by Andy Lettau
"With all due respect, Comrade Captain, you do not know their possible options", the First Office observed, committing what was tantamount to lèse-majesté.
But instead of verbally beating him up, Pak responded with total conviction: "I do not need to know their options. I know mine."
With this Pak turned to go back to his cabin. The First Officer looked at him and shook his head, wishing nothing more than that Captain Ji would once again resume his command.
CHAPTER 15
Atlantic Ocean
North Korean submarine DA BAK SOL
31st December
The last day of the year had already passed the midday point when Pak opened his eyes and took a moment to orient himself in the half-dark of his narrow cabin. The small light over his bunk was bright enough to irritate his skin. He rubbed his eyes and remembered vaguely how he had written a few lines in his diary in the early hours of the morning. He had obviously fallen asleep exhausted without turning the light off.
With a final yawn he got up from his bunk and smoothed down his wrinkled uniform, which he had not managed to take off. He took off his clothes and decided to put on a new uniform after a provisional wash. Less than fifteen minutes later all tiredness was gone from his face and he saw in the mirror the image of a man radiating decisiveness and military command. His first official act of the day would be to reprimand the First Officer for not having woken him up sooner.
Pak had his doubts about whether the torpedo would be ready for firing. Still, the crew should not fall victim to the mistaken belief that Pak was a Captain who gave out praise too easily, who awarded presents for a normal job of work that should have been done long ago. The more he thought about it, the more negligent he found the demoted Captain's leadership style. His indulgence, in Pak's view, had meant that certain things on board were not done as one might expect on such a patriotic mission.
Pak checked his new uniform one last time, touched the pistol in its holster and reached for the diary that was still on the blanket. He picked it up and, with his lips lightly touching the cover, symbolically kissed his wife and stowed it into his jacket. A final look at the date display of his watch assured him that he had not made a mistake, but was entering the final hours of the year, in the course of which a great nation, the USA, together with its President, would be wiped from the face of the earth.
Endorphins found their way into Pak's arteries, he felt an uplifting surge, his breast began to swell with pride. He would enjoy every second of the breaking day - especially those ones in which water penetrated the outer shell of the enemy vessel through a huge hole until the giant with all its passengers embarked on its final voyage.
When Pak opened the door and went out into the gangway, a guard stood to attention and saluted. Pak allowed himself the luxury of returning the salute in military fashion, looking down on him. What he would really like to have done was to rebuke him for his sloppy appearance. Instead he gave himself up to his endorphins and fastened one or two buttons on the man's uniform - as an indulgent father might correct the knot of his son's first self-tied neckwear before going to his First Communion.
"Next time you will surely manage that for yourself, Comrade."
The sailor, who had been assigned to guard duty, pushed his cross a bit more into place and seemed to grow an inch. "Very good, Comrade Captain!"
Pak made a sound of agreement and went up to the bridge. He found the First Officer standing there, sleep-deprived, with bags under his eyes, drinking something steaming from a metal beaker. They looked at each other, and Hong-yon, the First Officer, put down his beaker on a shelf.
"And?" Pak wanted to know.
"We have not fixed the problem. Kol-yan is having to improvise. A few relais will have to be very carefully rep..."
"I am not interested in relais," Pak exploded and his entire jaunty anticipation at the attack was gone, blown away. "I want to see the engineer. Now. Have him brought here!"
Two minutes later the man appeared on the bridge, with his head on his breast. The few present could see that Kol-yan was not far from a nervous breakdown. Exhaustion, thirst, lack of sleep and psychological pressure had clearly taken their toll on his nerves. He had not been able to perform what had been required of him. At least not in the time allowed.
To get a defective supercavitating torpedo, without knowing all the components, ready for action was, even with the best equipment and easily readable instructions, no easy undertaking. But, relying on one's ingenuity alone, repairing something of this complexity using an unintelligible handbook was like trying to repair a mainframe computer with a screwdriver.
"The VA-111 is not a giant atomic reactor, Comrade Kol-yan," Pak continued his blustering. "It is a simple nuclear torpedo, and a pretty old one at that. You surely do not want to tell me that you are unable to repair something from the last century?"##
"Comrade Political Officer …"
"What?"
"I mean, Comrade Captain, …"
"Yes?"
"You can shoot me on the spot, but I do not have the strength to concentrate properly any longer. I am ... I can ... I simply cannot do any more. The Russian handbook ... I mean ... I don't understand all of it ... I ... I excuse me, Comrade Cap..."
The man then collapsed like a floppy marionette and his head struck the hard metal edge of the chart stand. Then his strengthless body slumped to one side. His left temple struck against a serrated aluminium plate on the floor with a dull thud.
The First Officer went over immediately to the unconscious engineer. "The man is all in, he can't take any more."
Pak was on the edge of losing control. "The man is a goddamned quitter. A spineless, sniveling coward, who does not want to activate the torpedo because he is afraid of dying. As soon as we have finished our job and are back home, the man will stand trial."
"With all due respect, Comrade Captain …."
