by Dirk Patton
She hadn’t failed to notice the man’s interest in her, and while she was reticent to admit it, he had caught her eye, too. Sitting in the officers’ wardroom, she anxiously awaited his response as he stared at the ceiling. Her eyes drifted across his chiseled features, but she stopped herself from looking any lower in case he caught her stealing a glance.
“So why the change?” He finally asked, snapping her out of a daydream. “I thought you said you could bring the boat right into Bate Bay, and we’d lockout from there.”
“I checked some other charts that aren’t digitized. Old school stuff, you know? Paper? And it’s a good thing I did. There’s a notation about rip tides and their timing. If we’d gone in there, you and your team would have emerged into a 15-knot current that would have carried you to New Zealand. This is much better.”
“Ballsy as hell, too,” he said with a grin. “You ever done something like this before? That close?”
“A couple of times in the Med. Yes. Damn near got caught, but we pulled it off.”
He looked at her for a moment before nodding.
“So, will this work for your team?”
“It adds a degree of risk, but not too much. The water’s going to be turbulent, and visibility will absolutely suck because of sand stirred up from the sea floor, but it gives us good cover. Any idea about ASW activity around the harbor from the Russians or Aussies?”
Adrienne shook her head. The North Carolina had trailed an antenna attached to a buoy long enough to listen in on radio traffic from Russian ships approaching Sydney, but had not had any success in intercepting any military signals.
“No. Without satellite comms we’ve got no way of knowing until we get there. Sorry.”
He nodded, trying to think of something to say to extend his time with her. They were still several hours away from Sydney, and there were things to do with his team, but he could afford fifteen more minutes.
“Where were you when it happened?” Adrienne asked, surprising him.
“On board the Washington. We were getting ready to go into North Korea for a sneak and peek. See what the crazy little bastard in charge was up to. Never made it more than a couple hundred miles from Pearl. You?”
“Here,” Adrienne said. “We were at the end of a patrol. Did you lose anyone?”
“Parents, I’m sure,” he said. “They lived in Virginia Beach. Dad’s a retired Admiral. Heard Virginia got hit pretty hard, so I’m hoping they went quick and didn’t suffer.”
She could see the pain in his eyes for a moment before he shut down that specific thought.
“What about you?” He asked.
“Didn’t have anyone.” She shook her head. “My folks were killed in a plane crash a couple of years ago, and I didn’t have any siblings.”
“No husband?”
Adrienne snorted and barked a quick laugh.
“I’m the Executive Officer of a nuclear submarine. I sometimes don’t even have time to eat, let alone try and hold a relationship together.”
She blushed when he stared intently at her, finally lowering her eyes.
“You? A wife?”
“No,” he chuckled. “XOs on fast attack boats don’t have the market cornered when it comes to no time for relationships. The only other family I have is a little brother. He’s a Lieutenant in the teams. He survived, and the last I heard he’s running around CONUS with some crazy Army major.”
“He’s a SEAL?”
“Yep. Kind of runs in the family. Dad was a frogman when we used to be called that. Guess neither of us had much choice, though I did consider the Marines for about three seconds before I came to my senses.”
The door to the wardroom clanged open, and they looked around in surprise, quickly coming to their feet when Commander Talbot walked in.
“Carry on,” he said, waving them back into their chairs and heading for an urn of coffee. “What do you think of the XO’s plan, Commander?”
He filled a spotlessly clean, white ceramic mug and turned to face their table.
“Captain, I think it’s a little bit crazy and a little bit genius. And, probably enough of each to work.”
“Glad to hear it,” Talbot said, taking a careful sip. “We’ve picked up some assistance from the East Caledonian Current, and should be approaching Sydney Harbour an hour ahead of schedule. XO, is that going to help us, or are we going to be sitting and waiting?”
Adrienne quickly pulled out her iPad and tapped furiously on its screen for nearly a minute. She read some data, then tapped some more as she worked on a calculation.
“Actually helps, sir,” she said without looking up. “There’s a big Russian container ship that should be transiting the area within a very few minutes of our arrival.”
“Excellent,” Talbot said, taking another sip. “XO, Lieutenant Hale has the watch. I’d suggest sleep for everyone. We’re going to be very busy in a few hours.”
He stared at them over the rim of his coffee cup until they stood and excused themselves. Watching them leave, he felt a minor twinge of guilt at having interrupted. He’d seen the way they were looking at each other when he walked in.
The Captain didn’t care if a romance blossomed between the two officers. In fact, he’d be happy for them. But now wasn’t the time for his XO to be distracted, nor did the SEAL need to be thinking about anything other than the mission. With a sigh, he stepped out of the wardroom and headed out to take a walk around his boat.
31
Admiral Packard didn’t bother looking up when the knock on his office door sounded. Shouting for whomever it was to enter, he kept his focus on the paper he was reading. It was a transcript of Russian military communications that had been picked up by a B2 bomber specially equipped with a sophisticated ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) suite.
