“They shifted dimensions to compensate,” observed Josh.
“It would seem that way, but if you don’t have the metal… This ship is stretched and thinned to try to create equal pressure at all points. The thinking would be to get her to dive deeper. It may also be faster and quieter than their previous attempts.”
“What about the arms?”
“Interesting concept, loading five torpedoes in one oversize magazine. They have eliminated the torpedo crew, forward and aft. I can see clearly that the clip sits directly over the tubes, and they are probably lowered hydraulically.” He gazed at the missile doors sitting on top of the sub. “The missiles have had as much attention as the torpedoes. They seem smaller — for closer strikes.”
“Interesting way to look at things.” Sukudo was enthralled.
“Yes,” admitted Mikhail. He hated commenting on other people’s work. Not that he was arrogant, but he liked to examine these things by himself before he decided if someone was smarter than he was. It did bruise his pride slightly, but it also drove him.
“It is somewhat of a fresh approach for them. The torpedo bays alone indicate that someone wanted to shake things up in the design area. The goal was to eliminate as much of the crew as possible. Less people, less working parts, less noise. Quiet, so she could get near the coastline. I also don’t see any typical exhaust ports for a diesel engine. It tells us that it’s probably nuclear. I would think her reactor has been reworked and made smaller. That could be interesting to see. She’s made for short-range coastal strikes, but she’s big enough for open water maneuvers.”
“A two-hundred-and-forty-pound halfback,” Josh said, picking up one of the pictures.
“Huh?”
“You know. Like in the NFL. They’re looking for halfbacks that weigh two-forty and have four-point-five speed and agility.”
“That’s right,” agreed Sukudo. “Speed and power. A ship that can do everything.”
“She lacks range, yet she could be a real engineering feat for the Russians. But she’s mothballed, isn’t she?” There was concern in Mikhail’s voice. He had made his observations a little lightly, comforted by the fact that the sub was now sitting at the bottom of the Arctic.
“We think so.” Josh shrugged.
“Mikhail,” Sukudo asked, “if they automated everything — not only the weapons but other aspects of the ship — what would be her crew?”
“If they carried the thinking throughout the vessel… I could guess they could run her with as few as twenty men, just for the basics. Two shifts, of course. And the Soviet Union was not concerned about luxurious accommodations.”
“It would take at least ten men just to get her off the floor, right?” Sukudo inquired.
“At least ten. It would be almost impossible for twenty men to keep her running continuously, though. They would have to put her on the bottom when they needed to rest. There would be no one for a shift change. It definitely wouldn’t work in a patrol scenario.” Mikhail was about to stop answering questions until they told him why they were so interested in the sub. “We’re getting too hypothetical. It is not good to think this way.”
The admiral interrupted. “Not really. We’re always moving toward making our ships more automated. I find it feasible that they would also.”
“America doesn’t make submarines like this anymore,” scoffed Mikael. Then he pointed to the pictures. “They can’t keep an engineer to make these things anymore, either. Is there something I’m not being told?”
“No,” replied Sukudo. “The sub’s design has tickled our brains. That’s all.”
Mikhail went fishing. “Is it up for sale?”
“Russians only sell their diesel boats. The navy is more than capable of handling them.” Sukudo turned toward the window. “I’m actually interested in who designed this one. Got any clues?”
“I have not been over there in a long time.”
Sukudo turned back around. “Who do you think was the most likely?”
Mikhail pulled forward the picture of the hammer and sickle emblazoned on the sail. “Hard to believe she is that old.” That is all he offered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Confidence and Conundrums
It was useless for Dan to try to look at ease when the security guard walked George into his office. He had memorized George’s features from his file, and still he couldn’t help but stare at a man whom he had come to know so well but had never met. The phone call from the gate alone almost made him fall out of his chair. Then there was George, sporting a slight grin, standing in front of him.
Dan shook his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, George. I really didn’t expect this for another two months.” He closed the door on an extremely curious Sharon Dailey.
“Well, sir…”
“It’s Dan.”
“Thanks. A situation arose that I think no one was expecting. My only option was to bring it here directly.”
Knowing the myriad of ways to send information home, and George not trusting any of them, gave Dan a very intense look. “The meeting?”
“Correct.” A knock came on the door, and before Dan could reply, Levi Carp stepped in. He was too stunned to be angry. The man had incredible timing. He saw Sharon behind him, looking exasperated and throwing her hands in the air in frustration as she had obviously tried, and failed, to prevent Levi from opening the door. He got the sinking feeling that he would never be able to keep anything to himself if Levi kept poking his nose in.
“Hi, Dan.” Levi tried to sound sincere. “I just thought we should come up to date on our project. If you have some time.”
“What a coincidence, Levi,” Dan growled. “I was about to examine that very subject. In fact, this is a man you should meet. Levi Carp, meet George Mohammed Akbar, better known as Bluebird.”
Levi shook his hand. There was no surprise in Levi. In fact, he was extremely cool. “Nice to have you back, George. And thank you for your years of service. I was working with Dan on your op, peripherally.”
George shot Levi a curious glance and then went back to business. “The situation has caught us with our guard down.” He removed the thumb drive from his pocket. “I can’t explain it. You’ll just have to listen.”
Dan loaded the drive on his laptop. Rather than leave, Sharon tried to take an unnoticed seat in the corner. One look from Dan and she knew she had to retreat. She scowled as she closed the door.
“Well, let’s see what we have. Are you sure you don’t want to brief us before we hear this?”
“No,” replied George. “You should hear it the way I did. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”
Dan reached across and pressed Play.
A storm frothed on the surface as it began to move inland. Only the sturdiest ships would ride out the wind as the lesser vessels retreated to the safety of the coast. There was no sign of activity for twenty miles on the surface, yet four hundred meters below a hunt continued.
Captain Jim Hickman lay in his bunk. He couldn’t fully relax because of the anticipation that his executive officer, or XO, would call him to the bridge. Sixty-five years old in March, he had now found his tours more of an escape from the real world rather than a job. If it wasn’t for those seventy to ninety days away from humanity, he thought he might go insane. Direction in his career had been fulfilled. The navy was losing its sense of adventure, and he couldn’t stand being around people, generally. Every time he returned home, the news broadcasts painted a grimmer picture of his country than before he left. All just for television ratings, he finally concluded. The politicians, though they barked loudly about honoring the servicemen, never seemed to put their words into action. It all frustrated him. He had come a long way from the ghettos of East St. Louis. He had tried to lead by example, but no one seemed to notice. Socially, he had been through it all, witnessing what he called the Great Transformation in America. To no avail, the people of his race were not taking advantage of the opportunities that hard work and education presented to lead them on the path to success. It’s the culture, he concluded. Too many unwed mothers. Too many kids who think it’s important to wear their pants down over their ass like a diaper and be cool rather than present themselves as a person who can solve problems and earn respect for a job well done. The government, though he worked for it, was now just a big nipple on a feeding bottle for the next generation — and all were lining up for a suckle. What will they do when no one is left to fill the bottle? Grim as the thought was, Jim knew his job was to keep protecting those who contributed to society first. Those who did nothing but take from it, second. He remembered Aesop’s “The Grasshopper and the Ant” fable and then rubbed his eyes. Why do you ponder these things, Jim? In this he knew it wasn’t just his race or culture; it cut across all lines in America. Dignity and self-worth were just shadows of what they once were when applied to the younger generation of all colors.