by Andy Lettau
"This boat belongs to the Sang-O class, and they normally patrol coastlines. God only know what it's doing here. Anyone foolhardy enough to come as far as this in a little rowing cob is most definitely up to no good. Though I have to say that the Captain of this vessel has my full respect."
"Yes, I understand, but ..."
"There is no 'but', O`Brian. In war there are only two options: either you trash your opponent, or he trashes you. And as far as little old me is concerned, I prefer the first one. They have their period of grace, they can leave whenever they like, and in the meantime we remain on high alert here. This gives us a breathing space. You've seen for yourself that some are beginning to lose control. Maybe a mission and a distraction will keep the men from going crazy. I have to do everything to strengthen the morale on board. We'll let the Scotch circulate only when we've run out of ideas."
O`Brian thought about the Captain's words. Hudson was popular with the crew, and the men trusted him blindly. He was not a hothead, who had to prove himself in just any combat situation. His military career and the braid on his uniform were already impressive enough. That he had made a decision in the wardroom that envisioned the spectacular end of the enemy was probably connected with psychological reasons. The decision was designed to show that you could take on any opponent, even if you weren't at the top of your form.
"Sir, you are so right," O`Brian commented. "I just wonder if his end could mean ours. What if the Koreans notice the mines and hit us at midships in some heroic action? Or they have some kind of bomb on board that will blow the both of us to kingdom come?"
Hudson's answer came out like rapid machine gun fire. "The NSA boys have completely excluded any kind of bomb. The Security Adviser of the President too. We have thousands of eyes in the sky and this Stone Age regime in Pyongyang doesn't have the capability of producing fissile material. If that's what you're getting at it. So they're not capable of blowing us away. And I can live with a 0.1 % risk. What about you?"
Hudson very suddenly looked ice-cold. His pupils were like torpedoes that could have broken through Arctic ice. When he noticed that O`Brian was not fazed by this, his facial expression became fatherly. "Okay, O`Brian, the situation is an extreme one. But don't worry, these Harakiri Asians are not going to be a real threat to us. They're David against our Goliath. They're probably all speculating about medals for the Fatherland, but in fact are scared shitless. And now you'd better get back to your post. Or take the First Lady's dog for a little walk instead of beating your brains out about all kinds of horror scenarios."
O`Brian noticed that Hudson regarded the conversation as over. He just managed to stop himself from asking about the water desalination plant. "Aye Aye, sir". He took his leave and went back below deck. For hours the foreign-sounding hymns kept revolving in his head, and he couldn't help wondering what it was like on the enemy sub at the moment.
CHAPTER 14
Atlantic Ocean
North Korean submarine DA BAK SOL
30th December
'My darling Yang,' wrote Nam Chol Pak in his diary, screwing up his yes in the dimly lit cabin. There was a steaming bowl of Kimchi in front of him, which he had hardly touched.
'My darling Yang! Before I write anything else about myself and what has happened, I am putting my arms around your shoulders and drawing you so close to me that I hear two hearts beating in your body. How is the fruit of your womb? Kicking his feet like his athletic father cycling through the empty streets in the early morning? Happiness permeates my limbs like the fragrance of the Myohyang mountains, and for sheer joy I could perform my most acrobatic dance for you, as you did for our Beloved Leader at the Arirang Festival. I could dance for you. Just for you. My darling Yang, how I miss you. Only the thought of you makes it possible for me in this time of danger to prevent the darkness that is inside and outside the boat from penetrating into my soul. If I didn't have you to love, my world would be black. I thank you, my sweet Yang, that the prospect of caressing you once again keeps me strong and disciplined. The picture of you before my eyes shines in a thousand colors and lights the way for me through the dark night.'
Pak had to swallow. He had used language that was more flowery and poetic than he had really intended. He wondered why the words did not say what he wanted them to say. What he was actually thinking and feeling at the moment. He threw down the pen angrily on the small table and rubbed his hand across his glistening forehead. He then started talking to himself, inaudible complaints.