The plane, very stealthy to begin with, had overflown the advancing invasion fleet well above its publicly published service ceiling of 50,000 feet. At nearly 75,000 feet, it had been invisible to the enemy’s radar and infrared defensive systems. The only problem was that he’d had to wait for it to return to Hawaii and download the intelligence it had gathered, so he was reading a transcript of a conversation that had occurred several hours ago.
At first, the conversation seemed innocuous. It was the Admiral in command of the fleet and the General responsible for the tens of thousands of Russian troops that constituted the landing force. The first few pages were the General ensuring that they were ready to meet the depleted American fleet that stood between them and Hawaii. The Admiral assured his counterpart that they were ready.
Packard grimaced when he read that line. Two hours after the conversation, before the transcript had reached his desk, the Russians had rolled over the ragtag collection of ships he had sent to slow them down. Yes, they’d bought some time for the islands, though not much.
What had piqued the Admiral’s interest was the conversation the two senior officers had after discussing the readiness of the fleet. They were worried, that much was obvious. There was dissension in the ranks as the fighting men were unable to reconcile pressing an attack against an adversary that was already beaten.
The Motherland was in pieces. Millions had died from the attacks launched by the Americans, and those that hadn’t were facing the swiftly approaching Russian winter without even the basic necessities of food and fuel for heat.
Specifics weren’t discussed, but the General referenced three occasions in which outright rebellion amongst the troops had to be put down. Apparently with the ruthless use of lethal force. The Admiral had commiserated, revealing there had been attempted mutinies by the crews aboard two of his warships. He was concerned that as they continued to approach Hawaii, more malcontents would try to take control.
His eyebrows rose dramatically when he read the line where the General mused that perhaps the men were right, and they should turn around and head for home. He read the line two more times to make sure he wasn’t missing something.
; Following the General’s comment were several marks on the paper, denoting the passage of time before the Admiral responded. His words caused Packard’s pulse to begin racing. Rather than railing at the General, the Admiral had said they shouldn’t be having the conversation over a channel that could be monitored, then broke the connection.
Slamming forward in his chair, Packard stabbed the intercom button on his desk phone. A young Lieutenant, manning the outer office, answered immediately.
“Get me the actual audio of this transcript, and a Russian translator in here. And I want someone from NIS with everything we know about Admiral Padorin and General Toklov. Now!” He shouted.
His aide acknowledged the order and Packard cut off the intercom.
“Bad news, sir?” Captain West asked.
The Admiral looked up in surprise, having forgotten that someone had knocked and entered his office. The Captain had waited patiently, standing in front of his desk.
“Read this!”
Packard thrust the sheaf of papers across his desk. West took them and quickly scanned the first few pages. Reaching the part that contained the conversation, he stiffened in surprise before flipping back a page and re-reading.
“They’re ready to throw in the towel!”
He placed the papers on the Admiral’s desk and smiled. Packard met his eyes but wasn’t as convinced.
“Perhaps,” he said. “I want to hear the conversation for myself. Listen to their voices as they have the discussion, even if I can’t understand what they’re saying.”
“Seems pretty clear, sir. They’re about to have a full blown mutiny on their hands. If they’ve already got problems amongst the ground troops and on two of their warships… well, that’s damn good news for us.”
“Don’t forget, Captain. These are the Russians. Their military, at the enlisted level, has never been terribly professional. It was better during the Cold War, but since the Soviet Union fell, they’ve pretty much filled the ranks with any warm body they could find. Discord amongst their enlisted isn’t all that uncommon.”
“Agreed, sir,” Captain West said. “However, discord is one thing. This sounds like an outright revolt against the officers who are ordering them to keep fighting.”
Packard nodded, looking up when his door opened. It was his receptionist, escorting a man carrying an iPad.
“Commander Marx, sir,” the new arrival introduced himself. “I have the audio file you requested and am also a translator.”
“Marx? Russian heritage?” West asked as the man stood at attention in front of Packard’s desk.
“Yes, sir. My father was a Soviet diplomat in Cuba in the early 80s. When Andropov died, and Chernenko assumed power, he had to get out or face recall to Moscow. He apparently had some history with the new Premier, though he never shared the details with me. I was three years old when he and my mother took me and boarded a refugee boat leaving Cuba for Florida. We were granted asylum, and I grew up in the US, but learned Russian before English.”
West traded a glance with Packard. Both men already knew the details that Marx had just related. Early on, once Russia was revealed as the architect of the attacks, NIS had taken a very close look at every person who had even the most tenuous of ties to the enemy. Commander Marx had been front and center in their investigation, having been born in the former Soviet Union. Even though nothing was found to indicate he should pose any concerns, his was one of a handful of files that had been forwarded to the Admiral for his review.
Packard cleared his throat.
“Play the file for me Commander. The part where they’re discussing the attempted mutinies. Just let me hear it. If I want it translated, I’ll ask.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man tapped the tablet a couple of times, then swiped his finger to cue up the part of the conversation the Admiral had requested. A deep, Russian voice began coming from the tiny speakers.
