by J C Ryan
Locklin’s jaw muscles worked as he considered his XO through narrowed eyes. Finally, with a nod he ordered, “Helm, hold our speed at twenty knots.”
“Twenty knots! Aye, Sir!”
Yoder made a new set of calculations. “New time to intercept is … thirty-two minutes, mark. The Pozharskiy is adjusting course and speed to maintain position in our starboard baffles.”
Locklin felt the boat coming about, the deck plates vibrating as she increased speed.
“Contact Alpha One adjusting course and speed to overtake. Now at thirty-eight knots. New time to intercept … twenty-five minutes … mark.” Yoder reported. “Itinerant adjusting course and speed to match us.”
“What’s Bravo One doing?”
“No change in contact, Bravo One.”
Locklin rubbed his forehead with the index finger and thumb of his left hand. It felt like the Trepang herself was holding her breath, while he quickly considered his options.
“Helm, increase speed to twenty-five knots.” He keyed the mic to let the maneuvering room know they needed more power.
“New time to intercept … thirty-two minutes … mark,” Yoder called.
Larson and Copeland exchanged glances, the question clear in both men’s eyes – will the Russians get us or will it be the failure of the Trepang’s systems?
The minutes passed with painful slowness as the crew endured ever increasing vibrations throughout the boat as she struggled to maintain speed. Their muscles were tight, jaws clenched, and in the air, the tang of sweat.
“Time to intercept?” Locklin inquired.
“Intercept now at fifteen minutes, sir,” Yoder responded without delay. He kept his eyes glued to the sonar screen and knew by the second, exactly how far apart they were. “Pozharskiy adjusting course, moving to our port. Looks like she’s trying to force the Itinerant to move away.”
We need more speed! “Helm, do we have more speed?”
“Under normal circumstances we should, sir, but with this damage we are lucky to be holding at twenty-five knots.”
“Try.”
“Aye, sir.”
After five minutes and much communication between the helm and the maneuvering room, it became clear that they were moving as fast as they could.
“Sorry, sir. That’s the best she can do,” the helmsman reported.
“Captain! Alpha One is firing!” Yoder exclaimed. “Time to impact one-minute twenty-four seconds,” he added, removing his sonar headphones to protect his ears from the coming explosion.
Damn! “Full reverse!”
“But Captain…!”
“Full reverse! Hard to starboard!”
The sub was sluggish and tremulous. Locklin hoped against hope that the Russian’s firing calculations were wrong. He held his breath. The sound of the CIC electronic equipment was deafening in the silence – no one breathed, no one moved.
Time slowed to a crawl as seconds stretched into years – every man thinking of loved ones, praying to return home.
The adage, ‘there are no atheists in foxholes,’ rang true as the Trepang became their foxhole.
A collective sigh swept through the CIC as the Russian torpedo passed over them within a hairs-breath.
“That missed us by inches, Captain,” Yoder confirmed just as they were rocked by an explosion.
* * *
Onboard the Itinerant
THE CREW OF the Itinerant had been tracking the newly arrived Russian sub for nearly thirty minutes, watching as she slowly overtook the Trepang – and them.
Now, the Pozharskiy worked her way toward them, forcing them to break away from pacing the Trepang.
“New sonar contact, bearing sixty-eight degrees moving at thirty-five knots,” Taka reported.
“What now?”
“Correction, four, repeat four, new contacts, at that bearing. Three surface vessels, one submarine.”
“Whose are they?”
After a brief pause, Taka sprung out of her seat, “Submarine is Seawolf Class; she’s ours!”
“Bloody hell! Get us out of here; put us on the roof!” Marcus said. “We don’t want to get caught in the cross-fire!”
* * *
Onboard the Knyaz Pozharskiy and Knyaz Vladimir
“CHYORT! WHAT ARE you doing?” Captain Petrov screamed over the speaker in the Command Center.
“Orders from the Admiralty, Petrov, get out of the way,” Captain Yuditsky of the Knyaz Vladimir replied.
