by Don Brown
Men stood on the top of the submarine, in orange jackets, waving directions at the rubber boat. A small, floating ramp extended from the back of the submarine into the water.
The children's fear had transformed into a fixated fascination, at least for now. For that, Masha was grateful. At least they had calmed down a bit. Aleksey, however, still sitting in the front of the boat, was strangely subdued, as if he had turned into a ragdoll. Perhaps he was exhausted from getting them off the ship and fighting the whirlpool.
One sailor tossed a rope into the lifeboat from the submarine while another crouched down the ramp and stepped into the boat. He tied the rope to the boat. Others on the submarine pulled the bow of the boat up onto the floating ramp.
The man spoke in perfect Russian. "I am Lieutenant Phil Jamison, United States Navy. Welcome aboard the USS Honolulu. But we must hurry. Come, children!"
Inside, Masha cheered. Americans!
Aleksey went up the ramp first. The children scampered up the ramp in a single-file line, and the men were lifting them up and passing them to other men who were inside the hatch of the submarine. Finally when Sasha headed up the ramp, Masha left the boat.
"This way, ma'am." The Russian-speaking lieutenant directed her to another orange-jacketed sailor, who stood beside the open hatch. The sailor took her hand and helped her climb down a ladder.
An officer stood at the bottom of the ladder. At least, she assumed he was an officer. He wore a dark blue jump suit and had gold oak leaves on his collars. The name Pippen was written across his chest.
This officer spoke no Russian. He put his hand on her shoulder and led her down a very dark, narrow hallway in the submarine. He directed her into a room off to the left, where the children were congregated. It looked like some sort of a dining room and had fluorescent lights hanging overhead.
He pointed to a seat at the end of one of the long metal benches at the table.
She sat and exhaled.
And then, it hit her.
Dima!
"Dima! Dima! Where is Dima?" She stood, screaming. "Dima! Dima!
Dima!"
"Settle down, ma'am! Settle down!" some of the Americans were saying.
"Masha, calm down!" Aleksey said. "I am sure he is fine. We did what we had to do!"
"No! You said there were other lifeboats!"
"Get a corpsman in here! Now!" one of the Americans said.
"Prepare to dive! Prepare to dive!" Alarms sounded all over the submarine.
"No! We cannot leave Dima! No! No!"
"Dive! Dive!" the loudspeaker was saying.
One of the American sailors, a big man with muscular arms, pinned her to the table now. She felt the submarine begin to sink under the water.
"Nooooo!"
Another sailor wearing a blue jumpsuit walked in, carrying a syringe with a long, silver needle that sparkled under the lights.
"Jesus! You said you would help me! Please help Dima!"
The sailor stuck the needle into her arm.
"No!"
Fluorescent lights overhead started spinning. Sleep overpowered her.
The White House
President Williams was sipping tea with the Honorable Jack W. Davis, the Irish ambassador to the United States. They were accompanied by Robert Mauney, the United States secretary of state.
Mack liked the Irish, liked their temperament, and had even joked with Ambassador Davis that he was a Notre Dame fan, at least when Notre Dame was not playing Kansas.
This was good small talk, Mack thought, especially since he was not comfortable discussing the ambassador's true agenda. The Irish wanted America to press Britain on the issue of independence for Northern Ireland.
Personally, Mack did not care whether Northern Ireland was part of Ireland or Great Britain. And while he liked the Irish, America needed Britain's power, influence, and prestige, especially at a time when antiAmerican sentiment was at its highest point in history.
"I know it is a very delicate situation, Mr. Ambassador, and I will voice your concerns to Prime Minister Anthony." He was referring to his close personal friend British Prime Minister Anthony McMillan.
"My government appreciates your consideration, Mr. President."
"I cannot promise anything, except that I will speak to him."
"That is all we can ask."
The phone buzzed on the president's desk as the ambassador took another sip of tea. Thank goodness.
"Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador."
"But of course."
The president picked up the phone for his appointments secretary, Gale Staff. "Yes, Gale?"
"Mr. President. I'm sorry to interrupt, but the secretary of defense and chairman of the Joint Chiefs are on the line. They say it's urgent, sir."
"Patch it through to the ante room."
"Yes, sir."
The president hung up. "Mr. Ambassador, my apologies, but the secretary of state and I are needed for an urgent phone call."
"By all means, sir. I was just leaving."
"No, we can take it in the next room."
The Irish ambassador smiled. "No reason to displace the most powerful man in the world. Please take your call here in the Oval Office. I will show myself out. Perhaps we can speak later, Mr. President."
"You are a friend and a gentleman, Mr. Ambassador." Mack shook the ambassador's hand, and Secretary Mauney walked him to the door.
"Gale, we'll take that call in the Oval Office. Put 'em on speaker."
"Yes, sir."
Secretary Mauney closed the door to the Oval Office, then sat in a Queen Anne's chair just in front of the presidential desk.
"Mr. President, you have Secretary Lopez and Admiral Ayers on the line, " Gale Staff said.
"Erwin. John. What's up?" the president said.
"Good news and potentially disastrous news, " Secretary Erwin Lopez said.
Mack looked at the secretary of state. "Good news first."
"We've confirmed on solid intelligence that the Honolulu has sunk the Alexander Popovich, Mr. President."