"Don't interrupt me again, goddammit!" Pak hissed, waving his arms in the air. "If this engineer were not so indispensable for this mission, I would shoot him on the spot."
The First Officer's jaw dropped. The men standing around looked at Pak behind his back with bitter enmity. Pak concealed the trembling of his hands by putting his left hand into his pocket and holding on to his holster with his right hand.
"Comrade Captain!", cried the First Officer in horror when he thought that Pak was so out of control that he would really commit an act of murder. And in fact Pak at that moment was aiming his pistol at the back of the head of the engineer lying on the floor.
A few anxious seconds passed. Seconds in which nobody - not even Pak - knew if Kol-yan were to be executed.
The Political Officer and self-appointed Captain then put his weapon back into his holster. It seemed an eternity until he said "OK, Comrades, the man may sleep for three hours. Give him a special ration of water and a proper meal. Afterwards I will help him with the torpedo. In the meantime I will study the Russian handbook of the VA-111. My knowledge of Russian should be enough to work out the instructions. And now open the porthole, I need some fresh air!"
Fresh air was the least accurate description for what was hanging over the ocean, but nobody cared much about that at the moment. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief that Pak had not gone to extremes.
While Pak was climbing up to the little tower and angrily scowling with lips pressed together at the sight of the Ohio class, the crew made sure that the wounded engineer was alright. The men exchanged meaningful glances, which did not escape Hong-yon. They were obviously waiting for him to do something.
And he did. In absolute loyalty to his true Captain he went to the latter's cabin. When the guard saw Hong-yon, he became unsettled, and Hong-yon looked at him meaningfully. The guard understood the look immediately and let his superior past. Hong-yon opened the door, and Captain Ji`s first comment on seeing his long-standing companion was: "So Pak is going off his head?"
CHAPTER 16
Atlantic Ocean
>
American submarine USS George W. Bush
31st December
There were only a few hours left until the New Year celebration. Ted O’Brian, like all the others, had received the order to get the dress uniform clean and smart. The New Year should be brought in as stylishly as possible, according to the military leaders. Whether it would be a glittering ball was as unclear as whether anyone would feel in the mood after blowing up the North Koreans. Grotesquely, events had taken on a life of their own, and this was almost indescribable.'Business as usual' seemed to be most appropriate description of the circumstances that nobody had wanted, let alone envisioned. Who would have thought that a visitor from outer space would cancel all military plans and preparations for a reflective or atmospheric New Year celebration. Normally the Captain of any submarine would have turned a blind eye on the last day of the year and allowed a couple of beers at midnight. But now nobody on board knew what to expect: The great Apocalypse Party, a depressing mood or a catastrophe triggered by whatever.
O`Brian had written down the record of his personal anxiety in a diary and devoted himself now to a somewhat more banal: fixing his iron.
CHAPTER 17
Atlantic Ocean
North Korean submarine DA BAK SOL
31st December
The last few hours before sunset for Pak involved studying the Russian instructions, assisted only by a young seaman, who was there to hand him tools.
Looking at the 300-plus inches torpedo in its open state was like looking at the insides of a robot on an operating table. A confusion of multi-colored wires and cable connections made it look extremely complex. The Shkval, weighing almost three tons with a ring of eight starting engines, which made it possible for the torpedo, before switching on the main engine, to achieve optimal attack speed of more than two hundred miles an hour, still managed to exude death and destruction despite its relatively advanced age. The torpedo was a metal monster, an apocalyptic messenger with infernal explosive power. Anyone on the receiving end of it would not have a chance. The nuclear warhead would destroy everything in its way.
Pak in an earlier phase of the secret mission had insisted on repainting the outer shell of the VA-111 red. In a few inaccessible places at the rear the original green was still visible, but he was pleased with the overall result. No weapon could have looked more dangerous than this blood red missile – even if the enemy were unlikely to see it. But for Pak the psychological moment on board the DA BAK SOL had always been important. Everybody who had seen the Shkval had to be aware of its strike power. And in Pak's eyes blood red was aggressive and was able to reinforce the belief in the invincibility of the weapon.
"Well, Comrade, the main work is complete", Pak said and almost lovingly stroked the bright metal surface of an opening flap, which he had just carefully replaced. "I feel like a doctor who is sewing up the abdomen after a successful operation."
Pak`s counterpart smiled a tormented smile and handed him a rechargeable screwdriver, with a special key on the chuck, and, with a humming noise, he drove a screw into a deep lying thread. A half hour later all gaping electronic wounds had been closed up except for a missing cladding board. Pak drew the young man close to him.
"The gas exhaust openings in the bow have been repaired. The tails and blades could now be opened again. The actuator will work perfectly. The only thing that our totally overchallenged Comrade Kol-yan still has to do is check the winding gear. Get him to finish off his work."
Less than five minutes later the engineer entered the work area to see piles of drawings, ring binders and maintenance instructions strewn all over the floor. There was a Russian dictionary on a small wooden block. Pak had just put it there and was admiring his handiwork with a smile. Then without any warning he unleashed a torrent of abuse and bile at the Chief Engineer.
