The sharp ring of the telephone yanked him from his depressed mood. He grabbed the handset, anxious for some work to drive away the nagging thoughts. “Advanced Submarine Project Office, Captain Samant speaking,” he answered.
“Girish, it’s Aleksey. I won’t ask you how your morning is going, I think I already know. Your people just reported in to me.”
Samant cracked a thin smile, recognizing the voice on the other end of the line. Shifting to English, he replied, “Well, I hope they can be of more use to you than they have been for me. And don’t be afraid to flog them if they get too lazy.”
The chuckle from the handset faded quickly, the voice becoming more firm. “Listen, Girish, I have some serious concerns about the changes to Chakra’s refit. Do you have a moment later today that I can drop by? I need a competent Indian’s perspective on this. The answers I’m getting from my dockyard point of contact don’t make any sense whatsoever.”
“Of course, Aleksey. My schedule is largely clear this afternoon.”
“Excellent! It will be a few hours until we get this boat safely on the blocks. After that I can break free and drive over to your office. Say, thirteen hundred?”
“That will work nicely.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
The morning dragged on and on, and besides drinking a lot of tea, Samant’s only real accomplishment was the successful crafting of a suitably polite response to the chief of staff’s e-mail. He was respectful, but bluntly informed his superior that the program would be unable to accomplish much until his staff returned. However, every effort would be made to keep working those aspects of the schedule that he could with the remaining personnel. Even as he hit the send button, Samant was still struggling to figure out what exactly he could do with all his senior people gone.
At a quarter to one, Samant cleared off his desk in anticipation of his guest. When the clock struck one, Petrov still hadn’t arrived and Samant got up and took another look through the binoculars at Chakra. She was high and dry in the graving dock. Annoyed, he started pacing. Petrov was usually very punctual.
He recalled the first time he met the former Russian submariner, now a technical consultant. Chakra had just returned from her successful war patrol, and had been met on the pier by the Indian Chief of the Naval Staff, Admiral Rajan. After a brief speech welcoming the boat home and praising their efforts during the war, Rajan introduced Samant to Petrov, announcing that Chakra would undergo her delayed refit to upgrade her tactical systems and to repair some of the nagging problems still under warranty. Rajan explained that while Petrov wouldn’t be in charge of the refit, he was the senior Russian advisor and would be available to assist with any issues involving the new Russian equipment being installed on board the boat.
What started out as a working relationship based on mutual respect soon grew into a full-blown friendship. Petrov recognized Samant as a kindred soul, understanding and appreciating his passion and drive. Samant was equally impressed by Petrov’s refreshing professionalism and extensive technical knowledge; he understood not only how the systems worked, but how they should be employed tactically. It wasn’t long before Petrov shared with Samant his checkered past as the only commanding officer of the nuclear attack submarine Severodvinsk. The Indian captain listened with rapt attention as Petrov described the collision with USS Seawolf, Severodvinsk’s impact with the ocean floor, crippling her, and how an ingenious young U.S. naval officer by the name of Jerry Mitchell helped to save him and his crew.
Samant launched himself out of his chair upon hearing Mitchell’s name, shocking Petrov into silence. Without saying a word, Samant walked over to a coffee table and picked up a large photo album. He hurriedly thumbed through the pages, stopped abruptly, and placed the album on the desk beside the Russian. Pointing to a two-page letter, he asked, “Is this the same man?”
Petrov quickly read the letter, and noted the USS North Dakota letterhead; a large smile appeared on his face. “Yes, indeed! So you tangled with my friend Jerry, eh? I’m glad neither one of you were hurt, but I’m also not surprised that your encounters ended in a stalemate. You are both very good submariners.”
“He was an absolute pain in my ass!” grumbled the Indian indignantly.
Petrov laughed. “I believe that was his job, Girish.”
The grimace on Samant’s face slowly lightened to a faint smile. “You should have seen Jain’s and my face when we realized that Mitchell had fired nuclear-armed torpedoes. I never ran away from anything so fast in all my life. Well, that and the angry torpedo barking at my hindquarters.”
“I have it on good authority, Girish, that Jerry was the mastermind behind the U.S. strategy,” Petrov remarked quietly. “He somehow convinced the president of the United States to use nuclear weapons in a very unconventional way. As I said, he is very good. But just as important, he’s an honorable man — like you.”
Samant’s reminiscing was abruptly interrupted by the buzz of his intercom. “Sir, Mr. Petrov is here to see you.”
“Thank you, Miss Gupta. Please send him in.”
A moment later, the door swung open and Petrov slowly walked in. He looked tired. “Good to see you, Aleks sahib. Tea?”
“Please,” responded Petrov as he plopped down in one of the armchairs. “It’s been a long day and it’s only half over. I could use a little pick-me-up. My apologies for being tardy, security throughout Vizag has become incredibly tight and I had to undergo a full search before being allowed into the building.”
Samant nodded his understanding and offered Petrov a steaming cup. “So, tell me, when did you get drafted to oversee Chakra’s refit?”
“Thank you,” Petrov replied gratefully. After downing a few sips, he answered, “Captain Mitra called me into his office on Saturday, two days ago, and informed me of my ‘promotion’ to lead engineer for the refit. He then handed me the maintenance plan and told me they had to shave two months off the schedule. Apparently Vice Admiral Dhankhar wants the boat ready for sea by April tenth.”
Samant bowed his head slightly as he drank. “Yes, Jain told me as much. That’s nowhere near enough time to get all the work done, even if you could get every technician in the shipyard working on her. What I don’t understand is, what’s the rush? Why does the admiral want the boat to go to sea so early?”
Petrov paused, a look of concern on his face. “It gets even more bizarre, Girish. I have a single day for sea trials — one day, and most of the testing involves the sonar and weapon systems upgrades.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Samant scowled. “How can you possibly test the propulsion plant and auxiliary systems repairs in a single day?”
“We can’t. A lot of that work will have to be deferred. Captain Mitra was very specific about that; only those repairs that can be completed within the revised schedule will be considered.”
Samant shook his head in amazement; none of this made any sense. What were Dhankhar and his staff thinking? Unable to offer any explanation for the radical schedule change, Samant sat silent, thinking and drinking his tea. After a few moments, a visibly uncomfortable Petrov spoke quietly. “I’ll understand if you can’t tell me, Girish, but I have to ask. Are there any near-term plans to recommence hostilities against Pakistan? Do I need to worry about a submarine that will be going into combat?”
The blunt questions caught Samant completely unawares; Petrov was definitely out of bounds, but he completely understood why the Russian had asked. Initially suspicious, the Indian looked carefully at his friend; then he saw the haunted look in Petrov’s eyes. The man desperately wanted to know if the decisions he’d have to make could result in the loss of another submarine. The ghosts of Severodvinsk still clung to him.