Dangerous Ground

24. MAY SHE EVER RETURN

June 17, 2005

Moscow, Russia

Admiral Alex Ventofsky saw Kirichenko alone. There was no need for aides or secretaries. They had known each other for twenty-two years and had served together on two different occasions. They were not close friends, but they knew and respected each other and they both served a common master.

Ventofsky was standing, pacing, as Kirichenko was shown into his office. It was large enough to let him go a good distance before turning. Decorated with the flags and pennants and other symbols of the Commander of the Russian Navy, he’d seen the Northern Fleet commander here many times before. This time Kirichenko snapped to attention as soon as the door closed behind him. Ventofsky continued pacing, as if walking could burn up his anger or resolve his problems.

The admiral was short, almost small, and nearly bald. A fringe of white hair was cut short, which only emphasized his round face. Like Kirichenko’s, it was battered by decades of harsh weather and hard service.

Ventofsky stopped pacing long enough to look at Kirichenko, who remained motionless and silent. He took a few more steps, then turned to face the junior admiral.

“Is there any new word from the search?”

“No sir. They’re still analyzing the debris and plotting its possible origin.”

“But it is from Gepard.”

“Yes, sir. Bottles and cushions, other buoyant material, all standard Navy issue.”

“And no survivors in the debris field.”

“Not even a lifejacket, sir. Although they are still looking.”

“And they will continue to look,” Ventofsky said harshly. “But that is no longer your concern. You are relieved. My office will notify Admiral Sergetev to take over, pending selection of a permanent replacement.”

Kirichenko nodded. “Ivan would make a good Fleet Commander.”

Ventofsky’s calm snapped and he almost shouted at Kirichenko, “A few days ago that would have meant something.” He took a deep breath and regained a little control. “The best thing you could do for Ivan now would be to say nothing.”

He walked over to his desk and pointed to a pile of documents on one corner. “It’s all here, Yuri. Did you think we wouldn’t find out?”

Kirichenko’s blood suddenly froze and he fought to maintain control. What had they discovered?

Ventofsky picked up each document in turn as he spoke. “Inflating the threat, sending that incredible message to Gepard. Making up a story about some Western spy. What were you thinking?”

Kirichenko waited half a moment before responding. “I did not wish the American submarine to escape. It was important that the Northern Fleet corner or kill this boat. It would teach the Americans to respect our borders and it would show our own countrymen that the Navy is still an effective force, despite the paltry funding we are given. I want the world to respect us and the motherland!” Kirichenko poured the feigned patriotism on thickly; it was his only real defense and the Slavic Admiral would readily appreciate it.

“And any transgressions you made during that pursuit would be forgiven,” Ventofsky concluded. “Was that it?”

Kirichenko nodded. “I couldn’t let this sub escape. He’d penetrated our waters. He had to be prosecuted. We’d pursued him, attacked him, and may have even damaged him.”

“Which should have been enough of a victory, in my opinion,” Ventofsky argued sternly. “Instead, in violation of every regulation, you sent Gepard to attack a foreign submarine in international waters. Were you trying to start a war?” Ventofsky’s voice rose sharply as he asked the question.

“I was defending our territory.”

“You were trying to get that sub’s scalp to hang on the wall! Glory-hunting is. ” He trailed off, then sat down heavily on the edge of the desk. “So unbelievable from you. You were one of our best. You would have taken over from me in a year or two when I retire.”

“My intention was to protect the motherland,” Kirichenko lied.

“Everyone has good intentions. We needed your good judgment,” Ventofsky explained, “and you let us down.” He picked up a single sheet of paper and studied it briefly. “All right. You are attached to this office until your trial next week.”

Kirichenko paled, but Ventofsky’s tone was unforgiving. “We’ve lost seventy-three lives and a first-line nuclear submarine. There has to be a public accounting. You will be found guilty of poor judgment and malfeasance: exceeding your authority. In deference to your long service and good intentions, the court will not impose any jail sentence or fine. You will be discharged from the service without a pension.”

The former Commander of the Northern Fleet stood silently for a few moments, then said softly, “Thank you for not sending me to prison.”

“We owed you that,” Ventofsky replied, “but you owe the State for your actions as well. Use the time here to write your report. Do not communicate with Sergetev or anyone in your former command except through my office. I expect you’ll also want to make plans for your retirement.”

Inwardly, Kirichenko almost cheered. The Russian Navy did not want a long, public trial, and neither did he. They’d already finished the investigation, which meant that his secret was still safe, at least for a little while longer. The only unknowns were what did the Americans learn from their intrusion and would they announce their findings to the world? He doubted it, since they would then have to acknowledge their violation of international law and their involvement with the destruction of Gepard. No, they will remain silent, which would give him the time he needed to finish the arrangements.

