Dangerous Ground jm-1

by Larry Bond

  They did find things. On Friday, the first full day of searching, on the second sortie of the day, the Manta’s sonar picked up a jumble of shapes on a smooth seabed, and Davis quickly launched one of the ROVs to investigate.

  While Jerry’s Manta circled protectively, Huey photographed and sampled a previously unknown waste dump. At least one hundred, and maybe as many as two hundred steel waste cylinders littered a mile-square area. Half-buried in silt, Patterson and Davis estimated they’d been there thirty years or more. All were corroded, and some were cracked and obviously leaking.

  Dr. Patterson could hardly contain her excitement as Davis methodically ran Huey’s camera over the canisters, then carefully sampled the seabed.

  “Look at all this waste! And from the initial readings, some of it is spent fuel. There must be at least ten times the amount of highly radioactive material here than was released during the Chernobyl reactor incident. Over fifteen thousand cancer-related fatalities have been linked to that environmental disaster. If this stuff spreads, it will be much, much worse,” mused Patterson with awe in her voice. “If this wasn’t such a remote area, this would already be an international catastrophe.”

  They also found a smaller site the next day on the fourth sortie. The Manta’s sonar return was even more confused. When one of Emily’s ROVs reached the location, its camera revealed a tangle of machinery, badly rusted, but only slightly radioactive. They were also nearly buried in silt, and it took some time for Emily, using the axial thruster, to uncover a cluster of 1970s-era machine tools. She used the ROV to photograph everything and sampled the seabed, but Patterson wanted to go further.

  In the control room, she argued, “If we use the sample tube correctly, we may be able to bring back a small piece from one of the cutting surfaces. We could find out what materials they were machining.”

  “How radioactive would the sample be?” Hardy demanded. Every sailor in the space was thinking the same question.

  “Possibly quite radioactive” she answered excitedly. “Steel absorbs neutron radiation and becomes…”

  “Yes, Doctor,” interrupted Hardy, “please remember we’re on a nuclear submarine. We’re familiar with the process.”

  “Of course, Captain,” replied Patterson with a condescending tone. “The radiation hazard, as you know, is dependent on the type of steel. If it is plain carbon steel, the hazard is quite low, as most iron and carbon isotopes are beta emitters…”

  “Electrons ejected from an isotope’s nucleus that can’t even penetrate a piece of paper,” Hardy said impatiently. “But if that machine out there worked on irradiated stainless steel, then that means the potential for cobalt-60, which has two very nasty gamma rays. And since the ROV is detecting some gamma activity, that should concern me very much, shouldn’t it, Doctor?”

  Patterson, surprised by Hardy’s quick appreciation of the situation, was momentarily left speechless. She briefly stared at him, reassessing his abilities, as if she were evaluating a political opponent whom she respected. “You are correct, Captain. However, I believe the risk will be minimum and we should still attempt to gain a sample if we can.”

  Hardy was adamant. “Very well, Doctor, but I’ll only allow it if the piece is not highly radioactive. If it is, I’ll have it thrown overboard in a heartbeat. I won’t allow my crew to be unnecessarily exposed to a significant radiation hazard and I don’t even want to think of what it would do to our radiation monitoring system.”

  Patterson nodded to the phone talker, now merely a senior petty officer and not the Weapons Officer. After several sorties, Hardy had relaxed a little about Jerry’s abilities with the Manta, as well as Davis and her ROVs. The talker passed the decision on to Davis, who said she’d do what she could. As Huey’s camera zoomed in on a cutting tool, Patterson couldn’t bear to watch and headed for the torpedo room.

  She arrived to find everyone manning their stations, but Emily Davis was the center of attention as she searched in the murky water for a piece small enough to fit in the sample container. Focused on the controls and the video display, she did not acknowledge Patterson’s presence until she spoke.

