tc.redstormrising-第16章

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；　each　individual　battery　cell　weighs　two　hundred　eighteen　kilograms　empty…〃
〃Ouch。　How　many　to　fill　up　a　sub？〃
〃A　lot！〃　Toland　grinned。　〃We　don't　know　that；　exactly。　I　found　four　different　estimates；　with　a　thirty…percent　spread。　It　probably　differs　from　ship　to　ship　anyway。　The　more　you　build　of　a　design；　the　more　you're　tempted　to　fool　around　with　it。　That's　what　we　do。〃　Toland　looked　up。　〃We　need　more　access　to　these。〃
〃Already　taken　care　of。　From　here　on　we're　on　the　distribution　list　for　all　shots　of　naval　sites。　What　do　you　think　of　the　activity　for　the　surface　ships？〃
Toland　shrugged。　The　photographs　showed　perhaps　a　dozen　surface　batants；　ranging　from　cruisers　to　corvettes。　The　decks　of　all　were　littered　with　cables　and　crates；　a　large　number　of　men　was　visible。　〃You　can't　tell　much　from　this。　No　cranes；　so　nothing　massive　was　being　onloaded；　but　cranes　can　move；　too。　That's　the　problem　with　ships。　Everything　you　need　to　know　about　is　under　cover。　All　we　can　tell　from　these　photos　is　that　they're　tied　alongside。　Anything　else　is　pure　supposition。　Even　with　the　subs；　we're　inferring　that　they're　loading　batteries　aboard。〃
〃e　on；　Bob；〃　Lowe　snorted。
〃Think　about　it；　Chuck；〃　Toland　replied。　〃They　know　what　our　satellites　are　for；　right？　They　know　what　their　orbital　paths　are；　and　they　know　when　they　will　be　at　any　given　point　in　space。　If　they　really　want　to　fake　us　out；　how　hard　is　it？　If　your　mission　was　to　fake　out　satellites；　and　you　knew　when　they　came；　you　think　you　might　play　games　with　the　other　guy's　head？　We　depend　too　much　on　these　things。　They're　useful　as　hell；　sure；　but　they　have　their　limitations。　It'd　be　nice　to　get　some　human　intelligence　on　this。〃

POLYARNYY；　R。S。F。S。R。
〃There's　just　something　weird　about　watching　a　guy　pour　cement　into　a　ship；〃　Flynn　observed　on　the　ride　back　to　Murmansk。　No　one　had　ever　told　him　about　ballast。
〃Ah；　but　it　can　be　a　beautiful　thing！〃　exclaimed　their　escort；　a　junior　captain　in　the　Soviet　Navy。　〃Now　if　only　your　navies　can　do　the　same！〃
The　small　press　group　that　had　been　allowed　to　stand　on　a　pier　and　watch　the　neutralization　of　the　first　two　Yankee…class　fleet　ballistic　missile　submarines　was　being　carefully　managed；　Flynn　and　Calloway　noted。　They　were　being　driven　around　in　groups　of　two　and　three；　each　group　with　a　naval　officer　and　a　driver。　Hardly　unexpected；　of　course。　Both　men　were　amazed　that　they　were　being　allowed　onto　so　sensitive　a　base　at　all。
〃A　pity　that　your　president　did　not　allow　a　team　of　American　officers　to　observe　this；〃　the　escort　went　on。
〃Yeah；　I　have　to　agree　with　you　there；　Captain；〃　Flynn　nodded。　It　would　have　made　a　much　better　story。　As　it　was；　a　Swede　and　an　Indian　officer；　neither　a　submariner；　had　gotten　a　closer　look　at　what　the　reporters　called　the　〃cement　ceremony；〃　and　reported　somberly　afterward　that；　yes；　cement　had　been　poured　into　each　missile　launch　tube　on　the　two　submarines。　Flynn　had　timed　the　length　of　each　pour；　and　would　do　some　checking　when　he　got　back。　What　was　the　volume　of　a　missile　tube？　How　much　cement　to　fill　it？　How　long　to　pour　the　cement？　〃Even　so；　Captain；　you　must　agree　that　the　American　response　to　your　country's　negotiating　position　has　been　extremely　positive。〃
Through　all　this；　William　Calloway　kept　his　peace　and　stared　out　the　car's　window。　He'd　covered　the　Falkland　Islands　War　for　his　wire　service；　and　spent　a　lot　of　time　with　the　Royal　Navy；　both　afloat　and　in　naval　shipyards　watching　preparations　for　sending　the　Queen's　fleet　south。　They　were　now　passing　by　the　piers　and　work　areas　for　a　number　of　surface　warships。　Something　was　wrong　here；　but　he　couldn't　quite　pin　it　down。　What　Flynn　did　not　know　was　that　his　colleague　often　worked　informally　for　the　British　Secret　Intelligence　Service。　Never　in　a　sensitive　capacity…the　man　was　a　correspondent；　not　a　spy…but　like　most　reporters　he　was　a　shrewd；　observant　man；　careful　to　note　things　that　editors　would　never　allow　to　clutter　up　a　story。　He　didn't　even　know　who　the　station　chief　in　Moscow　was；　but　he　could　report　on　this　to　a　friend　in　Her　Majesty's　embassy。　The　data　would　find　its　way　to　the　right　person。
