The bay covered approximately two square miles and had ample deepwater. He took soundings earlier in the day with a fish finder Fathometer in a small boat he commandeered. The northern end of the bar dipped to a depth of seventy-five feet and formed a channel two hundred yards wide.
Dave figured two rows would do it, and the barges would not have to be stacked. “This will be it,” he said then trudged five rugged miles back to the road and his car.
A short time later, he called Eric Danis from the Digs.
Eric kidded his friend, “Took you long enough.”
“I know. Had the job all of two days now. Look, Eric, this place I found will do the job, but I’m gonna need some Navy clout. I got a plan, but I need help and equipment from the locals. Not sure how they’ll take to jumping on an old retread’s bandwagon though.”
“You’ll get the clout, Dave. Lay the plan on me.”
“Okay. The whole deal will have to be afloat.”
“Afloat? Hell, that’s not new. We did it that way in Holy Loch.”
“Right, Eric. But we had a submarine tender. Ours are gone now.”
“You talk, Dave. I’ll listen.”
“I’m gonna anchor twenty-five to thirty barges in a cluster. They’ll provide enough platform for our refit shops. I’ll find the barges and tugs to haul them. There’s enough stuff around somewhere, but I need a better fix on it. Our anchoring scheme oughta give us at least two alongside berths with two to three outboard. I can get cranes that’ll reach out over the first two. We’ll also need anchors and chain, but there ought to be plenty of that around.”
Eric asked, “How about the reserve fleet?”
“How about ground zero? Can’t be very far from there.”
“Oops, I forgot.”
Dave continued, “I’m going to need some muscle. I don’t see us getting too much of this stuff on the strength of a handshake from old Dave Zane.”
“You got it, Dave. Now, what else?”
“Heard from Meyer and he tells me there’s some pretty good-looking bullets on the way. Where’d you find him? He’s cutting his way north like a buzz saw.”
“Grew him myself, Dave. You’re right. Not a good idea to get in his way once he’s turned onto a problem.”
Dave gave Eric further details on his breakwater plan. “Two rows will keep out all but the worst and the most would happen then is we’d be shut down a day or two. Another thing. Don’t lay any of that testing crap on me. What you’re getting here is Zane eyeball certifications. We’ll teach everybody to pay attention and keep out from under heavy things swinging overhead.”
Eric asked, “What about power?”
“A segment of the northwest grid is only five miles east of the site. Doug firs will support the power lines and insulators for the stretch to the base. We can’t build towers without clearing the wilderness and that might take weeks. I don’t know about shore power for submarines, but I’ll work on it. There’s plenty of fuel for diesel generators so some of your prima donnas are just going to have to learn to live with them.”
“Sounds like you might not have been wasting your time after all.”
“Plenty to do to keep me off the streets and out of the bars. Just as well. Most of ’em are closed anyway.”
“Think of how grateful your liver will be.”
“Yeah, I suppose. When am I going to see some help, Eric?”
“When do you want them? I’ve got some pissed off aviators down here who are none too happy about having their carrier shot out from under them. They’re convinced submarines are the best chance for getting even.”
“Need ’em at Astoria right now. If there’s not room enough for them at Clatsop County Airport, we’ll move out some of the current tenants. I need some blue-suiters to take charge of the docks and staging area I got lined up down there. Can you get them moving in that direction?”
“They’re aviators and we got plenty of airplanes.”
“Good. Have them fly into Clatsop and I’ll meet them there. Let me know when. And, Eric?”
“Yeah, Dave?”
“A lotta folks here are unhappy about what happened to Bremerton and the Port of Seattle. They’re just about mad enough to build that submarine refit site for you.”
“So no problems with the locals?”
“None at all.”
“I figured that.”
“Furthermore, Commodore, we’re gonna whip their Red asses. Get an American’s back up and somebody better watch his step. About now, I’d say we’re bristlin’.”
They exchanged good-byes and hung up.
Eric Danis wished he could find support for his friend’s optimistic outlook among the dismal communiqués from SUBPAC on the war’s progress. When operations turned conventional in Europe, Soviet movements ground to a halt and a version of Sitzkrieg in World War II developed. Soviet submariners replayed Hitler’s early war triumphs in spades.
The U.S. Air Force provided troops and materials to hold the Soviets in check, but to turn things around more troops were needed.
The Pacific Theatre concerned Eric. Essential war supplies needed from Australia and South America could not be shipped by air in sufficient quantities to support America’s war industries. Somehow, sea lines of communication must be reopened and protected from the Soviet Submarine Flotilla. U.S. submarines and their bases provided the best hope. Worst of all, the clock continued to run with no indication of things beginning to improve.
Eric wished to discuss all this with his old friend Dave, but security considerations prevented it over public phone lines.
Jack Olsen, Brent and Dan Patrick finalized a patrol plan for Denver and discussed it with Captain Bostwick in the wardroom. The skipper looked refreshed seated behind a steaming cup of coffee. After the last false contact, he’d fallen into a deep sleep that lasted twelve hours. During this period, the executive officer ordered the ship’s routine relaxed and authorized all the sack time that could be squeezed in by the troops.
Dan said, “This plan exploits our acoustic advantage over anything they’ve got except possibly an Akula. Our chances of stumbling on one, or for that matter any other submarine here in mid ocean, is almost zero.”
“I see,” Bostwick said. “The old sprint and drift tactic,” alluding to the technique of running along at high speeds for a given distance and then abruptly shutting down in order to catch a possible interceptor in the act of racing to reach an attack position.
Dan continued, “Right. And spacing runs at these speeds gives us a high enough speed of advance to reach Vlad with remaining endurance for nineteen days on station. It’s a target-rich area with opportunity to even some scores.”
The positive attitude expressed by his officers, coupled with a refreshing sleep, buoyed the captain’s spirits. Bostwick had permitted the loss of the Utah to burden him beyond his capacity to perform properly, but sooner or later, he’d have to change that.
Napoleon once said, “There are no bad regiments, only bad colonels.” Bostwick’s Navy rank equated to an Army colonel. At the Naval Academy, he learned morale of the troops reflected confidence in him, their leader.
The captain’s newly formed assertion that Denver would be successful grew into a fire that spread throughout his ship. A once demoralized crew, now aware of their potential to strike the enemy hard, knew these attacks would provide a needed lift for sagging spirits of their countrymen.
Bostwick declared, “On to the attack, gentlemen. You’ve worked up a hell of a plan and we’re going with it.”
Soviet naval policy required all ranks to be indoctrinated in ongoing military strategy. Most young officers found this boring, but Vasiliy Baknov thrived on it. His zeal grew from a natural hatred of all things American. He completely despised the capitalistic system, where dedication to one’s own personal interests outweighed loyalty to the state. He believed this to be the Achilles’ heel of the West and would bring about its ultimate downfall.