“Fuck him, he can wait,” Muller assured himself as he made his way down the ladder into the U-Boat.
Unlike Jack and Sam, Muller had fully expected to find the U-Boat in operational, seaworthy condition when his men breached the bunker. What he hadn’t expected to find was the Virginia Class nuclear attack sub. Barnes had told him it had been destroyed. Now he would have two prizes for The Brotherhood — the weapon and a nuclear sub. His place in the new Reich was assured.
Chapter 34
November 9, 2017, 07:30 UTC
U-Boot-Bunker (Submarine Pen)
Kriegsmarine Base 211
Ronne Ice Shelf (Antarctica)
77° 51' 19.79" S -61° 17' 34.20" W
USS Barracuda
Jack raced the length of the passageway, hurtling through open hatches as he sought out the weapons locker in the forward section of the boat. It was only when he saw the crew bunks did he realize something wasn’t right.
Wrong deck.
He recalled a mental image of the evacuation diagram in the sick bay. It wasn’t the first time Jack’s almost eidetic memory had come in handy. Now he knew exactly where to go.
Another companionway and ladder lay ahead, leading to the upper level where the weapons loading hatch was located. That’s where he’d find them. He hoped he was the first to find them, but shook the thought away. All he could do was keep them safe until they could work out a plan. Having civilians in the mix changed things, though. His mission was to secure the U-Boat. But one of his duties as a soldier was to protect the civilians.
At least he wasn’t alone. Turning his head, he expected to see Sam trying to fit through the last of the hatches leading to the crew quarters. The entire length of the narrow passageway was empty. Not only did the man not have his back, he was nowhere in sight.
What was the deal with the guy? Guys like him were the reason Jack worked alone. Nobody to let you down. Nobody to be looking out for.
“Goddamn it,” Jack mumbled under his breath. There was no time to turn back to help one man. There were five people up on the next deck that needed him. He climbed into the companionway.
Sam finished spinning the wheel, dogging the hatch closed before inserting a locking pin through the mechanism so it couldn’t be opened from the outside. The last thing he wanted was more party favors being dropped down the hatch. His head was still thumping like a blender full of rocks and fire alarm was still ringing in his ears, but he had to keep going. He needed to catch up with Jack. Fortunately, Sam knew exactly where to go. If there was one place aboard a submarine that he could find with his eyes closed, it was weps. Mission accomplished, Sam bolted aft along the passageway toward the crew quarters.
Finally urgent whispers could be heard from an adjacent compartment. Jack recognized Jameson’s voice and he didn’t sound too happy, either. Tension filled the air as Jack entered.
“Tell him I need a gun,” Leah demanded of Jack before he was even through the hatch.
“I’m not giving her a weapon. She’s more likely to kill one of us with it than the enemy,” Jameson said adamantly.
“Because I’m a woman?”
“No,” the captain responded, “because you’re a civilian oceanographer, that’s why.”
Leah waved at Dave and Juan who were each holding a handgun. “You gave them guns.” She planted her hands firmly on her curvaceous hips.
“We don’t have time for that, we need to Hotel Alpha out of here. The bastards dropped a grenade down the hatch. They mean business.”
“Hotel Alpha?” Leah stopped being a pro-gun advocate momentarily.
“Haul Ass,” Juan explained proudly.
“Where’s the big guy with the flattop haircut?” Durand asked, handing a fully loaded Sig-Sauer P226 to Jack by the barrel.
“If I had a dollar for every time I’ve wondered that,” was Jacks only reply. “Spare mags?”
Durand snatched a handful of spare magazines and handed them to Jack who shoved them into his pockets, regretting he hadn’t taken the time to find his tactical vest. Pockets would have to do.
“Do we have comms?” Jack directed his question to the captain.
“No. We were running silent and deep after engaging the Russian Yasen, so we had no contact with PACOM or we would have given away our position. And in here, there’s no way we’d get a signal through the concrete and ice. We’re on our own. Well … until PACOM figure out we’re MIA and send help.”
“Yasen? Those guys a up there aren’t Spetsnaz, that’s for sure. They look more like hired guns … I’ve come up against a few of them in my time. Nobody mentioned Russians …”
“We weren’t even sure they were Russians, but they got the drop on us and nearly took us out. The Yasen class is the only sub that can do that.”
“No, not you. I meant my people never mentioned Russians. What are they even doing way down here? They couldn’t be any further from Russia if they tried.”
“The Russians have an Antarctic base,” Leah offered.
“But they shouldn’t have any military firepower down here. This is a demilitarized area,” said Jack.
“Clearly.” Dave’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
“I don’t have any more idea what’s going on here than you do, my mission was to secure the U-Boat and whatever was on it. If we’re going to survive until the cavalry come and save our asses, then we’d better figure what’s going on here. If we don’t, then this Charlie Foxtrot is going to have a very bad ending.”
“Charlie Foxtrot?” asked Leah. “Can you guys not use actual words people understand?
Juan started to answer, “Clusterfu—”
Then Sam burst into the already crowded compartment, red faced and breathless.
“Miss me?” He slapped Jack on the back.
