“Yes, sir,” she responded perfunctorily.
He looked back at her, wondering if she ever smiled. Certainly he’d never seen it. Perhaps now…
“I have some good news for you, Lieutenant,” he explained, studying her face, hoping to see any reaction at all to the news he was about to present. “The President just announced his decision.”
If she heard, she gave no indication of it. Her expression stayed tightly controlled.
“You’re going to sea, Kristen.” It was what she wanted. He’d watched as a spectator at first, and then as an advocate for her petition to join the submarine service. Since leaving the Naval Academy, she’d spent almost four years fighting the stubborn Navy Brass and an obstinate submarine service for the right to serve in the all-male domain of the Silent Service. Now, after years of setbacks and miles of red tape, she was getting her chance.
He expected something from her. A smile maybe, perhaps tears of joy. Anything other than the stony expression and mute silence. Was she in shock?
“Kristen?” he asked. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” she responded, her usually controlled voice sounding a bit forced suddenly. Was this all the reaction he would get? He’d expected… he wasn’t quite certain what he expected. But then he’d never been able to penetrate the icy veneer she kept wrapped around herself.
After a lengthy pause during which not a word was exchanged and the only sound came from the soft whirring of the computers, she spoke, “May I ask when I will be receiving orders, Admiral?” He thought he detected a hint of doubt in her voice, which was almost an emotional outburst for her. He understood. There’d been other such moments over the last three-plus years when she’d come close to stepping on board a submarine as a crew member, only to have the rug snatched out from under her.
He raised his left hand holding her official orders. “Hot off the printer.” He studied her face hoping to catch any hint of what she was thinking. He thought he detected a quickening of her breath, her eyes darted to the paper in his hand and there might have been a brief glimmer of hope, but she tucked away the brief flash of emotion almost immediately. Despite this carefully crafted exterior of control, there was no denying the slight tremble in her left hand as she reached for the orders sending her to sea.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” he offered as he extended his right hand.
She thoughtlessly took his hand with a surprisingly strong grip as she accepted her orders with her left hand. Her eyes dropped to the papers. More than most, he understood her uniqueness, her God-given gifts that made her so special. In less time than it took for him to shake her hand, she’d confirmed what he’d said.
This was no joke. She was going to sea.
She looked up at him, and now the rapidity of her breathing was unmistakable. She gestured toward the stacks of computers and sound equipment. “My final report isn’t finished yet, Admiral…”
Loyalty and dedication to duty were two traits he admired greatly. She had them in spades. Her dream was to be the first woman on a submarine, and now she had orders in hand to become that woman, yet she hesitated because of the obligation she felt to complete her task here.
Beagler brushed off the not-so-insignificant task. “We’ll manage.” Tapping the papers in her hand, he added, “Besides, your orders have you departing immediately.”
Silence.
She was hardly a fool. Fools didn’t graduate at the top of their Academy class. Fools didn’t work for Beagler. Yet, she seemed at a loss for words. Was this the outpouring of emotion? Disbelief? Shock?
“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he prodded gently, knowing she hadn’t.
“No, sir,” she managed. “Not at all, Admiral. I just…”
He nodded in understanding, wishing he could tell what she was thinking. Even now, with victory literally in her grasp, she refused to celebrate. Perhaps she was even smarter than he thought. Despite the difficulties in getting this far, Beagler knew from experience that the toughest part was still ahead.
“Then I suggest you get packing, unless you want your leave cut short.” As with all permanent change of station orders, Kristen would receive thirty days of leave to help her make the transition. “Bremerton, Washington in winter is quite a change from sunny Hawaii.”
She managed a nod as her eyes seemed lost in deep thought.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” he offered, sensing that perhaps she preferred to be alone rather than allow her emotions be put on display. He turned to leave as his aide withdrew to the hallway.
As Beagler took his leave she stopped him, “Sir.”
He looked back over his shoulder at her. She was still standing as if riveted to the floor. She appeared to be struggling to find the right words. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Thank you, Admiral.” They were simple words, but they were sincere.
“Don’t thank me just yet, Kristen,” he confided. “You’re going to the Seawolf,” he informed her. “I know her captain.” He paused for a moment to consider his lengthy relationship with the anything-but-conventional commanding officer of the Seawolf. “Rest assured, your biggest challenges lie ahead of you.”
Chapter Two
“Con, sonar,” came the voice through the speaker.
Captain Albert Styles reached up and took the microphone down from the overhead speaker. “What is it, sonar?”
“We’re picking up another power plant signature, Captain,” came the reply. “Another Typhoon, sir.”
“Son of a bitch,” Styles’ executive officer whispered next to him. “Are we at war and someone just forgot to tell us?”
Styles was beginning to wonder the same thing. Washington had been monitoring the Russian Navy more closely since intelligence began detecting signs of a marked increase in work in and around their submarine bases. Satellite imagery had picked up what appeared to be repairs and preparations for getting their aging submarine fleet back into an operational state. It was why the Albany was patrolling just outside the big Russian base at Polyarny.
With the exception of a few aging chief petty officers and the admirals back in Norfolk, there was no one left who remembered the Cold War firsthand, but whatever the Russians were up to, it sure looked big as far as Styles was concerned. “Anything on ESM?” he asked his XO, referring to their electronics antenna peeking up above the waves.
“A lot of radio chatter up there,” he replied dutifully. “They’re definitely coming out.”
“How many does that make now?” Styles asked his operations officer, wondering how many Russian subs they’d counted leaving port.
“Eight ice breakers leading out six Akulas, three Typhoons and what we believe to be the Borei, Captain.”
The Borei was the newest Russian ballistic missile submarine, and the US Navy knew almost nothing about her. Captain Styles again spoke into the microphone, addressing his sonar room, “Chief, make sure you’re running a tape on the Borei.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Should we go up and take a peek?” the XO asked.
Styles knew it was a risk, but with little information available on the Borei, he thought the risk worthwhile. The Albany’s periscope had a radar absorbing coating to help conceal it, and Styles would only have the scope above the waves for a few seconds. He nodded his head and stepped up onto the periscope pedestal.