"Comrade Kol-yan, nice of you to take the trouble to call in."
"Comrade Captain?!"
"The torpedo is almost operational. What you were not able to accomplish in days I have done in a few hours. By reading and thinking. You see before you a weapon ready for use, which we, in honor of our Beloved Leader, will fire in exactly one hour's time. You may now assist Comrade Lee and, as it were, plug it in. Can you manage that, Comrade Kol-yan?"
The elderly engineer wanted to explode and take the Political Officer by the neck and throttle him. But he controlled himself and adopted a submissive demeanor. Not a muscle in his face moved, nothing to indicate his profound hatred of Pak. The humiliation he had just suffered in comparison with an ordinary seaman was such that he was unable to show respect for someone who had really managed to get the torpedo ready despite his inadequate technological ability. He had never once been treated like this by Captain Ji.
"I will now go on deck one last time to set the attack protocol", Pak said with evident self-satisfaction, like a great strategist. The Shkval can cover a distance of just over six miles and we should be far enough away when the explosion happens. So, Comrade Kol-yan, when I get back, we will be ready to fire. At my command activate the guidance mechanism and let the enemy have it."
Pak then withdrew from the torpedo and went on deck. He buttoned up the vest that he had taken from the unusually empty bridge and, despite the evening heat, did up his collar and adjusted his protective goggles. He was thinking about what was immediately ahead. In his thoughts he saw the US President on board the enemy submarine on his knees begging for mercy, while the torpedo was moving towards its target in slow motion. There is no mercy. You would not show if the positions were reversed.
There is no mercy. What the Americans were doing was of no interest to Pak. For him the flickering points on the deck opposite became like flies that were approaching the end of their pointless life. The noise brought across by the wind was for him no more than the hurly-burly of last meaningless commandos issued by the commanders of a helpless crew giving expression to its helplessness in loud cries. Tomorrow would change nothing about their impending demise.
Removed from everything of the world, submitting to his fantasies of victory, holding his darling Yang in his arms as they paraded through streets filled with the jubilant citizens of Pyongyang in a chariot, Pak was able to forget time for a good half hour and stroll down memory lane. The stages of his childhood slipped before his mind's eye at high speed.
His eyes filled with moisture and he put his goggles up. Two tears, in which the concentrate of years of self-denial and the pleasant anticipation of the impending task seemed to accumulate, rolled down his cheeks until they were caught by a hot breeze and scattered over this endless cruel sea in millions of particles. He looked out thoughtfully at the ocean, at the boundless waters which Pak imagined to symbolically contain in every drop a human life that had come to an end in combat. Who would be disturbed by the knowledge that this evening it would contain a few more drops? That the master race would also dissolve in liquid and enter the sequence of living and dying, while a new successor took over the reigns of power to create a new just world order?
Successive generations would thank Pak for liberating the world from the evil of imperialism. And Pak would express his gratitude to the wise leaders at home for having sent him on this journey that was like a test of his conscience. It had taken him a long time to derive the correct lessons from this mission.
I now know that I am on the right side. The crew, especially Captain Ji, despises me. I can't be angry with them. They have not learned to look into the future. The future for them is only the next hour, the next day, pure survival, hope of returning home and tolerating foreign imposed oppression by the West. But the men are not of the same calibre as myself. The people needs alpha animals, men like me ...
Pak enjoyed the last moments of perfect knowledge, which seized his body like a stream of hot lava, making the atoms in his blood and thoughts dance. An unbelievable feeling of happiness engulfed him. He had shed his bodily shell and was flying ever higher in circles like a mighty eagle to the point where
the two submarines below him became a single entity in the ocean. He flew higher and higher, circling the earth several times in all directions until he finally started using his wings again and started to descend. Back to the DA BAK SOL, on which a small group of black dots seemed to wait for him and his command.
As he slowly came back to reality and opened his eyes, he looked into the determined face of a man who had a weapon pointed at him.
"Comrade Pak, I hereby relieve you of your post. The men of the DA BAK SOL will not follow you into certain death. Surrender and follow me below deck.”
Pak did not realize at first what was happening to him. The words reached him as in a trance. The face in front of him seemed to put on and take off masks with extraordinary speed.
Captain Yong-Jo Ji?
Hong-yon?
Kol-yan?
Pak then recognized the person who stood about three feet away from him. He pulled out his weapon with lightning rapidity and aimed it at the head of his companion, whose reaction was an indifferent, almost Stoic smile.
"And if you do ..."
Before either of them said another word, there was a gentle plop from a pistol with silencer.
The reaction was a horrifying scream and the answer from a second pistol, but this time with no silencer.
Fractions of a second later a clapping sound could be heard on the port side of the aged submarine.
"Hong-yon!" Captain Ji called and ignored the weapon at his head.
"Hang on, we'll get help."
"I'm still the Captain, Yong-Jo Ji", said Pak, whose face was racked with pain. "And I order you to say nothing. We don't need the First Officer. We don't need anybody any more. Your whole goddamned breed can all go to hell. This is between the two of us."