“And nuclear weapons at that,” Catardi said.
“She and Klugendorf are going to melt down over that.”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“Rob, something I meant to ask in the briefing. What’s the range of the Panther? Won’t she need to refuel? And won’t she run out of food?”
Catardi nodded, reaching for the pod coffeemaker. He raised an eyebrow at Pacino, who nodded. Catardi brought two cups to the table and both men sat facing the video screen. “Panther’s range is limited on diesel fuel, advertised at six thousand nautical miles, but we think it may be as low as four thousand. The trip is around fifteen thousand miles, depending on how far Panther will deviate from the great circle route. So she’ll need to stop four or five times before she reaches AUTEC and take on fuel. We’ll re-provision her then.”
“When she surfaces to load diesel, she’ll be vulnerable, Rob. That could be when an opposition submarine could torpedo her and destroy her. And to track the Panther, all the Russians will need to do is keep track of every Navy oiler in the hemisphere.”
“Your buddy Margo and company came up with a work-around. Tramp steamers, rust-bucket tankers, lying-to on shorelines, anchored out, biding their time. The latitude and longitude of all these rusting derelicts given to the Panther boarding party ahead of time. Each one of them can refuel the Panther, and if we absolutely, positively have to, it can be done while the Panther hovers submerged.”
“What about food? How would you load food while submerged?”
“Those rusting hulks that refuel Panther? They’ll be dumping trash overboard, but it won’t be trash. It’ll be food. Submerged Panther divers snatch it up and lock it in. Boom, extended range. Patch, I assure you, we’ve thought of everything.”
“What about this nuclear weapon release issue? What happens when the VP and the silver spoons find out about that?”
“Maybe Carlucci keeps them in the dark about it. Maybe he thinks it’s just a deep contingency plan. What do you think, Patch? Do you think it’s a low probability contingency?”
Pacino stopped, thinking about what Carlucci had said to him in confidence about the Virginia-class and the Yasen-M, and Carlucci’s intentions to demonstrate to the Russian president that American submarines remained superior to Russian subs. And Carlucci was essentially cheating by giving Vermont advanced permission to fire warshots at any Russian submarines trespassing into the operation. Even allowing her to hammer the Russians with nuclear depth charges. Pacino stood up from the table and walked to the display screen, touched the screen absently, then slipped his hands into his pockets and turned to look at Catardi. “Rob, if we were the Russians, do you think there’s a chance in hell we’d let the Iranians test our reactor without a submarine escort out there?”
Perhaps unconsciously imitating Pacino, Catardi stood up to look closer at the screen and put his hands into his pockets. “No way.”
“So the only question is, do they send a front-line boat or a clunker out there?”
Catardi considered. “Clunker. Definitely. An Akula II maybe. Or a Sierra-class. Maybe even an improved Kilo-class. Something they’re not afraid to sacrifice in case the Panther reactor blows up and takes the escort boat with it.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I know your worry, but no way in hell Moscow would risk sending a Yasen-M-class out there.”
“I hope not. From the intel I’ve read, I don’t know that we could beat one, even with the new Virginia-class.”
“We still have the edge,” Catardi said. “Weapon release rules of engagement. Russians would probably have to ask fleet HQ for permission to shoot at us, whereas we have warshots loaded in all tubes, powered up and ready to fire. And a note from home giving Mommy’s permission.”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that,” Pacino said, a dark worried expression crossing his face. “But we haven’t mentioned the elephant in the room, Rob.”
“What’s that, Patch?”
“Aircraft. Think about it. Four or five of our P-8 antisubmarine jets could find the Panther between breakfast and lunch. Find her and take her out with torpedoes carried aboard. The Russian version? The older Il-38 or the newer Il-114 are more than capable maritime patrol aircraft. They might not snap up Vermont, but they could easily nail down Panther. And it’s easy to mobilize half a dozen of them, even from the Pacific Fleet HQ or the Northern Fleet’s airfields. It’s a long flight, but Panther will be doing an exfiltration for six, seven or eight weeks, Rob.”
“Don’t forget, Patch, Vermont is equipped with Mod Charlie SLAAM-80 missiles. One of those would ruin an Il-114’s entire day.” SLAAM stood for submarine launched anti-air missile, and had gotten submarines out of several scrapes since its introduction.
“You can run out of missiles, be out of range, or late to detect an aircraft, Rob. It’s small comfort.”
Margo Allende walked in then, her eyes drifting toward the screen and back to Pacino, then nodding at him and Catardi. “Hello, boys,” she said, a half-smile on her face. She reached behind her head and removed a pin holding her hair in a bun, and her flowing hair fell down on her shoulders, long and straight and sleek. She shook her head to arrange her hair and looked seriously at Pacino.
“You’re worried about your boy?”
Pacino nodded glumly. “If the Russians blanket the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean with antisubmarine aircraft, they could find Panther and Vermont and torpedo them, or relay the information to any in-theater attack submarines. Or to Iranian destroyers and frigates. Weapon release permission aside, there are a hundred scenarios where this just isn’t survivable. For either boat.”
“You don’t have to worry about any Iranian or Russian surface ships or antisubmarine aircraft,” Allende said, staring into Pacino’s eyes. “If you’re up against an opposition force, I guarantee it will only be from submarines.”
“Why do you say that?” Catardi asked. “How do you know that?”
“Ain’t sayin’,” Allende smiled mysteriously. “You’re not read into the program. Well, I’ll leave you boys alone. Come on out to the bar if you want a drink.”
Pacino nodded, then looked at Catardi.
“I wonder what she’s got up her sleeve to keep airplanes and destroyers out of the mix,” Pacino said, his mood suddenly lighter.
Catardi shook his head. “No telling. But if that’s true, mission success just became much more probable.” He was quiet for a moment, then looked at Pacino. “You know, this whole nuclear release thing must be just a deep contingency plan, Patch.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“Your son looked good in that video clip,” Catardi offered.
“I hope like hell this goes as planned,” Pacino said, frowning. “You don’t think my boy will be on that crew that takes over the Panther, do you?”