"This heat, this damned heat! I just can't think straight! How can I even think of writing to Yang at a time like this? She'll never get to read it anyway. I've had the Captain arrested and risked everything with the two ramming operations. Outside is the enemy. We have a torpedo that is still not ready to fire. I am facing the most important act of my life and am losing control of myself. What is happening to me? Could it be that I am just not up to the mission that has been entrusted to me?
He was plagued by self-doubt. Now of all times, in the hours of possible triumph. He reached for his pen once again and energetically crossed out his last sentences. In place of them he left a testimony of his newly discovered resolution:
'My darling Yang! I wrote recently that no State should interpose itself between the love of two people. But there is something larger than ourselves that can test us. A sort of power that wishes to eliminate the imbalance between the strong and the weak. I feel that I have become an instrument of this power. It is my duty to be an example for the weak and oppressed. It is my duty to restore the balance of powers. Our Beloved Leader has placed all his trust in us to show the world that the Democratic Republic of North Korea will be not be oppressed by anyone. Unfortunately Captain Ji has failed in his duty. He has seriously abused the trust of those chose him for our mission. He is a coward who wanted to inveigle me with his smooth and persuasive tongue into neglecting my duty. His words were like those of an insidious reptile. He supposedly knows things about you which he can use to blackmail me. He has become a danger for all of us. For the crew, for you, for me. He is committing treason. And I cannot allow this. He is using our love for each other to apply pressure. He is a risk factor. A broken man, psychologically unstable and bent on revenge for personal reasons. He refuses to be grateful to those who have provided him with a privileged life. I cannot allow this. I have placed him under arrest and will bring him before his judges. Pyongyang will decide what is to happen to him after our return. I now have command of the vessel. I am the Captain. I will now go to the men and show them who they can really depend on in the hour of danger. I will muster them on deck and show Goliath what David is able to perform. I will send a signal to the leader of the so-called Free World, who by coincidence is aboard the enemy boat, that our country never gives up and challenges the imperialists. And after I have done what has to be done, I will return home with pride and fold you in my arms.
My darling Yang, please be patient. I am on my way back to you and, like you, am counting the days, even though at the moment it is impossible to tell the difference between night and day. I hope you are safe and well. I love you and look forward to being with you again.
Your ever-loving husband.'
Pak finished his entry and leaned back in his chair, satisfied. He was now convinced that what he had done was right. He imagined himself as a loyal and steadfast citizen acting in the interests of the Party. And even if he felt a spark of sympathy for Captain Ji, ultimately Ji was responsible for his fate and had brought this on himself. Life demanded its victims, produced tragic fates. That's how it was.
Pak then straightened out his uniform and stood up with his chest sticking out. He put the heavy overall on and went out into the gangway. A seaman guarding the Captain's cabin saluted him immediately. For a moment Pak thought he could see something untrustworthy in the eyes of the young man.
He is probably afraid, he thought and returned the salute. Anxiety is a good sign that I have earned respect here ...
He went on to t
he bridge as Captain Pak and asked whether the angle to the weakened Americans had been maintained. The First Officer confirmed this with a nod of the head and added that the USS George W. Bush was still apparently incapable of maneuvering.
"Good." said Pak, "That is good. Let us keep them in the firing line in front of our muzzle doors. And as soon as our Shkval is ready, we will accomplish our act of heroism for the fame and glory of our Fatherland. But now is the time to muster on deck and sing the Ach’imŭn pinnara. And so loud that it can be heard within a radius of 50 sea miles."
"You mean, not just over the outside loudspeakers?" asked the First Officer in astonishment. "Do you want us to sing on deck?"
"Yes. Do you have a problem with our national anthem?"
"No, Comrade Polit…, I mean Comrade Captain. It's just that the Americans might regard it an act of provocation."
"That's exactly my intention," grinned Pak grimly.
"As you wish, Comrade Captain", replied the First Officer and passed the order on to the subordinate standing next to him.
Shortly afterwards Pak climbed into the tower and from there to the empty hull of the DA BAK SOL. He looked with some satisfaction at the USS GEORGE W. BUSH, which was floating at an appropriate distance like some wounded whale and clearly waiting for its dramatic end.
