“Any other possibilities?”
“A Russian knockoff. Or… and this is going to sound pretty crazy sir, but it’s possible… a submarine that’s towing an acoustic augmenter to make us think she’s a Russian submarine.”
“And it couldn’t be a surface ship with an augmenter?” Bellisanus asked.
Pencehaven came back into Sonar at that moment, and leaned over Jacobs’s shoulder to study the display. Bellisanus caught the faint odor of peanut butter on Pencehaven’s breath.
“Yep,” Pencehaven said, and settled into his seat. “SSTG. Could be an augmenter, though. Awful stable.”
“I guess it’s possible,” Jacobs admitted, and suddenly Bellisanus felt a whole lot better. You couldn’t beat the ears on Jacobs, but once in a while you could come up with an alternative explanation that he’d buy. “Yes, sir, now that I think about it, that’s certainly possible.”
“All right, then. We don’t have any intell on any Russian submarine in these waters, so for now I’m going with that possibility. We’ll make a slow transit up there to keep our own flow noise down and have a look. And keep an eye on that signature in case it turns out to be a motor alternator instead.”
“Yes, sir,” Jacobs said, but Bellisanus could hear the denial in his voice. It might be something towed by a surface ship, but there was no way he was going to convince Jacobs that it might be a motor alternator.
Bellisanus went back into the control room and filled his XO in, concluding with, “Have Ops draft up a message. Let’s rattle their cages a bit, see if somebody knows something that they haven’t bothered to tell us.”
“Aye-aye, Captain,” Powder said. He turned the deck of the submarine back over to his skipper and went aft to find the operations officer.
As Bellisanus settled back into his normal scan of people, gauges and machinery, one thought kept nagging him. If it was an augmentor — and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was of that — then why did someone want to make him believe that there was a Russian submarine in these waters? And more importantly, who was behind it?
After a brief consultation with his navigator and another moment checking the location of the
“The Russians wouldn’t risk it,” the captain said bluntly. “They’ve been supportive of U.N. efforts in the Gulf ever since the earliest days. Remember how odd that was, during Desert Storm? Seeing the Russians listed as a friendly force?”
The XO nodded. “But they haven’t actively contributed military forces to peacekeeping in the last five years,” he pointed out. “Wonder what that means?”
“It means just what you think it might. We can’t be entirely certain that they haven’t deployed an asset down here.” He held up one hand to forestall comment. “I know, I know — there’s no intelligence on the Russian unit being in the area. But intelligence has been wrong before.”
“Or it could be classified above our level,” the XO pointed out.
And that was a hoot, wasn’t it? Of all the areas of classified data within the military — indeed, the entire national security system — few were more closely guarded than those secrets associated with the operation of a nuclear submarine. Why would intelligence not trust them with the information, particularly when it directly affected their area of operations? The captain shook his head, as always slightly bemused by the issue.
“Well, it does change the way we’re operating in the Gulf, doesn’t it?” he said bluntly. “It changes everything.”
“Let’s bump this up the chain of command,” the captain said. “Let the carrier know, and sideline it back to Fifth Fleet as well. Maybe if we start asking questions, we’ll jar loose some data. It’s worth a try, at least.”
If Bellisanus had slept in the last three days, the XO didn’t know when it could have been. He had been in the control room almost continuously, his eyes roving constantly over the instruments, alert to every minute change in the submarine’s operating condition. Yet even after days of sleeplessness — hell, they were all running short of sleep, weren’t they? — the man showed no trace of the fatigue that must be building up in his body.
How did he manage it? the XO wondered. And would he himself ever be able to sustain that level of effort if he were in command of a ship such as this?
It wasn’t often that the XO doubted his own capabilities. He glanced around the control room again, listened to the faint sounds of reports being relayed over the sound powered phones. Bellisanus had left training primarily up to him, and if he did say so himself, he thought he’d done a pretty good job of it. The crew was relaxed, confident, but not too relaxed. There was an undercurrent of cold professionalism running throughout the ship that told him that if and when — and it would be most assuredly when — the time came that the submarine had to fulfill its mission, she would not be found wanting. The sense of being part of something larger, of having contributed to the molding of this collection of people into a tight-knit, potent team made him feel humble.
And maybe, just maybe he had one more responsibility. He glanced over at the captain, until he felt a surge of certainty that it was true. He moved quietly to the captain’s side, then with a slight shift of his head, indicated that he would like to speak privately. It was this way with men that spent so much time in close quarters as a team. The merest glance, the slightest gesture, could convey the depth of meaning that didn’t need words.
The captain walked over to a corner of the control room and leaned forward. He was perhaps three inches taller than the XO, and it was not something the XO noticed unless they were in close quarters. Right now, it felt entirely right to be looking up slightly to this man who bore such a burden.
“You could use some rest, Captain,” the XO said quietly. He motioned to the control room, taking in all the crew members. “They’re doing well. It’s quiet right now. But it won’t always be like that. I can handle this for now, sir, but there’s going to be a time when the only thing that keeps this ship safe is you. And, with all due respect, sir, I need you in top-notch condition
The captain drew back slightly, and for just a moment the XO thought he’d overstepped his bounds. Bellisanus started to speak, then shut his mouth with an audible click. He looked at his XO with new respect.
“I insist that the men get food and sleep,” the captain said slowly. “But I’ve always thought myself exempt from those requirements. It’s something, you know… well, maybe you don’t, not completely yet. But you will someday when you have your own ship.” He paused for a moment, and XO thought that the captain was going to gently suggest that the XO mind his own damned business.
Then the captain continued, “And when you command your own ship, I hope that you are blessed, as I have been, with an XO like you. There aren’t many people who can tell the captain to go get some rest. That you consider that part of your responsibilities tells me you’re ready for command.”
Then, without further word, not even a caution to call him immediately should it be necessary, the captain turned and left the control room.
The XO stared after him, even more humble now. He turned back to the crew. There was not a flinch, not a quiver, not a trace of uneasiness with the captain out of the control room. That gave him more confidence than any words of reassurance from the captain could have. Because the captain’s judgment was that of one man, albeit a man with several decades of experience in submarines. This quiet, this confidence from the crew, though, was the judgment of a collection of men with over 200 combined years of time onboard a submarine. He challenged himself