by Nina Bruhns
Nikolai checked the display. Sure enough, the Chinese nuclear sub had reappeared, hovering above the far rim of the deep canyon Ostrov had just left behind. Probably searching for their missing UUV.
Good luck with that.
“Conn, engineering. Damage assessed,” Yasha called up moments later.
Nikolai switched circuits. “Engineering, conn. Talk to me.”
“It’s not as bad as we thought, Kapitan,” Yasha said. “We should have her up to full power in an hour.”
“Excellent.” Not that they’d be running under battery power anytime soon. If Nikolai had his way—which he would—they’d be transiting on the surface for the rest of this ill-fated patrol. “What’s the status of the flooding?” he asked.
“Damn thing’s still leaking, Kapitan. But we’ve managed to slow it down. Once we’re on the roof and can blow this swimming pool, I suggest we do a complete new weld.”
“We’ll put in to Attu for as long as it takes,” Nikolai said. He didn’t want to bring passengers aboard with the boat in this condition.
Of course, that opened up a whole new can of worms.
The investigation into Julie’s attack had not yielded a suspect. Walker had been cleared. Everyone else on board had accounted for their movements to Starpom Varnas, Praporshchik Zubkin, and Kvartirmyeister Kresney, and his chief of security. No crew member had jumped out to them as being remotely suspicious. Which meant either this was a consummate pro who knew how to cover his tracks well, or the saboteur was among the scientists on Attu.
Nikolai didn’t want to think about what might happen while the boat was crippled, the crew preoccupied with repairs, and the scientists at loose ends and disgruntled over the delay.
“Send Starpom Varnas back up to me. I’ll have him put together the repair plan.”
“The starpom isn’t here,” Yasha informed him. “He went to check that the after batteries are secure.”
“Very well.” Nikolai switched off and called over to Zubkin, who’d assumed his OOD duties. “Find the starpom. I need him here ASAP.”
“Two-zero-zero meters,” Borovsky said.
Meanwhile, Nikolai paced up and down the upward-tilted deck, scanning the scores of monitors, scouting for signs of trouble as the control party blew the ballast in steady blasts and the helmsman took Ostrov in a contained ascent up through the canyonlands to the roof.
“Conn, sonar!” Gavrikov called apprehensively. “The Y-8MPA is dropping a sonobuoy! Bearing three-four-two.”
Nikolai halted in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.” Why the hell would they be doing that?
Of course, as far as the Chinese were concerned the two subs were still engaged in war games. It would be impossible for them not to be hearing Ostrov’s ascent to the surface. But the 093 had no way of knowing about their emergencies. And to be fair, Walker had just killed one of their expensive toys.
Хуйня.
“And I have a second contact,” Gavrikov said, even more uneasily. “A big one. Surface vessel. Bearing two-three-five. Give me a minute to analyze . . .”
“One-five-zero meters,” Borovsky announced.
Seconds later Gavrikov came back with, “Identified as . . . a fishing trawler. And we’ve got nets, sir.”
A fishing trawler. Okay. Fishing was the main industry in these parts. They’d already passed by a dozen or more commercial fishing boats along the way. They could be a nuisance for subs because these days nets could reach down as far as six or seven hundred meters. Something to be avoided. But not particularly dangerous.
Nikolai’s shoulders notched down a fraction. This could be good news. At least they’d have a witness if anything untoward went down with the 093. And possible rescuers nearby if they didn’t get that damn leak fixed, and went down literally.
“Another sonobuoy dropped, sir!” Gavrikov called, his voice going up an octave. “Bearing one-one-three.”
“Ignore it. Ignore them all,” Nikolai admonished the men. “The Chinese wouldn’t dare—”
All at once the sound of an explosion pulsed through the walls of the sub. Not a big one. Maybe the size of a hand grenade.
Everyone froze for an instant.