'Before this year is out', Pak thought full of pride, 'you will be history. And I will be the man to write this history. I, Captain Nam-Chol Pak, the famous hero returning from a battle for the Fatherland. Pyongyang will build me a monument and the people will bow in respect at the sight of it.'
Pak enjoyed this moment and would savor it until the crew had lined up completely, even the helmsman and the seaman posted in front of Ji's cabin.
He paid no attention to the burning air and acrid smell over the deceptively calm Atlantic. On the hull of the American sub he could see figures, but Pak was certain that they were not dangerous. The Captain of the USS GEORGE W. BUSH was probably too arrogant and sure of himself to admit to himself or his crew that he had been brought to his knees by a dwarf. The Captain in turn would probably try to conceal the attack and blame it on a technological defect. He would try to save his own skin - which I suppose, thought Pak, you had to understand, given that the US President was on board.
Still: Pak was beginning to feel more and more contemptuous of the Americans. It was a contempt that he based on their supposed hi-tech superiority. Without it the largest army in the world would be just a pile of cowards.
Pak was so occupied with himself and his thoughts that he paid no attention to the shadows that appeared briefly in the water. Somewhere in his synapses he interpreted these as a dozen large fish, possibly sharks. And for this he had no time at the moment.
In a few minutes he would make a stirring speech and spur the crew on to the highest accomplishments. He would use rhetorical tropes, as he had used hundreds of times before. He would cleverly weave in the failure of Yong-Jo Ji and show everybody what would happen if anybody thought of imitating the Captain. Cowardice in the face of the enemy was after all the last thing that anybody in Pyongyand would tolerate. The term 'penal camp' in his speech would hover like a threatening shadow over the heads of the men.
At the moment when the national anthem of the Democratic Republic of North Korea once again at infernal volume blared out of the loudspeaker and echoed over the sea thanks to the lusty voices of the submarine crew who were inspired by the forces of patriotic love, a ghostly blinding searchlight from the USS George W. Bush appeared. Pak was able to keep looking at it and even enjoyed every second in which, like some superstar on a stage, represented the center of universe for a screaming public.
I have reached my goal, he thought and turned, at the end of the anthem, towards the crew - his crew. What then followed was the most inspired speech that he had ever made in his life. He spoke of the achievements of his country, fame and honor, bravery and the victory over the class enemy. His rhetoric began to truly rise in crescendo as he praised the last surviving nation on earth and exalted over a Higher Power that had entrusted the crew of the DA BAK SOL with an instrument that would herald the dawn of a new era.
"Comrades, we have achieved something magnificent. We have come this far and are now about to return home. I will take on the responsibility for this myself. But before that we will become immortal, by torpedoing the Americans to the ground zero of history!"
After his melodramatic finger-pointing at the US submarine, he had expected a sharp "Yes, Comrade Captain" from more than a dozen throats. But instead the crew remained silent. Pak did not show his irritation and went up to an ordinary seaman, the symbol of Everyman, whose face was bathed in sweat.
"We will get our torpedo ready. Swear that you will, Comrade!"
The young man, totally confused, like most of his fellow-seamen without protective mask and overalls, had not even thought of contradicting the Political Officer and new Captain. Even though he had himself had no idea how you got a complicated mechanism such as that of a Shkval ready for firing, he answered devotedly with a high-pitched nervous "Yes, Comrade Captain. We will."
"Good, very good. I won't have to take more serious measures, such as demotion, will I?"
Pak was referring to the removal from office of Ji, and his hand, as it were coincidentally, brushed against his holster. The men winced internally, and the ordinary seaman nodded, "No, you can rely on us, Comrade Captain", indicating that he had understood.
Pak grinned. He was satisfied. The men obeyed him. And after the sinking of submarine they would respect him even more. At least that's what he expected.
He then ordered everybody back below deck. He was the only one to stay there to let the searchlights of the enemy shine upon him. Finally he went below and ordered the seaman who had given him a satisfactory answer to go on deck.