He did have plans to make.

June 25, 2005

North Channel, United Kingdom

Jerry’s first breath of fresh air almost floored him. Memphis had been submerged since May 13, almost six weeks earlier. It was a cool evening, given an edge by a stiff northerly breeze that also rocked Memphis.

As he filled his lungs with the stuff, he focused on the stern light of the minesweeper a thousand yards ahead of him. Looking at something in the distance helped quiet his stomach. The minesweeper was also his guide to Her Majesty’s Naval Base Clyde, or Faslane in Scotland.

Jerry swept the binoculars around the horizon. For the Irish Sea, it was good weather, with a solid overcast but a clear horizon. In the distance he could see Scotland to port, while Ireland lay to starboard. Looking aft, he could see a British Type 23 frigate following in their wake. Jerry could also see the warship’s helicopters searching on all sides of them, and Memphis’ ESM antenna picked up their radars. It even picked up the radar signals from several fighters, orbiting unseen above the clouds.

Their Royal Navy escorts had met them when they surfaced, just south of the Hebrides Islands. It was a carefully timed rendezvous that not only brought them in late in the day, but when there were no Russian satellites overhead. While it would have been preferable to return in darkness, it just wasn’t possible this far north so soon after the Summer Solstice. The sun was never far from the horizon and twilight lasted throughout the night. But as far as Jerry was concerned, that was just fine. He preferred navigating strange waters when he could see where he was going.

He’d studied the charts well enough to pick out the lights that marked the entrance to the Firth of Clyde. They were getting close to the turn.

“Bridge, Navigator. Mark the turn,” squawked the speaker on the bridge suitcase.

“Helm, bridge, left standard rudder, steady on course zero five zero.”

“Left standard rudder, steady on course zero five zero, helm aye.”

As Memphis swung to port, Hardy’s voice rang out from below, “Captain to the bridge.” Jerry and Al Millunzi moved out of the way as best they could to allow Hardy and Patterson up onto the flying bridge.

“Good evening, Captain, Doctor,” said Jerry.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” replied Hardy, in good spirits. “What’s our status?”

“We’re on track, Captain, and we’ve just entered the firth,” answered Millunzi. “We have good seas, good visibility, and lots of that hearty highland air.”

“Splendid! I was hoping to show Dr. Patterson some of the sights as we come into Scotland. Can you see Ailsa Craig yet?”

“Yes, sir,” Jerry responded. “You can just barely make it out, twenty degrees off the starboard bow.”

A craggy ocean pyramid, Ailsa Craig shoots up out of the sea to a height of over one thousand feet. It’s a small, barren volcanic island, only three-quarters of a mile long, in the middle of the Firth of Clyde. A spectacular sight, it is a favorite of mariners as they return home from the sea.

“Thank you, Mr. Mitchell. Dr. Patterson and I will be up here for a couple of hours, so carry on.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jerry and Millunzi.

As Memphis plied the firth, the clouds broke to the west and an incredible sunset greeted them. Patterson gasped and murmured about its beauty. Al Millunzi and Jerry shared small talk as they conned the boat toward the Cumbrae Islands, with the MPA regaling Jerry with tales of a great fish ‘n’ chips place in Glasgow that served huge fillets boiled in lard.

Lowell Hardy felt content, for the first time in a very long while. His boat and crew had done everything he had demanded of them, and more. He looked forward to when both he and Memphis could finally rest. Looking over at Joanna Patterson, he saw that she seemed a bit gloomy. He’d seen that face once or twice before in the wardroom, usually after long hours spent on the patrol report.

“All right, Dr. Patterson. What’s with the long face?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about what I was going to tell the President. He’s leaving for the conference in a couple of weeks and I don’t have anything for him. I’ve failed in my mission to promote him as a champion of the environment.”

“Nonsense,” said Hardy sternly. “We’ve done more for him than you realize. I mean, we’ve successfully pulled off what the Jennifer Project back in the 1970s failed to do. I think that counts for a whole hell of a lot.” His reference to the attempted recovery of nuclear warheads by the Hughes Glomar Explorer from a sunken Soviet ballistic missile sub was not lost on her.

“I know, I know. It’s just that I told him there was a huge problem off the coast of Russia that could threaten prime fishing grounds and that the Russians couldn’t be trusted. Now after all this, I find out the Russians were telling the truth about the dumping of radioactive waste and he can’t even mention what we did find at the conference,” lamented Patterson.

“So you tell him the truth about what we found and that you were wrong. What’s so hard about that?”

