“Torpedo in the water, bearing zero-five-zero!”
Wilson had already ordered Michigan to ahead flank and the optimal evasion course to the southeast. He ordered a countermeasure launched, then monitored the torpedo bearings. They moved steadily aft, which told Wilson the torpedo had been fired on a line-of-bearing solution, toward where Michigan was when Wilson fired. The bearings continued drawing aft as Michigan opened range, and Wilson let out a sigh of relief as the torpedo passed behind them. Then his thoughts turned to Ice Station Nautilus.
He stopped by the navigation plot and ordered, “Plot a course to the ice hole.” Petty Officer Leenstra complied, quickly determining the bearing.
“Helm, left full rudder, steady course three-four-zero.”
80
ICE STATION NAUTILUS
Under normal circumstances, Christine was an excellent shot. But that was while firing a pistol at a stationary target, at a range of twenty-five feet or less. And sober. She had never fired an MP7 before, or an assault rifle of any type. Still, she figured the principles were the same. She wrapped her index finger around the trigger and placed her eye against the sight. She examined the berthing hut to her right, where a Spetsnaz in his white Arctic gear was partially hidden around the corner of the hut, firing his assault rifle. Christine took aim, let out a slow breath, and was about to squeeze the trigger when she felt another tremor through the ice. Michigan must have survived the first torpedo explosion and was dueling with the Akula.
She hoped luck was with Wilson and his crew as she focused again through the MP7 sight, exhaled slowly, and squeezed the trigger. A chunk of plywood splintered from the corner of the hut just above the Spetsnaz’s head. He pulled back, out of sight. A few seconds later he peered around the corner again and Christine compensated her aim, bringing it down and to the right slightly, and squeezed off another round. A puff of snow flew up at the man’s feet. Christine adjusted her aim again and was about to shoot when a barrage of bullets pinged against the side of the decompression chamber, and two bullets thudded into Tarbottom’s body, only an inch below her face.
She put her head down until there was a pause in bullet impacts, then looked up again. The Spetsnaz was firing again, this time in her direction, and another bullet thudded into Tarbottom’s body. Christine aimed and fired again, but this time there was no indication of where her bullet hit. She must have missed to the right, the bullet passing by in the open air.
Christine fired her MP7 each time the Spetsnaz appeared around the corner of the hut, and although she wasn’t doing a spectacular job of killing Russians, she figured she didn’t need to. They were in a stalemate. Christine and the other Americans only needed to keep the Spetsnaz at bay until the rest of Michigan’s SEALs arrived, then the tide would turn in their favor. Assuming Michigan survived, of course.
Two more bullets impacted metal nearby, this time behind and just above her head. Another Spetsnaz, hiding behind a different hut, was also shooting at her. Christine alternated between the two Spetsnaz, and she thought she finally hit one, but wasn’t sure. A Spetsnaz appeared a few seconds later, and she couldn’t tell if it was the original man or a replacement. She took aim again and squeezed the trigger, but this time her MP7 didn’t fire. She was out of bullets.
She slid down behind Tarbottom, then searched his parka pockets for the pistol she had given him. She found it, and as she retrieved the pistol, the sound of gunfire diminished, then ended, enveloping the ice station in eerie silence. A few Spetsnaz were still visible, but were no longer shooting. She wondered if Harrison, Stone, and Brackman had also run out of ammo.
The Spetsnaz disappeared behind the huts, and as Christine wondered what was going on, they reappeared simultaneously, firing a heavy barrage of bullets, which pinged off nearby metal components and thudded into Tarbottom’s body. She ducked her head behind the Australian, waiting for the barrage to fade, but when it didn’t, she looked up. A dozen Spetsnaz were sprinting across the open avenue between the huts and rescue equipment. She took aim with her pistol and fired twice at the nearest man, who went down. She swung her pistol toward the next Spetsnaz, but he reached the port side of the rescue equipment, hidden from her view.
There were two Spetsnaz around the corner of the decompression chamber, only a few feet away, while a third was to her right, hidden by the habitrail. It wouldn’t be long before they advanced, and who survived would be determined by who had the quicker reaction time and better aim. Against three Spetsnaz, she didn’t have a chance.
