Fatal Thunder: A Jerry Mitchell Novel (4 page)

Samant almost leapt up from behind his desk, coming around to offer his hand. “
Captain
Jain. It’s good to see you! Would you like some tea?” Samant pointed toward the teapot and cups but Jain waved him off.

“I cannot stay long,” he explained apologetically. “I have an appointment with Vice Admiral Dhankhar at nine.” After a moment’s hesitation, he continued, “But I wanted to come by and see how you were faring in your new assignment. The men are asking after you, as well.”

I’ll bet they are,
Samant thought. He’d used a “firm, but fair” command style, emphasizing discipline and professional knowledge. He’d driven
Chakra
’s crew hard, and they’d performed, but they always called him “Captain,” never “Skipper.” It hadn’t bothered Samant, who found it hard to make friends. Being a captain wasn’t supposed to be a popularity contest.

As they sat, Samant asked, “Why are you meeting the admiral here and not at the headquarters building on INS
Circars
? And on Sunday? Is this about
Chakra
’s progress, or are they going to give you a third stripe, now that you’re in command?”

“You haven’t heard, then?” Jain was surprised. “About the change in the refit schedule?”

Samant, confused, shook his head. “I’ve been trying to focus on getting the program back on schedule and ignored all the bedlam. Bad as it is, I don’t see how it has much to do with what we’re doing.”

“They cut our yard period short, Cap—I mean, sir. We’re to sail on April tenth.”

“What?!” Samant was thunderstruck. He knew exactly what
Chakra
’s status was, as of a week and a half ago. The tenth of next month?
That is insane!
“Why?”

“I don’t know, sir. My main concern right now is getting
Chakra
ready for sea. It’s not just that the boat’s in pieces. I’ve got people on leave and in training, and if we’re going to sea, I’m already behind in arranging for torpedoes and stores…”

“But you’re not going to ask why they’ve made the change?” Samant pressed.

“I’ll let the officers with stars on their shoulders worry about why. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

That didn’t sit right with Samant, but he held his peace. If Jain had asked him to go with him to meet with the admiral and demand an explanation, he would have gone, but Jain didn’t ask.

They talked about other things: an upcoming memorial in June for the men lost on
Arihant
, some of whom they’d both known, and the progress, or lack of progress, of the war.

It was time for Jain to leave, and Samant tried to put as much warmth into his farewell as he had into the greeting. He did wish Jain well, even if he was worried about
Chakra
’s fortunes under his command. She wasn’t Samant’s boat anymore, and he had to get used to that.

2

CHAOS

13 March 2017

0845 Local Time

Director General Naval Projects, Ship Building Centre

Visakhapatnam, India

This is absurd! How in God’s name do those idiots expect me to do my job!
Samant mentally shrieked. He impatiently erased the tangled lines on his production schedule and tried yet another approach. When he pushed his mechanical pencil down on the paper, the thin lead broke—again. And despite his forceful clicking of the eraser, nothing emerged from the narrow point. In utter frustration, Samant flung the mechanical pencil at the wall.
Doesn’t anything in this office work as it’s supposed to?!
He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He’d been at this fruitless exercise for over three hours. With a resigned sigh, Samant reached the inescapable conclusion that his program would be dead in the water for at least a month, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Soon after Jain’s visit, Samant received an e-mail from Vice Admiral Dhankhar’s chief of staff informing him of the temporary transfer of all his senior engineers and program managers to support the greatly accelerated INS
Chakra
refit. With only inexperienced junior engineers and naval architects left in the office, there was little hope of getting any meaningful work done. Those “children” needed adult supervision just to find the bathroom, let alone figure out the engine room layout for India’s next class of nuclear submarines. With frustration bubbling up inside him, Samant walked over and poured himself another cup of tea. Sipping the hot Earl Grey, he weighed his very limited set of options. He’d have to carefully word his response to the chief of staff on the impact the transfer would have on his project. It wouldn’t pay to be viewed as a complainer this early in his new assignment.

