Dangerous Ground

good enough for that. And if you’re caught in forty fathoms, there’s really nowhere to go, except to head for deeper water.

By international law, Russian territorial waters extended twelve miles out from the island, and by presidential order, they had to stay outside that limit. Luckily, both the Manta and the ROVs had sufficient range to work in the shallow water while Memphis stood outside the twelve-mile limit.

Jerry was also wearing phones, and he heard Lieutenant Richards’ voice say, “Control online.” Making the Weapons Officer the control room phone talker was another one of Hardy’s insurance policies. Richards wouldn’t do anything unless Hardy told him to do it.

The next command had already been planned, but Jerry waited for Richards to relay Hardy’s order. “U-bay, control. Deploy the Manta and take station.”

“Deploy the Manta and take station, U-bay aye.” Jerry responded, then: “Control, U-bay. Verify speed is four knots.”

Richards replied, “Speed is four knots.”

“Roger, launching Manta.” Jerry checked the procedure book before he did anything, not only because he genuinely didn’t want to forget anything, but because it was standard Navy policy to follow procedures exactly. Retracting the umbilical and the other steps all went smoothly.

Once the Manta lifted off, Jerry relaxed a little. His first task was to sweep out toward the first dumpsite. According to the 1993 Yablokov Commission Report, a small barge loaded with solid radioactive waste had been scuttled here in 1968. The Manta would find the barge, looking for navigational hazards along the way and keeping a passive sonar watch in the area. The ROV, with its shorter endurance, would not be launched until the Manta had found the barge’s precise location.

Jerry focused on the Manta’s imaging sonar. It was a broadband high-frequency set that would be hard for the Russians to detect, but it would show him what the bottom was like, and hopefully spot anything artificial.

The seabed shelved gradually here, rising from just over sixty fathoms where they were, to forty-four at the dumpsite, labeled DELTA ONE on their charts. It lay eight miles away to the west, an hour’s trip for the Manta at cruise speed.

As Jerry carefully flew the Manta to the west, he gradually descended until he was only twenty feet above the bottom. The imaging sonar started to give him a picture. The color display was clear enough to reveal an uneven bottom. Denser material sent back a stronger echo, which looked brighter on the screen, so rock showed as a lighter image than the silt that filled in the crevices and low spots. Metal would provide an even sharper echo, and a correspondingly lighter spot on the display.

Jerry worked on getting the feel of the vehicle, comparing the readouts on speed and depth with the images he was getting. His earlier maneuvers with Memphis had been in open ocean, and with the Manta relatively close. Now he was working at a distance in shallow water and he wanted to find out how much control he really had.

He didn’t have to worry about flying the Manta into the bottom. It was smart enough to automatically avoid the seabed, but he didn’t want to have to depend on the Manta to keep him out of trouble.

It took fifteen minutes before he could predict the interval between sending a command to the Manta and it reacting. Beyond the normal lag between the control surfaces moving and the UUV responding, the acoustic signal, moving at the speed of sound, took longer and longer to reach the Manta as it swam farther and farther away.

It already took several seconds for a signal from Memphis to reach the Manta and several more for the signal from the Manta to return, confirming that it had reacted. The math told Jerry that at maximum range, fifteen thousand yards, it would take about ten seconds for an order from him to reach the Manta — or for information from the Manta to show up on his display.

With his personal time-delay calibration finished, Jerry had little to do but sit back and watch the display screen. According to the digital timer, the Manta was still about thirty minutes away from their first target and he’d just have to wait. Jerry let loose with a wide yawn as fatigue overcame his earlier excitement.

“You look exhausted, Jerry,” remarked Emily. He looked over and saw that semi-frown she always had when things weren’t quite right.

“Yeah, I guess I’m a little tired. I’ve been really busy working on my qualifications.”

“So I’ve noticed. Don’t you ever take some time off? You know, get a good night’s sleep or just goof off. Its not healthy to work so hard.”

Jerry snickered sarcastically and said, “Emily, I would love to take some time off. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time for such luxury. If I’m not working on my division’s stuff or standing watch, I’m expected to be fully engaged with my quals. Besides, I’m way behind my peer group and I have to catch up. I’ll make up for the lack of sleep when we get back.”

“Assuming you don’t hurt yourself in the process,” replied Emily tersely. Her tone caught Jerry off guard and he thought it better to let the conversation die.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Emily’s angry expression eased. She bit her lip slightly and squirmed about in her seat, as if she were trying to get her nerve up to say something. Finally she leaned against the display, rested her head in her left hand, and asked, “So, Mr. Mitchell, what is involved with this qualifications process that has so thoroughly consumed your life?”

Jerry just sat there, surprised this time by the sarcasm behind her question. At first, he found himself simply staring at her, momentarily unable to say anything. She then raised an eyebrow and gave him a coy look that clearly said, “Well, are you going to answer the question or not?”

Shaking his head slightly, Jerry replied, “Sorry, I guess I’m a little more tired than I thought. But, um, to answer your question, it frankly involves everything.”

Emily’s expression changed to a scowl. “That’s not very helpful, Jerry.”

“No, seriously,” he said earnestly as he tried to defend his statement. “I have to know essentially everything about every system on board this submarine. Where every component is located, its power supply, its normal operating parameters, and what other systems will be affected, and how, should it fail. I have to memorize all the immediate actions for every casualty procedure and know most of the supplementary actions by heart as well. I have to be able to safely balance, push, and drive this boat through vastly different ocean environments, on the surface as well as submerged. And I have to know how to fight this boat should we be called upon to do so. By my own admittedly biased perspective, I need to know how everything works, and how to work everything.”

“That’s absurd, Jerry! How can anyone be expected to know everything about this sub?” protested Emily.

Jerry laughed, “Well, the guys who have been giving my systems checkouts sure seem to expect it. Particularly with all the oolies I’ve had to dig around to answer.”

“Oolies?”

“Yup. Consider them to be the submarine force’s equivalent of Trivial Pursuit — little known factoids about different parts of the boat. And they are, without exception, a major pain in the butt.”

“Can you give me an example?” asked Emily with genuine curiosity.

“No problem,” answered Jerry confidently. “Let’s see, which one would you understand and appreciate?” He thought for a moment and then his face brightened. “Yeah, that one will do nicely. During my damage control checkout, I had to list all the watertight doors and hatches on the boat. Seemed simple enough, so I started to rattle off the access hatches, the torpedo muzzle and breach doors, and everything else that was part of a watertight boundary. After I was done, the chief giving me the checkout said I had missed one. Well, I went back over all the doors and hatches again and I couldn’t figure out which one I had missed. He told me to look it up and get back to him before he would sign me off.”

Jerry shifted around in his chair so that he faced Emily directly. “Okay, for two days I walked, crawled, and squeezed behind some pretty tight places searching for this missing door. No matter what I did, I could not find the stupid thing. Finally I was in here poring over the ship’s data book looking for the damn door, and I must have been muttering some obscenities in total frustration, when Seaman Jobin came over with a huge grin on his face and gave me the beckoning index finger. He led me to the ship’s laundry, right past the berthing area back there, and pointed toward the washing machine. And there on the front of this washing machine was a watertight door. I was so pissed, I didn’t know whether I was going to maim the chief for asking the question or Jobin, who was thoroughly enjoying my gross stupidity.”

Emily laughed, imagining Jerry’s face when the most junior guy in his division showed him the answer to the