Harrison had reported the time the limpet mine fuse had been activated, which was relayed to Captain Wilson, who had decided to remain at periscope depth. As the time approached, he heard the Captain’s voice, and Harrison spotted Wilson’s faint outline in the Captain’s chair.
“Officer of the Deck, expose nine feet of scope.”
Lieutenant Shroyer acknowledged and gave the requisite order, and the Diving Officer of the Watch made the necessary adjustments. Michigan rose slowly upward, pushing the top of its sail to within a few feet of the water’s surface.
Harrison sensed an individual in Control moving toward him, and it took only a few seconds to realize the five-foot-five-inch-tall officer stopping beside him was Lieutenant Jayne Stucker, observing in the Control Room, as was Harrison. He leaned in her direction.
“Why nine feet of scope?” he asked quietly.
Stucker replied softly, “The earth is round, you know.” A smile flashed across her face in the semidarkness as she poked fun at the stereotypical Special Forces image: all brawn and no brain. Harrison returned the smile. Although the young Lieutenant was barely half Christine O’Connor’s age, there was something about Stucker that reminded him of his former fiancée.
As he wondered what Christine was up to, Stucker elaborated. “Due to the curvature of the earth, how far you can see is determined by your height of eye. Captain Wilson ordered Michigan as close to the surface as possible, raising the scope optics. Depending on what type of fireworks your limpet mine produces, we might see something.”
“Got it,” Harrison said. His eyes shifted to the red digital clock in the Control Room. Five more minutes.
The minutes passed slowly, and as the clock approached the designated time, Lieutenant Shroyer paused his circular rotations and steadied the periscope on the bearing to Latakia. Harrison’s eyes shifted back to the Perivis display.
The time counted down, reaching the two-hour point, but there was no visible indication the mine had detonated. Harrison sensed the tension in the Control Room as the Captain and his crew tried to assess whether their mission was a success.
A report over the speakers broke the silence in Control. “Conn, Sonar. Detect explosion on the spherical array, bearing zero-nine-five. Correlates to Latakia.”
Harrison felt the tension dissipate. The limpet mine had probably just blown a hole in the bottom of the ship and hadn’t detonated any munitions aboard. They’d have to wait until morning, when satellite reconnaissance was received, combined with local HUMINT—human intelligence—to fully assess mission success.
Captain Wilson ordered his Officer of the Deck, “Come down to two hundred feet, course two-zero-zero, speed standard.”
It was time to vacate the area.
27
MOSCOW
Defense Minister Boris Chernov eased into a chair in the small conference room in the Kremlin Senate, wondering if the unexpected news he’d deliver would help or hurt his attempt to persuade President Kalinin. Gathered around the conference table this morning were the same men who had been present during the initial briefing. Kalinin was seated at the head of the table, and to his right sat SVR Director Gorev, Chernov, and Foreign Minister Lavrov. On the other side of the table were four military officers: Chief of the General Staff General Sergei Andropov and the commanders of the Russian Ground Forces, Aerospace Forces, and Navy.
Chernov delivered the awaited update. “All essential elements have been arranged, Mr. President. The preliminary ground units are en route to Kaliningrad Oblast, an agreement has been forged with President Lukashenko in Belarus, and arrangements have been made in Ukraine. We are confident we’ll achieve the primary objectives.”
“And the insurance?” Kalinin asked.
Chernov answered, “Iran has agreed to their part, which is the one essential agreement we required. India hasn’t replied, although we expect a response by Victory Day. China also has not yet committed, and we don’t have a timeline on their decision. We feel good about India, but less certain about China.”
Kalinin replied, “I will not proceed based on good feelings.”
“India and China aren’t required,” Chernov reminded Kalinin. “If either one commits, however, our position will be ironclad. America will be paralyzed.”
“And if neither commits”—Kalinin’s eyes swept the military officers at the conference table—“can we keep the United States from interfering?”
General Andropov answered, “Without India and China, we cannot prevent the United States from intervening. However, if they do, we will defeat them.”
