down the hull with fresh water, drain and flush the trim tank, check every system on the ROV, and replace the fiberoptic control cable cassette. The extensive post-operation maintenance requirements were the main reason why they carried two ROVs. While one was out collecting data, the other would be undergoing preparations for the next mission.
That afternoon during lunch Dr. Patterson presented the wardroom with the results of the samples’ analysis. Several of the chiefs also attended, including Reynolds and Foster.
“The contents of the aircraft and the single container was spent nuclear fuel,” announced Patterson excitedly. “The analysis of the soil samples from those locations showed cesium-137, cobalt-60, and various uranium and plutonium isotopes, all of which are consistent with spent fuel. The barge’s contents were a mix of solid waste, consisting mostly of cobalt-60 and strontium-90. Surprisingly, there seems to be very little migration of the contamination from the dumpsites.”
Patterson then went and described the potential effects these radioactive elements could have on the local environment once the containers had corroded sufficiently. She further alluded to the fact that as shocking as the results were from this initial sortie, that it was only the tip of a very large iceberg and that even more egregious sites were sure to be discovered.
Patterson concluded her briefing by saying that, with the exception of the An-12, everything was largely in agreement with the Yablokov Commission Report and that they were now ready to begin looking for new dump- sites in the morning.
When she finished, Master Chief Reynolds asked, “Ma’am, with yours and the Captain’s permission, I think the whole crew might like to hear about this. Can we put that map up on the mess decks? I think it’s important that they know what this is all about.”
Hardy looked at Patterson, almost expecting her to say no, but the doctor smiled. “Do you think so?” she asked. “If they’re interested, I could give a little presentation. It wouldn’t be too technical, of course. ”
“Doctor,” Reynolds interrupted. “Almost all of the men have at least a passing knowledge of nuclear physics. And their specialties demand knowledge of electronics or engineering. I think you should, if you’ll pardon the pun, give them a full dose.”
Her smile tilted a little bit, but Patterson replied, “All right, COB, whatever you think. Half an hour? When?”
They arranged a series of three half-hour lectures, one for each watch section, tentatively titled, “The effects of radioactive waste on the environment.”
While they worked out the details, Jerry thought he saw Captain Hardy smile.
17. Disappointment
The first excursion into Oga Cuba had been a long one and the Manta’s batteries were sorely depleted. It took almost eight hours for them to recharge, during which Jerry tried working on the division’s paperwork and the next item in his qual book. Unfortunately, he got hauled into the planning sessions for the next series of sorties and had to spend a lot of time with Patterson and the Captain instead. So, while the batteries were recharging, Jerry worked with the two of them and Emily to develop a search plan for the rest of Oga Guba. Since Emily’s ROV’s didn’t have the speed or endurance to conduct extensive searching, the task fell entirely on the Manta — and by default, Jerry.
Russian territorial waters extended twelve miles from the coast, but the Manta’s acoustic modem only had a maximum range of seven and a half miles. That made it possible to search much of the littoral. And while Patterson made it clear that she would have preferred searching all the way to the shoreline, it was just for the sake of thoroughness. From the Yablokov and Bellona reports on the Kara Sea dumping grounds, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the Soviet’s disposal methods.
“The Soviets didn’t appear to have any organized system for where they dumped their radioactive waste,” complained Patterson. “They scuttled a nuclear submarine in twenty meters of water, dumped defueled reactors in seventy-five meters, and ordinary solid waste in the deep trench to the east of the island. Any bottom type, any depth, inside or out of territorial waters, it didn’t matter. And Soviet records are so poor they can only say the number of waste containers is somewhere between six and eleven thousand.”
Jerry had heard the statistic before, and waited patiently for Dr. Patterson to refocus on the search plan. She was demanding, arrogant, and impatient, but she knew her stuff and she obviously cared.
“All we have to do is find evidence of new containers being dumped, that the Russian government is no better than their predecessors. We can then alert the world to the threat and also cement the President’s position as an environmental leader!”
“And to find those containers, we need to decide where we are going to look.” Hardy’s reminder snapped Patterson out her reverie. “Doctor, you’re the expert here. Where should we search?”
She sighed heavily. Annoyed that Hardy didn’t just get the political ramifications of the mission. “It doesn’t really matter. One spot is as good as another.”
They picked five search areas, all roughly of the same size and slightly overlapping each other. By the time they were done, it was a little after 1600. Patterson headed aft to finish working on the results from the samples, and Hardy disappeared into his stateroom.
The Manta’s batteries would be fully charged by 1930 that evening, so that gave him just over three hours to do all the things that he was supposed to have done since breakfast that morning. And he was supposed to have the six to midnight in control. And the noon to six tomorrow. He’d miss both of them while he flew the Manta.
Jerry had to talk to the XO. He found Bair in his stateroom. “Sir, regarding my watch in control this evening…”
“Already taken care of,” Bair interrupted. “Patterson talked to Hardy this morning, and as of now you’re off the watch list.”
Jerry felt a few of the bricks from the ton on his back disappear, but he was still concerned. “What about my qualifications?”
Bair smiled. “Not a problem. We’ll just have you stand double watches on the way home.”
“I was afraid of that, sir.” Jerry replied.
“I’ll give you all the help I can,” Bair assured him, “but for now your only task is the Manta and supporting Dr. Davis’ ROV operations. Without that, there’s no mission. Let Foster run the division. Besides, you’ll be almost living in the torpedo room anyway.”
“Yessir,” Jerry acknowledged reluctantly and headed down to his spaces. He had to find Foster and fill him in and for a moment reveled in not having to look over his shoulder while he tried to run the division.
That evening and for the next two days, Jerry flew five sorties in Oga Cuba. Before each flight, Jerry would program the search pattern into the Manta, which was smart enough to fly on autopilot once it was launched. While that would help reduce pilot fatigue and the chance of missing anything, it didn’t help with the actual survey. Somebody had to watch the screen and interpret the sonar image. Captain Hardy made it clear that while the enlisted men could help with the watch, the Manta operator was the “primary sensor operator.” If the Manta flew, Jerry had to be there to see what it saw.
The pace was hard. Fully charged, the Manta’s battery would last for twenty hours at five knots or eight hours at ten. There was no such thing as a short sortie. Patterson and Hardy both insisted that unless the Manta was actually charging, it would be searching.
It took ten hours to charge the battery when it was flat. Jerry could bet on sleeping about half that time, but even after Bair excused him from standing watches, there was still some work he couldn’t get out of.
While the Manta was charging, Hardy kept
For the most part, the Russians left them alone. There were two settlements on Novaya Zemlya, both military bases. Supplies came into them by ship, but from the western side. If the Barents was the Russian Navy’s
