"You get the feeling that the Russians are doing anything out of the ordinary, Dan?"' Toland asked, suddenly interested.
"You didn't hear"
"Hear what"
"They've cut back their diesel sub patrols up north, quite a bit, too. I mean, normally they're pretty hard to hear, but mostly over the past two months they just ain't there. I heard one, just one. Wasn't like that the last time I was up north. There have been some satellite photos of them, a lot of diesel boats tied up alongside for some reason or another. In fact, their patrol activity up north is down across the board, with a lot of maintenance activity going on. The current guess is that they're changing their training cycle. This isn't the usual time of year for live-firing." McCafferty laughed. "Of course, it could be that they finally got tired of chippin' and paintin' those old 'cans, and decided to use 'em up-best thing to do with a 'can anyway."
"Bubblehead," Morris snorted.
"Give me a reason you'd have a bunch of diesel boats out of service all at once," Toland said. He was wishing that he'd passed on the second and third rounds during Happy Hour. Something important was flashing lights inside his head, and the alcohol was slowing his thinking down.
"Shit," McCafferty observed. "There isn't any."
"So what are they doing with the diesel boats?"
"I haven't seen the satellite photos, Bob, just heard about them. No special activity in the drydocks, though, so it can't be too major."
The light bulb finally went off in Toland's head. "How hard is it to change batteries in a sub?"
"It's a nasty, heavy job. I mean, you don't need special machinery or anything. We do it with Tiger Teams, and it takes something like three or four weeks. Ivan's subs are designed with larger battery capacities than ours, and also for easier battery replacement-they're supposed to go through their batteries faster than Western subs, and they compensate for it by making replacement easier, hard-patches on the hull, things like that. So for them it's probably an all-hands evolution. What exactly are you getting at, Bob?"
Toland related the story about the four Soviet colonels who had been shot, and why. "Then I bear this story about how the supply of batteries in Russia has dried up. No batteries for cars and trucks. The car batteries I can understand, but the trucks-hey, every truck in Russia is government-owned. They all have mobilization uses. Same sort of batteries, right?"
"Yeah, they all use lead-acid batteries. The factory burn down?" Commander Morris asked. "I know Ivan likes One Big Factory rather than a bunch of little ones."
"It's working three shifts."
McCafferty sat back, away from the table.
"So, what uses batteries?" Morris asked rhetorically.
"Submarines," McCafferty pronounced. "Tanks, armored vehicles, command cars, starter carts for planes, lots of stuff painted green, y'know? Bob, what you're saying-shit, what you're saying is that all of a sudden Ivan has decided to increase his readiness across the board. Question: Do you know what the hell you're talking about?"
"You can bet your ass on it, Danny. The bit on the four colonels crossed my desk, I eyeballed that report myself. It was received on one of our ferret satellites, Ivan doesn't know how sensitive those Hitchhiker birds are, and he still sends a lot of stuff in the clear on surface microwave nets. We listen in to voice and telex transmissions all the time-you guys can forget you heard that, okay?" Toland got nods from the others. "The thing about the batteries I picked up by accident, but I confirmed it with a guy I know in the Pentagon. Now we have your story about increased live-fire exercises, Dan. You just filled in a blank space. Now if we can confirm that those diesel boats really are down for battery replacement, we have the beginnings of a picture. Just how important are new batteries for a diesel boat?"
"Very important," the sub skipper said. "Depends a lot on quality control and maintenance, but new ones can give you up to double the range and power of old ones, and that's obviously an important tactical factor."
"Jesus, you know what this sounds like? Ivan's always ready to go to sea, and now it looks like he wants to be real ready," Morris observed. "But the papers all say that they're acting like born-again angels with this arms-control stuff. Something does not compute, gentlemen."
"I have to get this to someone in the chain of command. I could drop this on a desk at Fort Meade and it might never get anywhere," Toland said, remembering his section chief.
"You will," McCafferty said after a moment's pause, "I have an appointment tomorrow morning with COMSUBLANT. I think you're coming with me, Bob."
The last member of the foursome arrived ten minutes later. He was disappointed with the quality of the game. He'd thought his skipper was better than this.
Toland spent twenty minutes reviewing his data in front of Vice Admiral Richard Pipes, Commander, Submarine Force, U.S. Atlantic Fleet. Pipes was the first black submariner to make three-star rank, a man who had paid his dues with performance as he'd climbed up the ladder in what had traditionally been a whites-only profession, and he had the reputation of a tough, demanding boss. The Admiral listened without a word as he sipped coffee from a three-starred mug. He'd been annoyed to have McCafferty's patrol report supplanted by a speech from a reservist-but that attitude had lasted only three minutes. Now the lines around his mouth deepened.
"Son, you violated a few security restrictions to give me some of that."
"I know that, sir," Toland said.
"Took balls to do that, and it's nice to see in a young officer, what with all the ones who just want to cover their ass." Pipes rose. "I don't like what you just told me, son, not one little bit. We got Ivan playing Santa Claus with all this diplomatic horseshit, and at the same time he's dialing his submarine force in. Could be a coincidence. Then again, it might not be. How about you and me go over to talk with CINCLANT and his intelligence chief?"
Toland winced. What have I got myself into? "Sir, I'm down here for a training rotation, not to-"
"Looks to me like you got this intelligence crap down pretty pat, Commander. You believe what you just told me is true?"
Toland stiffened. "Yes, sir."
"Then I'm giving you a chance to prove it. You afraid to stick your neck out-or do you just offer opinions to relatives and friends?" the Admiral asked harshly.
Toland had heard that Pipes was a real hard-case. The reservist rose to his feet.
"Let's do it, Admiral."
Pipes picked up his phone and dialed in a three-digit number, his direct line to CINCLANT. "Bill? Dick. I got a boy in my office I think you oughta talk to. Remember what we discussed last Thursday? We may have confirmation." A brief pause. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying... Aye aye, sir, on the way." Pipes set the phone down. "McCafferty, thank you for bringing this man in with you. We'll go over your patrol report this afternoon. Be here at 1530. Toland, you come along with me."