Chapter 35
November 9, 2017, 08:00 UTC
Ronne Ice Shelf (Antarctica)
77° 51' 19.79" S -61° 17' 34.20" W
K-561 Kazan
Depth 100 feet
“These Americans are fools”, Captain Vasili Ketov whispered to himself. There was nobody nearby to hear them, but silent running meant running silent. Why take chances? One didn’t last as long as he had in the Russian fleet by taking foolish risks.
Ketov knew his torpedoes had been lured of course by whatever decoys or countermeasures deployed by the American submarine. But that was almost expected in an age in which defense technology was constantly evolving in response to the weapons being produced by the major powers. That didn’t bother him. What did pique his curiosity was the response of the foolish Americans. Not only did they not return fire, the Kazan’s computers showed that the American submarine didn’t even lock a firing solution onto them. They simply went silent, turned and ran. Sonar hadn’t even detected the sound of their torpedo doors opening in anticipation of an engagement.
Hardly the response of an enemy planting intelligence gathering technology all over the Antarctic. The entire exchange was not aligning with the intelligence or the orders that had been transmitted to him.
Submarine commanders were granted considerably more operational latitude than their land or air counterparts simply because they were out of radio contact with their admirals during their patrols. Ketov chose to follow his instincts the minute his deadly Futlyar torpedoes were lured off target by the countermeasures. He resolved to find out what the American submarine was really doing in the region and why it had disappeared into the ice mountain.
“Fools,” he muttered again, shaking his head. They had no idea the Kazan had been following in their baffles, silently shadowing them. Patiently waiting.
If the report he had received from his sonar officer was to be trusted, things could start getting very interesting.
Gunfire and explosions.
Again, not activities suggesting the stealthy and underhanded planting of spy equipment.
What were those American cowboys doing up there?
Chapter 36
&
nbsp; November 9, 2017, 08:30 UTC
U-Boot-Bunker (Submarine Pen)
Kriegsmarine Base 211
Ronne Ice Shelf (Antarctica)
77° 51' 19.79" S -61° 17' 34.20" W
USS Barracuda
“You can stay here, but I can’t. My mission is to secure that U-Boat.” Jack addressed the others then turned to Sam, “You’re with me, like it or not.”
“Not,” Sam countered.
Jack shot him a look that made it clear now wasn’t the best time to argue.
“The rest of you are probably better off in here, waiting for PACOM to send help.”
Jameson looked concerned. “You don’t even know what the layout is out there. We barely had time for a quick reconnaissance when you, well … arrived on the scene so explosively. You don’t know how many men they have or how well armed they are.”
“Lots and very,” Jack quipped.
Jameson’s eyes pinched at the corners in confusion.
“Lots of men and very well armed.”
A puzzled look came over Leah’s face. “I’m confused.”
“About which part? Staying here in the sub out of the line of fire, or going out there to face automatic weapons or the fact that he just seems to attract gunfire wherever he goes or the fact that we’ve been ordered to protect a Nazi U-Boat,” Sam scoffed.
“No, about you. Isn’t your name Sam?”
Sam nodded.
“So why do you call him ‘Bluey’?”
Jack thought he saw Leah’s icy exterior thaw a little. She’d seemed a bit cold ever since the time machine discussion and more so after the shooting started, which was understandable. Perhaps her attempt at humor was a way of dealing with the stress.
“Don’t get him started,” Sam snapped harshly.
“You couldn’t wait to get topside a few minutes ago,” Jack pointed out to Sam.
“That’s when I thought our guys were still alive up there.”
“Wait … are you saying they’re not?” Jameson looked gravely between Jack and Sam.
“It’s highly likely they were taken out with that first round of automatic fire we heard. They weren’t warning shots, that’s for sure. It went on for too long.”
“But they weren’t even armed …” Jameson was too distressed to continue.
“These guys aren’t playing fair. Not by a long shot.” Jack placed a reassuring hand on the captain’s shoulder. “But I can tell you this, I’ll make sure they pay. That’s what I do and I’m damn good at it.” An ominous and forbidding tone fortified his words.
Chapter 37
November 9, 2017, 09:00 UTC
South Pacific Ocean
2,000 miles from target
Location: Classified
USS Indiana (SSN 789)
“Alert One!”
“Alert One!”
“Alert One!”
The message blasted through the entire submarine over the 1MC address circuit, buzzing with urgency. Although the crew of the USS Indiana were certain that this Emergency Action Message would be just another update on the situation in North Korea, pulses quickened at the EAM announcement. That was what life aboard a submarine primed to launch nuclear missiles at a moment’s notice was all about.
Until the message was decoded, adrenaline would run high, but each crew member would continue to maintain their watch station. Only a confirmed strike order would escalate the condition to Battle Stations Missile and then all hell would break loose as the missile launch crew prepared for launch. Even if it was only a WSRT.
Sometimes a surprise Weapons System Readiness Test was a welcome break from the monotony of months at sea, but that was as real as it ever got aboard the Indiana.
Commander Tom Ryan stood silently and waited for his officers, working as a pair, to retrieve, decode and authenticate the message without any outward show of emotion.
