Marriage had never been broached but this did not preclude Brent from thinking of Bea decorating their apartment, shopping together, long motor trips into the mountains for skiing in winter, entertaining friends at home and raising a family. They’d have children and fill the void left by his estranged but beloved son. War cannot defer such things. Life goes on, for there are always wars and those who survive them.
Brent fully intended to be involved in raising his children, even if it caused him to leave the service. This reality put his problems with Bostwick into a different perspective. Should he be fortunate enough to secure her promise, Brent would not let this marriage fail like his last one. Bearing such pain once in a lifetime is quite enough and he would not let it happen again.
At Annapolis, the student prince-like backdrops for Brent’s courtship of his first wife kept them from discerning the true substance of lasting relationships. The robust Pacific Northwest setting of his time with Bea bristled with reality and gave him confidence his deep feeling for her did not impair his judgment. His mental reunion with Bea proved more voracious than their physical one.
Bea stirred then awakened. They embraced warmly.
He whispered, “Hi lover. You’re so beautiful.”
She recovered from her sleep and said, “Can this be really happening? The world turned upside down and here we are, like nothing else matters.”
He regarded her tenderly. “It doesn’t.”
Again, they held each other tightly.
Brent said, “At risk of shattering the mood, I haven’t had a thing to eat for twelve hours.”
“So that’s how it is. Ravage my body, raid my refrigerator and then away for new worlds to conquer.”
“No. I’m not done ravaging your body just yet. Just a little hungry, that’s all.”
They shared a laugh then arose to replenish their inner persons. Seated on the deck and looking out onto the Pacific, they watched the blue sky yield slowly to gold as the sun approached the horizon. Bea prepared a supper of cheese, French bread and smoked salmon. Eric’s champagne, a Piper-Heidsieck Brut, vintage 1979, proved the pièce de résistance.
Brent asked, “How much better does life get?”
“If I’ve ever been happier, it’s completely escaped my memory.”
He looked at her with affection and said, “Good. That’s how I want it for you.”
“Well tell me lover boy. What happened out there?”
“You know Bea, if I told ya, I’d have to kill ya afterwards.”
“I’m a Navy brat, remember? Who are you trying to kid?”
“Actually, my big problem is the captain.” Brent summarized the main events of the patrol as they related to the deteriorating relationship between Bostwick and him. “Jack Olsen gave me some assurances but I wouldn’t give a fig for my Navy future if the captain has a final say.”
Bea said in a comforting voice, “Dad always says nothing happens in a vacuum. I know Eric Danis thinks highly of you.”
“Let’s hope everything goes well. Look, Bea, can we talk about something else?”
She responded with, “Did you find the actual fighting very scary? I mean, if you feel like talking about that.”
Brent set his jaw. “Damn scary. Anyone who says he’s not scared in combat is either an idiot or a liar. It’s hard to summarize. When the bell rings, you go at it and the only thing on your mind is get the son of a bitch before he gets you. But when it’s over, like after we got the Tango, it gets rough. We sent a bunch of guys to the bottom of the ocean, who were probably a lot like us. Only difference is our ancestors caught the boat and theirs didn’t. I had to force myself not to think about it. But the bell would ring again and we’re right back at it. Man is the only truly mad species on this earth.”
Indicating she understood, Bea took Brent’s hand and smiled. She had known Brent for eight months and she learned more of his private feelings in this talk than in all the others combined. Brent arose and walked to the hot tub on the edge of the deck. He thrust in his hand and tested the water. He removed the robe he had borrowed from Dave Zane and climbed in. The warm water instantly relaxed him.
“Ever make it in a hot tub?” he asked.
Brent feasted his eyes an instant on Bea’s nakedness before her body slipped beneath the water and she came to him.
Gerry Carter recognized the importance of the Soviet intelligence find immediately. Not a submariner of the old guard, he excused himself from Denver’s welcome home party and returned to his office. He wanted to get the minesweeper crypto machine quickly into the hands of those who could best exploit it. With lives at stake, the war revised and elevated priorities accordingly.
Carter arranged for an immediate flight to deliver the machine to the Naval Security Group Detachment at the National Security Agency, Fort Meade, Maryland. It being Friday, he called ahead via a secure phone to ensure suitable personnel would be on hand to make the assessment. Gerry located an old aviator friend, Captain Marty Baker turned intelligence specialist because of deteriorating eyesight.
Captain Baker answered his phone with the usual military greeting then said, “Hey, Gerry, great to hear from you. The word floating around here is you defected to the submarine force.”
Gerry said, “Must not be a lot of worthwhile news if that’s all you hear.”
“Just wanna keep ya on the step. Now what’s on your mind?”
“I’m flying a package to you, Marty. Can’t discuss it on the phone but I think it needs your immediate attention. It should be at Andrews between three and four this afternoon. Think you could have it heloed out to Fort Meade? In case it’s late, somebody should hang around. Do you read, old buddy?”
By virtue of Gerry declining to mention it on the secure phone, Marty sensed the importance.
“You think the war ain’t going on back here too. We’re an around the clock operation. Even the civil servants hustle,” replied Marty, “but just to make you feel good, I’ll stick around myself.”
“Thanks, pal. I knew I could count on you.”
“Okay. That means you buy next time you’re out this way.”
Gerry kidded, “Do they allow seeing-eye dogs in DC bars?”
A day earlier, on the other side of the world, another segment of the drama played out. At 0400, a message addressed to all Pacific Flotilla submarines had been transmitted over the VLF fleet broadcast for the fifth and final time. This task complete, the watch officer at the Vladivostok Communication Center reviewed a backlog of messages received from units operating in the Seas of Japan and Okhotsk. A message from the Tango submarine Tolstoy reported problems with her crypto equipment and requested re-encryption and retransmission of important radio traffic on the back up system. The procedure called for a decision in these matters to be made by a designated communications officer but it seemed routine enough for the watch officer to handle the matter himself.
Shortly, a shore to ship HF (High Frequency) transmitter relayed the message directly to Tolstoy from the same antenna field spared when Ekaterina Baknov’s apartment building intercepted Denver’s TLAM. A U.S. surveillance satellite recorded the message and relayed it to the National Security Agency for entry into a massive database.