“No! Don’t destroy her, we need to capture her, she’s testing new technology, you fool!”
“You’re the fool, Petrov. The information you called in has been examined and analyzed. The Americans haven’t had a sub identified as Trepang since 2000. Her sail number identifies her as the USS Montana. Records show she is in dry-dock for a refit, but she disappeared the same time as Brideaux and his council members. The Admiralty believes they are on that sub. My orders are to sink her, and I will do it. Clear the area, now!” he said, signaling his communication officer to cut the link.
“Ivanov, report!” he demanded addressing his weapons officer.
Lieutenant Neven Ivanov checked the torpedo status board once again before replying, “Two torpedoes are loaded and standing by.”
“Fire one!” Yuditsky ordered.
“Firing one!” Ivanov replied.
“Captain! The Pozharskiy! She’s too close!” Sonar technician Radul Gurkovsky objected.
“Po hooy! I warned her away, she shouldn’t be trailing the Americans so close.”
Gurkovsky pulled the headphones from his head and watched in dismay as the blip showing the torpedo moved over the Trepang and stopped at the next blip – the Pozharskiy.
* * *
Onboard the Itinerant
“THE NEW RUSSIAN SUB has fired on the Trepang!” Taka ripped the sonar earphones off her head to avoid hearing-damage when the torpedo exploded.
“What?” Marcus jumped from his chair as if ejected. “Bloody hell! Did they get her?”
“Damn, it’s moving fast. Time to impact one minute twenty-four seconds,” Taka replied.
Please God! Marcus prayed.
“Time to impact, thirty seconds,” Taka updated.
After an interminable wait, she put her earphones back on, listened briefly, and shook her head. “The Trepang changed course in full reverse; she turned away, they missed her, she’s– shit!” she exclaimed as they were all thrown to the deck and the lights dimmed.
Stunned by the impact with the deck, Marcus struggled to his feet, making his way toward the helm.
“Taka? Brenda? You two okay?” he asked.
Taka answered from the deck, “I’m all right, I think Brenda’s hurt, though.”
“It’s just a sprained wrist and a bit of a headache,” Brenda objected.
“She’s right, Marcus. Her left wrist has a ninety-degree sprain and the headache is just a drippy one,” Taka answered, holding a hastily torn piece of shirt to a nasty gash on Brenda’s head.
Marcus smiled despite the situation. “I thought you said they missed her!”
Bill groaned as he regained consciousness. “What happened?”
The lights resumed their normal illumination, and Taka shook her head as if to clear water from her ears. “That wasn’t the Trepang.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Trepang dove to get out of the way.”
Marcus jumped toward the sonar. “Is the Trepang okay?”
“I don’t know. If we can get someone to help Brenda, I’ll take a look.”
Marcus thumbed the intercom requesting Sean Nicholson, the rescue team’s medic, to come to the bridge.
“Here, let me help Brenda until he gets here."
“What the hell are those things?” Hunte asked. “They’re faster than anything I’ve ever seen—or heard of for that matter.”
“They’re Shkval’s,” Taka answered. “Jet-propelled torpedoes.”
Dunlap, just arriving on the br
idge with Nicholson, added, “Russian VA-111 Shkval super-cavitating torpedoes. They’re extremely fast, two-hundred-thirty miles-per-hour or more. They seldom miss. Locklin was extremely lucky.”
“The Trepang was just outside the optimum firing range – the Russian Captain was impatient. He won’t miss again.”
“The Russians are firing again!” Taka yelled.
* * *
Onboard the Knyaz Vladimir
“REPORT!” YUDITSKY BARKED.
“Sir, we missed the Trepang and hit the Pozharskiy,” Gurkovsky reported with dread.
“Confirmed,” Ivanov said flatly.
“Govno!” Yuditsky swore. “Sooka sin! Adjust course, prepare to fire number two. Chyort!”