His new, prestigious assignment. Bah! It was more like hell. Two weeks ago, he was the commanding officer of the hottest boat in the Indian Navy; the most successful submarine captain in India’s history. He and his crew had done very well during the South China Sea campaign, racking up an impressive score of tankers sunk and Chinese oil refineries charred and gutted. Now, he was driving a paper-laden desk, in charge of an undisciplined group of civil servants that debated every order, all the while fighting a grotesquely inefficient bureaucracy that moved at a glacial pace. On
Chakra
, he was lord and master, but here, he was just one of many medieval nobles struggling to work within the feudal machine that was the Indian Navy. A dubious reward indeed for a job well done. But fate wasn’t done taunting him just yet.

The Advanced Submarine Project’s offices were on the south side of the building, with a clear view to the naval dockyard across the channel. From this lofty position, he could see
Chakra
as she was being maneuvered by a tug into the dry dock. Grabbing his binoculars from the windowsill, he watched as the crew topside went about their work. He grunted with satisfaction as the men performed their duties flawlessly. Shifting to the bridge, he could see Jain working with the pilot as the submarine inched its way into the dock. Suddenly, a pang of envy flared in Samant. He
should
be on that bridge right now, he should
still
be in command, not Jain. Samant shook his head to clear away the growing jealousy. His former first officer was simply following orders and doing his job—a job that Samant had trained him to do properly. Jain was a competent officer, if a bit too informal with the men at times. Whatever was behind Samant’s sudden exile, it wasn’t Jain’s fault. He wasn’t responsible for his captain’s transfer.

Samant then recalled his mother’s gloomy accusation that his current circumstances were entirely of his own making, a natural result of all the bad karma he had accrued during the war. She said he was reaping the “rewards” for all the death and destruction he had caused. A devout Hindu, she had long disagreed with her son’s chosen occupation, claiming it would only bring evil to his life. At times like this, he wondered if there wasn’t more to her words.

The sharp ring of the telephone yanked him from his depressed mood. He grabbed the handset, anxious for some work to drive away the nagging thoughts. “Advanced Submarine Project Office, Captain Samant speaking,” he answered.

“Girish, it’s Aleksey. I won’t ask you how your morning is going, I think I already know. Your people just reported in to me.”

Samant cracked a thin smile, recognizing the voice on the other end of the line. Shifting to English, he replied, “Well, I hope they can be of more use to you than they have been for me. And don’t be afraid to flog them if they get too lazy.”

The chuckle from the handset faded quickly, the voice becoming more firm. “Listen, Girish, I have some serious concerns about the changes to
Chakra
’s refit. Do you have a moment later today that I can drop by? I need a competent Indian’s perspective on this. The answers I’m getting from my dockyard point of contact don’t make any sense whatsoever.”

“Of course, Aleksey. My schedule is largely clear this afternoon.”

“Excellent! It will be a few hours until we get this boat safely on the blocks. After that I can break free and drive over to your office. Say, thirteen hundred?”

“That will work nicely.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

*   *   *

The morning dragged on and on, and besides drinking a lot of tea, Samant’s only real accomplishment was the successful crafting of a suitably polite response to the chief of staff’s e-mail. He was respectful, but bluntly informed his superior that the program would be unable to accomplish much until his staff returned. However, every effort would be made to keep working those aspects of the schedule that he could with the remaining personnel. Even as he hit the send button, Samant was still struggling to figure out what exactly he could do with all his senior people gone.

At a quarter to one, Samant cleared off his desk in anticipation of his guest. When the clock struck one, Petrov still hadn’t arrived and Samant got up and took another look through the binoculars at
Chakra
. She was high and dry in the graving dock. Annoyed, he started pacing. Petrov was usually very punctual.

He recalled the first time he met the former Russian submariner, now a technical consultant.
Chakra
had just returned from her successful war patrol, and had been met on the pier by the Indian Chief of the Naval Staff, Admiral Rajan. After a brief speech welcoming the boat home and praising their efforts during the war, Rajan introduced Samant to Petrov, announcing that
Chakra
would undergo her delayed refit to upgrade her tactical systems and to repair some of the nagging problems still under warranty. Rajan explained that while Petrov wouldn’t be in charge of the refit, he was the senior Russian advisor and would be available to assist with any issues involving the new Russian equipment being installed on board the boat.