Suddenly the sonobuoys made sense. They were echo ranging. Lay a field of sonobuoys, then drop a small explosion into the middle of it, and sonar will pick up that sound, but also the echoes as they bounce off anything solid blocking the sound’s path. Like a submarine. The Russians had perfected the technique. He had no idea the Chinese also used it.
Clever. At least it would have been, before Ostrov had started dumping ballast. Which could probably be heard clear to Hawaii.
“Was that an explosion?” Julie cried in alarm.
He turned to her. “Just a small one. Nothing to worry about.”
“Ex-cuse me?” She looked alarmed and scandalized.
“It’s called echo ranging. The underwater equivalent of triangulation,” he explained. “Though God knows why. Not like they couldn’t find us now even if they were deaf, dumb, and blind.”
She stared at him. “Why would they do it, then?”
“One-zero-zero meters,” said Borovsky.
“Damn good question. No reason I can think of. Not now, anyway.”
“Prearranged plan?” she offered. “Didn’t you say there was no way to communicate other than at close range when a sub is underwater? Maybe the plane doesn’t know we’re surfacing.”
“They’ve got sonar, too.”
“All right. Maybe they really are practicing on us and don’t really care if they already know where we are.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” he said. “Though again: why? They can practice this stuff on their own subs. Why us, and why now?”
She looked thoughtful. “So they appear to be searching for us, but they already know where we are. . . .” She thought some more. “You’re right. This has to be part of their strategy.”
She was back to Sun Tzu.
He nodded. “Their actions must have another, hidden purpose.”
They gazed silently at each other, both mentally sifting through the possibilities.
“A diversion?” she suggested.
The sound of another distant explosion pounded through the hull. This time, the men barely glanced up from their controls.
“Not a very good one,” Nikolai said doubtfully, surveying the uninterrupted activity of his crew. “Unless . . .” He glanced at the sonar repeater, then called to Zubkin, “Keep a sharp ear on that fishing trawler. I want to know if anyone so much as farts on it.”
Zubkin looked doubtful, but said, “Da, Kapitan.”
Nikolai turned back impatiently to the repeater.
“The fishing trawler?” Julie asked, following the direction of his focus.
Nikolai frowned. “It’s the only other thing out there, other than the 093. Okay, what else could those explosions mean . . . ?”
She worried her lip with her teeth then looked up, her eyes clearing. “How about a signal?”
The idea stabbed through him, causing a visceral reaction. Every one of his instincts came to attention.
A signal!
“That’s it,” he growled, straightening like a shot. Everything fit.
But a signal to whom? Someone on board Ostrov? Or someone out there in—or on—the Bering Sea? One thing seemed certain, whoever it was wasn’t on Attu Island.
He swung around and scrutinized each of the central post watch standers. No furtive looks. No changed posture. Everyone was acting completely as expected.
So a signal for someone else, then.
“And for what?” he whispered.
He needed a clue.
Think.
There had been two explosions. One, two . . .
But in triangulation they always came in sets of three.
His pulse kicked up.
What would happen on three?
His sudden grim certainty must have shown on his face. Julie looked at him, her color growing pal
er still.
“Zero-five-zero meters,” Borovsky announced. They were nearly to the surface.
“I’m sensing,” she murmured, “it’s time for me to get scared.” Her voice wavered slightly.
He leaned down and kissed her, full on the lips. “Do you believe in prayer?” In truth, he hadn’t done much of it himself. Especially lately.
She nodded. “Yes.”
The third explosion hit. It was closer to them this time, jolting the deck beneath their feet.
He met her widening eyes. “In that case, now would be a good time to start.”
Nikolai held his breath, waiting for something to happen.
Seconds ticked by.
Nothing did.
Not that they knew about.
But the hair was rising on the back of his neck.
He strode to the periscope stand, ready to send up P1 as soon as the sub leveled off at depth. The sound of clinking sea ice dotted the sonar display. A short distance away from Ostrov, the fishing trawler blinked. Farther away, the 093 seemed to have slowed, as if lying in wait. But for what?
