The aircraft roared over the submarine’s estimated position and the detector registered the distortion in the Earth’s magnetic field caused by the submarine’s hull. Its precise location was recorded and fed back into the combat computer. Once again the big plane began another tight turn to get back over the area as quickly as possible.
As soon as the powerful Kuznetsov turboprops had hauled the aircraft around, the bomb bay doors slowly opened. Leveling out, the plane rapidly accelerated, racing to 450 knots. Just before it reached the sub’s location, the first PLAB-250-120 depth bomb dropped away from the aircraft’s belly, then another, and yet another. The Bear F then suddenly pulled up, climbing away from the ocean surface just as three large grayish-white geysers broke the surface and shot skyward.
Dr. Joanna Patterson leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh; she’d just wrapped up the final details for her next event at a local science and technology magnet school. Thankfully her chief of staff had done all the legwork and Joanna just had to review and approve the agenda. She had found, much to her surprise, that she didn’t mind many of the public responsibilities of being the first lady. She was particularly eager to promote education programs, especially those that focused on science, technology, engineering, and mathematics, but the more pure “social” aspects were drudgery.
The Office of the First Lady was on the second floor of the East Wing, about two hundred yards and one floor away from her old workspace in the West Wing. She’d rarely visited this part of the White House before, and was surprised by the size of the office… and the staff. In addition to her chief of staff, Joanna had a dozen other assistants that helped her with everything from press releases, social events, state parties, floral design, and ad hoc special projects. Then there was the White House executive chef, Rob Wells. Chef Rob had an impressive culinary repertoire that spanned virtually all cultures and ranged from hearty rustic fare to extravagant, refined haute cuisine. Lowell had reluctantly commented after an exquisite meal that perhaps, possibly, maybe he was over-indulging a little in sampling Chef Rob’s creations.
Still, Joanna’s primary duties as first lady didn’t prevent her from dipping her fingers in the national security matters bowl every now and then. And while the president didn’t “formally” include her in the policy-making structure, he was no fool, and recognized that her talents and expertise were invaluable. They’d tackled more than a few complex problems together in the past, and both knew they made a good team. The real problem was with some of members of the Hardy administration and Congress.
She was unique; no first lady had served as the national security advisor in a previous administration, so there wasn’t any precedence on how to handle such a complicated couple. President Hardy was sensitive to the awkwardness of the situation, and while he allowed Joanna to retain her clearances and access, he wanted to clearly separate her first lady responsibilities from those of unofficial NSA emeritus. This included her office in the East Wing. No classified information was allowed there, nor was there access to classified networks or a secure phone. If Joanna wanted to review classified documents, or discuss them with others, she had to physically move to a small office Lowell had set up for her near the Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing.
On the plus side, she was free to do her own analysis, provide opinions and recommendations, but she wasn’t allowed to assign work or give orders. That last bit chafed. It had taken some getting used to, but by and large Joanna was satisfied with the compromise that was widely viewed as fair and reasonable. But that didn’t mean everyone was thrilled with the arrangement.
Joanna still had a good hour before her husband would wrap up his day, and she wanted to catch up with the ongoing Russia crisis. She hurriedly cleaned off her desk and headed for the door, bidding her secretary “good evening” as she left. Aware that she too was suffering from Chef Rob’s expansionist policies, she took the stairs down to the first floor at a brisk pace and crossed the East Colonnade into the residence villa. Strolling through the Center Hall with its arched vaulted ceiling, Joanna admired the beautiful architecture and the fine art on display. She then crossed the West Colonnade before entering the West Wing. After another set of stairs down to the ground level, she found herself back in her old haunts. Several people warmly greeted Joanna as she approached her “other” office. It was surreal; only seven months earlier these people had worked for her.
While Joanna logged into her top secret computer account, one of the duty officers stopped by with a fresh cup of coffee. They chatted for a brief moment as the classified network brought up her e-mail account. As the duty officer departed, he said a number of reports on Russia’s latest impolite behavior were waiting in her inbox. He was sure she’d find them of considerable interest. He was right.
At the top of the electronic pile was a FLASH precedence message from NATO’s Allied Maritime Command Headquarters in Northwood, Great Britain. The message briefly described an attack on the Royal Norwegian Navy submarine Uredd (S 305) by a Russian Bear F maritime patrol aircraft. The Bear F had made two passes on Uredd, dropping a total of six depth bombs before the Norwegian submarine could shake off the large ASW aircraft and escape.
The first five bombs were dropped at some distance from the submarine and caused no damage. The last depth bomb, however, detonated much closer, shaking the submarine violently. There was moderate damage to the periscopes and masts, minor damage to the combat system, and a hydraulic leak that was subsequently contained. The message also reported four personnel casualties, one serious. Joanna shuddered as she read the damage report; she knew exactly what Uredd’s crew had gone through. Even though it had been sixteen years, she could still vividly recall when a Bear F had bounced Memphis.
But it was the last paragraph that caused her the greatest apprehension. The Norwegian submarine had been well away from Russian territorial waters at the time of the attack. Given the deliberate, unprovoked nature of the incident, NATO was issuing a warning to all ships, submarines, and aircraft that Russian conduct was becoming increasingly erratic and belligerent.
Still shaking her head, she started looking at the other files her ex-staff had sent her; the majority was on the recently announced Resolve-2021 exercise. It didn’t take long for her to realize that this exercise was going to be even larger than Center-2015. That exercise had mobilized over one hundred thousand members of the Russian Federation armed forces. In addition, Resolve-2021 was nationwide, involving all four military districts, not just two; the sheer number of messages on troop movements was mind-boggling. She grabbed the secure phone and punched a number.
“George, can you drop by if you have a minute? Good. Thanks.”
Two minutes later there were two sharp knocks on the door. Joanna looked up and saw George Hendricks standing in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am, what can I do for you?”
“This exercise the Russians are spinning up, do you have a summary of the units involved? It looks like they are calling up four or five of their armies.”
“Six, actually, Dr. Patterson.”
“Six?”
“Yes, it looks like the Second Army got their marching orders the other day. We’re starting to see train cars stack up at a marshaling yard near Samara.”