Chapter Twenty-six

June 5, 2006

North of Greenland:

 

Silence and darkness made the Colorado’s missile compartment surreal. Dim emergency lighting turned Jake’s sneakers into silhouettes as he watched his steps alternate between the floor and tilted equipment cabinets. He used piping and valves as monkey-bars while balancing against the forty-degree starboard list.

An updraft from the bilge carried the rancid scent of leaking trash bags over Jake’s nose as he stooped through a circular hatch into the forward compartment.

The ship’s list facilitated his climb as he ascended to the control room. A flashlight startled him.

“Get that out of my face,” he said.

Seated on a tilted chair, Renard lowered the light.

“My apologies.”

Jake rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” Jake said, “I can’t stay too mad at you. You made a ballsy call putting us on the roof.

“Scotty, you okay?”

The silhouette seated at the ship’s control panel ignored Jake. McKenzie’s hands trembled in the darkness as they caressed gauges and dials.

“He’s not taking it well,” Renard said.

“Neither am I, really. I’m not sure what to think. I thought we were home free.”

“Maintain your focus. We will work our way through this.”

“We just survived a hostile torpedo shot, and our reactor’s cooling to cold iron,” Jake said.

“Keep your wits about you. You have a crew to lead.”

“Where are all the frogmen?”

“In their racks, I pray. Otherwise they’re liable to hurt themselves in this abysmal darkness.”

“They’re big boys and we told them what not to touch,” Jake said. “I say we deal with them after we get this pig under control.”

“What of affairs aft?” Renard asked. “Ensuring reactor plant integrity is our primary concern. Without our reactor, we’re dead.”

“There’s a lot of lube oil spilling. Bass and Gant are trying to plug the leaks. It’s going to be messy, but we can contain them when we start up again.”

“And when, mon ami, do you forecast that might be? Freezing to death will not be pleasant.”

“If we start up now, we could get shot at again.”

“Agreed,” Renard said. “The noise would be an unacceptable risk. We will have to rely upon the battery.”

“If we drain it, we won’t have enough juice to get the plant started,” Jake said.

“Can’t we just pull control rods to heat up the reactor whenever we want?” McKenzie asked.

Jake hadn’t expected words from McKenzie. He studied the mechanic. Hollow eyes stared back at him.

“That won’t work,” Jake said. “It’s complex. You need coolant flow and coolant pumps. We need battery power to start up again.”

“What about natural circulation?” McKenzie asked.

“Only works if we can remove heat. We need the steam cycle going full swing to do that, and that means steam plant pumps.”

“I hear freezing to death is peaceful.” McKenzie said.

“We’re not going to...shut up!”

McKenzie turned back to his panel. His shaking hands fiddled with de-energized dials and gauges.

“We should consider bringing the sonar room back online, too,” Renard said. “We should determine if we’re alone yet.”

“Starting a motor-generator set is too noisy. We’re stuck without AC power.”

Renard drew a Marlboro from his crumpled pack.

“I suppose you’re correct,” Renard said.

“You should take that cigarette out of your mouth. We can’t filter the smoke anymore.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten.”

Renard stuck the cigarette back in its pack.

“I think we can insulate a few staterooms with blankets and make use of body heat,” Jake said. “We’ll secure space heaters throughout the ship except for a few staterooms.

“That could work, but not indefinitely.”

“It’ll work as long as it takes to be sure we’re alone,” Jake said. “A couple days. Maybe longer.”

“And what of daily necessities?”

“We’ll store canned food and potable water. Each room has a sink we can piss in. For garbage and shit, we’ll use freezer bags.”

“How I love submarine life,” Renard said.

“Scotty,” Jake said. “We need to achieve level deck. Can you flood the centerline tank without making noise?”

McKenzie placed his hands in his lap but said nothing.

“Scotty!” Jake said. “Flood the centerline tank until we slip down from the roof.”

