by Stephen Makk
After several minutes the operator looked across at the Captain. “Sir, I can’t make anything suspicious out, some distant civilian vessels, biologics. But nothing that says it’s a contact.”
“Ok, Planesman remain on course, speed nine knots.”
“Aye sir, nine on current bearing.”
It was a nuisance not being able to communicate with Volk, but Orlov knew Sokolov would be taking a similar tactical approach. For an hour or so Leopard carried out the chosen tactics: inch west at nine knots, coast, listen. Inch forward again. The SSN advanced forward 1,300 feet under the depths of the Black Sea. She knew her foe was out there somewhere, lurking and listening for boats like Leopard.
“SIR, I MAY HAVE SOMETHING.”
Franks smiled and kept his comments to himself. “Go on Nosey.”
“The lure is picking up one or possibly two subsurface contacts. They’re both to our rear approximately 18 kilometres. No ID as yet. I’d say the probability of one or more contacts is 70 percent.”
Franks knew he had to treat this as a probable threat. He decided to turn back and take up a position further behind and possibly amongst the two contacts. If that was what they were?
“Planesman make a turn to starboard and come about.”
“Aye sir, come right to nine zero.”
USS NYC came on a reverse heading facing east.
“Flood forward. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth. Planesman, down bubble 15, make your depth 500 feet. Speed 15 knots.”
Franks would have to make several guesses. Were there two contacts out there? How far behind were they, and at what depth? His only comfort was that his opponents would be blindfolded too, feeling, listening, wondering. Had they got it right?
Franks knew he was a blind man in a dark room that could be empty. Or two deadly but equally blind beasts could be in there lurking, searching, and looking to kill him.
Franks waited 30 minutes or so.
“Planesman, come to port and make your heading two seven zero.” It was time to come to the west again.
“Two seven, aye sir.”
Was his guesstimate right? Franks knew that, as uncomfortable as it was, it was often instinct that made the call. He’d learned that the hard way as a young submariner in the Persian Gulf. Your gut is a powerful tool.
The boat sailed slowly west over an unseen seabed, the slope lay shallow to the left and to the right down into the dark abyss.
“Nosey...” The sonar operator held up his hand and Franks cut himself off. Let the sonar operator do his job.
“Sir. I have a contact to our left. It’s forward, range three miles. It’s an Akula class, plenty of reflective returns in the shallows. I can’t hear the other contact, if there was one?”
“How far to his baffles?” The target’s baffles were astern of the vessel, where he’d have little chance of detecting anyone following.
“Point five miles to port sir.”
“Planesman, come to two three five degrees.”
“Two three five aye sir.”
Franks gauged the moment. “Come to two seven zero. Range to contact Nosey?”
“One point nine miles, Sir.”
“Weaps. Warshot?”
“Sir,” said Nathan, “tubes one through three Mk 48, tube four Harpoon.”
Franks licked his dry lips, this was it. “Designate contact as Tango one. Get a firing solution and ready tube one.”
Nathan’s fingers flicked over the touchscreen. “Tube one, Mk 48 CBASS, sir. Flooding tube, outer doors open. Firing solution laid in, good lock on Tango one.”
“Tube flooded, outer door now open. Weapon ready in all respects, sir.”
Franks sweated over the choice. He was in an excellent firing position, but was there another boat out there? One he couldn’t hear?
USS NYC swam on through the darkness. Franks waited, then came to a decision.
“Weaps. Launch tube one.”
A rushing sound came from up forward.
“Fish away, heading west, the fish is hungry.” A Mk 48 wire guided torpedo streaked off towards its prey.
“Range point seven miles. Closing.”
“Range point six miles. Pinging, pinging,” said Nathan. “We have lock. Cutting wire. Fish active and hungry.” The torpedo homed in on its quarry.
“Tango one is coming to starboard,” said Nosey.
“Fish tracking, closing,” said Nathan.
“Fish in the water,” said Nosey, his voice raised.
“Type 53 inbound from deep. Range three miles.”