Kalinin shifted his gaze to Admiral Lipovsky, Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Navy, who would shoulder the burden of their insurance plan. “Admiral?”
Lipovsky replied, “The Northern and Pacific Fleets are underway and will reach their objectives at the prescribed time. However…” Lipovsky glanced at Defense Minister Chernov. “An issue has arisen.”
Kalinin turned to Chernov, who provided the details. “A few hours ago, there was an explosion aboard Marshal Ustinov. Her forward compartments are flooded, sonar is out of commission, and there is significant damage to her tactical systems.”
“What was the cause of the explosion?”
“We don’t know yet. The explosion didn’t originate from ordnance aboard the cruiser, so we are unsure what detonated. It’s possible a mine was attached to the ship’s hull, but there are very few entities with that ability, and even fewer with the inclination.”
“What’s the impact?” Kalinin directed his question at Admiral Lipovsky.
“It’s a significant blow,” Lipovsky answered, “but not fatal. Marshal Ustinov is the third most potent combatant in the Northern Fleet, and will be out of action for several months. However, her loss can be compensated for with additional land-based missile batteries.”
Kalinin turned to Colonel General Viktor Glukov, Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Ground Forces.
“We have the assets,” he said.
There was a knock on the conference room door, and the conversation paused as Kalinin responded, “Enter.”
The door opened, revealing Kalinin’s executive assistant. “I apologize for interrupting, Mr. President, but I thought you’d want to take this call.”
“Who is it?”
“The American president.”
Kalinin raised an eyebrow as he said, “Put him on speaker.”
The assistant tapped the necessary buttons on the conference room phone, then said, “Mr. President, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” was the response.
The assistant left the conference room, and as the door shut, Kalinin said, “This is President Kalinin.”
After the requisite pleasantries were exchanged, the American president broached the reason for the call. “I have bad news to share with you, Yuri. It turns out we’ve had a mishap similar to your submarine that accidentally attacked Roosevelt. We were executing a training mission with one of our SEAL teams in the Mediterranean, and they accidentally attached real ordnance, instead of a dummy mine, to the hull of Marshal Ustinov. You have my sincerest apology for this mishap, and we’re launching an investigation immediately. Once we determine the root cause, we’ll put additional safeguards in place to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”
There was silence in the conference room as all eyes turned to Kalinin, waiting for his response. Chernov noted the heat rising in Kalinin’s face as he processed what the United States had done. Finally, Kalinin spoke, his words failing to match the anger on his face.
“Thank you for the call. It is unfortunate, but these things happen. I hope both countries get to the root cause of each incident to ensure future mishaps do not occur.”
“I agree wholeheartedly, Yuri. We’ll keep you apprised of what we learn.”
After the call ended, Kalinin turned toward Chernov. “It turns out the Americans aren’t as spineless as you predicted.”
Chernov shifted uncomforta
bly in his seat before replying, “I admit their response is unexpected, but my overall assessment is unchanged. Attaching a mine to a ship is one thing. Committing their entire military to a conflict is another. Once everything has been arranged, they will not engage.”
There was silence again as Kalinin evaluated whether to proceed with the plan. Chernov sensed Kalinin wasn’t convinced their plan was ultimately in their country’s best interest, and the Russian president’s next words confirmed his assessment.
“Initiate the SVR operation in Ukraine and mobilize all required military units. However, do not proceed further until I approve.”
28
USS MICHIGAN
Lieutenant Jayne Stucker turned slowly on the periscope as the guided missile submarine cruised just beneath the surface of the Mediterranean Sea. It was late afternoon and her watch as Officer of the Deck was drawing to a close. Stucker couldn’t have been more thankful, after going round and round on the periscope for almost six hours straight, aside from an occasional break by a fire control technician.
After departing the vicinity of Latakia the previous night, Michigan had taken station in the Eastern Mediterranean in the gap between Syria and Cyprus, awaiting further orders. Those orders arrived this morning, and Michigan had crept closer to Latakia, where they would await the departure of the Russian warships, then shadow them as they rejoined the Russian combatants at sea.
