The peculiarities of this odd craft did not end with her lack of formal nomenclature. Nearly every facet of her design represented a departure from established principals of submarine architecture.
In place of the elongated tear drop hull forms favored by most navies, the Steel Wind’s shape was a simple cone: 8 meters across the base and 48 meters in length, for an overall volume of 804.25 cubic meters.
The upper curve of the hull was not interrupted by the raised sail and conning tower found on nearly all modern attack submarines. The normal arrangements of bow and stern planes were also absent, replaced by the less effective impellor pods — chosen because they didn’t interrupt the gas envelope while the sub was in supercavitation mode.
Instead of the customary black paint scheme, the hull had an amber-yellow sheen which resembled aging varnish. The unusual color was caused by a superhydrophobic coating of manganese oxide polystyrene nano-composite, which reduced hydrodynamic drag when the gas envelope was not activated.
The reactor that drove the sub was atypical as well. In place of the double-loop pressurized water reactor variants used by other submarines, the Steel Wind carried a single-loop boiling water reactor: a configuration more commonly installed in shore-based nuclear power facilities. In normal operating mode, it drew distilled water from a closed circuit of feed tanks and condensers, generating just enough steam to drive a pair of small electric power turbines. In supercavitation mode, saltwater was siphoned directly from the sea, rammed through a stack of osmotic membrane filters to reduce salinity and remove particulates, then injected straight into the reactor vessel to generate steam for the rocket thruster and the capillary bow vents that created the gas envelope.
The propulsion system of the Steel Wind would have been impossible to build in most countries, not because other nations lacked the technical capacity, but because the submarine spewed great quantities of radioactive steam into the sea with no regard for the ecological consequences.
The North Korean engineers who designed the sub had been ordered to disregard any damage their creation might cause to the ocean environment. The safety of the Steel Wind’s crew was a slightly higher priority, but only in the short-term.
If the sailors all came down with leukemia or liver tumors in two or three years, that was an acceptable price. They needed to survive long enough to complete their mission: a few more weeks or a month at most. After that, their cancer-ridden bodies could be buried as Heroes of the Republic, the highest honor accorded to any citizen of North Korea.
The crew hadn’t been told that, of course. The officers and men of the Steel Wind had been repeatedly assured that the four-ton experimental radiation barrier was more advanced (and far more effective) than the 100+ tons of lead shielding used on submarine reactors of similar size.
That assertion was half-true. The experimental barrier really was more advanced, at least in terms of material science. It was a high-tech laminate composed of silicon carbide ceramic, boron carbide ceramic, and aluminum oxide ceramic, alternating with micro-thin layers of lead and tungsten foil.
The part about being more effective was not just an exaggeration; it was an unqualified lie. The lightweight laminate barrier was nowhere near as efficient as a conventional lead shield, but it was the best protection that could be managed within the narrow space and weight constraints of the submarine’s design.
The increased exposure would eventually lead to the death of every man serving aboard. The irony of that had not been lost on the engineers who had designed the submarine, nor on the man who had ordered her into battle.
The Steel Wind would kill her enemies quickly, but her friends would die slowly.
CHAPTER 20
Working by flashlight, Secretary of Defense Mary O’Neil-Broerman shepherded Knut into the back of the waiting Pentagon limousine. The Golden Retriever scrambled onto the seat and immediately began sniffing leather upholstery, carpet, door handles, and everything else within reach of his nose, his tail wagging madly at the prospect of an unexpected car ride. Like most dogs, Knut viewed riding in a vehicle as one of the great pleasures in life, right up there with a good long scratch behind the ears.
Under other circumstances, Mary would have smiled at her dog’s puppyish antics, but there was little room in this night for lightheartedness.
Except for the occasional flicker of candlelight or a storm lantern in some of the windows, every house on Calvert Street Northwest was dark. The streetlamps and security lights were out as well, turning the well-tended avenue into a tunnel of deep shadow.
Mary’s house was the darkest of them all. Steve was in Chicago on business, and the housekeeping staff had gone to their own homes, to huddle through the blacked out winter night with their families. Now that Mary had come to fetch Knut, her beautiful 1951 split-level was empty of life as well as light. For the first time in her memory, the house seemed like a dead thing.
A few yards away she could hear the quiet movements of Sergeant Monroe, the Army CID agent assigned to her protection detail. The soldier was in plain clothes — black suit blending into the unremitting night as he searched the darkness for possible threats.
Sergeant Monroe had offered to handle this errand without her. He had practically begged Mary to sit safe in her Pentagon office while he sent someone to rescue her pet from the deserted house.
Mary had refused of course. Knut was too good a watchdog to allow strangers in his house without a fight. Someone — the dog, the Army errand runner, or both — might have gotten hurt in the process. Mary wasn’t willing to risk that. Nor did she want the furniture damage that would likely result from the attempted capture of an unhappy and overexcited Golden Retriever.
Better to come pick up Mr. Handsome herself and introduce the Army protective agent as a friend, thereby avoiding bites, bruises, and broken antiques.
His preliminary olfactory inspection of the vehicle complete, Knut promptly plunked himself down in Mary’s seat.
She nudged him. “Scoot your butt over, silly boy. Mama needs to get in the car.”
The dog shuffled sideways, making barely enough room for his human to sit. Mary climbed in after him and the CID agent closed the door behind her.
Satisfied that his protectee was buttoned up behind the relative safety of bulletproof glass and armored body panels, the sergeant took his seat beside the driver and the car began to roll.
Mary had learned to accept the security precautions without comment, but they always struck her as being unnecessary. Unless you counted the conspiracy theories about the death of James Forrestal, which Mary didn’t, no one had ever tried to assassinate a secretary of defense. As a member of Cabinet, as well as de facto deputy commander-in-chief of U.S. military forces, the position wielded a great deal of authority, but no assassin in history had ever been tempted enough to have a serious go at killing a SECDEF.
From Mary’s perspective, that simple fact made the hard car limousines and the heel-and-toe bodyguards rather ridiculous. Not just overkill, but absurd overkill.