Vice President Michael Pacino frowned at the gathered military and civilian officials in the Situation Room. Four hours before, the twenty-fifth amendment to the U.S. Constitution had been invoked. The attorney general had handed him the official document that officially installed Pacino as head of state until Carlucci was well enough to take over, and the chief justice had sworn him in as president, but he’d be damned if anyone would address him as “Mr. President.” The first time that had happened, he had glared and said that he was only keeping Carlucci’s seat warm and ordered the staffer to call him the vice president. After that, he’d convened what Carlucci called the “Poseidon Committee,” but he’d added the secretary of state to the attendance list.
“What’s new since the nuclear explosion?” he asked. He looked at Margo Allende, who had deep, dark circles under her eyes. It was likely she hadn’t slept in two days, he thought, but then, neither had he.
“We received a situation report from the New Jersey,” Allende said, “which she transmitted by secure radio buoy at the open water formed by the explosion.”
“Let me see it,” Pacino said, glancing down at his pad computer. He read the message, then reread it. “So the Omega shot a nuke at the ice, then jettisoned his weapons, at least the ones inside his hull. He surfaced in open water. Probably to radio home to report on his damage. Maybe to ask if he should continue on with this odd mission. New Jersey says their periscopes are out of commission and the radio masts won’t come out of the sail. They think their VLF receiver is still functional. But they reported they themselves are making noise now with every shaft revolution. Damage from the explosion. Their own-ship noise reportedly got worse with time.” He paused, thinking some unpleasant and dark thoughts. New Jersey must have taken a bad hit to their thrust bearing, and not only was that something that couldn’t be fixed at sea, it could prove catastrophic by immobilizing the sub under thick ice. “Admiral Catardi, let’s consider options. One is to order the New Jersey to break trail and return to the UK base at Faslane.”
“Mr. Vice President,” Rob Catardi said, “if we do that, we lose sight of the position of the Belgorod. If New Jersey can manage, I’d like her to try to stay in trail of the Omega until we can get her relieved on-station by one or more relief submarines. We no longer can count on President Carlucci’s — and your — relationship with Vostov. This new guy, Melnik, he’s a hotheaded hawk. He could order Belgorod to turn around and take the short route to the east coast and deploy these Poseidons much sooner than we’ve previously estimated.”
“Admiral,” Pacino said, frowning, “seeing as how these Poseidons are vicious weapons of war, on their way to American shores, a second option is if I were to order the Navy to just shoot down the Omega. How would that scenario play out?”
Catardi’s jaw clenched. “Mr. Vice President, before the Magnum explosion, I would have advised you to make the order to shoot down Belgorod, but that nuclear bomb changes everything. Sir, my worry is for the safety of the New Jersey. Shooting torpedoes under ice is risky business on a good day, and we don’t know if all New Jersey’s systems are fully functional. We’re not even sure her VLF loop radio will receive an ELF order to shoot the Omega. And we don’t even know if New Jersey’s torpedoes are okay — the Magnum detonation could have damaged them, in a way the crew can’t detect, and one of them could blow up in the torpedo tube or in the torpedo room, or even circle back on the New Jersey. Those scenarios are catastrophic. And even if we’re successful shooting a torpedo at Belgorod, the Russians will hear it and react with a Magnum counterfire. We’re fairly certain the weapon jettison operation only ejected conventional torpedoes, so we believe the Omega has one more Magnum. After the damage of the first Magnum, New Jersey simply can’t survive a second detonation. It would be a ship-killer. I’m sorry, Mr. Vice President.” Catardi looked down at the table, obviously miserable. “I know we were all gung-ho to sink the Belgorod, but with the New Jersey so damaged, it’s too risky. We need to dispatch other submarines to the ice to sink the Omega.”
“Admiral, what do you think about the idea to have New Jersey send the sonar signal to detonate the mines that the SEALs placed?”
“Those mines probably fell off and are on the bottom, sir,” Catardi said. “I doubt the shock wave from a nuke was something they could survive.”
“We could try.”
“Sir, if New Jersey pings on the Belgorod with the mine detonation signal, the Belgorod would definitely counterdetect her. Same problem as if New Jersey shoots a torpedo.”
