Samant looked up from the keyboard when he heard the knock. His office door was open, and Maahir Jain, Samant’s former first officer and now commander of INS Chakra, was standing in the doorway like a child waiting for a parent to notice him.
He couldn’t hide his surprise — it was Sunday and he certainly didn’t expect anyone to drop by his office — but he also suddenly felt great pleasure at seeing his old executive officer, and he let that show as well.
Samant almost leapt up from behind his desk, coming around to offer his hand. “Captain Jain. It’s good to see you! Would you like some tea?” Samant pointed toward the teapot and cups but Jain waved him off.
“I cannot stay long,” he explained apologetically. “I have an appointment with Vice Admiral Dhankhar at nine.” After a moment’s hesitation, he continued, “But I wanted to come by and see how you were faring in your new assignment. The men are asking after you, as well.”
I’ll bet they are, Samant thought. He’d used a “firm, but fair” command style, emphasizing discipline and professional knowledge. He’d driven Chakra’s crew hard, and they’d performed, but they always called him “Captain,” never “Skipper.” It hadn’t bothered Samant, who found it hard to make friends. Being a captain wasn’t supposed to be a popularity contest.
As they sat, Samant asked, “Why are you meeting the admiral here and not at the headquarters building on INS Circars? And on Sunday? Is this about Chakra’s progress, or are they going to give you a third stripe, now that you’re in command?”
“You haven’t heard, then?” Jain was surprised. “About the change in the refit schedule?”
Samant, confused, shook his head. “I’ve been trying to focus on getting the program back on schedule and ignored all the bedlam. Bad as it is, I don’t see how it has much to do with what we’re doing.”
“They cut our yard period short, Cap — I mean, sir. We’re to sail on April tenth.”
“What?!” Samant was thunderstruck. He knew exactly what Chakra’s status was, as of a week and a half ago. The tenth of next month? That is insane! “Why?”
“I don’t know, sir. My main concern right now is getting Chakra ready for sea. It’s not just that the boat’s in pieces. I’ve got people on leave and in training, and if we’re going to sea, I’m already behind in arranging for torpedoes and stores…”
“But you’re not going to ask why they’ve made the change?” Samant pressed.
“I’ll let the officers with stars on their shoulders worry about why. I’ve got enough on my plate.”
That didn’t sit right with Samant, but he held his peace. If Jain had asked him to go with him to meet with the admiral and demand an explanation, he would have gone, but Jain didn’t ask.
They talked about other things: an upcoming memorial in June for the men lost on Arihant, some of whom they’d both known, and the progress, or lack of progress, of the war.
It was time for Jain to leave, and Samant tried to put as much warmth into his farewell as he had into the greeting. He did wish Jain well, even if he was worried about Chakra’s fortunes under his command. She wasn’t Samant’s boat anymore, and he had to get used to that.
2
CHAOS
This is absurd! How in God’s name do those idiots expect me to do my job! Samant mentally shrieked. He impatiently erased the tangled lines on his production schedule and tried yet another approach. When he pushed his mechanical pencil down on the paper, the thin lead broke — again. And despite his forceful clicking of the eraser, nothing emerged from the narrow point. In utter frustration, Samant flung the mechanical pencil at the wall. Doesn’t anything in this office work as it’s supposed to?! He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He’d been at this fruitless exercise for over three hours. With a resigned sigh, Samant reached the inescapable conclusion that his program would be dead in the water for at least a month, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Soon after Jain’s visit, Samant received an e-mail from Vice Admiral Dhankhar’s chief of staff informing him of the temporary transfer of all his senior engineers and program managers to support the greatly accelerated INS Chakra refit. With only inexperienced junior engineers and naval architects left in the office, there was little hope of getting any meaningful work done. Those “children” needed adult supervision just to find the bathroom, let alone figure out the engine room layout for India’s next class of nuclear submarines. With frustration bubbling up inside him, Samant walked over and poured himself another cup of tea. Sipping the hot Earl Grey, he weighed his very limited set of options. He’d have to carefully word his response to the chief of staff on the impact the transfer would have on his project. It wouldn’t pay to be viewed as a complainer this early in his new assignment.
His new, prestigious assignment. Bah! It was more like hell. Two weeks ago, he was the commanding officer of the hottest boat in the Indian Navy; the most successful submarine captain in India’s history. He and his crew had done very well during the South China Sea campaign, racking up an impressive score of tankers sunk and Chinese oil refineries charred and gutted. Now, he was driving a paper-laden desk, in charge of an undisciplined group of civil servants that debated every order, all the while fighting a grotesquely inefficient bureaucracy that moved at a glacial pace. On Chakra, he was lord and master, but here, he was just one of many medieval nobles struggling to work within the feudal machine that was the Indian Navy. A dubious reward indeed for a job well done. But fate wasn’t done taunting him just yet.
The Advanced Submarine Project’s offices were on the south side of the building, with a clear view to the naval dockyard across the channel. From this lofty position, he could see Chakra as she was being maneuvered by a tug into the dry dock. Grabbing his binoculars from the windowsill, he watched as the crew topside went about their work. He grunted with satisfaction as the men performed their duties flawlessly. Shifting to the bridge, he could see Jain working with the pilot as the submarine inched its way into the dock. Suddenly, a pang of envy flared in Samant. He should be on that bridge right now, he should still be in command, not Jain. Samant shook his head to clear away the growing jealousy. His former first officer was simply following orders and doing his job — a job that Samant had trained him to do properly. Jain was a competent officer, if a bit too informal with the men at times. Whatever was behind Samant’s sudden exile, it wasn’t Jain’s fault. He wasn’t responsible for his captain’s transfer.
Samant then recalled his mother’s gloomy accusation that his current circumstances were entirely of his own making, a natural result of all the bad karma he had accrued during the war. She said he was reaping the “rewards” for all the death and destruction he had caused. A devout Hindu, she had long disagreed with her son’s chosen occupation, claiming it would only bring evil to his life. At times like this, he wondered if there wasn’t more to her words.