European Affairs rep that had been present at the first meeting, was the only one to speak. “I read it on the way over. The information is explosive. Isn’t there any way of containing it?” He sounded desperate, almost pleading.
The CIA deputy director, a large, well-dressed man named Vincent, looked irritated with the question. “All of Rudel’s transmissions have been intercepted, reported, and posted on the web. News organizations, even some private individuals, have the ability to intercept satellite phone signals. It’s too easy, and the messages from
Wright glanced at his notes. “We have two questions to answer. First, now that we know there are men alive aboard
After a moment’s pause, the State Department rep, Abrams, remarked, “We’re passing
Wright cut in again. “
Rear Admiral Keller, the senior submariner, gave a small shrug. “It has high-frequency imaging sonars and a powerful microprocessor, but most of the hardware and software technology is available off the shelf. The battery technology is pretty exotic, but again, it’s commercially available. I’d have to talk to ONR or the manufacturer’s reps to see if there’s anything that is controlled or whether there’s anything the Russians couldn’t buy or make themselves. The only real classified information is the bathymetric data that the UUVs have collected. Rudel has said that information will be removed before they send the vehicle over.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Wright.” Hoffman’s tone was final. “Now that Rudel’s informed us of his plans to attempt the transfer, and if it has any chance of success, we are legally bound to follow through with it. And, as we’ve discussed, the whole world will know he’s trying it.”
“I agree with Mr. Hoffman, although not because of any legal constraints. The political benefits from any constructive efforts to save the men on board
Wright looked frustrated. “So there are really no decisions to make? Which necessarily implies we have no control over events as they unfold.”
“We’ve got
There was nothing more to say.
18. FIRST AIR
“No pressure,” Jerry kept muttering to himself. “We can do this.” He’d finally taken off his watch to keep from looking at it. It had been over eleven hours since they started, and they still had a lot of work yet to do.
They’d opened up LaVerne, so Jerry could work out the loading arrangement while Palmer and his torpedomen modified Patty.
Petty Officer Allen came clattering down the ladder holding a battle lantern. “Here’s the first one. The chief wanted to make sure this is what you wanted, sir.”
A Navy battle lantern was a large waterproof flashlight, a box about six inches on a side. They were placed throughout the ship and designed to turn on automatically if power failed. They could also be detached and used like a standard battery-powered lantern.
The plan was to put three into the UUV, because the Russians’ own lanterns were just about shot. Jerry had asked Clausen, the chief auxiliary-man, to remove the mounting bracket on the back and the handle on top. That saved three inches in one direction and five in the other, important for packing them into a small space.
“This is perfect, MM2,” Jerry replied. “Tell the chief I need the others the same way, and about six additional batteries. And he should double-check the seals, to make sure they’re still watertight.”
“We’re on it,” Allen replied excitedly as he almost raced out of the space.
Jerry handed the lantern to QM1 Peters, who weighed the device on a scale they’d borrowed from the galley.
While Peters entered the data on a laptop, Jerry studied the accumulating pile. The Russians needed lots of help: medical supplies, battle lanterns and batteries, and especially the carbon dioxide absorption chemicals.
Everything had to fit in the space normally occupied by some of the mission payload and most of Patty’s batteries. One piece of luck: The UUVs lithium-thionyl-chloride batteries were removable. They had to be replaced after each sortie. Each energy module was made up of three batteries and occupied a space four feet in length and exactly nineteen and three-quarter inches in diameter. Altogether, Jerry had a little over seven feet of Patty’s twenty-foot, eight-inch length to work with.
Chief Johnson worked with several of the nuke electricians to rig up a much smaller battery that would give Patty about an hour of juice; more than enough for her to make the short trip to
He knew they couldn’t exceed the weight of the batteries they’d removed, or it would make Patty too heavy to swim. But weight wasn’t the issue. His problem was volume. The supplies he was planning to load didn’t come close to the density of the batteries, so he was trying to cram as much as he could to just get close to the original weight. And that weight had to be properly arranged, or Patty wouldn’t be able to maintain trim, and that would make her very difficult to steer.
All he had to do was simultaneously solve several multiple-variable equations, and hope he’d get it right. And the only way to test their answer was to launch Patty and hope she didn’t drive herself into the bottom. And he kept thinking about the Russian sailors, who would die without these supplies. No pressure at all.
The XO came down the ladder and glanced at Patty, lying gutted on the storage rack, but he barely stopped on his way to where Jerry and Peters were working.
“The Skipper wants to know if there’s room for some food. He was just reviewing the list with Petrov and he mentioned that they are running out of food.”
Jerry sighed. “Food isn’t as heavy as batteries, but it takes up about the same amount of space. Still, it weighs something. Where does it rank on the list? After the CO, chemicals, but ahead of light? What about the medicine?”
Shimko almost pleaded. “These guys are getting hungry and they’re wasting a lot of body energy just trying to stay warm. We need to be concerned about hypothermia, too.”
Jerry threw up his hands, but tried to work it through. “So what are we talking about? Granola bars?”
“I’ve got the Ferengi going through our stores. Yeah. Granola bars, candy bars, fruit, cheese. Anything prepackaged.”
“We’ll have to throw in a knife if we send over cheese,” Jerry muttered sarcastically. He suddenly felt like he was planning a picnic. “Please have the chop bring me candy bars, preferably with nuts in them, and anything that is small, compact, and as dense as possible. Small hard candies would be good too. But XO, whatever I squeeze in won’t be enough for sixty-some-odd guys.”
The XO looked relieved. “Great. It’s something. I’ll tell the Captain.”
As Shimko turned to leave, Wolfe and Palmer came down the ladder. They didn’t look happy. “We’ve got a problem with one of the interlocks.”