〃So　what　does　our　English　friend　think　of　Soviet　shipyards？〃　the　captain　inquired　with　a　broad　smile。
〃Far　more　modem　than　ours；〃　Calloway　replied。　〃And　I　gather　you　don't　have　dockyard　unions；　Captain？〃
The　officer　laughed。　〃We　have　no　need　for　unions　in　the　Soviet　Union。　Here　the　workers　already　own　everything。〃　That　was　the　standard　Party　line；　both　reporters　noted。　Of　course。
〃Are　you　a　submarine　officer？〃　the　Englishman　inquired。
〃No！〃　the　captain　exclaimed。　A　hearty　laugh。　Russians　are　big　on　laughs　when　they　want　to　be；　Flynn　thought。　〃I　e　from　the　steppes。　I　like　blue　sky　and　broad　horizons。　I　have　great　respect　for　my　rades　on　submarines；　but　I　have　no　wish　to　join　them。〃
〃My　feelings　exactly；　Captain；〃　Calloway　agreed。　〃We　elderly　Brits　like　our　parks　and　gardens。　What　sort　of　sailor　are　you？〃
〃I　have　shore　assignment　now；　but　my　last　ship　was　Leonid　Brezhnev；　icebreaker。　We　do　some　survey　work；　and　also　make　a　way　for　merchant　ships　along　the　Arctic　Coast　to　the　Pacific。〃
〃That　must　be　a　demanding　job；〃　Calloway　said。　〃And　a　dangerous　one。〃　Keep　talking；　old　boy　。　。　。
〃It　demands　caution；　yes；　but　we　Russians　are　accustomed　to　cold　and　ice。　It　is　a　proud　task　to　aid　the　economic　growth　of　your　country。〃
〃I　could　never　be　a　sailor；〃　Calloway　went　on。　He　saw　a　curious　look　in　Flynn's　eyes：　The　hell　you　couldn't　。　。　。　〃Too　much　work；　even　when　you're　in　port。　Like　now。　Are　your　shipyards　always　this　busy？〃
〃Ah；　this　is　not　busy；〃　the　captain　said　without　much　thought。
The　man　from　Reuters　nodded。　The　ships　were　cluttered；　but　there　was　not　that　much　obvious　activity。　Not　so　many　people　moving　about。　Many　cranes　were　still。　Trucks　were　parked。　But　the　surface　warships　and　auxiliaries　were　cluttered　as　if　。　。　。　He　checked　his　watch。　Three…thirty　in　the　afternoon。　The　workday　was　hardly　over。　〃A　great　day　for　East…West　detente；〃　he　said　to　cover　his　feelings。　〃A　great　story　for　Pat　and　me　to　tell　our　readers。〃
〃This　is　good。〃　The　captain　smiled　again。　〃It　is　time　we　had　real　peace。〃
The　correspondents　were　back　in　Moscow　four　hours　later；　after　the　usual　unfortable　ride　on　an　Aeroflot　jet　with　its　Torquemada　seats。　The　two　reporters　walked　to　Flynn's　car…Calloway's　was　still　hors　de　bat　with　mechanical　problems。　He　grumbled　at　having　gotten　a　Soviet　car　instead　of　bringing　his　Morris　over　with　him。　Bloody　impossible　to　get　parts。
〃A　good　story　today；　Patrick？〃
〃You　bet。　But　I　wish　we'd　been　able　to　snap　a　picture　or　two。〃　They　were　promised　Sovfoto　shots　of　the　〃cement　ceremony。〃
〃What　did　you　think　of　the　shipyard？〃
〃Big　enough。　I　spent　a　day　at　Norfolk　once。　They　all　look　alike　to　me。〃
Calloway　nodded　thoughtfully。　Shipyards　do　look　alike；　he　thought；　but　why　did　Polyarnyy　seem　strange？　His　suspicious　reporter's　mind？　The　constant　question：　What　is　he/she/it　hiding？　But　the　Soviets　had　never　allowed　him　on　a　naval　base；　and　this　was　his　third　tour　in　Moscow。　He'd　been　to　Murmansk　before。　Once　he'd　spoken　with　the　Mayor　and　asked　how　the　naval　personnel　affected　his　administration　of　the　city。　There　were　always　uniforms　visible　on　the　street。　The　Mayor　had　tried　to　evade　the　question；　and　finally　said；　〃There　are　no　Navy　in　Murmansk。〃　A　typical　Russian　answer　to　an　awkward　question…but　now　they'd　let　a　dozen　Western　reporters　into　one　of　their　most　sensitive　bases。　QED；　they　were　not　hiding　anything。　Or　were　they？　After　he　filed　his　story；　Calloway　decided；　he'd　have　a　brandy　with　his　friend　at　the　embassy。　Besides；　there　was　a　party　celebrating　something　or　other。
