“Hence, Big Ugly Fat Fucker, Nav. No way that thing gets through the ice.”
“Shut the wardroom doors, Patch.”
Pacino raised an eyebrow at the navigator, but got up and shut both doors to the room.
“What is it, Nav?”
“This is codeword top secret, so you didn’t hear this from me. But this isn’t the first time an Omega has gone under the ice. The first unit made it all the way to the pole.”
“Really?”
“Sixteen or seventeen years ago or so. In December. Or January. When the icepack was at maximum.”
“How do you know this? There’s nothing in the classified archive about that.”
“Too highly classified. I guess your father never told you about it. Your old man definitely knows how to keep a secret.”
“What do you mean?” Pacino stared at Lewinsky.
“I’ve probably said too much already,” Lewinsky said. “But Omega unit one? It never made it home. Your dad put it on the fuckin’ bottom. And got the Navy Cross for it.”
Pacino stared at Lewinsky with his mouth open, but before he could say a word, the navigator grabbed his pad computer and vanished out the aft door.
Weapons Officer Captain Lieutenant Katerina “Ballerina” Sobol frowned from the pier at the weapon loading support ship, tied up at the bow of
“I’ll wager you’re getting pretty good at this,” Lebedev said.
Lebedev was over a head taller than Sobol, who was petite and had a dancer’s body, which had contributed to her nickname, although she’d never danced. She’d been more into futbol and track growing up. She’d been fast back then, she thought glumly. She hadn’t run more than a kilometer since she had joined this submarine. It was just too busy in port, and all their sea time had been a week here, ten days there, then back into the drydock, then post-drydock sea trials, then back to the pier for repairs, after which they’d repeat the same cycle. It was exhausting. Sobol couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep. She touched the back of her head, her habit when frustrated, and grimaced that her hair was greasy. She needed a long hot shower, the kind where it didn’t matter how much water she used, she thought. She’d kept her usually shiny raven black hair long, but to conform with uniform expectations, she’d put her hair in a braided ponytail. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken it out, and she just felt grimy. She could almost hear her mother’s voice insisting that a nuclear submarine was no place for a young woman. But if Mother had had her way, Katerina Sobol would be cooking and cleaning at home with four children and a husband, who would probably be an alcoholic like her father, the reason she didn’t drink.
“Third time’s a charm, Madam First,” Sobol said in her soprano voice, which had always irritated her. In college, someone had cruelly said she sounded like a cartoon character. She’d even tried smoking to try to deepen her voice, but the scheme had failed. “I’m hoping this time, they don’t find yet another fault that requires them to take it back to Santa’s workshop and rewire it or reprogram it.”
“Do the Sevmash folks still think the command detonate function problem was inside the torpedoes, not in our battlecontrol system?”
“So they say, ma’am. But they could change their minds again tomorrow. We still have to go through primary testing and then integration to the Second Captain AI.”
“What are they saying about the Status-6 weapons?”
“This morning they said they’d be on their way by noon. They’re four hours late on that projection.”
Lebedev looked at the overcast sky. “You’re going to lose daylight.” It was late August, which meant they’d have over fifteen hours of daylight, but Sevmash’s delivery promises had fallen through three times in the past ten days.
Sobol checked her watch. “Sunset is at 2030 hours, ma’am. It’s only 1600 now.”
“The last four hours of daylight are dim at best. Sevmash might not get here for another two or three hours.”
“I could call for generators and halogen lights,” Sobol said.
Lebedev shook her head. “No. Loading a nuclear weapon in less than full daylight isn’t safe, I don’t care how many lumens you blast at the bow. Bright lights mean shadows. And hell, even at noon, loading weapons is the most dangerous thing we’ll do until we approach the icecap. Did I ever tell you about the torpedo loading accident from ten years ago?”
