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Authors: Patrick Robinson

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“It’s not the navy’s point of view. It’s mine,” retorted the first sea lord. “The navy’s point of view is unrepeatable in polite company. And if it’s of any interest, the Americans are extremely displeased about everything. You understand the Royal Navy has been their right arm on the eastern side of the Atlantic for decades.”
“Well, yes, I do appreciate their obvious disappointment.”
“I should have the MOD phrase that press release very carefully indeed, if I were you,” said the head of the Royal Navy. “It will be read widely—in Russia, in the United States, and all points between here and the Middle East. I should not let on how shockingly weak we are—not if I were you, that is.”
“No. Absolutely. I will not let that happen.”
“Very well, sir. Make sure that press release is cleared by the Royal Navy before it goes anywhere. Let’s not be seen publicly to drop our guard. Even if we have, hmmm?”
The prime minister replaced the telephone and murmured, “Damned military. Always arrogant . . . with no idea of my problems.”
The press release went out to Reuters, on the main international wire service, at noon. It was relatively short and innocuous, utilizing the skills of four defense department writers to remove all vestiges of the five-alarm international uproar it really was. It read:
A Russian Akula Class submarine has run aground off the coast of Scotland. A Royal Navy frigate is on its way to help tow it into deeper water at high tide late this afternoon. The submarine, the
Gepard,
from Russia’s Northern Fleet, is believed to have suffered problems with its rudder, and the Russian Navy has expressed its thanks to the Royal Navy for its assistance.
The submarine is currently grounded on a sandbank off the coast of the Isle of Skye, a thousand yards north of the Skye Bridge. A Royal Navy tug is already on the scene. Admiral David Ryan, commanding officer of the Clyde submarine base, stated, “We are considering bringing the
Gepard
south to Faslane for a routine inspection. We will then assist the Russian captain with repairs to his steering system and send her on her way. The crew will be taken off at Faslane while the work is completed. We enjoy extremely cordial relations with the Russian Navy, which will meet all costs connected with the rescue and repairs.”
It was interesting but scarcely exciting. Except for about two dozen British news editors, in print, television, and radio, who practically had a collective heart attack at the sight of such drama.
Was it nuclear?
they yelled, most of them unaware of the precise difference between nuclear propulsion and nuclear warheads.
Is it full of missiles? Was it spying? How big is it? How long’s it been there? Does the navy have it under guard? What happens if it just floats off and makes a break for home? Can we get a team up there from Glasgow in time for the first editions/evening news/one o’clock broadcast?
It was not quite pandemonium, but it was close. E-mails were flashed to defense correspondents, demanding details of the submarine and whether its nuclear contents, if any, posed an end-of-the-world scenario for all British citizens within a thousand-mile radius.
The very word
nuclear
is inclined to put journalists on high alert, because before them stands a headline, which might suggest the Isle of Skye may become the next Hiroshima. And
nuclear
can be adapted to pair with so many other newspaper-selling catchphrases . . .
Nuclear Disaster, Catastrophe, Crisis, Terror,
or
Panic.
Closely followed by
Evacuation, Emergency, Hospitals on Alert, Radiation, Danger.
In London there were almost five hundred phone calls to the Ministry
of Defense in Whitehall and another two hundred to the Russian Embassy in Kensington Palace Gardens, many of them international inquiries, especially from the United States, despite the time being only a little after seven in the morning. Russian nuclear boats in any form of accident have that effect on the world’s media.
There had not been this much excitement since K-141
Kursk
went down with all hands in sixty fathoms of the icy Barents Sea north of Severomorsk on August 12, 2000.
Kursk,
an eighteen-thousand-ton Oscar Class cruise-missile submarine, blew herself apart with a powerful explosion in the weapons area. This made it marginally more dramatic than the
Gepard,
sagging slightly to starboard on a Scottish sandbank.
But Russian boats lost in remote Russian waters were one thing. Russian nuclear boats on the beach on the shores of the Isle of Skye were quite another. On whatever the scale, the
Gepard
was way out in front because the ramifications, internationally, were so much greater.