What started out as a working relationship based on mutual respect soon grew into a full-blown friendship. Petrov recognized Samant as a kindred soul, understanding and appreciating his passion and drive. Samant was equally impressed by Petrov’s refreshing professionalism and extensive technical knowledge; he understood not only how the systems worked, but how they should be employed tactically. It wasn’t long before Petrov shared with Samant his checkered past as the only commanding officer of the nuclear attack submarine
Severodvinsk
. The Indian captain listened with rapt attention as Petrov described the collision with USS
Seawolf
,
Severodvinsk
’s impact with the ocean floor, crippling her, and how an ingenious young U.S. naval officer by the name of Jerry Mitchell helped to save him and his crew.

Samant launched himself out of his chair upon hearing Mitchell’s name, shocking Petrov into silence. Without saying a word, Samant walked over to a coffee table and picked up a large photo album. He hurriedly thumbed through the pages, stopped abruptly, and placed the album on the desk beside the Russian. Pointing to a two-page letter, he asked, “Is this the same man?”

Petrov quickly read the letter, and noted the USS
North Dakota
letterhead; a large smile appeared on his face. “Yes, indeed! So you tangled with my friend Jerry, eh? I’m glad neither one of you were hurt, but I’m also not surprised that your encounters ended in a stalemate. You are both very good submariners.”

“He was an absolute pain in my ass!” grumbled the Indian indignantly.

Petrov laughed. “I believe that was his job, Girish.”

The grimace on Samant’s face slowly lightened to a faint smile. “You should have seen Jain’s and my face when we realized that Mitchell had fired nuclear-armed torpedoes. I never ran away from anything so fast in all my life. Well, that and the angry torpedo barking at my hindquarters.”

“I have it on good authority, Girish, that Jerry was the mastermind behind the U.S. strategy,” Petrov remarked quietly. “He somehow convinced the president of the United States to use nuclear weapons in a very unconventional way. As I said, he is very good. But just as important, he’s an honorable man—like you.”

*   *   *

Samant’s reminiscing was abruptly interrupted by the buzz of his intercom. “Sir, Mr. Petrov is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Miss Gupta. Please send him in.”

A moment later, the door swung open and Petrov slowly walked in. He looked tired. “Good to see you, Aleks sahib. Tea?”

“Please,” responded Petrov as he plopped down in one of the armchairs. “It’s been a long day and it’s only half over. I could use a little pick-me-up. My apologies for being tardy, security throughout Vizag has become incredibly tight and I had to undergo a full search before being allowed into the building.”

Samant nodded his understanding and offered Petrov a steaming cup. “So, tell me, when did you get drafted to oversee
Chakra
’s refit?”

“Thank you,” Petrov replied gratefully. After downing a few sips, he answered, “Captain Mitra called me into his office on Saturday, two days ago, and informed me of my ‘promotion’ to lead engineer for the refit. He then handed me the maintenance plan and told me they had to shave two months off the schedule. Apparently Vice Admiral Dhankhar wants the boat ready for sea by April tenth.”

Samant bowed his head slightly as he drank. “Yes, Jain told me as much. That’s nowhere near enough time to get all the work done, even if you could get every technician in the shipyard working on her. What I don’t understand is, what’s the rush? Why does the admiral want the boat to go to sea so early?”

Petrov paused, a look of concern on his face. “It gets even more bizarre, Girish. I have a single day for sea trials—one day, and most of the testing involves the sonar and weapon systems upgrades.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Samant scowled. “How can you possibly test the propulsion plant and auxiliary systems repairs in a single day?”

“We can’t. A lot of that work will have to be deferred. Captain Mitra was very specific about that; only those repairs that can be completed within the revised schedule will be considered.”