When Stucker shifted to a high-power scan of the quadrant in Latakia’s direction, a new object appeared on the horizon—the distinctive superstructure of a modern warship: gray steel bedecked with a plethora of navigation and tactical radar antennas. The entire ship wasn’t yet visible, as it was still hull-down, the hull of the ship blocked from view due to the curvature of the earth, but there was no doubt as to the contact type.
Stucker called out to the microphone in the overhead as she circled on the periscope. “Sonar, Conn. Hold a new contact, designated Victor five-seven, classified warship, outbound from Latakia on a bearing of zero-four-five. Report any contact on that bearing.”
“Conn, Sonar. Aye, wait,” was the response from the Sonar Supervisor. Not long thereafter, he reported, “Conn, Sonar. Hold a new contact, designated Sierra three-two, bearing zero-four-five, classified warship with twin four-bladed screws.”
“Conn, Sonar. Aye,” Stucker replied. “All stations, Conn. Correlate Victor five-seven and Sierra three-two as Master one. Track Master one.”
With her eye still to the periscope, Stucker pressed the button on the communication panel for the Captain’s stateroom and retrieved the microphone, then informed Michigan’s Commanding Officer of the new contact. Wilson entered the Control Room a moment later, his arrival announced by the Quartermaster: “Captain in Control.”
Wilson stepped onto the Conn. “Let me take a look.”
Stucker swiveled the periscope to a bearing of zero-four-five, then stepped back as Wilson placed his face against the eyepiece. After examining Master one, he handed the periscope back to Stucker, who continued her circular sweeps.
“Take an observation of Master one,” Wilson ordered.
Stucker repeated back the order, then hesitated. Determining a contact’s bearing was easy, but range was another matter. To determine the range, she needed to know the contact’s masthead height. To determine that, she needed to classify the contact. Submarine officers memorized surface ship silhouettes—their superstructure design, antenna placement, and weapon launcher arrangement—but it was sometimes difficult to distinguish between the various classes. Sonar would often help, classifying surface ships based on their screw configuration, but the Russian ubiquitous twin four-bladed screws on this contact provided little insight. Wilson had most likely classified the Russian warship during his brief look, but Stucker wasn’t sure.
Her hesitation conveyed her uncertainty, and Wilson gave her a clue. “If I told you Master one carries eight Sunburn missiles and two Shtil missile systems, what ship class would you be looking at?”
Stucker stopped on the contact during her next revolution, shifted to high power, and activated the doubler. Based on the ship configuration and armed with Wilson’s critical data, she now knew what she was looking at.
“It’s a Sovremenny class destroyer.”
“Correct,” Wilson replied.
Stucker called out, “Prepare for observation, Master one, Number Two scope. Use a masthead height of one-two-zero feet.”
The Fire Control Technician of the Watch (FTOW), seated at one of the combat control consoles, reconfigured his displays, then replied, “Ready.”
Stucker tweaked the periscope to the left, centering the crosshairs on the target, then pressed the red button on the periscope handle, sending the bearing to combat control. “Bearing, mark.”
“Bearing zero-four-five,” the FTOW called out as an image of the contact appeared on his console. Using the dual trackballs, he outlined the length and height of the contact, then reported, “Range, one-two-thousand yards.”
Stucker called out, “Angle on the bow, starboard thirty.”
The FTOW called out, “Matches,” indicating Stucker’s estimate of the contact’s course matched what fire control had calculated. They now knew its range and course, and with another observation in a few minutes, they’d nail down the contact’s speed.
Wilson settled into the Captain’s chair on the Conn, and as Stucker waited a few minutes for another observation of Master one, another gray superstructure appeared on the horizon, and a moment later a third. As Wilson monitored the situation on the Perivis display, it didn’t take long to conclude what was occurring. The Russian warships were sortieing from Latakia. However, they were headed in an unexpected direction.
Captain Wilson had positioned USS Michigan west of Latakia, planning to fall in behind the departing Russian warships as they headed northwest, around Cyprus, rejoining the rest of the Russian Northern Fleet as it headed toward the Black Sea. Instead, they were headed southwest.
