Seas of Crisis

New lines and icon symbols appeared on the tactical plot.

“Very well,” the officer of the deck responded. “Helm, left five degrees rudder, make your course zero-four- zero.”

“Left five degrees rudder, aye,” the helmsman acknowledged. “Make my course zero-four-zero, aye.” He worked his joystick, then made more reports to the OOD at the conn.

On the tactical plot, Challenger’s projected track shifted to the left, further away from the trawler. Bell appeared satisfied.

These interactions had been going on nonstop for hours. Jeffrey leaned his elbows on the edge of the horizontal navigation plotting table, and tried to tune them out. He followed along as Meltzer summarized Challenger’s progress since crossing the Aleutian Islands volcanic chain, entering the southern Bering Sea through one of the deep-water inter-island gaps. The ship’s previous track was shown on the navigation display. This verbal summary was needed for clarity, to best establish a context for the next decisions they faced. It was a long-standing Silent Service tradition that every briefing was also, in part, an oral exam. Errors could be avoided, weaknesses identified and fixed, and continuing education maximized if seniors tested juniors — and themselves strove, before a keen audience, to meet the highest standards.

Meltzer continued his first major briefing review. “After the change of command, we altered base course to zero-one-zero and came up to five hundred feet as we reached the Siberio-Alaskan rise. That let us avoid St. Matthew Island and then St. Lawrence Island, U.S.-owned in mid-Bering Sea, and we also bypassed the very shallow water stretching east of them to the Alaska mainland.” Meltzer gestured at the chart with his hands. “It did, however, bring us near to the treaty convention line defining American versus Russian waters.” That abstract line on nautical charts, during the Cold War, helped prevent U.S. and Soviet warships from coming too close together unintentionally, thus avoiding an accident or misunderstanding that could escalate. “We’ve gone progressively shallower, and reduced speed, as water depth decreased to its present one-hundred-eighty feet. We altered base course to zero-four-five when we rounded the western tip of St. Lawrence Island.” Northeast. “This put us moving parallel to the treaty line, fifteen, that is one-five, nautical miles on the U.S. side…. Excuse me, please, sirs.”

Meltzer conferred with the Assistant Navigator, a senior chief, and pointed out that their most recent course diversion was slowly bringing them closer to the treaty line. The assistant navigator calculated when, and by how much, to turn back east, safely past Sierra Eight-Four, and before intersecting that line. The senior chief relayed this data to the officer of the deck, who acknowledged.

“Well, then,” Meltzer resumed. “Since, as you can see, the treaty line splits the Bering Strait down the middle, the zero-four-five heading also put us on course for the strait. At our present speed of eight knots, and from our present position, here, we’ll need to commit to one side of the strait or the other within two hours. That’s the next major choice. Do we take the channel on the U.S. side of Little Diomede Island, or the other channel on the Russian side of Big Diomede?” The two islands sat right next to each other in the middle of the strait. “If we take as our minimum acceptable water depth one-five-zero feet, for a covert passage at reasonable speed, then the navigable part of either channel is one-five nautical miles wide.”

“The American side seems the much safer bet,” Bell stated.

“I concur, sir,” Sessions said.

“Okay,” Jeffrey responded. “It seems the safer, so it’s what the Russians would expect.”

“You mean,” Bell asked, “go through on their side because they’ll think that channel’s more secure? I don’t know, Commodore. Is that even allowed by our rules of engagement?”

“My ROEs give me extensive discretion,” Jeffrey said. “And the Russians are neutral, supposedly.”

“We’re not neutral, sir. We’re a belligerent. And their neutrality is, as you say, only supposed. Plus, they’re totally paranoid. They could easily open fire on an unidentified submerged contact, us, without any warning.”

Jeffrey gave Bell a wry smile. “I’m paranoid, too. I’m paranoid of American traitors and moles. I have good reason to think there’s one on the loose in Washington, with high access. If we pass through east of Little Diomede, our own assets might more likely pick us up. We get injected into the U.S. command-and-control net. If that net is compromised, our position and course get reported right to the Axis.”

“Like another Walker spy ring or something?” Meltzer asked.

“Exactly. And our detection systems are more advanced than the Russians’, so if we get picked up at all it’d more likely happen on the U.S. side.”

Bell shook his head. “We don’t know what gadgets Russia has that we don’t even know about, Commodore. We do know their anti-stealth radar is better than ours. We do know the Germans are giving them various things, fancy things.”

“Antisubmarine warfare is about much more than gadgetry, Captain. By ‘systems’ I include the people. It’s a team sport, as you’re aware, and I believe our side’s team does it better.”

“Sir, the Bering Strait is one of the most strategic choke points in the world! For all we know the hydrophone listening posts in the Russian channel are manned by Germans!”

“I still think our side’s team does it better. We’ve had years, decades more practice than the Germans.”

Bell almost sputtered in exasperation. Jeffrey pretended not to notice. “The decision affects my entire strike group. It’s not one you on Challenger can view in isolation.”

“Yes, Commodore. Of course.”

“Very well,” Jeffrey said. “We have a schedule to keep. We penetrate the strait through the Russian side.”

“What about their antisubmarine patrols and bottom sensors?”

“On that I defer to you, Captain. I’ve told you where we need to go. You tell your crew how to get us there.”

Chapter 4

Jeffrey took a short nap and a shower and immediately felt refreshed. He grabbed a quick lunch in the wardroom at 1105, joined informally by some of Bell’s officers. Among them was Lieutenant Bud Torelli, the weapons officer — Weps for short. Torelli was from Memphis, and his Southern accent showed it. He had a neatly groomed mustache, brown like his curly hair. His build ran to the fleshy side, with some overhang over his belt, but this was true of many submariners and it didn’t slow him down any. Torelli finished eating.

“I’m paying a quick visit to the men in the torpedo room.” His shoulders set squarely, he left the wardroom to go below. Jeffrey knew that Torelli and his people might soon be frantic with effort to keep themselves and the rest of the crew alive.

They’re a hardened, steely-nerved bunch now that they’ve got their sense of purpose back. Intercepting incoming fire, and putting weapons on target, required exhausting teamwork as intricately choreographed, and as thoroughly rehearsed, as any ballet. Every torpedo or cruise missile weighed thousands of pounds, much of that volatile engine fuels, high explosives — and fissionable cores of uranium or plutonium. Crush injuries and toxic spills were a constant hazard. A fire or explosion could spell disaster. Operating each tube correctly was a tricky task in itself. Bad flooding through one would doom the ship.

Damage control in Torelli’s department was taken tremendously seriously. Sessions, as XO, had assigned the Seabee passengers, when at battle stations, to be an extra damage-control party stationed outside the torpedo room; their talents at improvising machinery repairs during combat might give a decisive extra margin for survival if worse came to worst. One of Challenger’s chiefs from Engineering was with them as the man in charge, since the Seabees weren’t qualified in submarines.

Lieutenant Willey, the engineer, stopped by while Jeffrey finished gulping his coffee. “Greetings, mein Commodore.”

“Ahoy there, Enj,” Jeffrey razzed him back — a ship’s engineer often got the nickname Enj. Willey was