Christine was in an untenable position. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted back toward the starboard decompression chamber, ducking under electrical cables connecting the equipment. Upon reaching the starboard chamber, she positioned herself at the corner, her pistol extended, waiting for the Spetsnaz to advance.
81
USS MICHIGAN
Michigan was traveling at ahead flank, and Commander McNeil felt the tremors in the deck as he climbed into the starboard Dry Deck Shelter, joining the dozen SEALs inside. He would normally have remained aboard Michigan, but after their encounter with the Akula, he was certain the Russians on the surface had been alerted. Lieutenant Harrison and his men would soon be engaged by the second platoon of Spetsnaz, and McNeil decided every remaining SEAL, including him, would ascend to the surface.
The vibrations in the deck eased, and the lighting in the hangar extinguished, allowing eyes to acclimate to the dark water outside.
A minute later, the diver at the forward end of the hangar announced, “Flooding down.”
Cold water surged through openings in the deck, rising rapidly as air was vented from the top, until the chamber was completely flooded. The hangar door swung slowly open, and the two SEALs at the front of the chamber stepped to the edge, then pushed off, surging toward the surface. The SEALs behind followed quickly in pairs. In less than thirty seconds, two dozen SEALs exited the port and starboard shelters, and McNeil followed, rising toward a white, wavering disc of light in the distance.
82
ICE STATION NAUTILUS
A few seconds after Christine reached the starboard decompression chamber, the three Spetsnaz appeared, working their way toward her. She took aim on the lead Spetsnaz and fired. She was certain her bullet hit him, but instead of collapsing to the ground, he moved quickly to the side, out of her view. The other two Spetsnaz retreated to her left and right, hidden by the rescue components. In the still night air, she could hear their feet crunching in the snow.
The two Spetsnaz on her left reached the other side of the decompression chamber, and she could hear the Spetsnaz on her right working his way toward her. There was nowhere to fall back to; behind her was the open expanse of the polar ice cap. She could head left, toward Brackman and Chief Stone, assuming they were still alive, or right, toward Harrison. She decided to head toward Harrison, but would have to sprint past the habitrail equipment, which didn’t offer a solid shield of protection. The Spetsnaz would have a clear shot as she passed by.
She turned toward the LARS and sucked in a deep breath, preparing for the sprint toward Harrison when she heard a man’s voice behind her, speaking Russian. Although she didn’t understand what he said, his tone was unmistakable. She slowly raised her hands in the air as she turned around, spotting a Spetsnaz with his assault rifle aimed at her. He gestured toward the pistol in her right hand, and she dropped it onto the snow.
Two more Spetsnaz appeared behind the man, dragging Brackman between them. They had him by his upper arms, facedown, his head sagging. They deposited Brackman’s body beside Christine, then joined the first Spetsnaz. Christine knelt down and checked Brackman. He was alive, but unconscious, with blood oozing from a gash in his forehead.
The first Spetsnaz pulled a radio from a holster and spoke into it. He received a response and returned the radio to its slot, then raised his rifle toward Christine. It took her only a second to realize the Spetsnaz had asked for instructions on what to do with their pr
isoners, and the response had been unfavorable. He didn’t bother bringing the AK-9 sight to his eye; he simply pointed the assault rifle at her, and Christine heard the sound of bullets thudding into flesh.
Two of the three Spetsnaz collapsed to the ground, leaving the Spetsnaz with the assault rifle aimed at Christine. His eyes widened as he adjusted the aim of his rifle to the left. There were three more thuds and he crumpled to the snow. Christine turned around slowly. In the shadow of the LARS, Harrison and three other SEALs were approaching, their MP7s raised to the firing position, while four more SEALs were advancing behind them.
The rest of McNeil’s men had arrived.