“Zero-one-zero,” Borovsky announced and looked over at Nikolai.
He nodded. “Steady on course zero-six-seven,” he ordered. “Rig for diesel, Mr. Zubkin.”
While the OOD called out orders and the control party made ready for the switch in power, Nikolai ordered the periscope up. He peered through it, doing a slow 360° scan to check out the situation on the surface. Every eye in the central post turned to the TV repeater, which transmitted the picture he was seeing.
In the distance to the northeast he could see the low hills of Attu Island, swathed as it usually was in a gossamer coat of mist. He kept turning, but chunks of ice bobbing on the low waves blocked part of the view, so he raised the scope a bit higher.
Sure enough, situated about two kilometers to the south he spotted the distinct silhouette of a trawler with its nets splayed out behind. He focused in tighter.
In the bright afternoon sun, he could see the Canadian flag fluttering above the ship’s stern; a trio of men stood on deck. One of them had binoculars to his eyes and seemed to be returning Nikolai’s intense scrutiny. He raised a hand.
Nikolai blinked. A greeting? Or . . .
Not. He watched as the two other men approached the first, each carrying a long, cylindrical object. Which they lifted to their shoulders. And pointed right at Ostrov. Twin laser beams burned into the periscope eye.
Слава богу! Holy mother of—
“Man battle stations! Incoming RPGs! Crash dive! Dive! Dive!” he yelled, bringing down the periscope. A handheld antitank Bastion could probably not pierce the double steel hull of a submarine, but Nikolai wasn’t taking any chances.
A shocked Zubkin relayed his orders, and the entire stupefied central post sprang into action as the emergency warnings were blared over the 1MC to the rest of the sub. The command watch had seen the same thing as he had on the P1 monitor.
“Where the fuck is Starpom Varnas?” he shouted over the controlled chaos of the crash dive.
The alarm screamed and the 1MC announcements ripped through the air. The deck tipped sharply as Ostrov bit into the dive to escape.
But it was too late.
The high-pitched whine of the approaching missiles made everyone look up in horror.
“Brace for impact!” Nikolai yelled.
He whirled to find Julie on her feet, a look of terror slashed across her face. “Down!” he shouted at her. “Get down!” And he dove to cover her with his body.
31
Julie screamed as the first missile hit.
It exploded above the central post with a huge metallic bang! and a sharp jolt that shook the deck and smacked the submarine into a quick sideways roll. Pain rang through her head like the peal of a thousand bells. Things flew through the air—cups, clipboards, pencils, maps. Men grabbed for consoles to avoid being thrown from their seats.
Nikolai’s heavy body crushed hers into the hard metal deck. She grabbed hold of him and clung desperately.
The second rocket exploded a heartbeat later right above their heads with a gut-jarring slam and the scream of splitting metal. Nikolai cursed. Julie was too terrified to scream. Her vocal cords refused to work. She was sure a giant hole had been ripped in the submarine and any second water would pour down on them and it would be the end.
Her ears sang and her head pounded. She fought not to burst into tears. She didn’t want to die!
“It’s okay, we’ll be fine.” Nikolai’s deep voice penetrated the cacophony in her skull.
She didn’t want to die without telling Nikolai how she felt about him.
“They just hit the sail above the hatch. I doubt the explosions penetrated the hull.”
She opened her mouth, trying to get her voice to work, but before she could speak, he told her, “Stay here, Liesha.” He gave her a quick kiss, then leapt to his feet and was back in the fray.
She managed to sit up and scooted against the nearest console, pressing her back into its solid, comforting bulk. She sat there for several minutes with her knees pressed under her chin, shaking like a leaf. The deck leveled off, so they must have ceased to dive, which was a good thing considering the state of the submarine. She didn’t want to be too far from the surface. But how could they get away from their attackers with the batteries not fully functional?