He　arrived　at　the　embassy；　on　Morisa　Toreza　Embankment　across　the　river　from　the　Kremlin　walls；　just　after　nine　o'clock　that　night。　It　turned　into　four　brandies。　By　the　fourth；　the　correspondent　was　going　over　a　map　of　the　naval　base　and　using　his　trained　memory　to　indicate　just　what　activity　he'd　seen　where。　An　hour　later；　the　data　was　encrypted　and　cabled　to　London。

8　…　Further　Observations

GRASSAU；　GERMAN　DEMOCRATIC　REPUBLIC
The　TV　news　crew　was　having　a　great　time。　It　had　been　years　since　they'd　been　allowed　to　film　a　Soviet　military　unit　in　action；　and　the　entertainment　value　of　the　mistakes　they　saw　gave　plenty　of　spice　for　a　piece　on　the　NBC　Nightly　News。　As　they　watched；　a　tank　battalion　was　stalled　at　a　crossroads　on　Highway　101；　fifty　kilometers　south　of　Berlin。　They'd　taken　a　wrong　turn　somewhere；　and　the　battalion　mander　was　screaming　at　his　subordinates。　After　two　minutes　of　that；　a　captain　stepped　forward　and　made　a　few　gestures　at　the　map。　A　major　was　banished　from　the　scene　as　the　younger　man　apparently　solved　the　problem。　The　camera　followed　the　dejected　major　into　a　staff　car；　which　drove　north　along　the　main　road。　Five　minutes　later；　the　battalion　was　mounted　and　rolling。　The　news　crew　took　its　time　reloading　its　equipment　into　their　carryall；　and　the　chief　reporter　took　the　time　to　walk　over　to　a　French　officer　who　had　also　observed　the　procedure。
The　Frenchman　was　a　member　of　the　Joint　Military　Liaison　Group；　a　convenient　leftover　of　the　Second　World　War　which　enabled　both　sides　to　spy　on　each　other。　A　lean；　poker…faced　man；　he　wore　paratrooper's　wings　and　smoked　Gauloises。　He　was　an　intelligence　officer；　of　course。
〃What　do　you　make　of　this；　Major？〃　the　NBC　reporter　asked。
〃They　made　a　mistake　four　kilometers　back。　They　should　have　turned　left；　but　didn't。〃　A　Gallic　shrug。
〃Not　very　impressive　performance　for　the　Russians；　is　it？〃　The　reporter　laughed。　The　Frenchman　was　more　thoughtful。
〃Did　you　notice　that　they　had　a　German　officer　with　them？〃
The　reporter　had　noticed　the　different　uniform；　but　not　realized　its　significance。　〃Oh；　is　that　what　he　was？　Why　didn't　they　ask　him　for　help？〃
〃Yes；〃　the　French　major　answered。　He　didn't　say　that　this　was　the　fourth　time　he　had　seen　a　Soviet　officer　refrain　from　asking　assistance　from　his　East　German　guide　。　。　。　and　all　in　the　last　two　days。　To　have　Soviet　units　get　lost　was　an　old　story。　The　Russians　used　a　different　alphabet　in　addition　to　the　different　language。　That　made　it　easy　to　make　navigational　errors；　and　the　Soviets　always　had　DDR　officers　along　to　help　them　find　their　way　around。　Until　now。　He　flicked　his　cigarette　onto　the　road。　〃What　else　did　you　notice；　Monsieur？〃
〃The　colonel　was　pretty　mad　at　that　major。　Then　a　captain…I　think　showed　him　the　mistake；　I　guess；　and　how　to　correct　it。〃
〃How　long？〃
〃Less　than　five　minutes　after　they　stopped。〃
〃Very　good。〃　The　Frenchman　smiled。　The　major　was　beading　back　to　Berlin；　and　that　battalion　had　a　new　operations　officer　now。　The　smile　disappeared。
〃Looks　pretty　dumb　to　get　lost　like　that；　doesn't　it？〃
The　Frenchman　got　back　into　his　car　to　follow　the　Russians。　〃Have　you　ever　gotten　lost　in　a　foreign　country；　Monsieur？〃
〃Yes；　who　hasn't？〃
〃But　they　found　their　mistake　quickly；　no？〃　The　major　waved　to　his　driver　to　pull　off。　And　all　by　themselves　this　time；　he　thought。　Interessant　。　。　。
The　TV　reporter　shrugged　and　walked　back　to　his　own　vehicle。　He　followed　the　last　tank　in　line；　annoyed　that　they　were　moving　at　only　thirty　kilometers　per　hour。　The　tanks　moved　northwest　at　that　speed　until　they　reached　Highway　187；　where　miraculousl