83
ICE STATION NAUTILUS
Inside the command hut, Christine listened as McNeil conferred with Vance Verbeck, Commander Ned Steel, and the two SEAL platoon leaders, Lieutenant Harrison and Lieutenant Allen. The SEALs had scoured the ice station, killing all but a half-dozen Spetsnaz who surrendered, then freed the ice station personnel bound in the huts. McNeil assimilated the information quickly, determining the most pressing issue was the Spetsnaz takeover of North Dakota. It appeared the Spetsnaz intended to wrap things up and return to the Russian ice camp by sunrise, erasing their tracks in the process. Exactly what they had in mind regarding North Dakota was unknown, but there wasn’t much time to lose. It would be sunrise in three hours.
Thankfully, the Spetsnaz aboard the fast attack submarine were unaware of what had transpired atop the ice. Based on the equipment they had sent up, currently stacked in the two-story deck transfer lock, all of the submarine’s tactical systems were off-line, including their WQC. However, they had heard the two underwater explosions through the hull and the attendant in the PRM had inquired. The co-pilot in the control van reported they had no idea what it was and the conversation ended there.
McNeil addressed Commander Steel. “What’s the status of the rescue equipment?”
Steel answered, “The port side of the hyperbaric complex is damaged. Luckily, the decompression chambers and all essential gear are contained in metal Conex containers to make them easy to transport, and the extra layer of metal helped protect things. But the port decompression chamber is out of commission for the time being, and there are a few holes in the pressurized flexible manway we’ll need to patch before we can rescue Dolgoruky’s crew. The Russian submarine is likely pressurized, and it would be counterproductive to rescue the crew, only to have them die from the bends. However, we can retrieve the PRM from North Dakota, because she’s at standard atmospheric pressure.”
“How many men can the PRM carry?” McNeil asked.
“Sixteen, plus two attendants.”
McNeil turned to Harrison. “Take two squads down and regain control of North Dakota.”
Harrison conferred with the other SEAL platoon OIC, selecting the fifteen men who would accompany him. Lieutenant Allen left to round up the desired personnel, along with two sets of Spetsnaz Arctic gear. Harrison and Chief Stone would don the gear, gaining a valuable few seconds before the Russians aboard North Dakota realized they weren’t Spetsnaz. Harrison turned to Captain Brackman, who had regained consciousness shortly after McNeil arrived; after a quick check by the Undersea Rescue Command’s Medical Officer and a bandage applied to his head, Brackman was released.
“I need a layout of North Dakota,” Harrison said.
Brackman located a notepad and pen, then drew a diagram of the Virginia class submarine, showing the compartments and levels. At Harrison’s request, Brackman noted the location of the watertight doors between the compartments and the ladders providing access between levels. Harrison studied the diagrams, then tore the sheets from the notepad.
Commander Steel’s handheld radio squawked. It was the rescue supervisor in the control van. Steel answered and was informed the PRM was on its way up to off-load equipment.
Steel turned to Harrison. “The PRM will be back in the deck cradle in fifteen minutes.”
“How many Spetsnaz are in the PRM?” Harrison asked.
Steel relayed the question, and after the rescue supervisor examined the video feed from the PRM’s interior camera, he replied, “Only one.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Harrison stood in the flexible manway beside Chief Stone, with both men wearing the white Spetsnaz outer layer and holding Russian MP-443 pistols in their hands. One end of the manway was open, providing Harrison a view of the LARS A-frame and the ice hole beneath it, while behind him was the deck transfer lock, which provided access to the port and starboard habitrail tunnels leading to the two decompression chambers. The flexible manway was large enough for only two persons to stand abreast, so the remaining fourteen SEALs waited in the deck transfer lock.
The cursor frame that would mate with the PRM descended into the water, and a moment later, Harrison felt the subtle vibrations and heard the groan as the two heavy-duty winches began lifting the PRM. The submersible emerged from the water, its wet surface glistening under the bright ice station lights. It continued upward until it reached the top of the A-frame, where the PRM locked into the latch mechanisms. There was a jolt as the massive A-frame pivoted from the outboard to inboard position, mating the PRM with the end of the flexible manway.
The hatch ring rotated, freeing the lugs from the secured position. There was no window in the door, so it was impossible to tell who was on the other side. The door opened, revealing one of the attendants, Bob Ennis, who glanced at Harrison and Stone before securing the door on the open latch.
