The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

'Let's not try to think too far ahead. I want to be in Denver in a few weeks.'
'We play 'em one at a time, Dennis, you know that. Just we don't know who we're
playing yet. I'd prefer LA. We can handle them easy enough,' the coach thought.
'Then we'll probably have to handle Miami in the division game. That'll be
harder, but we can do it.'
'I think so, too.'
'I have films to took at.'
'Fair enough. Just remember, one at a time – but three more wins.'
'You tell the President to come on out to Denver. We'll be there to see him.
This is San Diego's year. The Chargers go all the way.'
***
Dubinin watched the water invade the graving dock as the sluices were opened.
Admiral Lunin was ready. The new sonar array was rolled up on its spool inside
the teardropshaped fairing that sat atop the rudder post. The sevenbladed screw
of manganese-bronze had been inspected and polished. The hull was restored to
full watertight integrity. His submarine was ready for sea.
As was the crew. He'd gotten rid of eighteen conscript sailors and replaced them
with eighteen new officers. The radical down-sizing of the Soviet submarine
fleet had eliminated a large number of officer billets. It would have been a
waste of skilled manpower to return them to civilian life – besides which there
were not enough jobs for them – and as a result they'd been retrained and
assigned to the remaining submarines as technical experts. His sonar department
would now be almost exclusively officers – two michmaniy would assist with the
maintenance – and all of them were genuine experts. Surprisingly, there was
little grumbling among them. The Akula class had what was for Soviet submarines
very comfortable accommodations, but more important than that was the fact that
the new members of the wardroom had been fully briefed on their mission, and
what the boat had done – probably done, Dubinin corrected himself – on the
previous cruise. It was the sort of thing that appealed to the sportsman in
them. This was for the submariner the ultimate test of skill. For that they
would do their best.
Dubinin would do the same. Pulling in a lot of old professional debts, and
leaning heavily on the yard's Master Shipwright, he'd performed miracles during
the refit. Bedding had all been replaced. The ship had been scrubbed surgically
clean, and repainted with bright, airy colors. Dubinin had worked with the local
supply officers and obtained the best food he could find. A well-fed crew was a
happy crew, and men responded to a commander who worked hard for them. That was
the whole point of the new professional spirit in the Soviet Navy. Valentin
Borissovich Dubinin had learned his trade from the best teacher his navy had
ever had, and he was determined that he would be the new Marko Ramius. He had
the best ship, had the best crew, and he would on this cruise set the standard
for the Soviet Pacific Fleet.
He would also have to be lucky, of course.
***
'That's the hardware,' Fromm said. 'From now on . . .'
'Yes, from now on we are assembling the actual device. I see you've changed the
design somewhat . . . ? '