Nightwatch

Epilogue

It was with some trepidation that Brad Bodzin found himself knocking on his Captain’s stateroom door. The hour was late, his presence here the byproduct of a formal request on his part to the XO earlier in the evening.

The senior sonar technician found Benjamin Kram seated at his desk, immersed in a pile of paperwork. Bodzin had a genuine liking for the old man, as he was better known to the junior ratings, and he tried his best to shake off his nervousness as he cleared his throat in greeting.

“Good evening, sir. Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

“Not at all, Mr. Bodzin. And may I be the first to wish you a happy Independence Day.”

Bodzin had totally forgotten that it was already the Fourth of July, and he listened attentively as Kram added, “I gather that you saw the videotape of President Chapman’s swearing-in ceremony?”

“I caught a replay right before I began my last watch, sir. It was a very emotional moment.”

“That it was, for all of us,” said Kram, who pulled off his bifocals and set them down on his desk.

“Now, I know you’re tired and ready to hit the rack after your second watch of the day. So what can I help you with?”

“Sir, first off, I understand that scuttlebutt has it that this will be your last patrol with us. I wanted to personally say what a great honor it has been to have sailed with you.”

Kram grinned and shook his head in amazement.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Bodzin. And considering that I only just told the XO, COB, and Commander Gilbert that I’d be permanently leaving the Jimmy K when we get back to Norfolk, I’m impressed with your intelligence network. Is that all, son?”

“Actually, sir, it isn’t.” Bodzin took a deep breath before continuing.

“Captain, I’ve been playing that tape we made of Sierra Seven’s signature over and over. I know we didn’t get much to work with, but I was able to enhance the signal, and pulled off a decent segment both immediately before they collided with the Rhode Island and right after they took that potshot at us. I then filtered out the highs and lows, and ran it through the computer for a positive identification.”

“Don’t tell me,” interrupted Kram.

“My money says that Sierra Seven is an enhanced Russian Akula.”

“Sir,” replied Bodzin while shaking his head that this wasn’t the case, “the computer shows that there’s a ninety-seven percent probability that Sierra Seven is a U.S. Navy 6881 attack sub.

Captain, that sub had to know we were fellow Americans. Why in the world would they do such a thing?”

Benjamin Kram was unable to reply. Until all the facts were in, and the entire cast of conspirators apprehended, knowledge of the coup attempt was to be restricted on a need-to-know basis.

Even in the world’s oldest practicing democracy, some questions were better left unanswered.