“The General is the one speaking, sir,” Marx said quietly.
They listened intently, Packard following along with the written transcript. When there was the click as the Admiral disconnected, the Commander stopped the playback and waited for further instructions.
“What do you think, Captain?” The Admiral peered across his desk.
“I hear a man that is exhausted. War weary. Both of them, for that matter. I would expect some emotion in their voices as they discuss rebellion in the ranks, but I didn’t hear that. They almost sound like they’re sympathetic. The tone matches the words I read. This wasn’t a joke or sarcasm, in my opinion.”
Packard thought about what he’d just heard, then turned to Marx.
“Commander. You’ve listened to this several times now. Being a native Russian speaker, what’s your take?”
“Sir, I concur with Captain West. These two men are not happy with the situation in the least. There is no apparent anger towards the mutineers, which is what I would expect. Instead, there is only resignation. As if they are just going through the motions.”
The Admiral stared at him for several long moments.
“What would push them over the edge? What could I say to convince them to do just what the General suggested? Turn around and go home.”
“Sir, Russians are a very feeling people. I grew up an American, in a Russian household, and got a firsthand look at the differences between my parents and my friends’ parents. What I learned from that is there seems to be a depth of emotions present in Russians that is not there in Americans.”
“You’re saying they care more about their kids than we do?” Captain West asked, sounding slightly offended.
“No, sir. Not that. I’m not sure how to explain this, but I’ll try. If you attack America, we get mad as a society and generally retaliate against the aggressor, but in general, we get on with our lives. In World War II, Germany and Japan were our mortal enemies. Thirty years later they were two of our greatest allies. That wouldn’t happen with Russians. They take everything personal. Deeply personal. They don’t move on, and they don’t forget. It’s one of the traits that makes the Russian people great, but is also one of their greatest weaknesses.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Commander.” Packard leaned back in his chair. “Are they pissed off because we attacked their home? Or are they only thinking about their loss and wanting to see their loved ones?”
“Probably some of both, sir. But, what I’m trying to say is that I believe they feel continuing to prosecute the war is pointless. Both sides have been devastated. As they sail into battle, their families are starving. Attacking us further will not lessen the misery at home, nor will it prevent additional Russian deaths. In fact, it will have the opposite effect. They want to go home and save the ones they can. However, they won’t. At least not the senior officers. They’re too… Russian.”
Packard stared at the Commander for a long time, saying nothing. His gaze was intense, and after more than a minute a sheen of sweat formed on the younger officer’s forehead. Finally, the Admiral looked away and picked up a mug of coffee that had gone cold.
“Commander, put together a message. Video and a separate audio-only version. I want you to explain, in Russian, where Barinov and his cronies are. How they’re living. Use some of the footage we received from our Consulate in Sydney.
“At the end, make it clear that the United States no longer has a quarrel with the Russian people. We just want to be left alone to survive. There will be no further attacks unless we’re attacked first. Your target audience are the enlisted men in that fleet. Can you have that ready in an hour?”
“Yes, sir. I can do that!”
Marx smiled as he thought about the probable reaction by the men aboard the Russian fleet if they heard and saw how their president was living, while their families were either dead or dying.
“Captain, as soon as that message is ready, let’s start transmitting it at the Russian fleet in any and every way we can think of. If we’re lucky, a few inciden
ts of mutiny will turn into a wholesale insurrection.”
32
There weren’t any infected as we drove from the freeway to Luke Air Force Base. The road was broad, which was good as there were frequently wrecked or abandoned vehicles blocking the way. Not so we couldn’t make progress, but they slowed us more than I liked.
The area had been in a transition period as urban sprawl took over. We alternately passed established neighborhoods, empty fields that had once grown crops, and more than a few developments that were under construction. But, no infected.
“Why aren’t there any?” Rachel asked, looking around nervously.
“No idea,” I said, steering around a National Guard deuce and a half that was on its side, straddling two lanes.
“Maybe the heat here, too?”
“What are you talking about?” Tiffany asked from the backseat.
Rachel spent a few minutes filling her in on the theory that the virus couldn’t survive extreme temperatures. She nodded when the explanation was over, not asking any more questions.
Ahead and to my left, I caught sight of the air base’s perimeter fence, glittering in the sun. I was encouraged to see that it was still standing. Well, at least the part within my view.
“Luke coming up on the left,” I said to alert Rachel that we were approaching our destination.
Soon, we reached a section of the road where the fence ran parallel to the pavement. I followed it for a few minutes, coming to a stop short of the main gate.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked in frustration.
Several bollards extended up from the cement apron leading to a stout bar that controlled vehicle access to the base. I sat staring at them for a long moment, debating just abandoning our attempt to change to a military vehicle and getting back on the road. As it was, it would be dark by the time we made it to Puerto Penasco.