The men were tense, the younger ones clearly frightened, but no one was panicking. Which told her Nikolai must be right and damage to the sub not too bad, that everything was under control.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and again just listened to Nikolai’s voice, seeking the comfort of its firm, commanding tones as he received damage reports and gave orders. She’d just managed to convince herself that they really weren’t going to sink into oblivion, and had moved gingerly up into her chair, when he received a message that made the quality of his voice change sharply.
She peered over at him. His furious gaze met hers.
“What is it?” she asked, fear rising anew.
“One of my men is dead.”
She sucked in a breath of dismay. “Oh, my God. From the explosion?”
“No,” he said, his eyes going flat. “His neck was broken. The man was murdered.”
Julie covered her mouth with shaking hands to keep from crying out.
Dismay rushed through her. She realized what this meant. The saboteur, her attacker, must still be on board.
“Who is it? Why was he killed?”
“They believe the dead man is Starpom Varnas,” Nikolai said. “I don’t know why yet, but I have a suspicion. He was found in the aft mechanical compartment on the lower deck, where the atmospheric equipment is located.” Nikolai looked distinctly unhappy. “Liesha, I must go down there and see what happened.”
She wanted to tell him no! It’s too dangerous! But she saved her breath. She reluctantly got to her feet, remembering his earlier admonition not to leave his sight. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
He shook his head. “No,” he said, “it’s too dangerous,” and she nearly let out a hysterical laugh.
“But you made me promise—”
“I know. But things have changed. You’ll be safer here in the central post. Think about it. None of the men here could have done this. They’ve all been with us the whole time.”
Tears stung her eyes. “But what if they shoot at us again? What if we start to sink? Please, Nikolai. I want to stay with you.”
“We’re too deep now for RPGs to reach us. I won’t risk your safety with this maniac on the loose.” His expression was firm. He gave her a quick, tight hug and kissed her temple. “Stay here. My men will guard you with their lives. This I swear.”
She bit her lip and nodded, doing her best to bottle up her fear. The last thing he needed to deal with right now was a scared, clingy female. “Please be careful,” she admonished.
“I will. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”
&n
bsp; He set her away and she watched with trepidation as he strode off toward the watertight door.
“Mr. Zubkin, you have the conn.”
And felt like she’d just lost her anchor.
Nikolai met Praporshchik Selnikov at the foot of the ladder to the second mechanical compartment. The chief engineer looked like he’d aged twenty years in one day.
“Well?” Nikolai asked him as they hurried aft together. “Is it as we feared?”
After the body was discovered, he’d had Yasha get out his homemade chemical “sniffer” and test the atmospheric production equipment that had been sabotaged at the beginning of the patrol. It had been too big a coincidence that the death had occurred there.
“Nyet,” Yasha said to his surprise as they ducked through the watertight door. “Carbon dioxide levels are normal. The equipment has not been sabotaged again.”
“Thank God. But then, why was Varnas killed?”
Yasha shook his head. “The dead man is not the starpom.” He gave the name of a young rating.
Nikolai frowned as they entered the compartment, joining the medic and the security officer who were standing by. “He was misidentified?”
“He had the same hair and body type as Starpom Varnas and was lying facedown. No one wanted to touch him until the medic arrived.”
Nikolai halted at the dead man’s feet and looked down at him, filled with sorrow and regret. So young. His death so unnecessary.
He sighed, then looked at the security officer. “So then where is Starpom Varnas?” Nikolai was getting concerned. And a little suspicious. Stefan Mikhailovich had been MIA for too long.
“With all the leaks and the batteries, things have been hectic,” Yasha said. “I’m sure he’ll turn up any minute to deny the rumors of his demise.”
Nikolai was beginning to wonder. Would they also find the starpom’s body murdered and hidden away somewhere? He didn’t want to think about the alternative. He spoke to the security officer. “Have the men search every inch of this boat. I want Varnas found. And document the crime scene here carefully. I want nothing missed, do you hear me?”
“Da, Kapitan.”
He turned to head back to the central post, then stopped abruptly and said to the medic, gesturing to the dead rating, “Do me a favor, and empty his pockets.”