THE BRINK - OPERATION DEEP FLIGHT
Page 1
THE BRINK
Book I
Operation
Deep Flight
BY
MW HUFFMAN
THE BRINK – Book I
OPERATION DEEP FLIGHT
By
MW HUFFMAN
THE BRINK©2011 by MW HUFFMAN
All Rights Reserved
Copy write 2011
OTHER BOOKS BY MW HUFFMAN
THE BRINK
CLOSE PROXIMITY
BLACKSTAR
CHIMERA
WORLDS END
MYSTERIES & THRILLERS & CATACLYSMIC EVENTS
Angie Bartoni Case File # 1 - The Alphabet Murders
Angie Bartoni Case File # 2 - Frost Bite
Angie Bartoni Case File # 3 - Dead Aim
Angie Bartoni Case File # 4 - What Goes Around
Angie Bartoni Case File # 5 - Nothing to Lose
Angie Bartoni Case File # 6 - Shadow Man
Angie Bartoni Case File # 7 – The Club
Angie Bartoni Case File # 8 – Shakespeare Murders
Angie Bartoni Case File # 9 – One Too Many
Angie Bartoni Case File #10 – Weak Link
Angie Bartoni Case File #11 – Vanishing Act
The Logan Files - Blond Deception
The Logan Files - Innocence and Avarice
The Logan Files - The Deal Breaker
Norris Files - Silver2
Norris Files – Insurrection
Sins of the Fathers
TRILOGIES
The Second Civil War–BOOK I-A Nation Divided
The Second Civil War–Book II-A Nation at War
The Second Civil War–Book III–A Nation Healing
THE END–BOOK I of The Event Series
THE BEGINNING–BOOK II of The Event Series
THE REVELATION–BOOK III of The Event Series
Project BlueBolt – BOOK I – American Gulags
Project BlueBolt – BOOK II – The Gulag Journal
Project BlueBolt – BOOK II – America Uprising
WESTERNS
The Unfinished
This book is dedicated to my wife, Susan, and to my children; Dominique, Jennifer, Cynthia, and Thomas.
CHAPTER ONE
- IZU-OGASAWARA TRENCH-
The carcharadon carcharias, also known as the great white shark, cruises the depths of the ocean, unafraid and unchallenged in the endless search for food.
The USS Kamehameha, SSN 642, a nuclear submarine out of Pearl Harbor came about as close to territorial supremacy as the great white. The Kamehameha had been tracking a Russian “boomer” for the last three days. They had lost contact with her several times but the Russians had become much less aggressive in the past few years and did not move with the same determination that had made them such dangerous adversaries in the past. The Russian boomer was a Typhoon class submarine, one of the largest underwater vessels in the world. It dwarfed the USS Kamehameha in size and destructive power but was no match for her stealth capabilities.
“Captain. Sonar”, the speaker announced in the control room.
“Go ahead sonar,” the Captain replied, looking up from the plotting board.
“I have a faint contact, bearing two, two, zero. Sir, I think it’s the typhoon we have been tracking. It’s too faint to have the computer verify just yet,” sonar man first class Ludlow reported.
“Very well. Let me know when you get a positive ID,” he said turning back to his chart.
He made a quick calculation and then ordered, “Come right to 245 degrees, increase speed to 190 turns.”
“245 degrees, 190 turns,” came the confirming reply.
The captain had decided to try to cut the distance to the Russian sub by turning toward where he thought it was heading. He wanted to get in its prop wash and trail along after it to see what it was up to.
“Captain,” an excited voice suddenly came over the speaker.
“Go,” the Captain replied.
“Sir, something strange is going on. I can’t figure it out,” came the reply.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the Captain asked gruffly.
“Sir, I was tracking the Ruskie sub when suddenly it picked up speed. Sir, its turning what appears to be flank speed. It’s really hauling ass.....I mean it’s really moving fast Sir.”
“You’re sure? It isn’t something else crossing her path?”
“No sir. It’s the sub all right. I’m getting a strange background noise as well and it seems to be heading directly toward the Russians.”
“What kind of noise? A killer sub?” the Captain asked, looking up at the speaker.
“No sir. The computer doesn't recognize the signal and I have never heard anything like it before. It’s definitely in the water. It appears to be much deeper and heading up directly at the Russian sub.”
“Who is this on duty?” the Captain wanted to know.
“Sonarman First Class Ludlow, sir.”
“Okay, Ludlow. Have someone else take over and you report to me immediately. I want to know everything that you heard.”
“Aye. Aye,” the sonarman said and handed the headset to Second Class Rankin.
The Captain sent a messenger to the XO’s cabin to have him report as well. They lived in a highly charged world but it was usually orderly. Suddenly everything was unbalanced and the Captain wanted to know why.
“Ludlow reporting,” the First Class Sonarman said, stepping into the control room.
“Grab some bug juice or coffee if you want,” the captain said, indicating the always present Cool Aid found on every US Navy ship throughout the world. Cool Aid and coffee are the liquid propellants of all sailors when out to sea. The XO arrived a few seconds later and grabbed a cup of coffee.
