Crash - the Last Rendezvous

by Andy Lettau

  "Comrade Political Officer", Ji chose his words carefully, "We should not rush into this. There is clearly something wrong with the US submarine. Under normal circumstances they would have got us by now. Either they spotted us long ago and are playing with us. Or they haven't seen us, which gives us time to think about what to do. We will remain at a respectful distance amidships for the time being, until the Americans decide to go somewhere else."

  "Are you suggesting that we should let them get away?" hissed Pak.

  "The most important thing for us is to win time. You seem to have forgotten that our torpedo is not ready to fire. And without it we are toothless."

  Pak gritted his teeth and admitted that Ji was right. If the Shkval didn't work, their chances were more or less zero.

  Really?

  Pak had an idea. It was so crazy that he needed a moment himself to weigh up the chances. He went up to Captain Ji, so close that Ji could feel his warm breath on his neck.

  "This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. We should ram the Americans and disable their helm."

  Ji let go of the periscope and splayed his arms, as if the periscope had shot 10,000 volts into his body. He looked dumbfounded at the Political Officer.

  "We should WHAT?"

  "You understood me correctly the first time, Comrade Captain. Just think about it: If the enemy submarine gets any further away, we will have no chance. And instead of wandering around the Atlantic forever to take out one of their aircraft carriers, let us seize this opportunity by the scruff of the neck and carry out this maneuver. Pyongyang will receive us as heroes if we report that we have quietly checkmated the Americans with our torpedo. And even if we can't do that, just imagine: the ignominy for the US President and his imperialist people will be so great that the whole world will feel respect for North Korea."

  The Captain was speechless. Like a pillar of salt, he stood motionless, the eyes of the crew focussed on him. The crew had not been able to hear Pak's suggestion, which is why Ji now reacted to it in a whisper. His reaction was just short of foaming at the mouth.

  "Comrade Political Officer, that is madness. If we carry out your plan, we will all die. I myself am not afraid of death. You know how I feel. But these men here ..." He paused slightly, to emphasize his next words. "These men do not have to die. Nobody at home has to know what really happened here. The world is possibly in ruins, and nobody at home will reproach us for returning home without announcing the end of an enemy – if we get home. And if our home – as we remember it – is still there."

  When Pak preferred not to say anything so as to get his helter-skelter thoughts and feeling under control, Yong-Jo Ji gripped him by the shoulders and looked at him with a smile as an indulgent father might do with a son. "Nam-Chol Pak, think about your wife. Forget your mission, forget the Americans. The earth is by now only a pile of rubble, all official structures must have been destroyed. If the US President really is over there, there can be only one reason: the USA, as he knew it, no longer exists. It is likely that nothing exists any longer, either in their country or ours. The only thing that we have left is hope. The hope that in our country, in our cities the damage caused is not so great that there are no survivors. But if we now attack and place ourselves in unnecessary danger, we will never find out for certain. Do you really not care about what has happened to your wife and unborn child?"

  At that moment, the First Officer, who had caught only fragments of the exchange, screwed up all his courage and went over to the periscope to see what was outside. Pak and Ji let him do it, as if he were just so much air. It seemed to both men as if the entire cosmos revolved around only them – around them and the question of whether the attack should take place in the face of the hurricane or whether there should be an orderly retreat. Everything that both men had acknowledged in the name of the regime now suddenly became a question, the question: what did it all mean? Whereas in the case of Captain Ji the internalized corpse-like obedience of a lifetime had yielded to the final realization that he had been risking his life for the wrong thing, Pak was still wrestling with himself and the question of whether he wanted to return home a hero or a failure. He was clearly the younger of the two men and his nature and character were not such that he would have been able to express a clear point of view. So far he had done his duty with distinction in the clearly defined party-political power structure and exercised authority by virtue of his position. Everything that had happened so far, the whole mission, was based on the theoretical model of a conflict and on the minimal chance of striking a painful blow against the enemy by sinking a rewarding target. But the Killer from Space had made an absurdity of everything. They were floating in a rowing cob through a sea of tears. Sealed off from everything, a needle-in-a-haystack point in the final phase of humanity. Everything was speculation. Nobody was able to say what the world at the edges of the waters now looked like. It was too much for Pak to think about what had happened in other places. It was too much for him to embrace the idea that Captain Ji might disobey an order. He was unable to accept that orders from Pyongyang could ever be questioned. If Pyongyang gave an order, it had to be carried out. It had always been like that, and always would. Yong-Jo Ji, this mature and experienced man, perhaps wanted to put him to the test, to trick him, to give him deliberate misinformation, to tell him to do things that could cost him, Pak, his life when they got home.

  Pak looked into the eyes of the Captain and suppressed all feelings of his darling Yang. This was the acid test – his acid test - and he was going to pass it. He would contradict the Captain and give the order to attack. He would not fall for the urgent and upright sounding words of Ji and he would remove himself from Ji's shadow. He would do what he had been trained to do: strengthen the morale on board and comply with the oath he had sworn to the Beloved Leader. At the moment when Pak held his weapon to the head of Captain Ji, the latter would smile and say that this had all been show and of course they would attack the class enemy. He was sure that this would happen. Then Captain Ji would pat him on the shoulder and express his approval of the man who had shown nerves of steel at this time of danger, the man of whom his country could be proud.

