Wiser heads in the Soviet Union suggested that maybe an arrangement could be made with the U.S. to keep NATO ships south of a designated line in the North Atlantic. It might serve as a starting point to negotiations and withdrawal of Soviet forces near the Norwegian border. Some of the Politburo felt that talking was a better option than invading their neighbors.
In Washington powerful people on both civilian and military levels felt that nothing could be done before the prepositioned Soviet forces were completely withdrawn. Intelligence reports established that the arctic wasteland between Norway and Murmansk already possessed the greatest concentration of naval, ground, and air forces in the world. There were forty airfields, sixteen of them capable of all-weather operations, with close to fifteen hundred military aircraft. Two motorized special winter divisions were quartered in the Murmansk region along with an amphibious infantry division in Pechenga. And their Northern Fleet was now approaching one hundred fifty warships. Nothing should be negotiated with that threat. Attack submarines were ordered to additional positions under the icepack and counterinvasion plans were instigated to defend Norway. The final plan was an early release of the most powerful weapon devised in submarine warfare as a direct challenge to the Russians. Work in the secret submarine pen on the Washington coast was hurried.
While the politicians watched and wondered and schemed, intelligence reports on both sides expanded on the dire consequences taking shape, urging immediate action before the other side could move.
1
HAL SNOW HAD never learned to keep his mouth shut, nor was he concerned with the problem. That was the prime reason he was never nominated for the star that would have made him a flag officer. “I don’t give a shit what they say in the Pentagon…” he responded.
“You are in the Pentagon,” Admiral Reed interrupted. “I know that, Andy. But you’re not Pentagon military anymore than I am. You just as much as admitted you’re not part of the in group right now.”
Andy Reed was not, he knew, part of that elite that Snow referred to, but there were few these days who were welcomed to it. He did wear the two stars of a rear admiral, which carried about as much weight this moment with Hal Snow as… the hell with it, he said to himself. “Go on, Hal, I’m listening.”
Snow was in civilian clothes — for security reasons. He had been requested to wear a uniform only when he was aboard Imperator in her pen. The navy preferred not to broadcast the fact that Hal Snow had returned to the navy. Studying him now in a tailored gabardine suit, Reed could see why the defense contractors fell over themselves trying to hire Snow when he left the service a few years back. He was tall and slim. Finely chiseled features complemented a full head of close gray hair. Snow looked as sharp now in a three-piece suit as in a uniform and he spoke well and understood the language in both corporate boardrooms and Capitol Hill. He was exactly the type the civilian contractors wanted to carry their messages to legislators and speak before the television cameras — but as he often repeated, he didn’t have to like it.
Admiral Andy Reed was also a very persuasive individual. He had been the one to convince Hal Snow to come back, “for one more ride.” Reed remembered how he’d rehearsed that speech that day before Snow first came into his office, thinking of every word that might convince this superb submariner to return to uniform. Snow had let him go on, never once interrupting, which was very odd for Snow. And when Reed had finally come to the clincher and explained how badly the navy needed him now, Snow had said simply, “Okay.” When Reed asked why the decision had been so easy, Snow responded with one of his classic statements: “It’s simple, Andy. I feel like a goddamn transvestite, switching from the captain of a nuclear submarine to a huckster pleading for someone’s tax money.” Hal Snow, Reed realized, was never one for understatement.
Snow had taken over Imperator a little less than a year ago, while she was still on blocks. Taking over Reed’s responsibilities, he’d accepted that unforgiving job of preparing a new construction ship for sea — and had done his usual superb job.
Now, Reed had to use the power of his two stars to convince Imperator’s commanding officer that she was going to sea ahead of schedule and that there was work that wouldn’t be completed. It was nothing critical to her mission, but Hal Snow would know there were blemishes where a perfect ship should exist.
“You know, Andy, it’s just like rape. I’ve got the largest, most powerful ship ever built, a goddamn secret weapon — the juiciest command ever — and these armchair admirals want to put it on the market just before it’s ripe.”
“She’ll be fully capable, Hal. No limitations in the engineering plant or weapons department—”
“The idea stinks,” Snow added with finality.
“You want to turn her over to someone else?”
“Not on your life.” Snow grinned for the first time. “Dumb sometimes. Big mouth a lot. But crazy? Not by a long shot. Imperators mine, Andy. She’s a dream…” Then he paused, a quizzical look spreading over his face. “Yeah, dumb sometimes… maybe now, too. Why, Andy? Why do they want her out before she’s finished?” And when Reed gave the only answer he could — he didn’t know exactly why he’d been ordered to prepare Imperator for sea ahead of schedule — that’s when Snow had said, “I don’t give a shit what they say in the Pentagon.” The Pentagon mentality — that’s what outsiders called decisions that appeared to have no reasons, or at least no reasons given. So now Reed sat there while Snow got everything off his chest. Listening was easy because he knew there was no one else to replace Snow.
Snow continued on about officers with too many scrambled eggs on their hats for their own good, and decisions that weren’t well thought out, and then he finally concluded by saying, “Okay, Andy, what can I do to help you? I know it’s not your idea. I’m not going to give her up.”
“You can spend the rest of the day going over these work orders with me. They say they want her ready in eight weeks. I figure twelve may be what they mean. Help me get everything you absolutely want in the next eight weeks, and I’ll try to get you an extra month for cosmetics. How’s that?”
Snow shrugged. “Aren’t we all supposed to say: I’m ready now?” He murmured with another grin. Then he cocked his head a bit to one side and added curiously, “You going to send me up under the ice before I have a chance to shake her down good?”
“Come on. Cut it out. You’re shaking her down right now. The computer can do better than any human being with a ship like that. And you’ve got the prime specialist in the country handling it—”
Snow interrupted, “That broad—”
“That broad designed that system,” Reed said emphatically. “Carol Petersen knows more about that computer than you’ll ever know in a lifetime.” He pointed a finger in Snow’s direction. “You promised, and I’m holding you to it.”
Andy Reed was not what the navy would consider the recruiting-poster type. He was of medium height, not short but certainly not the type that appeared to have been born to a uniform. His shoulders were broad, but sloped, and his legs were short and thick. His double-breasted navy jacket used to look smarter, but his spreading mid-forties waist pulled it out in the front and left it baggy in the rear. His posture was what his wife described as his saving grace. Andy Reed had military bearing before he had ever set foot in Annapolis; it was a touch that came with natural leadership ability. He was born to the job! His brown hair had become quite thin, but his black eyes were sharp and piercing and conveyed his every mood. Admiral Reed commanded respect naturally.