“What’s cookin’ Skipper?”
“I’m not sure. I was just about to ask our young sonarman, Ludlow, here the same question. So what’s going on?”
“Sir. I got a hit on our Russian sub about a half hour ago. I plugged it into the computer and while I didn’t get a positive ID, I’m pretty sure it’s her. All of a sudden I hear the Russian sub take off at flank speed. I got a positive ID on the computer and then this strange background noise started. I couldn’t get a fix on the location or depth. Once I had determined the relative location of the sub I called you. Just a few minutes later, about the time I felt us change course, I started to get the same noise again. This time it was more pronounced. It seemed to be coming from really deep. I thought it might be seismic activity, you know, an underground earthquake or eruption, but the computer doesn’t agree, and I don’t really think it’s that either,” he told the officers.
“So what is it? Why did it spook the Russians?”
“Well, it seems to be headed directly for them. It’s really moving fast. It’s closing the distance far too fast for a normal submersible.”
“Sonar?”
“Aye. Sonar,” came the response.
“What’s happening with our contact?”
“Sir, I don’t exactly know. The sub is still moving at flank speed and the unidentified sound is closing the distance at a really fast rate.”
“How fast?” the XO asked.
“Sir, it looks like 75 to 80 knots.”
“What?” both the Captain and the XO said simultaneously.
“I know it’s crazy but that’s what we’re getting.”
“You’re recording all of this, right?”
“Tape’s rolling Sir.”
“How long until it overtakes the Russian sub?”
“Less than ten minutes at the present rate of speed,” came the reply.
“Terry,” the captain said to his executi
ve officer, “You have the con. Ludlow, you’re with me. Let’s get to sonar; I want to hear this for myself.”
“Stay on course?” the XO asked.
“Yeah. We are plotted to be in front of them anyway. Let’s just listen and see what’s going on for now,” he said and headed for the sonar room with Ludlow close behind.
* * *
- The Petrovitch,
Russian Typhoon Class Nuclear Submarine –
Captain Demetri Dommivich had been the Supreme Submariner in the Russian fleet for the past fifteen years. His experience and dedication were second to none. He was considered to be headed for bigger things except for one small detail. He loved everything American. Any gadget he could get his hands on he felt compelled to acquire. His love for all things American was speculated to be the reason he had not been promoted above his present rank.
His military tactics and uncanny ability to outthink the NATO patrol boats that constantly searched for him, had made him a legend in the fleet. His superiors admired his abilities but at the same time despised his lack of discipline when it came to goods and trinkets produced in America. The man wore American blue jeans on weekends when not at sea. It infuriated them but Demetri paid them no attention and continued to do as he pleased.
“Captain, it is still gaining.”
“Sonar? Anything on this...this...whatever it is?”
“No Captain. The signals are not recognized by our systems. It is still closing and will be on us in less than six minutes.”
“Change course to 195 degrees, increase speed to emergency flank,” he ordered.
“Sir, the reactors are at 110 percent,” his second in command reminded him.
“I do not care. Emergency flank. Let me know when we get to 120 percent. I promise, I won’t go beyond that,” he assured the officer.
“You heard the captain, 195 degrees, emergency flank,” the second officer bellowed.
Sweat was starting to run down his second-in-command's face. The Captain remained cool. Never let them see you sweat, he had always maintained. If the crew saw you sweat they would lose concentration and the results could be disastrous.
“Sonar?”
“Four minutes. It is still gaining. It has increased speed to 85 knots.”
“What? 85 knots? Nothing can travel that fast underwater. This is crazy.” he said, more to himself than anyone else. Suddenly, Captain Dommivich ordered, “All stop.”
“Captain?”
“All stop. Are you deaf? All stop,” he repeated.
The throttle man reduced speed and immediately the giant submarine started to vibrate less as she began to lose momentum.
“Come to zero, one, zero degrees, hard over,” he commanded.
The sub, with plenty of forward speed started its arch back toward the onrushing noise closing on them.
“What are you going to do?” his second-in-command asked.
“Well, it seems obvious that we cannot outrun this thing. We surely cannot outmaneuver it either. If it intends to run us down, let’s see what it’s all about. It reminds me of a dog chasing a car. What does it think it’s going to do with it after it catches it?”
“But sir, we don’t know what “it” is?”
“Kiev, we were going to find out one way or the other. Let’s just turn around and go at it and see what happens,” he said with a small smile on his face.
“Yes sir,” Kiev replied skeptically.
“Kiev. Have I ever lead you wrong? Now prepare the torpedoes for firing.”
“Yes sir,” the officer replied.
“Then, when we get to zero, one, zero degrees go to 1/3 ahead. Let’s see what our visitors really want, shall we?” the Captain said.
Kiev gave the orders. He had to admit, the Captain had always been unorthodox but he had always come out on top. If he decided to go at the strange noise then who was he to disagree? This time, however, Captain Demetri Dommivich could not have been more wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
- USS Kamehameha, SSN 642 -
“What the hell is he doing?” Captain James Morgan aboard the Kamehameha asked.
