He lay in his bunk as Seratov raced northward, comprehending more fully how much he had actually missed of a family that had grown up successfully under Anna’s direction. As he memorized each word of her earlier letters, he came to the realization that he didn’t want to miss another moment of that life, even if it involved only himself and Anna.
But Anna was dying, and he had no options other than this tiny, cramped bunk in another man’s stateroom. He must complete this mission quickly! It was vital that she understand that her message had gotten through to him, vital that she know he would continue her efforts to hold the family together.
Danilov removed the packet of letters, taking out two of them. It was almost the end of the fifth day, and he knew he would not sleep again until the sixth — and then he would be so busy. Perhaps it was cheating Anna, but he would read both of them now.
She told him of another stage in their life that required more of his time away from the children. It was his first major command — the newest, fastest attack submarine in the fleet. He had helped to develop it during his time in Leningrad, and his reward after the mud and blizzards of Severodvinsk had been to take the sub as his own. Anna related how jealous she had been — it was no more than a machine, yet she had become increasingly irritated by it. And when they returned to port, all he could talk about was his submarine. He would go through the motions with the children, spoiling Eugenia, encouraging Sergei’s military studies, putting up with Boris’s competitive spirit. But never, she explained, never loving them regardless of what they were or would be. They were tough days for Anna and he marveled now at how sturdily she had faced them. What a powerful woman — her love had remained while he blithely took advantage of both worlds.
The second letter related their experiences in Moscow. Admiral Gorshkov had obtained orders for him to the Voroshilov General Staff Academy, where only prospective flag officers were sent. Those were the days of special privileges, the stores where only important government officials and high-level officers could shop. They were invited to the parties that the average citizen only suspected might take place, and they attended the opera and the ballet and so many other events that Anna loved. He attended because they were supposed to be there.
The special privileges were overwhelming. Abe Danilov grew more impressed with himself than others around him. Once again, it was his Anna who gradually awakened him to the fact that he was becoming enamored of another mistress — his own self-importance. That was not something she would ever love in a man. She picked away at it each week until he was able to understand exactly what she was driving at. He would destroy himself with his own self-indulgence and pride. There were other, more senior officers who had been through the same thing. She explained how they stood back in judgment of the younger ones as they experienced the same temptations.
He returned her letters to his drawer, briefly wondering why he had allowed himself to go out on this final mission. His place was beside Anna as long as she remained alive. He cursed himself momentarily for being coerced into going after the giant American submarine, until he acknowledged that it had been his own decision. There was no way he could have gone back!
Anna understood his strengths as well as she forgave his weaknesses. She would not have wanted him to remain in Moscow, however much she needed him. He would come home again soon, just as he always had before.
There have been moments in the past when two countries facing the probability of armed conflict finally come to the realization that some form of truth may be the best solution to mutual problems. It is not necessarily the whole truth they intend to utilize nor is there any rule that says it has to be anything more than as they see it. Truth is subject to interpretation. St can follow a variety of courses and usually does on the international level. It can often become a weapon.
The Kremlin was not about to allow the sighting of Imperator in the Bering Sea to pass without taking advantage of magnifying a mystery. Over the following thirty-six hours they projected a scenario of American aggression about to take place that increased international suspicion of U.S. intentions. While Washington was in the process of countering the movement of Soviet Spetznaz units toward the pole, the Soviets were documenting the fact that American Spec Ops and SEAL teams were already en route to arctic airbases. They were even successful for a period of time in convincing the media that the U.S. was pushing Moscow to the breaking point.
The White House countered — they felt justified in stretching Soviet intentions on the Northern Flank into the final step before the invasion of Europe. Russian denial to the contrary, the concept of a possible Soviet invasion of NATO countries became more feasible… a specter that invalidated Soviet hints of arctic warfare only hours before. Stated Soviet intentions of only defending their country against American encroachment, first in the Norwegian Sea and then in Soviet waters themselves, were lost in an American publicity barrage.
The Kremlin valued stretching the truth themselves, again emphasizing the terrifying possibilities of the deployment of U.S. attack submarines into the Soviet arctic bastion. While Russian ballistic-missile submarines were intended as a last resource, now they were exemplified as a means of maintaining stability in a frightened world. Their sole purpose was to avoid a nuclear holocaust at the instigation of the U.S., and the main thrust of the Soviet argument was quite simply that an American attempt to dislodge the missile-carrying subs could be the beginning of an attack on the Soviet Union itself. And an attack on the USSR would precipitate a war that would draw in every peace-loving nation. The result would be unthinkable.
While there was never any doubt in a single Soviet military mind that the Northern Flank offered vital protection to the homeland against the American fleet, there had been no consideration of invading any NATO country. That would precipitate a war the Politburo could not afford. But it would be hard to convince those European countries bordering the Warsaw Pact nations, given the maneuvering of Russian forces on the Norwegian border.
Conversely, world leaders were horrified by the concept of the Arctic as a battlefield. Many would agree that the Soviet SSBNs in the region provided a rational balance to their American counterparts in the Atlantic and Pacific. The idea that the Americans might actually be in the process of challenging Soviet SSBNs in the Arctic created a noticeable stir in the UN and almost every world capital. Not only could a horrifying nuclear imbalance be possible, but the Russians also introduced the concept of a nuclear explosion in the Arctic that might create devastating environmental results.
The war of words manipulated truth as a shield to deflect the realities of their expanding confrontation. The Russians used Murmansk as a staging area for their special operating forces while the Americans had transferred their own to Thule Air Force Base on Greenland’s west coast. As far as either country was now concerned, reinforcement was brief hours from the North Pole, where their submarines seemed to be converging.
What neither power could do was communicate with their submarines long enough to explain the complexities of their evolving strategy. They were limited to selective data relayed in burst transmissions. Content was mostly reassurance of the placement of special operating forces as a backup. It became purely submarine against submarine.
As Andy Reed sat before Houston’s green wardroom table an hour before midnight, he understood the inner conflict other commanders had faced in past wars. His elbows were planted firmly to either side of a mug of cold coffee, and he massaged his temples with the fingers of both hands, his red-lidded eyes shut tightly against their demand for sleep. The cold he had inherited from his youngest son had shifted from his head to his chest, and the headache had disappeared, to be replaced by a hacking, dry cough that made breathing uncomfortable. His voice had grown deeper, a prelude to laryngitis, he was sure. He’d read many biographies of famous admirals and was sure that not once had history ever recorded whether or not colds had influenced the outcome of a battle. He wasn’t sure why.