Ennis looked again at the two Spetsnaz, speaking dryly, “If either of you happen to understand English, you need to move aside. We’ve got equipment to off-load.”
Neither Harrison nor Stone replied.
Ennis shook his head, then pulled back inside the PRM, and a Spetsnaz appeared in the hatch opening. He said something in Russian, then his eyes narrowed as he examined Harrison and Stone more closely.
Harrison raised his pistol and squeezed off three rounds, the first two hitting the Spetsnaz in the chest and the third in his face. The Spetsnaz fell back into the PRM and Harrison and Stone moved forward, each taking station on one side of the hatch.
“We’re Navy SEALs,” Harrison said to Ennis and whoever else was in the PRM. “We’ve regained control of the ice station. Are there any other Russians inside the PRM?”
“No,” was the reply, and Ennis appeared in the hatch, examining Harrison, then Stone. He stepped from the PRM, followed by Art Glover, the other attendant.
Harrison peered inside the PRM. It was packed with electronic equipment. He turned to Ennis and Glover. “We’re going to off-load the equipment, then head back down with a platoon of SEALs. What can you tell us about the Spetsnaz aboard North Dakota?”
The two attendants had little to offer, except that there were fifteen Spetsnaz still aboard the submarine.
“Thanks,” Harrison replied. “Let’s get the PRM off-loaded.”
Chief Stone informed the other SEALs the PRM was secure, and the sixteen SEALs, along with Ennis and Glover, off-loaded the equipment and the dead Spetsnaz.
Ten minutes later, Harrison was aboard the PRM, sitting on a steel seat on the port side, near the hatch they had entered. There were seven SEALs to his left, while Chief Stone and the remaining seven men sat opposite them. Glover was at the far end of the PRM, while Ennis stood beside Harrison. Ennis closed the hatch, sealing the eighteen men inside, then Glover notified the control van. A moment later, Harrison felt the PRM ascend and then lurch as the A-frame shifted to the outboard position. The A-frame came to a halt, and the PRM began its descent.
84
PRM-1 FALCON • USS NORTH DAKOTA
PRM-1 FALCON
Harrison listened to the whirr of the submersible’s thrusters as they adjusted Falcon’s descent toward North Dakota. Although Harrison and Stone wore the Spetsnaz white outer layer, the other fourteen SEALs wore their black insulated wet suits. Harrison and Stone had discarded the Russian MP-443 pis
tols, since they didn’t have silencers, in favor of the MP7, hanging from a sling around each man’s neck. When he and Stone boarded North Dakota, there were two things each man needed to conceal as long as possible: his face and his weapon. Once a Spetsnaz spotted either, he’d realize something was amiss. Still, Harrison figured they’d be able to descend the ladder before anyone got suspicious.
The whine of the PRM’s thrusters increased, and the submersible’s descent slowed. There was a clank as the PRM struck a metal object, and the thrusters coasted to a halt. Bob Ennis activated the low-pressure dewatering pump, which began dewatering the transfer skirt between the PRM and submarine hatches. He then opened an equalizing line between the PRM and the transfer skirt, which allowed air to flow in as the water was pumped out, and Glover bled air from the air banks into the PRM to maintain it at one atmosphere.
While they waited, Ennis explained that an initial “soft” seal had been created between the PRM and submarine by a rubber gasket on the bottom of the transfer skirt. As water was pumped out, creating a pressure differential, the final seal would be metal-to-metal as the rubber gasket was depressed. The sea pressure would force the PRM onto the submarine like a giant suction cup.
After verifying the pressure on each side of the transfer skirt hatch was the same and holding, Ennis opened the hatch, revealing the black surface of the submarine beneath six feet of seawater. He unhooked two dewatering hoses and lowered them through the hatch until they came to rest on top of the submarine, then activated two high-pressure dewatering pumps, which pumped out the remaining water.
Ennis retrieved and fastened a metal rope ladder to the top of PRM, letting it fall through the hatch. He climbed down onto the submarine and tapped on the hatch fairing with a metal hammer. He stood to the side as the hatch opened, pushed upward by a Spetsnaz with his Arctic parka removed, revealing his green mid-layer.
Ice Station Nautilus Page 23