“She is dropping speed and turning. Sir, she is turning toward the disturbance,” Ludlow said without turning around.
“Toward? Are you sure?”
“Yes sir. Actually, she is starting to increase speed. She appears to be heading 010 at 12 knots. Right at the noise.”
“Closing rate?”
“Less than two minutes,” Ludlow said, checking his scope and dials.
“Is he crazy?” Chief Whetstone asked.
“Either that or he decided he was losing the race and figured to give it a scare to see what would happen.”
“Sir. They have flooded their tubes and are opening their outer doors.”
“You’re kidding? What does he think he is going to shoot?” the Chief asked, astounded.
“I guess at the general direction of the noise. I’m not sure I know what I’d do in this particular case,” the Captain replied honestly.
“One minute to contact,” Ludlow said.
“Turn on the speaker, I want to hear what’s going on,” the Captain ordered.
Immediately the noise filled the tiny compartment and Ludlow had to adjust the volume. They could hear two distinct pitches but one was growing in intensity as the distance closed.
“Sir, fish in the water. Two, Three, Four. All active.”
“I’ll be damned. He fired. I thought it was a bluff,” the Chief muttered.
“Me too,” the Captain added.
“Thirty seconds to impact,” Ludlow quietly said.
The Captain and Chief both glanced at their watches. Suddenly the loud background noise stopped. The lack of noise was startling to the men crammed into the sonar compartment. They all looked at each other, puzzled.
“Fish are searching. The sub is slowing” Ludlow expertly informed them.
They could hear the faint noises. A high pitched screech shot through the room causing them all to visibly jump. Almost as quickly, total silence followed.
“What in God’s name was that?”
“Sir, I have no idea. The sub is gone as well.”
“What do you mean? Shut down?”
“No sir. It’s gone. I have nothing.”
“Maybe that loud noise caused instrument damage,” the Chief suggested.
“No way. I still have readings, just nothing on the sub or the disturbance,” Ludlow replied.
“I don’t get it. Would someone please tell me what in the world is going on out there,” the Captain said in an exasperated voice.
“I wish I could skipper but I just don’t know what to say,” Ludlow reported.
“I have three hours until our next burst transmission, I had better think of something to tell them.”
USS Kamehameha, SSN 642-: Tracking Russian Typhoon Class Submarine, identified as the Petrovitch. Contact lost at 1420 hours due to an unknown anomaly. All traces of Petrovitch lost as well as the unidentified noise source. Remaining on station to investigate.
Captain Morgan read over the transmission once more before handing it to the radioman. Boy oh boy, was this going to cause the air waves to crackle, he thought as he headed back to his compartment for some rest before his next watch. He couldn’t have been more accurate. Admiral Thompson was livid. What kind of nonsense was this? What anomaly? You don’t just lose a submarine as huge as a typhoon to unknown sources.
Captain Morgan’s ass was going to be his as soon as the next transmission window opened.
CHAPTER THREE
- Philippine Sea -
Major John Hathaway placed his large hands on the throttle controls of the giant B-52 and ever so gently eased them forward just a fraction on an inch. The aircraft responded almost immediately as she eased toward the waiting KC-130 tanker. They were right on schedule for their third mid-air refueling just a few miles from the Yap Islands.
“Man it’s beautiful out here isn’t it?” his c
o-pilot, Captain Scott McKinley, said as the distance closed to the tanker.
“Doesn’t get much better than this,” Hathaway replied keeping his eye on the trailing hose at the rear of the re-fueling tanker.
“You’re on the beam. Bring it on home,” a voice said through his headset.
“Roger,” he replied and eased the throttles a bit further forward.
“Looking good, 100 feet to contact,” his co-pilot informed him.
They felt the plane shudder and buck as they slid into the slipstream of the tanker but Hathaway was ready for it and correctly immediately. He had done this so many times he had lost count. His eyes remained glued to the black snake trailing just ahead of them as they inched closer and closer.
“25..20.....15.....10.....5.....contact....solid lock,” came the same voice over the headset.
“Roger. Checklist completed. Ready to receive.”
“Sending....now.”
The tanker started the flow of precious fuel that the B-52 guzzled at an alarming rate. The two planes did a synchronized ballet in the night air, high above the Yap Islands as the crews went about the task of refueling.
“Check the oil for you?” came the voice from the tanker.
“Sure, and clean the windshield too,” the
Captain replied.
He had only heard that about a thousand times. Nevertheless, it always got repeated.
“We must think of something new,” his co-pilot said, rolling his eyes.
“Hey. What the hell is that?” Hathaway said suddenly pointing out of the starboard window.
“What?”
“That. That light over there. Three o’clock,” he said, gesturing in that direction.
“Hey. What is that? Man it’s really moving. Whoa. Did you see that?” he said as they watched the object suddenly drop several thousand feet in just a blink of the eye.
“Shooting star?”
“That big? A meteor maybe. Look. It’s changing directions. What in the hell can move like that?”