engagement had proven he had correctly assessed Vepr’s exact location and intended movement. Once again there was murmuring as several side discussions started up.

Thumping the table loudly with his fingers to gain everyone’s attention, Kokurin stood up and said, “Thank you, Yuriy Vasilyevich, for your candid statements. All of you would do well to remember that this is exactly what I asked for at the beginning of this board.”

The fleet commander paused, rose, and began to slowly pace around the room, a well-known habit of his that he displayed only when considering how to respond to an important issue. It was said that he’d worn a groove in his office carpet while thinking.

“Admiral, while I value your observation, we will have to disagree. In my opinion, there is a marked difference between my predecessor and Captain Petrov. I say this for two reasons. Firstly, by your own admission in the evaluation report Captain Petrov exhibited a calm composure during the antisubmarine exercise and seemed to weigh all considerations before issuing a maneuver order that brought him within 850 meters of Vepr. To me this is not undisciplined aggressiveness unleashed in the heat of the moment, but rather an example of rational decision-making skills and a well-honed ability to consider the risks before taking action.”

Realizing that the tenor and volume of his voice was rising, Kokurin stopped momentarily and straightened his uniform jacket before resuming.

“Secondly, most of you are aware of Captain Petrov’s upbringing in the submarine force. His teacher, Dmitriy Ivanovich Makeyev, was the best submarine tactician that Russia has ever produced and he spoke very favorably of our young captain’s abilities. And while Captain Petrov’s record speaks highly of him, I cannot think of a better judge of an officer’s tactical qualities than Makeyev. So, no, Admiral Vlasov, I do not agree that Captain Petrov’s aggressiveness is excessive. I will agree that it is unusual, and that is a shame. Right now Russia needs a few more wolfhounds; not another tethered mongrel whose best defense is that it barks loudly.”

As the fleet commander walked back toward his chair, Petrov scanned the room and saw that everyone was looking straight at him. Uncomfortable with this degree of attention, the young captain occupied himself by straightening the papers and binders in front of him.

“Gentlemen,” Kokurin said as he sat down. “Unless there are any more issues to discuss, I will now read the judgment of this board.” The silence assured everyone that the time for discussion was over. Clearing his throat, Kokurin proceeded with the formal announcement.

“Captain First Rank Aleksey Igorevich Petrov, it is the judgment of this board that the crew of the Severodvinsk has met all combat training requirements and tasks, and that the submarine is at one hundred percent technical readiness. We therefore certify the submarine and crew as qualified for independent combat duty. We further decree that the Russian Federation submarine K-329 Severodvinsk is hereby accepted into the Northern Fleet and is assigned to the Twenty-fourth Atomic Submarine Diviziya of the Twelfth Submarine Eskadra. Congratulations, Captain.”

A hearty applause broke out from all corners of the conference room; Petrov rose and thanked the collective audience for their kind sentiments. He then spent the next half hour receiving individual congratulations and wishes of success from the directorate chiefs and their staffs.

As the last of the participants slowly departed, Petrov and his commanders were ushered back to the conference table by the chief of staff. As they headed toward their original seats, Kokurin motioned for them to move down, closer to his end of the table.

“Pavel, please join us.”

“Of course, sir.”

In stark contrast to the packed room earlier, there were only eight men at the table now, including Petrov and his immediate superiors. Of the five fleet officers present, Petrov had met the majority of them, including the deputy fleet commander and the deputy chief of staff for operations. He didn’t know, however, who the rear admiral was that sat next to his eskadra commander. A large map board with a chart of the Barents Sea was brought forward and placed to the left of the fleet commander’s chair. The entire scene filled Petrov with an immense sense of curiosity as he recalled the admiral’s earlier cryptic comment.

“Now that the bureaucratic requirements have been met,” said Kokurin, eyeing his chief of staff, “we can get on to more important business.”

Pointing to the unidentified admiral, he added, “This is Rear Admiral Litenkov, my Chief of the Intelligence Directorate. He will brief you on the operational background. Afterward, we’ll discuss what I intend to do about the situation. Admiral.”

“Thank you, sir. Comrades, you may or may not know that we have indirect evidence that a U.S. submarine was involved in the loss of Gepard several years ago. I say indirect evidence because there was no positive proof other than several hydroacoustic detections. I say again, nothing definite. Unfortunately, we do have direct evidence of Russian torpedoes exploding either in or on contact with Gepard. To compound the uncertainty, the prosecuting antisubmarine forces recorded up to half a dozen simultaneous confirmed submarine contacts over an area that spanned several hundreds of square nautical miles. This lack of precision in reporting significantly weakened any case we had against the Americans, and the president determined that our only option was to issue a diplomatic demarche to the American ambassador. Since then, there have been a growing number of contact reports of foreign submarines in our operational areas.”