Franks knew the situation was dire. They were in the shallows, there was little room to escape. He’d one desperate chance. “All ahead full, max revs. Nosey, bearing to Tango one?”
“Two eight four.”
“Come to two nine zero.”
“Range to Tango one?”
“Point three sir.”
“Range, incoming fish?”
“Range one point one miles behind us. It’s now pinging.”
USS NYC closed on the Akula boat at high speed. Her S9G reactor forced out 40,000 horsepower, her pump jet propulsor moved tons of water astern.
“Inbound fish is closing, point two miles,” barked Nosey.
Franks had to wait until the last moment. Wait, hold... Now. “Planesman, come hard to port. Now!” The boat closed on the Akula’s left hand side.
Franks was heading to the left of the Akula, using it and the impending explosion as a distraction, a curtain to the incoming enemy fish.
The Mk 48 hit the Russian boat and exploded. The USS NYC’s hull buckled and the boat was pushed to the left. The type 53 headed between the Akula and USS NYC, its onboard sonar confused by the explosion and the boiling turbulent waters. The enemy fish passed the two boats and headed off to the west in confusion. It entered a helical dive searching for its target now, up above. After running out of sea room, it would finally dive into the seabed.
Franks finally drew breath. It had been a desperate gamble, to confuse the Russian fish with the explosion. It had taken guts to race for the scene of the impact.
Franks felt a chill run through him. A judgment awaited, it was time.
There was another Akula lurking in the blackness, and it had to be taken out.
The USS New York City faced the K-328 Leopard; both deadly denizens of the deeps.
Chapter 11
THE SONAR OPERATOR ripped his headset off. “Ublyodok!” Bastard.
It was replaced with the volume turned down.
“Sir, massive explosion from Volk’s location. It’s not got the acoustic resonances of a Type 53. It must have been the American boat’s Mk 48.”
The sonar operator’s face reflected his reaction. “It must have been Volk, sir. She’s gone.”
Captain Orlov lowered his head. His friend was dead; Volk and her 63 crew were now lost. Never again would they sail. Never again would he laugh and drink Vodka with Sokolov.
“Our fish has disappeared, too much noise and acoustic resonance to pick up the Virginia class.” Orlov knew the American would probably go deep. He’d head down to the west of Leopard’s position, right into his sights.
“All stop, maintain depth.” Leopard came to a stop and hung there in the blackness at 400 metres, waiting quietly for her prey.
Orlov waited for long minutes. The American must have come down into the deeps by now. The Virginia couldn’t still be up there?
“Sonar. Any hint of a trace?”
“No sir, it’s quiet out there.”
It’s possible the Virginia could have been taken out too. But not likely. By her own fish?
He knew what may have happened. The American boat had tried to use Volk and the hit that his fish had made into a noise shield. It was risky, but possible. He’d give the American boat some more time yet.
“Sir, we have a possible contact up in the shallows. It’s approximately where Volk was hit.
I think it may be a pump jet like the o
ne we heard off the Sea of Azov, it has the same pattern of harmonics, the deep one’s give the best trace like the others. They’re also hard to get. It’s a devil to track. Sir, I think it’s the same type of boat.”
“Well done, Sonar. What’s he up to?”
“If it’s him. It looks to be heading west sir. I’d say about ten knots.”
“Planesman, make ten knots, two seven zero degrees maintain depth.”
“Ten at two seven zero aye sir.”
Up on the slope at 300 feet, USS New York City moved off to the west. She was unaware of the Akula to her right, down below and behind her following, stalking. Hunting.
THE DARDANELLES. NORTHERN Aegean Sea.
“NAVIGATOR, GIVE ME our position?”
“Sir, we are six miles south west of the strait entrance.”
Captain Hillson turned to the helmsman. “Hold your position. Communications, instruct the James K Lankusi to keep station with us.”
Hillson’s ship, the USS Wabash, an Arleigh Burke class Destroyer, was first on station at the southern mouth of the Dardanelles Strait. It was the entrance to the Sea of Marmara and the southern exit from the Bosporus. If the Black Sea Fleet wanted to enter the Mediterranean, they’d have to come out through here.