  “Dr. Davis, you need to locate a small piece of steel. Make sure it’s not aluminum or plastic. And it has to be from a working surface, so it will have traces of whatever they were forming. And…”

  “Doctor, I’m a little busy right now.” Davis said. She managed to mix both patience and frustration in her tone. “This ROV is not designed to retrieve pieces of metal. I don’t have a remote claw, much less a cutting tool, so I’m reduced to looking for pieces that broke or fell off the equipment when it hit the seabed. And since steel is denser than aluminum or plastic, it’s probably completely buried in the silt. And I don’t have a digging tool, either!” she finished sharply.

  Patterson, taken aback, said, “I’m sure you’re doing your best.”

  She didn’t say anything else, but did stay and watch as Davis maneuvered the ROV near the pile of junked tools. Time after time she approached and used the thrusters to move silt away from the machinery. Then she’d wait for the water to clear so she could search the bottom.

  After many tries, they were unable to find anything, but Patterson had Davis continue the search until Duey’s battery ran low. Jerry was busy with the Manta, but he could see that Patterson was disappointed and argued with Emily briefly before leaving the torpedo room.

  After the ROV was recovered, Jerry was waiting for the Manta, still twenty minutes away, which had been farther out. He asked Emily, “Why was that sample so important? What was she looking for?”

  “Nothing specific,” Davis replied, “But she’s looking for a smoking gun. She doesn’t have what she needs yet.”

  Jerry was confused. “But we’ve confirmed the information in those other surveys, and we’ve found more stuff the Soviets had dumped.”

  Davis shook her head. “It’s not enough. The Russians cooperated with the surveys and admit they don’t know where everything is. Finding some of the old missing material is good, but that’s not going to make news.”

  She stepped away from the ROV console and the torpedomen servicing Duey. She pulled Jerry aft to a quieter spot in the torpedo room. “I’ve learned this much from working with Dr. Patterson. The government and the media need an immediate threat. These dumpsites are all bad, very bad, but they’re not going to be a significant ecological problem for another twenty-five, maybe fifty years. President Huber can’t make headlines with a problem that’s half a century away.”

  “But we found canisters that were leaking,” Jerry protested.

  “It isn’t spreading. They’re small leaks and our sampling so far shows that the effect is highly localized. The radiation hasn’t even reached the shore. Right now”—and she emphasized the word—”it’s not even a threat to Novaya Zemlya, much less continental Russia, even much less Europe or the rest of the world.”

  Jerry smiled grimly. “So Dr. Patterson not only wants to find new radioactive waste that’s been dumped since the Russians said they stopped, but she needs to find waste that has been spreading, big time.”

  “And she hasn’t found either yet.” Davis leaned closer and spoke softly. “Last night she told me that she had simply assumed the sites would be polluting the area nearby. She didn’t believe the Russian or the other reports that suggested the problem was not as severe as first thought. Now she’s wondering if she will find what she needs.”

  “It’s only been three days,” Jerry replied just as softly. “We’ve got two more weeks of surveying.”

  “She’s not a patient person, and like I said, she just assumed the radiation would be spreading. In her business, she has to be certain of things. Now she’s not sure of anything. She’s getting scared, and she’ll be pushing us all very hard until she finds what she needs.”

  * * *

  And Patterson did push hard. After they finished searching Oga Guba, Memphis headed north for Tsivol’ska Guba. In 1966, the nuclear-
powered icebreaker Lenin suffered a nuclear accident that killed thirty sailors. It took six years to repair her and she received a new propulsion plant. Her three old reactors were removed and dumped in the bay in 1967, along with a container loaded with damaged fuel elements.

  Dr. Patterson was especially interested in the last item. “The last survey was twenty years ago. We’re going over every inch of the damn thing. We’ll compare the new data with the earlier survey results and see if it’s leaked at all.” At her direction, Davis used Dewy to thoroughly photograph every surface and then sample the seabed on two sides.