McKenzie stood and looked at the floor.

“I’ve got to go operate the valve manually,” he said and lumbered down the stairs, leaving Jake with Renard.

“What do you think about our hunter?” Jake asked.

“Someone tried to kill us,” Renard said, “and may be close enough to shoot again if we so much as drop a spoon. It’s probably your friend from the Miami.”

“I have a sick feeling it’s Brody,” Jake said.

“Quite possible, but I’m afraid we may not have the time we need to wait in silence. There are six commandos onboard who feel a sense of urgency.”

“Then you’d better tell them that we’re going to spend a few days in the dark.”

 

*

The Chief of Naval Operations felt his guts twist as he entered the Oval Office. President Ryder looked up, and Mesher read tension in his face.

“I understand that we’ve lost contact with the Miami, Admiral? This better not be another submarine catastrophe.”

“We shouldn’t assume that the Miami is under duress. There’s no evidence. It’s probably still under the ice and unable to make radio transmission.”

“This country cannot tolerate another American submarine being lost at sea. You’d better be right.”

“Sir, I do have some concern with the nature of the Miami’s mission.”

“The nature?”

“One of my admirals assigned the Miami to follow its captain’s hunch that the Colorado was still alive and heading under the ice.”

“I thought we had proof that the Colorado sank? We have tapes from over a dozen sonar systems examined by an army of PhD’s. What the hell did they say?”

“The acoustic lab at Hopkins is working around the clock. It’s laborious work.”

“They must know something by now!”

“We know that the weapon that sank the Colorado was not an American torpedo,” Mesher said.

Ryder stood and paced.

“You’re telling me that a random assailant broke through our perimeter undetected, found one of the quietest submarines on the planet, sank it, and got away unnoticed?”

Mesher sensed the impending doom of a shameful end to an illustrious career.

“We won’t know until the lab dissects this further or until the underwater search team finds the wreckage on the bottom of the Atlantic.”

“You don’t seem to know much about your submarines, Admiral.”

“These are demanding tasks that require time.”

Ryder stood and stared out the window.

“I assume that you at least know where to find the door.”

 

*

Renard shut the door to the executive officer’s stateroom. He shivered under his parka.

“Merde de l’eau! It's freezing out there.”

“I feel the draft,” McKenzie said.

Renard noted that McKenzie appeared to have regained his wits.

Layers of bedspreads muffled Renard’s steps as he passed through a polished metal bathroom into the commanding officer’s quarters.

Covered by comforters, Bass and Gant were sleeping on mattresses atop blankets spread over the floor. Wearing a parka, Jake sprawled out in the commanding officer’s fold-out wall rack.

“What’s up?” Jake asked.

“This ship’s an iceberg,” Renard said.

“Battery’s still okay?”

“It’s only lost three volts over two days.”

“We can do this for a few more days, then.”

“The other half of our crew is growing impatient.”

“They haven’t complained.”

“You’ve only talked to Mister Lion. The younger ones do not share his patience. It might be wise to consider the reactor start-up now.”

“That’s too risky, and you know it,” Jake said.

Bass and Gant stirred, and Jake lowered his voice.

“The Miami shot at us and missed,” Jake said, “and Brody didn’t hear us evade. There’s a good chance he’s still out there.”

“You’re right, of course,” Renard said.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The Taiwanese do not understand why we wait now and why we were moving so slowly under the ice. They think that a steel ship would just bounce off ice ridges unscathed.”

“Then they’re idiots.”

“They do not understand the dangers of this world that you and I take for granted.”

“So what should I do?”

“You have a battery at ninety-two percent charge. That’s more than adequate for a reactor start-up, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s risk starting a motor generator and bringing up the sonar room. If we hear nothing, then we start the reactor. If we hear something, then the Taiwanese will have to accept more freezing days. And sadly, so will I.”