"Take my protective overall and my glasses and observe the enemy. As soon as they do anything suspicious, let me know, or the First Officer. Understood?"
"Yes, Comrade Captain. I will!"
The seaman disappeared and Pak went to look for the engineer, who had been working for days on the defective VA-111, the supercavitating Russian built torpedo. Kol-yan, the seaman, was suffering from lack of sleep and thirst. His cheekbones were sagging and his eyes sunken. He was one of the oldest crew members on board and had been with Ji on countless missions. Pak could have no idea how much this man despised him for having stripped the Captain of his command at gunpoint.
"And, how long is it going to take?" thundered Pak.
Kol-yan stood to attention and saluted - a bit too casual, thought Pak. "Comrade Captain, we need spare parts. I will spare you the details, if that is alright with you."
"How long?" repeated an extremely impatient Pak. His voice almost shook the steel walls and covered the muffled knocking sounds that, as underwater sound waves, had been banging against the hull of the DA BAK SOL for hours. Pak paid no attention to these sounds. They seemed to be the last desperate attempt of the enemy to wage psychological warfare.
Trying to wear down the enemy by subjecting him to a tin pot orchestra. These idiots in the Ohio class are really scraping the bottom of the barrel. As if an acoustic carpet of sound could keep us from what we intend ...
"It will be a few more hours, Comrade Captain", said the engineers truthfully. "Someone has just forgotten to put the correct manual for the start mechanism on board. And unfortunately I can't read Russian. Nobody here can. If I make a mistake in the programming and wiring of components ..." "then we all end up in a big mushroom cloud, I know ..." an irritated Pak completed the sentence for him. "Do you know something, Comrade? You have until tomorrow at dawn for the Shkval to be ready, is that understood?"
"Aye aye, Comrade Captain", came the weary reply.
Pak withdrew, looking for the First Officer. He wanted to discuss the precarious situation of the dangerously low supplies and the course to be taken when the time came to return home. But on his round of inspection,
in which he did not feel the piercing looks full of hatred on his back, he could not find him. Although, apart from the 65 intimate square feet allotted to every officer, there was not much chance of making oneself scarce on an old sub of the Sang-o class, the First Officer was nowhere to be found.
Pak was just walking past the involuntary prison of the old Captain, when the First Officer, at a sign from the guard who had been put there, had the door opened and stepped out into the gangway.
"May I ask," Pak wanted to know, "what you have been doing in the prisoner's cabin. I cannot recall having issued you with a visitor's permit."
The First Officer saluted. His answer was as laconic as his character. "I was ... I was bringing the Captain his evening meal."
Pak looked skeptically into the eyes of the officer, but could see nothing suspicious there. "Next time ask me for permission before you speak with traitors. Is that clear?"
The answer came in the form of a nod.
"Good. And now follow me on to the bridge. We have a few things to discuss."
The two men made their way through the red-lit labyrinth in the direction of the bow. Until shortly before dawn Pak had been receiving instruction in the work steps and functions which he had so far on the long journey not studied. As the First Officer was unable to suppress a yawn, Pak showed how understanding he was.
"The last day of the year has broken. And the last day of an American era that has exploited the world. Divide the guards into rotating shifts, give the technician in the torpedo room an extra portion of food and water. Remind him that if he does not get the weapon fixed I will personally shoot him. Then get a couple of hours sleep. I want to start the attack before nightfall. The torpedo is to be launched when it is dark. As an early New Year's Eve rocket, you might say."
"What happens if the US submarine attacks us?"
Pak laughed out loud. "How do you think that is going to happen ? You have seen for yourself what condition the stern is in. Whereas we have not yet had any serious damage to let water in. The enemy cannot escape from us. And he is too arrogant even to begin to consider that we might attack him. The Americans don't take us seriously. The officers over there at most are wondering how such an old boat as ours could have come so far. They will never reckon with the possibility that we have an ace up our sleeve. And just in case anyone of them have any funny ideas, we'll just dive."