The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

that their lives were irrevocably changed.
The three men climbed into Mancuso's staff car for the ride to the reception at
the Officers Club. Rosselli set his souvenirs on the floor and extracted a
handkerchief to wipe his eyes. It isn't fair, just isn't fair. To leave command
of a ship like this one to be a goddamned telephone operator at the NMCC. Joint
service billet, my ass! Rosselli blew his nose and contemplated the shore duty
that the remainder of his active career held.
Mancuso looked away in quiet respect.
Ricks just shook his head. No need to get all that emotional about it. He was
already making mental notes. The Torpedo Department wasn't up to speed yet, eh?
Well, he'd do something about that! And the XO was supposed to be super-hot.
Hmph. What skipper ever failed to praise his XO? If this guy thought he was
ready for command, that meant an XO who might be a little too ready, and might
not be totally supportive, might be feeling his oats. Ricks had had one of those
already. Such XOs often needed some subtle reminders of who was boss. Ricks knew
how to do that. The good news, the most important news, of course, was about the
power plant. Ricks was a product of the Nuclear Navy's obsession with the
nuclear power plant. It was something the Squadron Commander, Mancuso, was
overly casual about, Ricks judged. The same was probably true of Rosselli. So,
they'd passed their ORSE – so what? On his boats, the engineering crew had to be
ready for an ORSE every goddamned day. One problem with those Ohios was that the
systems worked so well people took things casually. That would be doubly true
after maxing their ORSE. Complacency was the harbinger of disaster. And these
fast-attack guys and their dumb mentality! Tracking an Akula, for God's sake!
Even from sixty-K yards, what did this lunatic think he was doing?
Ricks' motto was that of the boomer community: WE HID WITH PRIDE (the less
polite version was CHICKEN OF THE SEA). If they can't find you, they can't hurt
you. Boomers weren't supposed to go around looking for trouble. Their job was to
run from it. Missile submarines weren't actually combatant ships at all. That
Mancuso didn't reprimand Rosselli on the spot was amazing to Ricks.
He had to consider that, however. Mancuso hadn't reprimanded Rosselli. He'd
commended him.
Mancuso was his squadron commander, and did have those two Distinguished Service
Medals. It wasn't exactly fair that Ricks was a boomer type stuck working for a
fast-attack puke, but there it was. A charger himself, he was clearly a man who
wanted aggressive skippers. And Mancuso was the guy who'd be doing his fitness
reports. That was the central truth in the equation, wasn't it? Ricks was an
ambitious man. He wanted command of a squadron, followed by a nice Pentagon
tour, then he'd get his star as a Rear Admiral (Lower Half), then command of a
Submarine Group – the one at Pearl would be nice; he liked Hawaii – after which
he'd be very well-suited for yet another Pentagon tour. Ricks was a man who'd
mapped out his career path while still a lieutenant. So long as he did
everything exactly by The Book, more exactly than anyone else, he'd stick to
that path.
He hadn't quite planned on working for a fast-attack type, though. He'd have to
adapt. Well, he knew how to do that. If that Akula showed up on his next patrol,
he'd do what Rosselli had done – but better, of course. He had to. Mancuso would