 

*

Lieutenant Commander Lin wiped gravy from his lips and looked up at the Tai Chiang’s wardroom seats. Three men surrounding him ate in silence.

“Pass the salt,” he said.

Lieutenant Yang Kai-huang, his executive officer, plopped the shaker by Lin’s hand. Yang’s face remained glacial. Lin’s past attempts at conversation about financial markets had stymied the machinist’s son, and lighthearted chat in the wardroom had tapered to nothing.

I dine with the son of a commoner, Lin thought. How can a man raised in simplicity master the complex art of war? He should be tilling the land.

A phone chimed by Lin’s side. He reached to the wall and lifted the receiver to his ear. He heard news that excited him and pushed the receiver into its cradle.

He stood.

“Come, Yang,” he said. “If you pay keen attention, you may learn something.”

 

*

Lin climbed a ladder and slid his soft stomach over one of the many spare barrels of jet fuel he had picked up in a southern Japanese port. Entering the bridge, he studied a young bridge officer.

“Report, Ensign,” he said.

“Sir, undersea laser detection bearing three-zero-five. Range four miles. Depth one hundred feet.”

“Warm up torpedoes,” Lin said.

“Sir, I’ve turned away from the contact to open distance,” the ensign said.

“That is a mistake,” Lin said. “The contact is close enough to detect us. We must assume counter-detection and prosecute.”

The ensign lowered his gaze.

“Sir, the submarine shows no evidence that it sees or hears us,” Yang said. “Our orders are to remain undetected.”

“You will report to the auxiliary bridge for battle stations, Mister Yang.”

“Sir, our orders state that we are to avoid all encounters unless we have clear evidence that we’ve been counter-detected.”

“I have interpreted that a submerged contact at short range is a threat to our stealth. You will be relieved of your duties and restricted to your quarters for insubordination if you do not follow my orders.”

Yang retraced his steps down the stairs. Lin sat at his battle control station.

“This is the captain,” he said. “The submerged contact is emanating the frequencies of a Romeo class diesel submarine. The ship is Chinese and is a threat.”

Through his earpiece, he heard Yang protest.

“The ship shows no indication that it has detected us. We should evade or we risk revealing our position, and that is against our orders,” Yang said.

“You are relieved,” Lin said. “Lieutenant Second Class Ye, lay below and relieve Lieutenant Yang of auxiliary bridge command.”

Over the circuit, Lin heard Yang’s headphones slam against his battle control station keyboard.

“Extending torpedo batteries...solution set...firing tube one!” Lin said. “Firing tube two! Weapons away. Coming to course zero-three-five to evade.”

Lin listened to his weapons converging on the diesel submarine. He savored the sound of the rupturing hull and turned the Tai Chiang northward.

 

*

Standing in the Colorado’s sonar room, Renard slapped his gloves together. Jake’s teeth chattered by his ear.

“Shit, Pierre. I’ve never been this cold,” Jake said.

“Be thankful we have space heaters. Otherwise, we would have already frozen to death.”

Renard watched Jake flip switches. Machines whirred to life and green displays energized.

“So far, Jake, I see nothing. This is good.”

“Give the integrators time to process. Plus our towed array sonar is dangling below us. I don’t know how bad that screws up the bearings.”

“We’re not worried about bearings. Either the arrays hear something or they do not. I pray for the latter case.”

After half an hour of space heater operation, Renard still saw his breath but could feel his extremities.

“I think we’re alone, Jake. Whoever shot at us may have left.”

“I agree. Let’s start up this pig and get moving.”

 

*

During the days guiding the Miami by the pole toward the Bering Strait, Brody tried seven times to break through the ice but failed. On his eighth try, he watched the depth gauge stall at seventy-five feet.

“Our under-ice sonar predicted that this was the thinnest ice we’ve seen, right, executive officer?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Must be a slow thaw.”

“We’re south of the Alaskan Pipeline, and we still can’t get through. I think it’s time to just clear the ice altogether.”