  "Comrade Captain, the other boat is stowing Zodiacs below deck and seems about ready to dive," stammered the First Officer, interrupting Pak's thoughts. His eyes were dilated and full of panic.

  Ji abruptly took his hands away from Pak's shoulders and looked through the periscope. The picture he saw there confirmed what the First Officer had seen. But Ji could not say whether the Americans were preparing for attack or simply getting ready to leave. And before he could say anything, he felt something cold at the back of his head. A Chinese 77 pistol. Pak`s pistol.

  "Yong-Jo Ji, because of cowardice in the face of the enemy, I am relieving you of your command of the DA BAK SOL. You are no longer Captain of this boat. Comrade Hong-yon, have this man taken to his cabin and prepare immediately for active combat. We are going to attack the imperialists outside and ram their helm before they can start their engines and dive. After we have incapacitated them, we will retreat slightly and prepare our torpedo for firing. This is not an exercise. It's an order!"

  "Comrade Political Officer …."

  "Obey my orders. Immediately! Yong-Jo Ji will be taken to his cabin. NOW!"

  The First Officer began to tremble with his whole body. He looked pleadingly at the Captain, who remained perfectly calm. At least that was the impression he gave. He said loud and clear so that everyone standing there could hear: "Comrade Political Officer, you are making a big mistake."

  Pak's reaction was monosyllabic and unequivocal.

  "Out!"

  The disempowered Captain let himself be escorted to his cabin without putting up any resistance.

  The attack was imminent.

  CHAPTER 13

  Atlantic Ocean

  American submarine USS George W. Bush

  29th December

  President Johnson had a few secret service documents
he had forgotten brought from Air Force One in order to be able to make a more exact analysis of the situation. It was already being spread around by the leading officers that the President did not want simply to bow down to fate. Instead of waiting for death and watching the crew gradually succumb to alcohol, the President wanted to take the initiative. The leading officers spent hours discussing alternatives to the unbearable waiting with the Washington VIPs. There was no point in expecting help from outside and, without functioning underwater ranging and the collapse of the whole external communications structure, they had limited ability to do anything. In any case, the food supplies would soon be exhausted.

  O‘Brian meanwhile was looking at some circuit diagrams in a quiet corner of the canteen. While he grumbled and occasionally drank his lukewarm coffee, Pinky sat, well-behaved, in front of his new master and waited for what was to come next.

  O’Brian suddenly felt like writing, because his thoughts had run into a dead end between relay, resistances and capacitors. He pushed the diagrams to one side and reached for a pen. He managed to shut out completely the sound of voices and clattering of plates in the background. He focussed his attention totally on the sheet of white paper in front of him.

  Dearest Mariam,

  I would give everything for you to be by my side or at least be able to read these lines. The only warmth I have at the moment is that of a small dog - and you know best how I normally feel about poodles. We would definitely not have had a lapdog in the house. Least of all a white one. But still, his tail hasn't been cut and he doesn't have an over fancy hairdo, with bows in it. And since I've promised the First Lady, I'll take care of him as best I can. Why I've become so fond of him, I don't know. I can't explain it. Maybe because he looks so out of place in this whole madness, like me. Maybe that makes us soul-mates. Sounds crazy, but that's how it is. It makes me sad that you can't see us.

  O`Brian unconsciously stroked the animal and put more of his thoughts on paper.

  Our fate will change today. The President will not just wait for death without doing anything. We should do something. There have been talks since yesterday behind closed doors. Mike, one of our orderlies, felt the need today to talk to someone. About everything that had happened to him in the last few hours. Because he knows I can keep a secret, he told me a few things.

  Mike said that we are heading for a secret underwater station to pick up supplies and thoroughly check the boat. I have no idea if there is anything in this rumor. Sounds a bit like science fiction to me.

  Our Captain apparently thinks that the best chance of survival, at least for limited period, is under water. Mike couldn't say whether the underwater station belonged to the Chinese, Russians or whoever. But this much he did know: The CIA supposedly proved this not so long ago. I really don't know whether to be happy about this news or rather rumor. I need daylight, fresh air, sun.

  And you. I miss you so much.

  I have to get back to the repair work. If we really do change course, we will have to get our systems up and running. Say a prayer for me that our new voyage goes well.

  I love you!'

  O`Brian had hardly finished recording his personal thoughts than Pinky, who needed to take a leak, got up to go.

  "Okay, let's go. Before we have an accident in the canteen. Let's find you a nice quiet place."

  Once again the movie Crimson Tide came into O'Brian's mind, where the dog was being escorted through the boat by Captain Ramsey and urinated right in the middle of a gangway used by everybody. O`Brian allowed himself a brief smile at the movie error. First, dogs were not allowed on a submarine; second, no Captain in the world would tolerate behavior of this sort.