“Sir, I’ve passed your command on to USS James K Lankusi. We have a communication from CINCUSNAVEUR NAVAL FORCES EUROPE.”
“Just read out for me the core message.”
“Sir, message is: The Russian Black Sea Fleet is still in the Black Sea but is gathering and is expected to make a push south into the Aegean Sea soon. Sixth Fleet vessels and air assets are on their way to your area. Hold until relieved.”
Hillson wore a faint smile.
“Principal warfare officers’ report.”
“Surface, no contacts.”
“Underwater, no contacts.”
“Air, no contacts.”
The Destroyer and her sister ship lay offshore in the afternoon sunshine, separated by a mile or so. They waited for reinforcements. Out there off Italy, Malta and Crete, the 6th Fleet gathered.
FOUR STRIKE AIRCRAFT screamed south towards The Aegean Sea over green rolling forested hills.
“Vixen one to flight, report.”
“Vixen two, go.”
“Vixen three, go.”
“Vixen four, go.”
Four Su-24M strike fighters of the Russian 43rd Independent Naval Shturmovik Air Squadron flew low over the Arda River in Southern Bulgaria.
Six minutes later came the call. “Vixen one, feet wet.”
“Vixen two feet wet.” Soon, all four aircraft were over the Aegean, heading south.
“Vixen flight, come to one six zero.” The four strike aircraft flew at 500 feet and 400 knots; their direction was just east of south. Their destination; the southern mouth of the Dardanelles.
“Vixen flight, master arm on. Select Kh-31.”
All four armed the Kh-31 air to ship missile, and the targets were well within its 60 mile range.
“Vixen flight we are clear with weapon release. Vixen one, missile is go.” The missile left its hard point, lit its release rocket, and then the ramjet started as the speed climbed.
“Vixen two release.”
“Vixen three release.”
“Vixen four release.”
The Kh-31 missiles dropped to 30 feet for the run in at 1,400mph. After 30 seconds the flight leader calculated it was time to update the missile’s terminal course. “Vixen flight engage radar, climb to one thousand feet.” Radar returns from the Su-24Ms were transmitted to the missiles, correcting their terminal attack course.
Eight supersonic birds streaked in towards the two ships with just one thing on their minds.
Death.
Washington DC.
A TV STUDIO BACKDROP of a Russian flag and a warship framed the large expensively dressed grey-haired man and a woman. The female TV presenter sat to one side.
“.... If you look at what’s really happening Marcia, you’ll see. We have confidential information that NATO is behind this. Just look at the gathering of NATO forces in the Eastern Mediterranean and Turkey, then you’ll see.”
“Where is this confidential information from, Yuri?”
“You can’t expect me to divulge that. I’m the deputy Russian Ambassador. We have our private sources, like all governments. I’m sure you understand that; you won’t give away information about NBC’s private sources.”
“So Yuri, what you’re saying is that NATO started this whole thing?” Yuri smiled. “What came into Sevastopol? What sunk our Kilo submarine? Was this a sea monster? Is that what you say?”
“Yuri, why did this happen? Why are you involved in a de-facto occupation of Eastern Ukraine?”
“These people are Russian speakers and support Russia, this is their wish. And many of them wish to be part of Ukraine.”
“So you say. But many do not.” The presenter leaned forward. “Mr Ambassador, do you support the idea of Greater Russia?”
“I support the right of Russians to be Russian.”
“We’ll leave it there,” said Marcia to the camera. “Thank you to my guest tonight, Yuri Komarov, the deputy Russian Ambassador. I’m Marcia Goldforli. This is NBC, and our Eyes are on the World tonight.”
The picture faded, the program theme music started.
YURI LEFT THE STUDIO, had his make up removed and left the building. He walked to his car; he always drove himself if possible. He was entitled to a driver but that wasn’t his style. His cell phone made a brief drum roll sound, and he looked at it. A text message; he recognised the number and opened it.
