Free Seas of Crisis by Joe Buff Page A

Jeffrey told him, “you and I, and this whole crew for that matter, have been through a hell of a lot in this war. We were a team in every engagement we fought. The winningest team in the whole submarine fleet. I don’t want to lose that.”
    “Readjustments are necessary, sir. We can’t deny the blunt fact.”
    “Yup. Can’t deny it. Especially once we hook up with Carter. Then Commander Harley joins the equation. I don’t know much about him, personally.”
    “I met him once or twice. I’d have to say that you and he are opposites.”
    “Opposites can be good, if they complement each other. If they fill gaps in the other guy’s outlook.”
    “All true.” Bell’s tone hinted at more.
    “What?”
    “I’m not so sure he’s quite the type of opposite you mean.”
    “I’ll handle all that in due course.” Jeffrey tapped one of his silver eagle collar tabs, to emphasize that he outranked Harley. “Commander Nyurba seems quite loyal to him.”
    “Yes, Commodore. I didn’t mean to be prejudicial. It’s not my business, really. My impression of Harley was passing, brief, months ago, when he’d just been under huge stress.”
    “Not to worry.”
    But Bell still seemed pensive, hesitant.
    “Finished with the preliminaries, then?”
    “Am I that transparent, sir?”
    “To me, after five combat missions together in barely six months, yes.”
    “Okay.” Bell took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I keep asking myself what I would’ve done when we were pinned down by those Russians, if you hadn’t been there, hadn’t been aboard.”
    “Without me to teach and challenge you, without me to do the final deciding?”
    Bell nodded.
    “Well, you got the big question out. So, answer it. What do you think you’d’ve done, if everything had rested on your head alone? And forget about Carter, leave that part aside.”
    “I’d have done whatever I thought you would have done in my place, sir. I mean followed your example, imagining you were the captain.”
    “Not a bad policy at all, I must say. But you have to find your own tactical style, whatever that might be, since you and I are also different people.”
    “Granted.”
    “So what specific answer comes up? What actions would you have taken? Issued what orders?”
    “I know one thing. There’s no way I’d have let a bunch of stinking Russkies force me to the surface until the very last extreme.”
    “Meaning what, in practical terms?”
    “I’d have sat there, motionless, and gutted it out as long as possible. I’d have let their own doubts work against them, and waited for them to give up and leave. . . . Just like you did.”
    “And if they’d opened fire in earnest?”
    “I can think of a few ways to freak them out nonlethally, and use our potent repertoire to defeat any inbound torpedoes. Then I’d hightail it back to U.S. waters, doing flank speed way shallow on purpose, to let them eat my dust, with my propulsor wake boiling behind as a dare for them to cross to my side of the treaty line.”
    “Freak out just how?”
    “Launch a decoy or two programmed to sound like ADCAPs. Lob a few Polyphems, unarmed, to fall short of the May but give her aircrew the general idea.”
    “Four-oh, Captain.” A perfect grade. “If I’d still been captain myself, and the depth charges had really come too close, or Sonar called a torpedo in the water, that’s exactly what I would’ve done. Used our mobility to clear out of there, fast. Let them know from our tonals whom they were dealing with, and invited them to take on our eight wide-bodied torpedo tubes where our ROEs let us shoot back.”
    “Thanks, Commodore. For everything.”
    Jeffrey glanced at his wristwatch. “Well, I don’t know about you, but with all that excitement back there, I worked up an appetite. Let’s hit the wardroom together, shall we? Tuck in with gusto, side by side, leisurely like. No better way to show your officers, in very certain terms, that you and I are