The President of the United States, speaking for Nato and the West, had replied this morning, disabusing the Russian leaders: the Soviet SSBNS were as much at risk as his submarine fleet had been. The Soviets must get out of Norway or Nato would proceed immediately to sink their SSBNS too.
And so, during this strange respite, while the land armies continued to glare at each other across the central plain of Europe, this sinister war of attrition was to be played out beneath the surface of the seas. Nato submariners would be wasting no time in convincing the Soviet navy that the game was no longer worth the candle.
Layde walked wearily towards the house. The effort at sea, in spite of grievous losses, had been worthwhile: the convoys were rolling and the Soviets had learnt a painful lesson. The tragic effects, so far, of this limited, blood-stained sea war could have been even more catastrophic if the West had not been alerted to the harsh realities of Soviet power and policy.
The price of Afghanistan was now being paid by the Soviet navy, but still the outcome was touch and go. The strategic deterrent had so far saved humanity from the worst; whether it would continue to do so, the world would soon know.
Layde peered upwards at the indigo bowl where Venus flickered, brilliant, in the west.
He sighed bitterly: survival now depended upon the submariners.