“All the improvements were to the towed array,” began Petrov. “The new array is completely digital and the signal processing uses algorithms that were derived from the Irtysh-Amfora sonar suite that was on… on my old boat. Theoretically, you are looking at a potential four-to-five-decibel improvement in the signal-to-noise ratio.”
“Damn! That’s huge!” blurted Gaffney, North Dakota’s sonar officer.
Petrov smiled at the young officer’s outburst. “Yes, indeed, Lieutenant. I’m afraid this will complicate your search planning considerably.”
“Stuart, I want you to work with Captain Petrov to update Chakra’s sonar characteristics in our threat database. I need to know how much of our acoustic advantage we’ve just lost,” ordered Jerry.
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Gaffney.
He then looked toward Thigpen and added, “XO, you and the nav will work with Captain Samant to figure out Chakra’s best avenues of approach and a list of potential firing positions. I want contingency options if she doesn’t behave the way we think she will.”
Standing, Jerry finished his instructions to his crew. “We have a little more than two days before we reach the coast of Hong Kong. I need to have all this work completed and double-checked before we assume our station. Since it’s late, we’ll start first thing in the morning. Sleep well tonight, it will probably start getting a little hectic tomorrow.”
17
CONFESSION
Aleks Petrov had never had sloppy joes and sweet-potato fries before, but it turned out to be very good. He was pleasantly surprised at the Americans’ culinary creativity, and it was a welcome break from the spicy Indian food he’d had to subsist on for months. For the first time in quite a while, Petrov felt safe and at ease — but there was an edginess that still nagged at him. Sure, he was on a submerged nuclear submarine, bound for a desperate battle with a dangerous opponent, but that was still a day away, at least, and he could use the time — in fact, he needed the time — to rest and heal. And think.
He’d remained quiet during the meal, seated with Samant at the head of the table on Jerry’s left, while the officers treated them as honored guests. A lively conversation had sprung up during lunch as they reconstructed Chakra’s encounters with North Dakota during the Littoral Alliance war. Although the conversation had begun as a continuation of the morning’s planning session, the discussion of an Akula-class’s strengths and weaknesses in a sub-on-sub battle had turned into an animated exchange of war stories.
Petrov’s left side still ached, from fatigue if nothing else. Although they’d gotten some sleep during the twelve-hour flight from India to Guam, he and Samant had also talked extensively, trying to understand their place in a massive conspiracy. And Petrov’s first night on board had been a restless one, with dreams of compartments flooding and men drowning. He’d awakened in a sweat, shaking as he tried to remember who the men were — he didn’t recall them being members of his crew on Severodvinsk. But they seemed somehow familiar. Exhausted, he managed to make it through the morning’s work with the help of lots of coffee.
Petrov had been unaware of the extent of Russia’s role in this mess until he’d listened to the Americans warn the Indian leadership. He was especially ashamed that Orlav and Kirichenko, former Russian naval officers, were the main culprits behind this scheme. Petrov doubted very much that Dhankhar had gone looking for Russian nuclear weapons on his own — Kirichenko would have initiated the first contact.
He felt he’d atoned somewhat by sharing information on Chakra’s recent modifications with the Americans. Normally such sensitive data would be considered classified by both the Russian and Indian navies, but if they were successful, it would be a moot point. And if they failed, they would have larger problems than a simple breach of security.
Petrov had said little at lunch, and then only in response to direct questions. More than once he caught Jerry giving him sidelong looks now and then. Petrov was also watching Mitchell as well, seated at the head of the table on his boat. The Russian fondly recalled his own short time as a submarine captain, and he envied Jerry. Petrov had always been honest with himself about the loss of Severodvinsk. He still missed being her captain, and he missed the men he’d lost, but there was no helping that now.
Petrov hated his dark mood. Surrounded by friends and allies, in a place he understood, he couldn’t shake the questions that plagued him. He really didn’t want to pursue the answers, and that dread of what the answers might be also added to his ill humor.
When the meal finally ended, Petrov excused himself and headed to the XO’s stateroom, which he and Samant had taken over while Thigpen moved in with Lieutenant Commander Sobecki and Lieutenant Iverson. His intention was to lie down and think, and hopefully lose himself in sleep, but Jerry followed him up the passageway, heading for his own quarters. The captain’s stateroom was next to the XO’s, of course, and on sudden impulse, Petrov approached him and asked, “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
Surprised, Jerry answered, “Of course,” and gestured toward the door he’d just opened.
Marginally larger than a walk-in closet, Jerry’s stateroom had the luxury of only one fold-down desk instead of two, and the extra floor space allowed room for a second chair. Petrov sat down, while Jerry dropped into the chair in front of the desk. It was similar enough to the captain’s stateroom on a Russian boat to trigger another wave of memories, but Petrov refused to give in to nostalgia.
“I have some serious questions to ask you,” Petrov announced.
Jerry Mitchell shrugged. “I’ll tell you whatever I can, Alex. After all this, there aren’t many secrets between us.”
The Russian sighed. “I hope that is true. Jerry, I learned some disturbing things listening to your president and Dr. Patterson speaking with the Indians. She described how a large number of missile warheads had been diverted and hidden in a barge off the coast of Novaya Zemlya, and that she had been part of the mission that discovered those warheads. Is this correct?”
“Accidentally discovered,” Jerry added, “as part of an environmental survey.”
“A strange place to count whales,” Petrov remarked. “But more importantly, she mentioned that she was aboard the submarine Memphis when they made the discovery.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Jerry looked a little puzzled.
“And you were aboard that submarine as well, as a junior officer.”
“Yes,” Jerry admitted.
“I began fitting the pieces together aboard the plane. The Northern Fleet commander, Admiral Yuri Kirichenko, was court-martialed for an incident off the coast of Novaya Zemlya, which turns out to be where he’d actually hidden dozens of smuggled nuclear weapons.”
Petrov drew a breath. “Kirichenko was dismissed from the service not because he sent the Northern Fleet on what turned out to be a wild-goose chase, but because our newest and best submarine, Gepard, with seventy-three men aboard, was lost in that operation. Her loss was a wound felt by every member of the navy, especially the submariners.
“I was a midgrade officer, a battle department commander on Tigr; Gepard was a squadron mate. I had competed with many others to be selected for her first crew. I knew most of her officers, some by reputation, and some very well, a few were close friends. I could have been aboard her when she was sunk.”