“Yuri, meet me at Luca’s place now. 21st and 9th streets. Y.” He opened his mouth, then smiled.
Luca’s was an Italian restaurant. It was decorated with mock but convincing fruit and vegetables. Greenery was everywhere, hanging from the rustic wooden partitions. He walked in and saw her sat in a secluded area to the rear. She was young, blond, beautiful and smiling at him. What man could resist?
He sat at her table.
“Yana. I didn’t expect to hear from you just now.”
“I had to. That safe house we met in, it’s so antiseptic and cold.”
The waiter passed them two menus. “Here you are. Tonight, we have offer, house dry white and house full red wines are on offer. Just $12.50 a bottle. Can I get you one?”
He nodded and looked to Yana questioningly.
“I’d like the white please.”
“Bring us one,” said Yuri. He’d never imagined he’d be sat here with Yana Borisova, a woman he’d recently considered an enemy of Russia. Her spiteful and cutting remarks about his country made her a foe. Every time a TV channel wanted someone to take and anti-Russian, pro Ukraine stance, it was her. He smiled at her. She smiled back with her beautiful eyes framed by her blond locks. What a change it had been.
It had come as a surprise. Yuri hadn’t expected it at all. A week ago at the Embassy, he’d heard a knock at his office door. He’d opened it. Stood there was Yulia. She worked in trade and development, but he knew her real job. She was SVR. Yulia’s job was intelligence and state security.
She gave him news he never expected to hear.
“You’re serious?”
“I don’t lie, Yuri. Not to Embassy personnel like you. You can be assured, it’s true. That bitch Yana is actually on our side.”
“But she’s been saying things about Russia that are meant to harm us.”
“She’s been making the USA think that she hates us to get their sympathy and trust. She’s got it now. She’s been learning things from the US. Plans and plots they have drawn up.”
“It’s hard to believe it,” said Yuri.
“That’s what she wanted. She needed their trust. She’s even been invited to Langley. Can you believe that? Yana’s actually been inside the CIA Headquarters. She’s met one of their Directors. They sent her by submarine on a mission to contact the Ukraine resistance.” Yulia spat. “
Yana was taken by submarine to the Sea of Azov. She landed ashore in Eastern Ukraine.”
Yuri was open mouthed. “They did this, Yulia?”
“Yes, the US Navy landed her to spy for the CIA. She contacted our people in secret and told them of the American’s plans. I’ve confirmed this from my other sources.”
Yuri grinned. “So Yana is really a Russian agent, playing a double game?”
Yulia nodded.
“She works for us, even though she appears not to?”
“Yes. Yuri, I want to find out more. I want you to get close to her. That won’t be hard for you will it? She’s not exactly ugly, is she?”
“I’ll do what I can, Yulia.”
He’d contacted Yana, with surprising results. After some hesitation on her part, it had gone much further and faster than he’d expected.
NOW HERE HE WAS, MEETING her in a private restaurant.
You’ve been speaking to that cold bitch Marcia.” Yana glared at him.
He frowned. “How did you...”
“I watched it,” she said.
Yuri nodded. “We must get our point over, the Black Sea...”
She put her hand on his. “Not now Yuri. Let’s not talk about that.” She slid and stroked her hand over his several times and squeezed it. “Now,” she gave him an alluring smile, “let’s talk Yuri,” she sighed.
“If we must.”
YANA CARRIED THE TWO glasses of wine over to her bed; the bedside light was turned low. She’d left it on, so he’d see her shapely naked body as she slinked slowly across her apartment floor. Yuri gave her a gentle smile and looked her up and down. His eyes were filled with desire. She set down the wine, he took his glass and sipped it.
“You’re not drinking yours?”
“Not yet.” She laid face down on his legs, then pulled down the sheets. It stood proud and she teased it by stroking it with her long hair.
“You can talk, Yuri. I know you like to.”
He started to lift her onto him.
“Not yet. There’s time for that.” Yana took her place, her lips just inches from his hardness, she let her hair fall over his man stick and kissed it gently.