On that subject, the media was absolutely correct. In the United States, the National Security Agency was taking a hard and critical look at itself, because the sensational interceptors, which had enabled them to listen to Osama bin Laden talking on his cell phone to his mother in Saudi Arabia, had somehow failed.
They had not, so far, picked up the electronic footprints of that big Russian boat. Neither had any US Navy submarine picked up its engine patterns in those deep Atlantic waters. Neither had the Brits. And, worse yet, SOSUS had apparently not raised even a glimmer of a warning.
The Russian Navy had been claiming for some time that its new or even refitted Akula IIs were the stealthiest submarines ever built. They were, according to senior command in the Northern Fleet, virtually undetectable, and the
Gepard
at this initial stage of the investigation was proving them right.
Captain Ramshawe ordered an exhaustive search of every possible signal logged by SOSUS and every possible sonar sounding that might have involved the
Gepard
. Within hours three results turned up.
The possible engine lines of a distant submarine, with an unusual seven-bladed prop, maybe fifty miles away, had been detected by USS
Toledo
(SSN-769), the seven-thousand-ton fast-attack Los Angeles Class cruise-missile boat, as she patrolled the deep southern reaches of the GIUK Gap.
There had been no POSIDENT, and the mystery submarine, though likely Russian, was not in the gap and showed no signs of heading north. But the time and date fitted, her position in the water fitted, and the Americans decided to mind their own business.
But then SOSUS came through. The shore-based operation was not as heavily staffed as it once was, in the far-lost days of the Cold War. Data were taking longer to process than they once had. But there was still a US listening station on a remote section of the northern highlands coast, and they had certainly picked up
Gepard
’s engine lines as she traversed the outer wires of the undersea surveillance system.
However, at this time she was headed northeast of the Western Isles. For a while, in the electronic shadow of the Hebrides, she vanished. But then SOSUS got her again. This time a very definite IDENT, but now she was heading along a more southerly course. The US staff did not see any particular danger. Since the Cold War, all dangers had decreased as the Soviet Union faded into the somewhat gloomy pages of twentieth-century history.
Since Russia’s acquisition of new wealth, under a government that intended the motherland to be at the forefront of modern geopolitics, things had changed rapidly. Russia had become a militarily expansive nation. Once more it had demonstrated all of its old, inflammatory desires, its saber-rattling personality, along with its traditional stance of
We Dare the World to Object.
In the West, the only professionals who had cottoned to the dramatic changes in the Russian outlook were the most advanced thinkers in Western society, senior political university professors, high-ranking Pentagon officials, and the resident sages of naval and military intelligence on both sides of the Atlantic.
It seemed that they alone understood the rising threat to world peace from the Near East. But their fears and cautions had not yet spread to the sleeping giant of SOSUS. There was no sense of urgency among the small team of US commanders, who were debating the value of raising it back to the frontline operation it once was.
They were about twelve hours from the real truth, twelve hours from the moment the highest-ranked brains in the Pentagon collectively understood that a streamlined, never-miss-a-beat SOSUS may once more be a matter of life and death. Because now there was a glaring reason for instant restoration of the system. Its name was
Gepard.
All through that day, Washington discussed the incident with cool concern. But as the afternoon wore on, the evening newspapers came out in England and Scotland. And that was when the full awfulness of the situation finally dawned on everyone.
London’s
Evening Globe
proclaimed:
RUSSIAN NUCLEAR SUBMARINE
THREATENS WEST COAST OF SCOTLAND
Royal Navy Forces It Aground on Skye Beach
The
Glasgow Standard
announced:
GIANT RUSSIAN NUCLEAR SUBMARINE
SHIPWRECKED ON ISLE OF SKYE
Royal Navy Tackles Warhead Crisis
Moscow Remains Silent
The
Edinburgh Star:
RUSSIAN MISSILE SUBMARINE
RAMS THE ISLE OF SKYE
Giant Nuclear Akula II Hard Aground
Radiation Threat to Vast Highland Area
The objective of all three publications was, as usual, to frighten the life out of the population. And there were about a zillion other publications all over the free world preparing to do precisely the same. None with more enthusiasm and barely concealed glee than the US “rolling news” television channels, CNN and FOX.