Litenkov rose and walked toward the map board. “During the latest exercise period last month, there were eight such reports. But only one led to a follow-on prosecution by fleet antisubmarine assets, the rest were inconclusive and could have been false alarms. Unfortunately, contact was held only briefly before the submarine escaped to deeper water. We were, however, able to identify the submarine’s nationality. It was an American Los Angeles-class submarine.”

Picking up a pointer, Litenkov traced out an area on the chart just west of Novaya Zemlya. “This latest contact was in Operations Areas 21 and 22, which are the fleet’s northernmost combat training ranges. In addition, there is some evidence that certain U.S. attack submarines are fitted with tethered remote operating vehicles that are used for intelligence-gathering purposes. One such attack submarine, USS Alexandria, was at sea during the time frame in question. Alexandria is an Improved Los Angeles-class PLA.”

As Litenkov put the pointer down and returned to his seat, Kokurin suddenly leapt to his feet, reached over, and slapped the chart with his burly hand. “Since the loss of Gepard we have been wallowing in despair, and we have been very timid. Such attributes do not command respect. Without question, Kirichenko was out of control. He may have been blinded more by frustration than the political motives that were claimed, but his intentions were valid! I will not tolerate the Americans strolling merrily through my training ranges as if they were a park! Something must be done!”

Petrov was impressed and taken aback by the fierceness of Kokurin’s outburst. As Kokurin sat down, he gestured sharply to his chief of staff for operations. “Aleksandr, explain the plan to our comrades.”

“We plan to set a trap along the border of Operations Areas 21 and 22 using fixed acoustic sensors and Severodvinsk. We have one more small exercise period in October, before the ice gets too bad, and we intend to use Operations Areas 18 and 19 to the south. It is our belief that if the Americans attempt to send a submarine on a reconnaissance mission, they will approach from the north and use the broken ice as cover.”

Petrov watched as the operations officer flipped the large-scale chart over to reveal a smaller-scale one with greater detail of the operating areas.

“This chart shows where we’ve laid thirty-six of the new Amga autonomous submarine detection buoys in a single line barrier. The buoys are four nautical miles apart, which gives us a ninety percent probability of detection should a submarine attempt to traverse the barrier. You, Captain Petrov, will take Severodvinsk and patrol along the south side of the barrier. Fleet headquarters will relay any contact reports from the buoys. You will be close by, ready to pounce. Any questions?”

“What kind of sensors are on these new buoys?” asked Borisov.

“They use passive acoustic hydrophones with broadband and narrowband processing. The technical specifications are included in your orders packet.”

“I’m concerned about false alarms,” injected Vidchenko. “How does the buoy’s processor determine if a contact is valid?”

“The buoy’s onboard processor will compare any signal it detects to an extensive library of submarine signatures and other sounds. The false-alarm rate is much lower than previous systems. But your point is still valid and that is why we are going to use Severodvinsk. A nuclear-powered submarine is a much better platform to do the follow-up detection and prosecution. Anything else?”

Both Borisov and Vidchenko signaled they were satisfied for the moment. Somewhat hesitantly, Petrov raised his hand and asked, “Sir, what are my orders if I find an American?”

“Drive him away with his tail between his legs,” answered Kokurin firmly. “This is where Kirichenko failed us all. He wanted a trophy to demonstrate our prowess to the world. I’m not interested in convincing the world of our greatness, that’s the job of the foreign and economic ministries. All I care is that the United States, Great Britain, and the rest of NATO knows that my fleet has the ability to protect our homeland and its contiguous waters. They must learn to respect us!”

“You are,” continued the operations officer, “not authorized to fire any weapons unless fired upon first, and then only if you cannot evade and report. You are authorized to use decoys and countermeasures at your discretion to achieve the mission’s objective. Are there any other questions?”

Petrov shook his head indicating he had nothing more to ask.

“Excellent!” cried Kokurin as he rose. “This mission is very similar to your phase three antisubmarine exercise, Captain Petrov, only this time with an unfriendly and uncooperative opponent. I expect you to embarrass the Americans, should they show up, as badly as you did poor Vepr and Captain Zubov.”

“I will strive to not disappoint you, sir.”

“I know you will, Captain. But may I offer you one piece of fatherly advice?”

“Yes, sir. Anything.”

“Admiral Vlasov is partially correct. You must be mindful of your own warrior spirit.” Kokurin advanced slowly, deliberately toward Petrov as he spoke. “Aggressiveness can be a blessing or a curse. If it is not tempered by wisdom, it will lead to recklessness. And that can have unfortunate consequences. Be my wolfhound, but don’t be a rabid one.”

Bursting with pride and overwhelmed by the fleet commander’s gentle admonition, Petrov could only nod his understanding.

Extending his hand, Kokurin said, “Good luck, Captain, and good hunting.”

Grasping the old submariner’s hand firmly, and looking him straight in the eye, Petrov replied, “Thank you, sir.”

As he departed, Petrov could not believe his good fortune. Receiving an unexpectedly good evaluation score, full certification and acceptance into the fleet, and his first mission all in one day was just too much to comprehend. The stars, as his mother used to say, were aligning in his favor.