  "This is a war ship - not the movies," he warned Pinky with a wink of the eye.

  Sometime later the problem was solved by simply using a normal toilet. One person who happened to see this complicated procedure was the Chief of the Boat, a corpulent man in his mid-fifties with old-fashioned glasses and a side-parting. While he was relieving himself, he couldn't help saying, "That's right. Don`t mess with the Navy."

  O`Brian spent the rest of the morning doing repairs. Pinky looked at him, bored, but without driving him crazy with his yapping. He lay tied to a chair leg and yawned.

  Then, finally, at 12 noon President Johnson requested everyone's attention over the loudspeaker.

  "Fellow countrymen and friends, as President of the USA I would like to express my deepest thanks for taking us on board. This is a fantastic boat, with a fantastic crew, which even in moments of hopelessness and danger uphold the virtues of our nation. However, waiting passively will not be tolerated, it is unworthy of an elite unit. So I have used the last few hours to look for alternatives with my advisory staff. I can promise you that we have a future once again."

  There was a general murmur of voices on all decks.

  "Admittedly, what we have come up with is a bold plan. But did the daring nature of a vision stop our founding fathers from populating the prairie, laying railroad tracks through this untamed land and building cities in remote regions? No!"

  This was greeted by a general murmur of approval.

  "Our ancestors came by ship to America. The Mayflower. Today we are setting sail once again by ship for new shores. Ladies and gentlemen, we are setting out for an underwater station in a secret location. I am speaking of an underwater station operated by the Russians known to our Secret Service. The base is in a place that I would not like to name at this moment in time. We still do not know what it looks like and if the Russians will be hospitable. But believe me, we have a few very forceful arguments on board that could settle the negotiations in our favor."

  This was followed by general jubilation. Everybody knew that Johnson was referring to the well-stocked arsenal. However, there were still quite a few of the passengers and members of the crew who were not so sure. So far the President had not said a word about the fact that life on earth had been exterminated and that they would never see their loved ones again.

  "Let's be clear about this: Of all the alternatives available to us the strategic alliance with our former enemies from the Cold War is only one option. But we should use every option before we have more information about the global situation. We will come in peace, but we will still be emphatically representing American interests."

  This was the hour of the patriots. Applause broke out, although the statements made by the President were unspecific and by no means concrete. Nevertheless, the straw that could be clutched at was gratefully seized by most of them.

  "To the crew of the USS George W. Bush: You are brave and courageous men and women, who serve your country with honor. You are on a fantastic boat and an unbeatable military elite of our proud nation. As President I am relying on your ability. As President I speak in the name of all passengers on board who have to thank you for rescuing them. Let us sail together to new shores, carrying the Star-Spangled Banner with us. Let us go together into the future on a mission that we will call, appropriately enough, Operation Mayflower. We set sail in two hours. God preserve you and God save America!"

  The applause began hesitantly, but grew in intensity into hurricane-like jubilation. Strangers and friends clapped each other encouragingly on the shoulders. The solemn undertone in President Johnson's speech had obviously touched a nerve in most of those on board. The feeling of hope was once again there. But not with O`Brian.

  During the following prayer, led by the President and joined by most of those present in a murmur, his thoughts revolved around Mariam. He didn't know how the others were dealing with their painful family losses, but for him the prospect of continued life in a sealed-off underwater station was not much comfort.

  When the prayer was over, Captain Hudson, after a brief pause, said over the loudspeaker:

  "People, you heard what the President said. From now on we have a new mission. So it is imperative that each one of you do his or her job again. From now on, you will take up your positions once again and d
o the job you were trained to do. From now on there will be no alcohol during your shift. However hard Fate has struck, we now want to look forward with a clear head and alert intelligence. We now have a new course, in the direction of ..."

  WROOOOOOOOOMMMM!

  The hull of the USS George W. Bush had been struck by a powerful blow. Crew and passengers everywhere looked for something to hold on to. Some did not make it in time and were thrown to the floor. Cries, especially of women passengers, echoed through the decks. Everything not stowed away securely fell and flew through the boat and broke. There was then complete chaos and confusion. Warning sirens sounded and red lights signalled alarm.

  O`Brian's first thought was about Pinky. He dived over to him, clasping him in his arms, completely ignoring the tools, metal plates and handbooks.

  "Fuck! What the hell ..."

  Amid all this noise and chaos O`Brian heard a sound that he could identify blindfold among a thousand other sounds.

  Pling!

  It was his pling! - the pling! In his workplace! Of all the goddamned things to start working again, at a time of danger, ... it couldn't be the sonar, could it? He stood up, bent over the chaos in front of the monitors.

  Pling!

  Yes, it really was the sonar.

  Pling!

  In spite of the noise everywhere O`Brian was able to identify the sound without any doubt. And a structure on the screen that looked like ...

  "That can't be true ..."

  O`Brian scratched the back of his head. What he had just seen was not the computer image of a rock that shouldn't be there, which just loomed up out the deep and cause the collision. What he had seen disturbed him.