The Executive Office, Jackson Merrill, a silent, pensive man with a world weary face entered the control room bearing the code book he’d taken from the safe in the comms room. Lieutenant Walsh, a younger and less cynical officer, trailed behind brandishing the EAM he’d torn from the radio room printer as he passed. The pair would use the code book to decrypt the message.
The eyes of all watchstanders in the control room were fixed on the pair as they poured over the code book and EAM, translating it character by character, with Walsh writing the decoded message below the encryption.
The Lieutenant’s hands trembled uncontrollably as he read the transmission. The XO snatched it testily from the hands of the young officer, his only reaction, a sharp intake of breath as he absorbed the contents and implication of the Strike Order he held in his hands.
Now he too was trembling.
The EAM would put the boat into Battle Stations Missile and could thrust them in the center of an all-out nuclear conflict.
The message had to be authenticated before handing it to the commander.
The XO moved to the Control Room safe, spun the tumblers and opened the outer door. Lieutenant Walsh then proceeded to dial in the combination of the inner door and unlocked it before moving aside so that the XO, Merrill could extract the small plastic authenticator packet.
Snapping open the brittle plastic case of the packet, the XO ripped out the laminated authenticator card and began to read aloud the authentication sequence.
“Whisky-Tango-Juliet-Delta-Six-Zulu-Alpha-Bravo.”
“Sir, I concur. Whisky-Tango-Juliet-Delta-Six-Zulu-Alpha-Bravo” repeated the Lieutenant.
The XO turned to the commander. “Sir, we have properly formatted and authenticated EAM. It’s a Nuclear Strike Order, sir. No additional information.”
The silence that filled the confines of the crowded Control Room was like a weight crushing down on all of them. So quiet that even the normally inaudible whir of the many electronics systems cooling fans in the compartment could now be heard quite clearly.
Without a trace of fear registering in his voice or on his face, the commander faced his XO.
“What are the launch orders?”
Commander Ryan punched the coordinates into the computer and watched as the screen generated a map showing the projected missile trajectory on the display. The target was 2,000 miles away. At a maximum cruising speed of 500 miles per hour, the single nuclear tipped Tomahawk cruise missile would destroy its target in 4 hours, vaporizing everything within the warheads blast zone.
It was Commander Ryan’s job to be prepared to launch his nuclear and conventional Tomahawks. That, he understood. He was always prepared to execute a properly formatted and authenticated Strike Order. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he wasn’t prepared for this particular target.
Ryan stared at the screen, his mind spinning its wheels trying to gain traction and make sense of what he was seeing on the display.
“Sir? What is it? What’s the target?” the XO asked.
Commander Ryan shook his head slowly. “Nowhere. That’s the problem. They want us to launch a nuclear warhead on a target that’s in the middle of absolutely nowhere.”
Chapter 38
November 9, 2017, 09:00 UTC
U-Boot-Bunker (Submarine Pen)
Kriegsmarine Base 211
Ronne Ice Shelf (Antarctica)
77° 51' 19.79" S -61° 17' 34.20" W
Wave after wave of automatic gunfire raked the concrete at their heels as they ran the length of the dock. As far as plans went it was a bad one. Jack wondered if it even deserved to be called a plan.
Run like hell. Don’t get shot. Try to find cover.
He’d worked with less well thought out plans before. And survived.
Both men dove onto their bellies and rolled into a channel that seemed to have served as some kind of drainage in the past.
“What’s the next stage in your big plan, Hoss?” Sam grunted over the hail of enemy fire.
“We’re kind of winging it. We need to get a better idea of the layout of this place
…”
He was drowned out by another spray of bullets kicking up concrete dust 6 inches from their heads.
“From what I’ve seen so far,” he continued over the sound of magazines being ejected and fresh clips being slammed home, “I’m thinking this place wasn’t built as a Nazi holiday resort. It’s just a one big concrete bunker. No accommodation. No facilities. There’s nothing here but U-Boat pens and enough concrete to stop a nuclear blast.”
“Yeah, even by German standards, this place is mighty ‘functional’. Not a creature comfort anywhere,” agreed Sam.
Lifting his head enough to see the perimeter, Jack noted that they were surrounded by the troops wearing the same white snow uniforms they’d seen surrounding the U-Boat. At least they only had to deal with one opposing force. That was the good news.
The bad news was that he counted at least ten on one side and figured there’d be as many again on the other side of the cavern. They stayed just out of range of the floodlights so they didn’t present a target but close enough to do some deadly accurate shooting. But not accurate enough. Neither Jack nor Sam had taken a hit. Yet.
Floodlights. Maybe …
Jack started to piece together a plan.
“Bluey, I’ll lay down cover fire. I want you to make a run back to the sub and pull the plug on those floodlights.”
“But then we won’t be able to see shit,” Sam protested.
Jack tapped the night vision goggles on the crown of his head and smiled.
Sam looked Jack up and down and around either side. “Where’s mine?” he asked with a hurt look on his face.
Jack shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. They were an impulse buy. I couldn’t help myself.”
“You’re not much of a team player, are you?”
“Never said I was, Bluey.”
Ice Fortress (A Jack Coulson Thriller) Page 14