  The radiation from the Lenin reactors was extremely high, nearly 100 rem per hour. Davidson whistled when he saw the readings and muttered in awe, “That must have been one hell of an accident.” An understatement if there ever was one, but one everybody could agree with. And yet, despite the clear evidence of significant activity, neither the reactor compartment nor the spent fuel containers showed an appreciable leakage into the nearby environment.

  Tsivol’ska Guba was larger and it took six sorties over three days to cover it. They found more spent solid waste canisters, a few pumps, piping, and some junked machinery, but everything was either listed in the various reports — or looked like it should have been. Jerry saw Patterson’s frustration grow. After that came Sedov Guba.

  During the transit north, Hardy asked Patterson if he could read the various reports she was referring to, so that he could “get smarter on the problem.” With obvious delight, she handed him four sizable documents and offered to discuss them with him at his convenience. She beamed over the idea that Hardy was finally coming around and becoming more environmentally aware.

  * * *

  MEMPHIS arrived at Sedov Guba on the fourth of June and the search procedure was started all over again. The Yablokov report listed a collection of spent fuel canisters there, and after locating and surveying that site, Jerry and Emily flew another six collection sorties covering most of the bay.

  While they found a lot of material, including solid waste canisters, a few fuel rods, and even a discarded experimental reactor vessel, it was all consistent with the Russian documentation. Everything they found had been there for decades, and while there was some leakage from corroded containers, the contamination hadn’t gone very far. Like the other sites, the radiological problem appeared to be very localized.

  Patterson was not getting what she needed and her desperation grew. She started taking water samples every six hours, hoping that leeched radioactive material might be collecting in pockets of water in the bay. She even talked to the Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Ho, about ways of increasing the sensitivity of the tests, on the theory that the pollution was there, but at extremely low levels.

  On Wednesday the eighth, with Sedov Guba finished, the crew stood down from ROV operations for a day. Jerry was still excused from watch-standing, and he used the time to catch up on the jungle of paperwork that had flourished on his desk. The stack took up so much of his desk that he moved the whole mess to the wardroom, where he could spread it out on the table.

  Emily Davis was already at work when Jerry came into the wardroom, but she quickly made room for him and his mountain of paper. Her half of the table was covered by a chart, printouts of the local tide tables, and a couple of textbooks on nuclear chemistry. “What’s this about?” Jerry asked.

  “It’s another one of her ‘ideas,’” Davis explained cynically. “She wants me to see if currents or tides could be carrying the leaking waste in toward shore.”

  “And that would explain the low levels elsewhere in the bays?”

  “She hopes so.” Davis shrugged. “It’s not my area of expertise, and I don’t have the best references, but I’ve never heard of that phenomenon. It’s not supported by the other documents, and from what I can tell the local tides are all different. To suggest that this might be what’s been happening in all three of the bays we’ve searched, just doesn’t make any sense. She’s pretty desperate. Right now she’s in her stateroom tearing apart every environmental report she’s brought with her, looking for anything that will help.”

  “Help prove her point?” Jerry asked.

  “If she doesn’t come back with enough new evidence of environmental abuses by the Soviets or the Russians, then she’s finished. Her career as a presidential adviser will be over.”

  Jerry settled down to his paperwork while Emily continued hers. His stuff was routine admin, though, and it couldn’t hold his attention. He considered Patterson’s problems and his own.

  If she did not find what she needed, would the mission be considered a failure? Memphis had been sent to survey the area and collect samples. On a reconnaissance mission, there were usually no expectations. You went, you looked, and then you reported what you saw. This mission had been ordered because of what some people expected to find. Political reputations would be gained or lost based on their patrol report.

  And frankly, Jerry wasn’t interested in being a part of a hyped claim of impending environmental disaster. Personally, he was glad that the contents of the drums and casks and waste containers hadn’t spread. It was just bad news for people who had said with such certainty that it had. They wanted a stick to beat the Russians with, and they hadn’t found one yet.

