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The dinner plates were cleared away and Jabo hurriedly set up the projector and the computer. The first image was an interesting one he’d found of a Kilo actually being delivered to the Chinese atop a cargo ship. It was rare to see a sub completely out of the water like that, and seeing how easily it fit atop the cargo ship highlighted how small it was. It took up barely half of the big ship’s top deck.

According to the watchbill, Jabo was supposed to be on the conn; it had been twelve hours since his midwatch ended and it was his turn again. But he’d been assigned to do this training, so the XO had detailed the engineer to relieve Hein for the training period, which pissed the eng off on a number of levels; if a department head needed to be assigned some menial duty on behalf of a junior officer, then philosophically he believed it should never be him, as the head of the most important, most demanding department on the ship. Secondly, the act seemed to imply that the engineer didn’t need to know anything about Kilo submarines; he was the engineer after all, concerned about the reactor compartment and aft, and he was always sensitive to being slighted as a kind of support officer, a non-warrior. But someone had to be on the conn during Jabo’s training, and the XO, for whatever reason, decided to send the sullen engineer to control, perhaps if for no other reason he thought his three-section junior officers needed a break more than him.

“Danny, let’s get started,” said the XO. He flipped off the lights.

“This was the first Kilo submarine purchased from Russia by the People’s Liberation Army, in 1995,” said Jabo. “Now the Chinese own a total of twelve of these boats. Our intel tells us that two are Type 636, the most capable platform, and as the XO mentioned last night, one of the quietest submarines in the world.”

“But they’re diesel boats, right?” asked Ensign Duggan. “They’re only quiet when they’re running on their batteries.” Fresh out of the navy’s nuclear power training, he’d been indoctrinated to believe that nuclear propulsion was the pinnacle of human achievement, and that all other modes of power generation were dirty, noisy, and primitive.

“Don’t underestimate this new generation of diesel boats,” said the XO. “I’m sure that Danny will get into the specifics, but they can run a long time on their batteries.”

“Four hundred miles at three knots,” said Jabo.

“There you go.”

“But they’re on the surface the rest of the time?” said Duggan. “Running the diesel?”

“That’s right,” said the XO. “And you know what that sounds like to us? When they’re running their little diesel?”

Duggan shook his head.

“It sounds like a fucking diesel. Like a fishing boat, or a merchant, or any other fucking thing in this ocean that runs with an engine and a propeller. And then they kill the engine, submerge, and disappear.” Jabo felt bad for Duggan. Like every newly reported ensign, he’d been absolutely living in the engine room, trying to qualify Engineering Officer of the Watch. No one really expected him to know about the capabilities of enemy subs, they wanted him to know how to charge the battery, shift the electric plant, and answer a bell: keep the lights burning and the screw turning.

“The 636 boats were improved over older Kilos in a number of ways,” said Jabo, after he felt like Duggan had had enough time to squirm. “But especially in sound silencing.” He clicked through to a new photo of the Kilo, an aerial shot of a boat on the surface, a puff of white diesel smoke coming from behind the sail. “The main shaft speed has been reduced to lower noise, and the entire hull is covered in sound-absorbing anechoic tiles.”

“But they’re still pretty crude, right?” asked Duggan.

There was a silence…he’d had a chance to shut up, and had declined, in an effort to look smart. Ensigns were told sometimes in training that their leadership would respect them for speaking up, for being an active part of the conversation in the Wardroom. This, of course, was bullshit.

“You think we don’t need to worry about these guys?” said the XO. “Is that what you’re saying, Duggan? Think I’m wasting your time here?”

“No sir…”

The XO’s forehead vein started to bulge. The Captain sat back and smiled, ready to enjoy the show like the rest of them.

“Okay, Duggan, let’s assume for a minute that you’re right and the best analysts at NATO are wrong, and that these improved Kilos are pieces of shit.”

“That’s not…”

“Let’s also assume that they aren’t very capable operators, that they are not disciplined, because God knows, the Chinese are known for being happy go-lucky dipshits, aren’t they Duggan?”

“XO…”

“So, since you’re fresh out of Sub School let me ask you a simple question. Duggan, when you are war gaming, and you put three shitty fighter jets against one really good fighter jet, who wins?”

Duggan, Jabo was happy to see, had finally decided to stop talking and take his beating in silence.