Turning to Stucker, Wilson ordered, “Station the Fire Control Tracking Party. Rig ship for Ultra-Quiet.”
Stucker relayed the orders to the Chief of the Watch, and the announcements went over the shipwide 1-MC announcing system. Personnel streamed into the Control Room, and several minutes later, every console was manned and a new Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Charlie Eaton—the ship’s Navigator and the Battle Stations Torpedo Officer of the Deck—was on the Conn.
“I am ready to relieve you,” Eaton announced.
As the two officers completed their relief, Stucker’s thoughts went to the Russian warships headed southwest. Where the heck are they going?
29
ZAPORIZHIA, UKRAINE
From across the crowded cobblestone plaza, Randy Guimond peered through the open window of the darkened fifth-story apartment, studying the temporary four-foot-tall wooden platform, its sides draped in white-, blue-, and red-striped bunting that matched the colors of the Russian Federation flag. Although the crowd had thickened in anticipation of tonight’s speeches, the platform, with a podium placed near the front, remained empty. Guimond checked his watch; another five minutes before Alex Rudenko and his associates took the stage.
It was only a few days ago when Guimond met with Rudenko in the private room at the back of the Ukrainian-cuisine restaurant Korchma. Rudenko was a leading member of Ukraine’s Opposition Bloc, an amalgamation of six political parties opposing Ukraine’s attempt to join NATO, preferring a pro-Russian, or at least neutral, stance. Their position had strong support here in the Zaporizhia Oblast, where twenty-five percent of the residents were ethnic Russians and seventy percent of the population spoke Russian.
During Ukraine’s recent Euromaidan revolution, President Viktor Yanukovych’s Russian-leaning administration had been replaced with a pro-Western government. Public sentiment had been sharply divided, with the Donbass—the oblasts of Donetsk and Luhansk—declaring their independence from Ukraine. A full-fledged civil war erupted
between the separatists and the Ukrainian government, with the Donbass separatists supported discreetly by Russian troops and equipment.
Many in Zaporizhia also favored independence from Ukraine or outright assimilation into Russia, but the oblast remained part of Ukraine. With Donbass to the north and Crimea, already annexed by Russia, to the south, Zaporizhia would be the next domino to fall. All it needed was a nudge. As Rudenko and his associates climbed onto the stage, Guimond raised his rifle to his shoulder and placed his eye to the scope.
Guimond had chosen the apartment carefully, five stories up to provide a clear view of the participants on the platform, along with a short trek down a nearby stairwell to a car behind the building. Also carefully selected was the Ukrainian-made Zbroyar Z-008 Tactical Pro sniper rifle in his hands, outfitted with a scope and five-round box magazine. Five rounds weren’t many, but would be sufficient for tonight’s festivities. Guimond was wearing gloves, so his fingerprints wouldn’t be added to those of the Ukrainian national who had unwittingly sold the rifle to an SVR agent.
Rudenko moved forward to the podium, flanked by two men on one side and a man and woman on the other. The five men and women joined hands and raised them in unity, drawing cheers from the crowd. After releasing hands, Rudenko greeted the gathering throng, his voice booming from speakers beside the podium. Guimond listened as Rudenko’s speech progressed through the expected tenets, keeping the scope’s crosshairs centered on Rudenko’s head.
As Rudenko reached the climax of his speech, advocating for Zaporizhia’s succession from Ukraine, Guimond adjusted his aim, down and to the right, stopping on Rudenko’s left shoulder. He had told Rudenko he wouldn’t be killed, but failed to mention he’d be shot.
Guimond pulled the trigger, moving to his next target as Rudenko lurched backward. Two quick squeezes and the men to the right dropped onto the podium. Guimond swung left, where the third man and the woman were scrambling toward the podium steps. Another squeeze and a round hit the woman in the side of her head, sending her tumbling down the steps. The final man dove off the side of the podium onto the cobblestone plaza, but not before Guimond put a bullet into his thigh.
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