Soon after Snow secured the exercises that day, a message was copied that had been addressed to Admiral Reed: “YOU ARE DIRECTED TO ASSUME WARTIME CONDITIONS UPON TRANSITING BERING STRAIT. SOVIET HUK GROUP PROJECTED TO BE STATIONED OFFSHORE LIKELY DUE WEST POINT BARROW. DETAIL TO FOLLOW VIA SCRAMBLER 2200.”
Captain Sergoff was the ideal chief of staff for an admiral like Danilov. There were some who considered themselves elevated to a military elite once they consorted with men whose sleeves were lined with gold, while others fawned over their admirals like wet nurses. Sergoff treated Abe Danilov as he would have preferred to be treated himself. He was a buffer for personal problems, an analyzer of data, a strategist when Danilov was unsure, and a merciless enforcer of his admiral’s orders.
Sergoff was also clever. Years before, of all the Soviet submariners involved in the emplacement of listening devices and mines along the Baltic coast of Sweden, he was the only one to carry out his mission properly and without detection. The others had been either so cautious they failed to locate their equipment properly, or so incautious that they were noted either approaching their area or in setting their mines. Sergoff was eventually given tactical command to complete the operation.
Captain Sergoff also possessed a modest talent for playing the foil to the angry or irritated admiral. When Danilov’s temper or patience reached their bounds, Sergoff was available to absorb the venom. Though such a situation rarely surfaced, it allowed others to note that both men were human and capable of adapting to each other’s failings. Danilov could do little wrong and his chief of staff seemed destined for greater things under his master’s tutelage.
When Washington’s 2200 message commenced on the scrambler, Imperator was located 150 miles south of the Bering Strait. Her escort of three nuclear attack submarines were slightly ahead, cruising in a half circle reminiscent of an old convoy screen.
One of Sergoff’s responsibilities was to screen all messages, selecting only the most critical for Danilov. The ability to intercept American communications via the scrambler system had been on-line for more than twelve months. It had proven valuable at times, though Sergoff often felt the Americans were challenging the integrity of their own system with junk that should never have been classified. He was sometimes amused by what the U.S. considered so vital to keep from the Soviets; so much of it was common knowledge within Kremlin circles.
This time, the message proved of little value, other than the fact that the Americans knew almost as much about them as they knew about themselves. Seratov and each of her sisters were clearly identified. Danilov, Sergoff, and each of the commanding officers were covered, and details of equipment capabilities, the experience of both officers and crews, and command patterns were surprisingly accurate. It was nothing to bother Admiral Danilov with, though it was worth pointing out that American intelligence was exceedingly meticulous. Neither man had ever expected to surprise Imperator. Nor did they underestimate Andy Reed’s capabilities. The only part of the scrambler message that was unintelligible was the data for the computer. There were also times that Sergoff wondered if the Americans knew that their scrambler system had been compromised. Perhaps they did and continued to use it for the benefit of the Russians because it was too complex and costly to send their computerized (and still secure) data through a new system.
Sergoff’s final responsibility, one that he took seriously, was to interpret his admiral’s moods, to adjust to them or to attempt to adjust them when the situation demanded. He was more concerned about Danilov’s high and low points in the past week than he had been for a long time. At times, the man seemed deeply introspective, almost to the point of depression. Yet he could reverse these moods in a matter of hours. Sergoff had long ago accepted Anna Danilov’s influence on the admiral’s disposition and the chief of staff could accept this because of her continuous kindness to him, as though he was her son. Yet this time it was almost as if the lady were on board Seratov. It was unnerving to see the admiral’s mood switches.
Perhaps the poor lady has finally died, Sergoff mused. She certainly deserves some relief from her suffering. Or perhaps her ghost is riding with us… or with Abe Danilov! The thought sent a shudder down his. spine. Women on submarines were dangerous enough. But a ghost, a personal ghost, was… He hoped that the current upswing in Danilov’s spirit this past day would remain.
Andy Reed blew his nose again. The skin was raw and chapped, and he was careful. Replacing the soggy handkerchief in his breast pocket, he bent over the chart table to read the latest meteorological reports again, anything to take his mind off this interminable cold. The floe ice, sparse enough now, gradually increased until it was a solid mass approximately 150 miles due north of the Bering Strait. There it hung like a massive gray-white curtain, one that would cut them off from the outside world. There were polynyas and leads that would allow occasional communications, and they could break through the ice in certain places. The ice could often be used to their advantage during search or evasion. But, once underneath, they became as equal as enemies could be. Like boxers circling for an opening, submariners depended on speed and judgment.
Reed picked up his baseball cap, smoothing his hair as he set it back on his head. He replaced the weather messages on the proper board, moved the pencils over to the corner of the chart he’d been studying, and announced to the staff watch officer that he was going to rest in his bunk for a while. He was forcing himself to remain awake, yet there was no purpose. Everything that he had been dallying with at the chart table were things that others were responsible for.
Back in his tiny stateroom, Reed flopped on his bunk without kicking off his shoes. He could sleep anywhere without the normal comforts most others required. Little naps of five or ten minutes, sometimes half an hour if he was lucky, left him wide awake and rested. It was simply a matter of losing himself in a pleasant thought. He would be suddenly asleep, often dreaming of the last clear picture in his mind.
This time that picture had been his one and only hobby — sailing. Since his academy days, when he raced on Chesapeake Bay, Andy Reed had been a devout sailor. Nothing pleased him quite so much as a small sailboat and a fair breeze. With just Lucy and himself, it was easily the most peaceful method of relaxation there was. With the kids, it was less so until they grew up enough to crew for him. Then the sailboats in the Reed family gradually increased in size. The fact that he sired a crew for his favorite pastime never ceased to amuse him. He would tease Lucy that if they worked at it hard enough, the Reed family could eventually crew a twelve-meter yacht all by themselves.
They sailed the first boat on Long Island Sound when he was stationed in New London. It was christened We Two and was on the water every moment they could find from the early cold days of April until the first northeast storms in the fall. When the first baby was born, it was a joke to cross out the old name and paint in We Three. A few years later in Hawaii, the new boat became We Four, and that soon became We Five. Wherever the Reeds sailed, the crew of the We Five attracted new friends with two little children bundled in orange life jackets manning lines, and the baby asleep in the cutty up forward. When they were transferred to Charleston, the next boat was a few feet longer to accommodate six Reeds. It seemed natural to once again cross out a “Three” and a “Four” and a “Five” and a “Six” when the We Seven was christened.