“Lowell, you’re being naive. You just don’t do that in politics.”

“Argghh,” groaned Hardy in exasperation. “Look, there are two ways to champion a cause. One way is to identify a problem and bring it to the attention of others. That’s the route you’ve tried to take. But there is another route and that involves finding a solution to the problem. Now I’m sure you can come up with some pretty flowery phrases where the President can acknowledge the Russians’ honest efforts and then offer them money, technology, and international support to begin cleaning the mess up. There are plenty of precedents of previous administrations funding similar activities in Russia.”

Patterson’s mouth dropped open and she stared at him.

“You could even suggest trying out the cleanup procedures in a remote northern bay, you know, just in case something should go wrong, the impact on the environment would be minimized. Who knows what you’ll find when you start mucking around?” Hardy’s unspoken reference to the warhead barge was unmistakable.

A look of admiration lit up Patterson’s face. Awed, she said, “Oh, you’re good. Real good! I… I need to go below and do some typing. Thank you for your remarkable insight.” As she started to climb down from the flying bridge, she stopped, stood back up, and gave Hardy a peck on the cheek. “Thanks also for the beautiful evening.”

“Ohhh, don’t thank me yet, Doctor,” said Hardy with a playful glimmer in his eyes.

“What are you talking about now?”

“You’ll see.”

Confused, Patterson shook her head and started climbing down toward the control room. As soon as she was in the access trunk, Hardy sat down on the top of the sail, his legs hanging into the cockpit.

“You know, gentlemen, the human sense of smell is grossly underappreciated. Its powers of recovery from long-term abuse are simply astounding. She should be finding that out. right about now.”

Jerry looked perplexed, while Millunzi tried desperately to suppress his laughter. Then from below came a cry that could barely be heard by Hardy and the others. But it was unmistakably Dr. Patterson’s voice: “Oh my God! Ugh, it smells worse than a locker room in here! Hardy, you did that on purpose!”

Everyone on the bridge, Hardy included, roared with laughter.

As Memphis rounded the peninsula near the Scottish town of Gourock, they met a Royal Navy tug. Jerry, Millunzi, and the pilot stood elbow to elbow as Jerry made his approach. The breeze now worked for him, pushing Memphis onto the pier. The landing went smoothly, with Memphis lightly bumping up against the pier’s rubber camels. Bair gave Jerry a thumbs-up as the line handlers scurried about the deck, working feverishly to make Memphis fast to the pier.

Their reception committee filled the pier. Several military trucks, vans, and cars lined one side. Jerry could see Royal Marines scattered along the pier, establishing a security perimeter. Some blocked the access to the pier, while others took up positions along the seawall.

A medium-sized crowd was also waiting and started to file aboard as soon as the brow was put over. A knot of high-ranking naval officers and civilians led the way.

Jerry could see Hardy on the aft deck, nervously waiting to meet the first of the visitors, a vice admiral who saluted the ensign and then answered Hardy’s salute. “That’s the Director of the Submarine Warfare Division,” Bair told Jerry. He was smiling broadly as he greeted the Captain, so Jerry took that as a good sign. Jerry recognized the Squadron Commander following the Admiral, and the two senior officers were followed by a gaggle of aides and attendants.

Half a dozen armed Royal Marines, led by a junior officer, came next. They quickly took up stations in pairs, fore and aft on the hull and next to the Manta cradle. The officer tried to look fierce, but the rest managed the effect without effort.

They were followed by a group of workers in radiation suits. They headed aft toward the now-empty docking skirt, and even before they reached the aft deck, a wheeled crane rolled down the pier, lifting tackle already in place.

Jerry managed to observe all this as he finished supervising the rigging of Memphis’ mooring lines, hooking up shore power, and securing the bridge watch. Lieutenant Commander Bair nodded approvingly as Jerry finished the checklist and transferred the watch to the Command Duty Officer. “Nicely done, mister. Now get your butt down to the engine room. Mr. Ho’s waiting for you.” Mitchell badly wanted to watch as their hard-earned prizes were unloaded, but he had to work on his qualifications.

The engineers secured the plant, with Jerry serving as assistant Engineering Officer of the Watch. Like his stint on the bridge, he’d prepared by memorizing the many commands and procedures. He wasn’t perfect, but he managed to satisfy Lieutenant Commander Ho’s requirement to actually locate many of the controls and describe what had to be done with them to safely secure the propulsion plant. Ho was delighted when in the middle of the process, a pump bearing started running hot. Jerry dealt with the minor casualty correctly, if not swiftly. Both Ho and Jerry smiled as the Engineer signed off another section in his qualification book.