  Patterson had staked her political and scientific reputation on proving a point. She’d made a promise to her boss, who happened to be the President of the United States. It was a strong reminder of why the military stayed out of politics.

  * * *

  On Thursday, the ninth of June, Memphis moved slowly into Techeniye Guba, the northernmost and last of the four bays they were to search. The crew was in good spirits, looking forward to starting for home in a few days.

  Two previously surveyed sites, a lighter full of waste and a discarded reactor compartment, were located and verified. Like the other locations they’d already examined, there was little sign of the waste having spread.

  At dinner that evening, some of the officers began to talk about the trip home. Four more Manta and ROV sorties over the next two days would cover the bay, and then they’d be finished.

  Dr. Patterson listened to the conversation quietly, but Jerry could see she was not happy. She hadn’t been all day and now she spoke. “Captain Hardy, I’d like to extend the survey.”

  “What?” Hardy’s surprised outburst caused the officers to jump out of their seats.

  “I want to add some more sites to the search plan, perhaps even cover another bay.”

  “Doctor, I can’t see the point of remaining here any longer. It only increases the risk of the Russians…”

  “But we haven’t found what we were looking for!” she interrupted.

  “Doctor, you’ve surveyed four previously known dumps and located over a dozen new ones. We’ve collected samples and photographic evidence.”

  “It’s not enough. We’ve been looking for evidence of new waste being dumped or that the old waste had been entering the environment in significant amounts and we’ve found neither.”

  “Maybe it’s not there to find.” Hardy’s bland statement was logical, but Jerry knew the effect it would have on Patterson. If it was true, then her plans were ruined.

  “And maybe we just haven’t found it yet. We’ve only surveyed a fraction of the coastline. With more time…”

  “Which we don’t have,” Hardy reminded her sharply. “You were on a tight schedule. We increased speed to get here, and we’re going to have to hurry on the way back.”

  “Even an extra day would help. I know there’s that much margin.”

  “Which means, what, another two or three Manta sorties? We’ve done twenty so far and have another four planned. What will two more provide us in terms of definitive evidence?” Hardy softened his tone slightly. “Doctor, you’ve convinced me of the danger to the environment that these dumpsites presents, but maybe it will take longer than you think to spread.” Paterson’s expression showed how worried she was that H
ardy might be right.

  Jerry expected Patterson to order Hardy to comply, to threaten him if he didn’t cooperate, but she simply sat there, silently. Finally she said softly, “I’ll just have to hope we find more in this bay than we did in the others.”

  The next day Jerry’s Manta began searching Techeniye Guba. Within an hour, he found a cluster of spent fuel canisters. On the second sortie, a pile of junked pumps and other propulsion-related machinery. The ROVs’ investigations showed that neither presented the kind of immediate threat that Dr. Patterson was now longing for. Disappointed, she pushed Jerry hard to keep the Manta out as long as possible and shared her frustration with anyone that came within earshot.

  On the second day, during the third Manta sortie, Jerry picked up a large contact on the sonar. It was so large it couldn’t be anything but a barge or a small ship of some sort.

  “Maybe it’s a submarine,” Patterson speculated as Davis sent Huey to investigate. She’d come to the torpedo room as soon as Jerry had reported the contact, even though there was little she could do. She double-checked Davis’ navigation and went over the battery figures to compute how much time they’d have once they got there. Finally a request from Hardy for her to return to the control room left Jerry and everyone else grateful for his intervention.

  Jerry’s Manta took up its customary protective circle while Huey approached the contact. Emily kept the ROV well away from the seabed, both to keep from stirring up the bottom and so they could get an overall look at whatever it was.

  About twenty feet away, the ROV’s camera finally revealed the edge of a large structure. Stanchions and lifelines identified it as some sort of vessel. She passed the camera down its flat sides to a square-cut end. After some inspection, they were able to determine that it was the stern.