The Vladimir glided smoothly through the water as the helmsman adjusted course to line up on the perfect heading, and another torpedo left her starboard bow tube en route to the Trepang.
“Number two away,” reported Ivanov. “Impact in forty-two seconds."
CHAPTER 9
Washington DC
PAPERS SHUFFLING, PENS clicking, briefcase locks snapping, and the general murmur of voices signaled the conclusion of Daniel’s first meeting with his Cabinet members.
The brief meeting was mostly an introduction and overview of expectations. Everyone already understood the general chaotic status of the nation and the world and had a firm grasp of the mammoth task ahead of them.
Daniel’s goals had been to establish a timeline for receiving status reports, from each department, and their plans for stabilizing the country. New members were given time to meet with their staff, gather information, and prepare an up-to-date report for the next meeting to take place in three days.
Daniel made his way toward the door.
“Mister Jenkins,” Daniel addressed the Attorney General. “I wanted to thank you for agreeing to stay on and let you know how much I appreciate your support.”
“Thank you, Mister President. I am grateful to you and your team for protecting me and my family during General Hayden’s … occupation.”
“You’re very welcome. I’m glad everyone is all right,” Daniel said, and then noticed Secretary Willis answering his cell phone and saw the color drain from his face.
The Trepang.
“Please excuse me, there is a matter I must attend to,” Daniel said.
Daniel caught Willis’s eye and nodded slightly toward the Oval Office. Willis immediately followed him.
Without preamble, Daniel asked, “What happened?”
“The Vladimir joined the Pozharskiy and fired on the Trepang! Our ships are just coming into range. Admiral Johnson is requesting authorization to engage.”
Daniel held out his hand for Willis’s phone. “Admiral, full engagement is authorized. Keep me appraised.”
As soon as Willis ended the call, Daniel ordered, “Get the situation room set up, and get the joint chiefs in here right away, please. Let Salome, our new Head of Homeland Security, and the head of the National Security Council know they are needed as well and have Admiral Johnson join us too.”
“Right away, sir.”
* * *
Onboard the Trepang
“STATUS!” LOCKLIN YELLED, struggling to raise himself from the deck without the use of his injured leg. “Larson! Copeland! Report!”
“Yoder here, sir,” a voice said weakly from near the sonar station. “The Pozharskiy didn’t get clear in time.”
No shit. “Yoder …”
“They’re adjusting heading, lining up for another shot.”
“Helm! Get us out of here!”
“Helmsman is dead, Captain,” Copeland spoke groggily. “I’m attempting to move us now.”
“The Russians have fired again – impact in forty-two seconds.”
Grabbing the intercom mic, Locklin thumbed it. “Maneuvering! Give me full speed now!”
No one answered, but a violent quiver ran through the deck plates and the sub lunged forward.
“Impact in thirty seconds,” Yoder reported.
“Take us down! Dive! Dive!” Locklin roared.
“I can’t! Without the bow-planes, we have to adjust the ballast and we don’t have time!” Copeland responded, sweat and blood pouring down his face. His hands gripping the dive control were white and his arm muscles bunched in tight knots as if he could force the sub down himself.
“Time to clear torpedo?” Locklin yelled.
“Sixty-three seconds to clear, twenty seconds to impact.”
“More speed!” Locklin screamed into the mic still in his hand. “Sound collision! Seal all hatches!”
The klaxon blared seconds later, the giant sub convulsed violently and went dark.
* * *
Onboard the Itinerant
TAKA STOOD SILENTLY at her station, tears welling in her eyes. They’d all heard the explosion.
The radio crackled. “Itinerant, this is Seawolf. Continue to the surface and remain there until further notice.”
Marcus nodded to Bill to respond. “Understood, Seawolf. We will comply. Itinerant out.”
“Taka,” Marcus said gently. “Here, sit down.” He eased her back into her station chair. “I need to know what the Vladimir is doing.”
Nodding, she wiped her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, a little sturdier this time, before she turned her attention back to the sonar screen.