Once the maneuvering watch had been replaced by the inport reactor watch, Jerry hurried topside, planning to get his first look at the Manta cradle since they left New London. He stopped momentarily at his stateroom to drop off his qualification book and grab his jacket before heading up to the control room. There, he found Emily Davis, with a rating standing by to take her bags.

“They want us on the same plane as the weapons,” Emily explained hurriedly.

“And you’re okay with that?” asked Jerry, smiling.

“It’s got to be safer than being on this sub,” she retorted, but she was smiling.

Jerry was glad to see their mission finished successfully, but knew he’d miss them, even Dr. Patterson. It was hard to put his feelings into words, though. After a moment’s awkward pause, he asked, “How long until you have to leave?”

“Now,” Emily replied.

“We’ll take good care of Huey and Duey.” Jerry grinned. “I’ll read them a bedtime story every night.”

“You’d better. I’ll meet Memphis when she gets back to New London and I’ll take them back to Draper.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you, then.” Jerry realized he might have put more meaning in that than he’d planned.

“And I’ll look forward to seeing you and Memphis again,” she replied.

Jerry started to lean toward her, then quickly pulled back. Hardy’s prohibition still loomed over him. “Ah, where’s Dr. Patterson?” he asked.

Emily nodded toward Hardy’s stateroom. “She’s going over the mission report before we leave.”

As she spoke, the door opened and Patterson stepped out, followed by Hardy. “Mr. Mitchell, please find the XO and tell him I want all officers and chiefs on the pier — and anyone else who wants to say good-bye to our guests.”

Jerry found the XO in the wardroom, talking to the submarine warfare director and the squadron commander. Bair immediately pulled him over. “Admiral Barber, this is Lieutenant Mitchell.”

He couldn’t salute indoors, of course, but Jerry instinctively braced. Some of his anxiety must have made it into his expression, because Barber laughed warmly and offered his hand. ‘‘Relax, Lieutenant.” As Jerry shook it, the admiral said, “It sounds like the aviation community’s loss is our gain. Well done, mister.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad it worked out.”

Barber, still smiling, asked, “Which one: you or the mission?”

“Both, sir.”

“And both appear to have succeeded beyond our expectations. As I said. Mr. Mitchell, I believe the submarine community has gained a valuable member. Expect to be put to use.”

All Jerry could say was, “Yes, sir,” as unformed possibilities ran though his mind. He remembered the Captain’s message and passed it on to the XO. Bair dismissed him after that and Jerry hurried up and onto the pier.

Jerry got topside in time to see the second warhead case being lifted across to the pier. A forklift then placed it into one of the trucks, where it was quickly tied down and covered. As soon as the warheads were loaded, the marines and technicians piled back into their vehicles and the entire convoy drove off, headed for the military terminal at Glasgow Airport.

A car and driver remained for the ladies, and with more room on the pier, Memphis’ crew filed off the deck and waited in the summer twilight.

Emily Davis, followed by an enlisted man with her bags, was first, and crossed the brow to scattered applause. “Are you that happy to see me leaving?” she asked, smiling. She came over and stood with the several of the officers, including Jerry.

The XO came next, just a minute later, carrying a folded seabag. He stopped at the quarterdeck for a moment and Jerry heard the word being passed on the IMC. “Dr. Patterson and Dr. Davis are departing.” A few more sailors hurried off the boat, and Jerry saw that almost every sailor not on watch was on the pier.

It was another few minutes before Captain Hardy appeared, followed by Dr. Patterson, and then two ratings with her luggage and instruments.

Bair didn’t form the crew into ranks. He did call, “Attention on deck” as Hardy stepped onto the pier. The Captain immediately ordered, “At ease,” as he waited for Patterson and then escorted her over to the group.

Hardy said softly, “Gather around,” and the crew formed a semicircle, with the Captain, Bair, and the ladies in the middle.

The Captain was silent for a moment, even after everyone had settled into position. Finally he spoke, and Jerry was amazed to see him smiling. “I’m sure everyone remembers that I was not enthusiastic about women aboard Memphis” That got a laugh, and he waited, then continued. “I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea, unless it’s two very special women.”

Jerry could see both Patterson and Davis blushing, even in the darkness, as Hardy continued to speak. “Doctors Patterson and Davis — Joanna and Emily — have shown us that skill, bravery, and dedication are not peculiar to the male sex. They have become such a part of our crew that it will be hard to image Memphis sailing without them. But I think the XO will nonetheless be happy to get his stateroom back.”

“Hear, hear,” shouted Bair enthusiastically.

