The squawk from the intercom on the bridge suitcase informed Jerry that his guests had dropped off their gear in the XO’s stateroom and were making their way to control. They had requested permission to come up and pay their respects to the commanding officer. Jerry nodded his approval, and the OOD answered, “Permission granted.”
A toot from the tug’s whistle told Jerry and the OOD that Goliath had detached herself from North Dakota’s hull. As the submarine gradually started to get way on, the tug took up a supporting position astern. The concrete walls of the inner harbor channel passed by slowly, as if one were on a leisurely stroll. Just ahead of them was the exit into Apra Harbor proper, and beyond that, the open sea.
Moments later, Samant and Petrov emerged from the access trunk, squeezed past Covey and the pilot in the crammed cockpit, and climbed up to join Jerry and the lookout on the flying bridge. Each man sported a brand-new North Dakota ball cap, complete with scrambled eggs on the brim. Grabbing Petrov’s right hand, Jerry gave him a brief pull to get him up and over the railing.
“Thank you, Jerry,” grunted Petrov as he gained his footing. “My God, this is a very cramped bridge.”
“Yeah, well, I suppose in comparison to a big Russian nuke boat this would be a little on the small side. But we like to keep things sleek and trim,” Jerry replied a little defensively.
“Trim?” challenged Samant, trying to find some more space without bumping into the lookout. It was cozy up on the flying bridge with the four of them. “This is even more compact than what I had on my Kilo!”
Jerry shrugged; there was no way he was going to win this debate. Resigned, he politely changed the subject. “Once we clear the breakwater, we’ll disembark the pilot and then crank her up to warp nine. We have to dogleg our way out of the harbor because of the numerous spots of shoal water.” Jerry pointed to the large splotches of blue-green seawater dotted all around the boat.
“Is that the channel to our left?” Samant asked, pointing to a very slender band of darker water off the port bow. He had a slight frown on his face.
“That’s it,” responded Jerry. “It’s wider than it looks from here. We have a good two hundred and fifty meters between the two reefs.” The Indian nodded and seemed to relax. He then started a complete 360-degree visual sweep, looking around at the water, nearby landmarks, and the sub’s position within the channel; exercising a well-rehearsed routine. Jerry then noticed the Indian dolphins on Samant’s uniform. They were very similar to the U.S. Navy’s submarine insignia. Except where the submarine conning tower was on the U.S. badge, the Indians had a pedestal with three lions arrayed back-to-back.
Samant’s dolphins dragged Jerry back to his last conversation with Captain Simonis. The commodore had issued direct orders that neither foreign officer was to have access to the radio room or the engineering spaces. Simonis was less than happy at the very thought of two senior, submarine-command-qualified naval officers running around loose on one of his newest boats — and at sea!
He grumbled at first about Patterson’s “casual disregard” of the security risk, but Simonis at least admitted she had some valid reasons for her recommendation. And she did use the chain of command this time. The only other guidance Jerry received was to put the pedal to the metal once he had submerged. Chakra had a two-day head start, and Simonis wanted all his subs on station well before the rogue Indian boat was expected to arrive in Chinese waters. Since North Dakota had the first patrol area near Hong Kong, she’d have to fly to make it in time.
Turning around, Jerry caught a glimpse of Petrov’s face. His expression was a strange mixture of confusion, wonderment, and… uneasiness? Worried that something was wrong with his friend, Jerry asked, “Are you okay, Alex?”
Petrov immediately smiled, but his face took on a slight pinkish hue. “Oh, yes. I’m fine, Jerry. It’s just that… well, I’ve never gone to sea in a short-sleeve shirt before.”
Jerry bit down on his lower lip, while simultaneously taking in a slow, deep breath. He was trying very hard not to laugh at Petrov’s awkward confession; his friend was already embarrassed enough as it was. Samant either didn’t try, or failed utterly, as a hearty guffaw burst out. As soon as he was done laughing, he said, “Pay no attention to him, Captain Mitchell. Aleks has done nothing but complain about the fine Indian spring we were having.”
Petrov ignored Samant’s comment and tried to explain; his face had already transitioned to a deep red. “I’ve always had to wear at least a light jacket when I went out to sea, and oftentimes a heavy winter coat. It just seems very strange not to need one, that’s all.”
Feeling it was now safe, Jerry chuckled. “Well, Alex, a fifty-degree southerly shift in latitude will do that to you. You might as well enjoy it while you can, it won’t take us long to reach the dive point, once we clear the harbor.”
Fifteen minutes later, they passed the entrance to the breakwater and Jerry had the OOD slow while the pilot climbed down the rope ladder and hopped over to the tug. After another quick toot, Goliath pulled away and North Dakota was free to accelerate to a higher speed.
Slowly, the boat’s bow wave grew larger, expanding in both size and sound, becoming a loud wall of water slamming against the forward edge of the sail. Split by the unyielding metal, the frothing seawater tumbled down around the hull. Jerry always loved to be on the bridge when a submarine plowed its way through the ocean at high speed. Ever since that first time on Memphis, so many years ago, it never failed to fill him with excitement. Riding a boat on the surface with a flank bell on was just as addicting to him as flying a high-performance fighter. And he wasn’t the only one.
Samant wore a pronounced grin as he leaned casually against the railing. He relished the wind whipping past his face, and the occasional drop of seawater thrown high into the air, striking him, only made him feel more alive. By comparison, Petrov appeared calm and tranquil. He leaned forward into the brisk wind, his hands grasping the railing tightly, his feet staggered to provide the best support on the vibrating deck.
Just as Jerry thought Petrov was enjoying the ride, he saw a pained or troubled look flash on the Russian’s face. It then dawned on Jerry that his friend probably hadn’t been to sea since the collision almost nine years earlier, and that this trip was likely opening up old wounds. For a brief second, Jerry thought he saw a tear creeping across Petrov’s windswept face. Rather than encroach upon Petrov’s private contemplation by speaking, Jerry left him alone to deal with the demons that were troubling him. Sometimes, even time couldn’t heal all wounds — especially the really deep ones.
After about twenty minutes, Covey flagged Jerry’s attention and pointed to the display screen. They’d reach the dive point in another thirty minutes, and the OOD still had some work to do topside before they could submerge. Jerry nodded and turned to his guests.
“As much as I hate to say it, gentlemen, we need to go below. We’re getting close to the dive point and the OOD needs to take down the flying bridge. We can grab some fresh coffee before we submerge and you can observe the evolution from the control room.”