The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

'Critique?'
'I would have closed a little before shooting, sir,' the weapons officer said.
'Even money he might have evaded that one.'
'Agreed, but we were only trying to shake him up,' Ricks said comfortably.
Then what was the purpose of that exercise? Dutch Claggett wondered. Oh, of
course, to show how aggressive you are.
'I guess we accomplished that,' the XO said to support his captain. There were
grins all around the control room. Boomers and fast-attack subs often played
games, mostly pre-planned. As usual, the Ohio had won this one, too. They'd
known that Omaha was around, of course, and that she was looking for a Russian
Akula that the P-3s had lost off the Aleutians a few days before. But the
Russian 'Shark' class sub was nowhere to be heard.
'OOD, take her south. We went and made a datum with that launch transient. We'll
clear datum back down where Omaha was.'
'Aye aye, sir.'
'Well done, people.' Ricks walked back to his cabin.
***
'New course?'
'South,' Dubinin said. 'He'll clear datum by going into the area already swept
by the Los Angeles. We'll maintain position just over the layer, leave our
"tail" under it, and try to reacquire.' There wasn't much chance, the Captain
knew, but fortune still favored the bold. Or something like that. The submarine
was due to go back to port in another week, and supposedly the new sonar array
she was due to receive during his scheduled overhaul was a major improvement
over the current one. He'd been here south of Alaska for three weeks. The
submarine he'd detected, USS Maine or USS Nevada, if his intelligence reports
were correct, would finish this patrol, refit, conduct another, refit again,
then yet another patrol in February, which coincided with his deployment
schedule after his overhaul. So, the next time he was back, he'd be up against
the same captain, and this one had made a mistake. After a refit, Admiral Lunin
would be quieter, and would have better sonar, and Dubinin was starting to
wonder when he'd be able to play his game against the Americans . . . Wouldn't
it be nice, he thought. All the time he'd spent to get here, the wonderful years
learning his trade in Northern Fleet under Marko Ramius. What a pity, for such a
brilliant officer to have died in an accident. But duty at sea was dangerous,
always had been, always would be. Marko had gotten his crew off before scuttling
. . . Dubinin shook his head. Today he might have gotten assistance from the
Americans. Might? Would have, just as an American ship would get one from a
Soviet. The changes in his country and the world made Dubinin feel much better
about his job. It had always been a demanding game of skill, but its deadly
purpose had changed. Oh, yes, the American missile submarines still had their
rockets pointed at his country, and Soviet rockets were pointed at America, but
perhaps they would be gone soon. Until they were, he'd continue to do his job,
and it seemed ironic indeed that just as the Soviet Navy was on the threshold of
becoming competitive – the Akula class was roughly equal with an early Los
Angeles class in a mechanical sense – the need for it was diminishing. Like a
friendly game of cards, perhaps? he asked himself. Not a bad simile . . .