Hardy nodded to the XO, who opened the seabag he was holding. Bair passed a pair of ball caps and jackets to Hardy, both of which were emblazoned with Memphis’ seal and name. Both ladies quickly put them on as Hardy said, “Although Memphis will soon be decommissioned, I hope you will always think of yourselves as part of her crew.”

Bair then passed two large, flat plaques to the Captain. Hardy held one of them up.

Hardy explained. “The photograph in the middle was taken during the Bluenose ceremony and shows you two ladies during the meal. It’s not the most flattering image, but as far as we’re concerned, beauty runs deep.” He pointed to the area surrounding the photo. “Each member of the crew has signed these. We hope you will remember us with the same warm feeling we will always have for you.”

Jerry was amazed. He didn’t know Hardy had it in him. Both of the ladies were crying as they took and hugged their plaques. The crew applauded and Emily quickly handed her plaque back to Bair, then hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Then she started working on the crew, and everyone in the front row received a public display of affection. He might have imagined it, but Emily seemed to take a little longer with him than Lenny Berg or Master Chief Reynolds. Jerry hoped Hardy’s warning was now moot.

Dr. Patterson, also sniffling, waited for the applause to end and then spoke haltingly. “I am so proud of knowing all of you, of what you’ve done.” She had to stop, then continued, “I will always remember what I’ve learned on this mission, especially about the wonderful people that serve on our submarines.”

She handed her plaque to Bair and then turned to the Captain. Embracing him, she kissed Hardy passionately, deeply, and to Jerry’s surprise, Hardy returned it. In fact, as Jerry watched, he realized Hardy didn’t look too surprised. And as they continued to embrace, Jerry began to wonder if this was the first time they had kissed.

The crew, at first as stunned as Jerry, applauded, and if their kiss had gone on any longer, might have added a few comments, in spite of Hardy’s rank. The applause ended as they separated, but Jerry noticed that they remained close, with Hardy’s arm around Patterson and hers around him.

“We have to go,” Patterson said, “but we’ll be waiting for you when Memphis comes back to New London. And there will be a brass band and some of my friends to meet you.” Jerry didn’t have to wonder who those friends would be.

As the crew applauded again, she turned to Hardy. She spoke softly, but everyone in the front rank heard her. “I’ll see you on the sixteenth, then. I’ll start looking for a place the minute I’m back. Remember, we’ll have to establish residency in the third district.” Hardy nodded reassuringly and said something back, but too softly to be heard.

It took Jerry a minute to process what he had just heard. While he did, Patterson hugged and said good-bye to Bair, Master Chief Reynolds, and many others. She reached Jerry and bussed him heartily on the cheek. “Thank you for everything,” she said happily.

She remembered her plaque and then, with Emily following, headed for the waiting car. The crew was applauding and waving and Jerry wandered over toward the XO. Lieutenant Commander Bair had a strange expression on his face, and Jerry realized he’d been as surprised as everyone else.

“Don’t stare, XO, it isn’t polite,” Jerry said softly, with a hint of revenge.

Bair, without blinking an eyelash, elbowed Jerry in the ribs and replied, “Don’t be a smart ass, Mr. Mitchell. You’re not the Bull Ensign.” Bair had a huge grin on his face.

“Happy news, eh?” said Jerry and Bair nodded. Then, as if rousing himself, Bair turned to the Captain, who was watching the car drive off into the twilight.

“Congratulations, skipper,” Bair said, offering his hand.

Hardy took it briskly and smiled. “Yes, yes. Thank you, XO.”

Jerry grinned and added his congratulations. “I hope you and Dr. Patterson will be very happy together.”

Hardy, still smiling, took Jerry’s hand. “She’s an extraordinary woman, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Indeed, sir, she’s a fine catch.”

Hardy laughed, an unusual sound, and said, “I’m not sure how much ‘catching’ was involved.” Then his expression changed, as if a mist was clearing from his eyes. “And I think we’ve spent enough time talking about Dr. Patterson.”

“Yes sir,” Jerry answered quickly.

“I’ve already spoken to Captain Young. As squadron commander, he has to observe your final qualifications for dolphins, and he’s agreed to meet us on the thirteenth, three days before we arrive back in New London.”

Jerry was impressed. That would mean a helicopter ride and an at-sea transfer.

“Now, we don’t want him to fly out to Memphis and have you not be ready, do we?” Hardy’s voice was stern and his expression matched. “You’ve made progress over the past ten days, but there’s still a tremendous amount to do. We’re here for about a week while we make repairs and then nine days underway before Captain Young arrives. Will you be ready?”

“The whole crew’s been helping me, sir. I’m sure I can make it.”

Hardy nodded. “Yes, Mr. Mitchell, I’m sure you can.”