And now breaking news . . . Reports are coming in that a major Russian nuclear submarine has slammed into the beach of an island in Scotland. Royal Navy warships are racing to the scene as the Akula Class vessel, believed to be carrying cruise missiles with nuclear warheads, lies stranded on the sandbank. . . .
Pentagon sources are admitting huge concern that the ten-thousand-ton
submarine somehow penetrated the electronic defensive network, which the UK and United States have operated for decades in that sensitive area of the North Atlantic....
We understand the chairman of the Joint Chiefs himself will chair an initial inquiry later today to discuss an immediate solution to this glaring example of Western naval commanders dropping their guard in the face of obvious and continued Russian aggression....
A rival US channel went straight for the jugular:
US Naval chiefs admit to feeling stunned by the security breach, which permitted a ten-thousand-ton Russian submarine to penetrate electronic defenses and then run aground off the coast of Scotland.
Pentagon officials confirm they have ordered a Los Angeles Class nuclear submarine, out of New London, Connecticut, to make all speed to the Isle of Skye to assist the Royal Navy with one of the most highly embarrassing incidents since the US Air Force spy plane was shot down over the Urals in May 1960.
If the British decide to allow the Russian boat, the
Gepard,
to go free, it is anticipated the American submarine will escort it back to Russian waters. Drastic improvements to US-UK ocean security systems are certain to be announced shortly. . . .
And all this was before the defense “experts” began writing long feature articles pinpointing the blame. This was certain to be aimed at the US Navy, since it was common knowledge in military circles that the Brits were effectively finished.
But that would have been absurd, because of the GIUK Gap, Russia’s gateway out of the tundra and into the North Atlantic. Despite being the narrowest point in the entire ocean, it is still a huge stretch of rough, icy water, especially the western part, between Greenland and Iceland. This is the Denmark Strait, 180 miles wide at its narrowest point. The remainder, between the east coast of Iceland and the northwesterly tip of Scotland, the Port of Ness on the Isle of Lewis, is 550 miles wide.
The SOSUS arrays that spread across the entire ocean bottom were laid and maintained by the Americans, and of course the network of listening
stations was financed by the Pentagon. But for years the Royal Navy offered immense assistance, both in manning the stations and in patrolling the waters, with surface ships, submarines, and aircraft.
But no more. By 2018 they simply did not have the resources. If the Americans wanted a partner on the eastern side of the Atlantic Ocean, they would need to find someone else. And that may not be easy. Half of Europe was floundering along in near-bankrupt conditions.
America itself had a few heavy financial difficulties, but if the Pentagon wanted to keep a severe weather eye on the scowling military masters in the Kremlin, they would almost certainly have to go it alone. And the
Gepard
had surely heightened that ultimate truth.
 
Back in Lochalsh, Captain McKeown’s frigate was on station out beyond the sandbank, riding at anchor in fourteen fathoms of water. His crew, plus a half-dozen Royal Marines, were fixing towlines to the bow of the submarine, which was scheduled to be pulled off the bank at 1700 hours.
The engineers and sonar men from Faslane had arrived and were already ensconced in the various control rooms of the stranded
Gepard,
inspecting the weapons and finding very little except active wire-guided torpedoes. There were no other warheads on the cruise missiles. There was also no significant damage to the boat, and there had been no gear failure of any kind.
The nuclear reactor was running smoothly, at its lowest pressure, and it was crystal clear the entire incident was due to a classic Russian screwup. They’d misjudged the tide, the distance from shore, the pattern of the channel buoys, and the depth of the water. In fairness to the Russian helmsman and navigation officer, that Skye sandbank rises very steeply 120 feet—80 feet to 15 feet in a few hundred yards.
BOOK: Power Play
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