She made some adjustments to the equipment. “The Vladimir is changing course – my God! She’s going to fire on the Trepang again!”
They watched the blip on the sonar in silence. A silent killer on the move, stalking her wounded prey.
“The Trepang is continuing to sink—coming up on nine-hundred feet. The Vladimir coming about, going deep,” Taka reported softly, watching the deadly dance play out on the screen.
“She’s going to come up from below the Trepang and take her out,” Marcus said in a surprisingly calm tone.
“She’s breaking off! She’s spotted the Seawolf and is turning to engage!”
A silent cheer of hope filled the bridge as they watched several small blips leave from the Seawolf.
“Tell me those are torpedoes, Taka,” Bill begged.
“Damn straight, they are!” she responded excitedly. “The Vladimir is firing back!”
“Can the Seawolf get clear?” Marcus demanded.
Taka made a few quick calculations. “She’s already clear—the Vladimir’s Captain fired randomly.”
“Can they lock onto her? Look! They’re changing course, heading right for her!” Bill shouted.
Within moments, though, the two torpedoes seemed to lose their course. “Seawolf must have launched countermeasures.”
“Where are those torpedoes going now?” Brenda whispered.
“Toward whatever they lock onto next,” Taka answered.
“Shit! That could be any of us,” Bill squawked.
“New contact in the water – correction two new contacts – they’re tracking enemy torpedoes!” Taka exclaimed, grinding her fingernails into the edge of the sonar screen’s housing.
“Where’d they come from?” Bill asked.
Dunlap spoke up. “Ship launched ATTDS.”
“What’s that?” someone asked.
“Anti-Torpedo Defense System. They’re designed to detect, track, and destroy incoming torpedoes.”
The next moment, the two directionless torpedoes connected with the ATTDS’s and exploded.
A collective sigh of relief ran through the room just as another explosion confirmed that the Seawolf’s aim had been true.
The Vladimir was no more.
High-fives were given but came to an abrupt halt when Marcus spoke. “Where’s the Trepang?”
Taka returned her attention to the sonar, studied it for a moment, and replied, “She’s at fifteen-hundred feet and still dropping.”
“Where’s the bottom and what’s her crush depth?”
“We’re near the Aleu
tian Trench—it’s over twenty-thousand feet deep,” Taka answered grimly.
“Her crush depth is probably about two-thousand feet, maybe a little more,” Dunlap added.
“Stay with her, Taka, we need to know what is happening.”
CHAPTER 10
Washington DC
DANIEL SIGNALED HIS Chief of Staff to join him at the head of the large conference table in the situation room. “Glenn, I want to talk to the Russian President, or whoever is in charge over there, immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Admiral Johnson was speaking with Captain Wiekelan aboard the Aircraft Carrier, Enterprise.
Daniel listened in dismay, hearing the blow-by-blow account of the action taking place in the North Pacific. His stomach churned. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and covered his face with his hands, when the report of the strike to the Trepang came in.
At a tap on his shoulder he brought his head up, pinching the bridge of his nose and clearing his throat.
“Mister President, I have the call to Russian President Genrikh Mikhaulov connected for you.”
“Thank you.”
Picking up the phone nearest Daniel, Glenn spoke to his counterpart in Russia, “I’m handing the phone to President Rossler now.”
Daniel accepted the phone. “President Mikhaulov, we can introduce ourselves at a later stage. But now I want to get right to the point. Two of your submarines attacked one of ours.”
Mikhaulov shot back immediately. “I am unaware of any such act and have not authorized an attack.”
“That doesn’t really matter, Mister President. The fact is, we lost our sub in the attack, and I authorized engagement to stop your subs from attacking ours. I’m hoping that you and I can agree to end the confrontation right now.”
“President Rossler, I can assure you that armed conflict is the last thing we want, and I’m sure you feel the same way.”
“I sure do. There’s been enough conflict in the world, the past few years, to last many lifetimes. But please, Mister President, don’t confuse my equanimity with weakness.”