"Excellent, " Mack said. "When and where?"
"Best we can tell, between thirty minutes to one hour ago. In the Black Sea. About one hundred miles west of Sevastopol."
"Now what's the potential disaster? Have the Russians discovered us?"
"Mr. President, this is Admiral Ayers."
"Yes, Admiral. Go ahead."
"Sir, we've intercepted some radio traffic. The Popovich sent out a distress signal before she sank, claiming that children were on board."
Mack locked eyes with Secretary Mauney. "Admiral, did you say children?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"I mean, can that be confirmed?"
"Frankly, I'm worried about it, sir, " the admiral said.
Mack's pulse raced to about two hundred beats per minute. "Why do you say that, John?"
"President Evtimov is on his way to Odessa. He and President Butrin of Ukraine were going to welcome a group of orphans sailing from Sochi, to announce some sort of Russian-Ukrainian humanitarian initiative for displaced orphans. While we can't be absolutely sure that the orphans were on the Alexander Popovich, the pieces are starting to fit together, Mr. President."
"Dear God, help us." Mack buried his face in his hands. "How did our intelligence miss that?"
"Can't answer that, Mr. President, " Secretary Lopez said. "I guess we could ask the CIA about that."
"That's not good enough!" Mack snapped, looking up at his defense secretary. "If this is true, the Navy is just as culpable as the CIA. And ultimately, if this is true, these children's lives are on my shoulders."
"You did what you had to do, Mr. President, " Admiral Ayers chimed in. "We had no way of knowing, sir. Besides, at least we got the plutonium."
Mack buried his head back in his hands. "Dear God, what have I done?"
Ilyushin I1-96 jetliner
50 miles northeast of Odessa, Ukraine
Comrade President. As you request
ed, Admiral Voynavich is on the line."
"Spaceeba, Sergey Semyonovich." The president took the secure air phone from his chief of staff and spoke to his Black Sea fleet commander. "Admiral, you are familiar with the distress call from our freighter off Sevastopol."
"Yes, sir."
"And you know my orders?"
"Yes, Comrade President."
"Well, as you know, I am about to meet with President Butrin in just a few minutes when we land. This meeting is an opportunity to shore up our relations with Ukraine. This whole orphans issue is killing him on the inside. Are you aware of this?"
"Yes, sir. It is my understanding that Butrin once lived in an orphanage."
"I want to assure President Butrin that we will find and sink that submarine. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Drop every sonobuoy we have into the Black Sea, if we have to. Find that sub. I hold you personally responsible for this, Admiral. Do you understand me?"
"Comrade President, our Bear bombers are already dropping sonobuoys in the water even as we speak. We will cover that area with so many sonobuoys that no one could ever escape. This is one sub against the entire Black Sea fleet. Not even the Americans are that good. You have my word as an officer, sir. We will find and destroy this submarine."
The USS Honolulu The Black Sea
Miss Katovich! Miss Katovich!"
The faint sound of her name spoken in Russian slipped softly through the ringing in her ears.
"Masha. Masha. Wake up."
The voice had changed its tone. Now it seemed more familiar. Somehow sweeter.
Yet despite the sound of her name, the world was still black.
But in the midst of it, something small and white flickered far away. Like a single flickering star on a cold wintry night. The small white object was coming at her, floating through space. It grew larger and larger. It came into vision now, this bright, white object in the midst of her black universe.
It was a cross! Floating through space, coming at her, bringing chills to her spine. Did this have anything to do with what the Allisons had told her about? Was she hallucinating? Had she drowned and gone to heaven?
"Miss Katovich!" The cross grew closer, larger. Its pure angelic whiteness obliterated the dark.
And then fluorescent lights hung over her head.
The officer, the American officer who had spoken in Russian, was standing over her. She squinted her eyes for a better view.
"Miss Katovich, " he said again in Russian. "Does this little fellow belong to you?"
She rolled her head and saw the smile of an angel.
"Dima!" The boy rushed to the table and threw his arms around her. "I must be in heaven!" Tears of joy streamed down her face.
When her hands felt the scars on his back, she knew she was not in heaven. She knew he was real and still on earth. In heaven, his back would be healed. But God had answered her prayer from heaven.
"Don't cry, Masha, " the boy was saying. "I love you."
"I love you too, Dima." But she could not contain her tears.
"Our Navy SEALs found him hanging onto a flotation ring and brought him on board just a few seconds before we submerged."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" She reached out to touch the officer's hand.
"We took him to sick bay to check him out. He is okay!"
"I am so grateful! All my children are alive."
"I am grateful too, Miss Katovich."
CHAPTER 22
Tu-142 Squadron 118
Over the northwest quadrant of the Black Sea
They crisscrossed the skies in a series of triangular patterns south of the coordinates where the Crimean airlines jet had spotted the mysterious submarine on the surface of the water. They were long-range Russian "Bear bombers" of Black Sea Squadron 118.
Each was long and sleek, with two propellers on each wing and enough fuel to fly hundreds of miles before returning to base.
They filled the skies over the Black Sea with hundreds of parachutes. At the bottom of each parachute, long, floatable cylinders dangled in the skies, falling, falling, and finally splashing down in the waters below.
The cylinders were sonobuoys. When they hit the water, they began transmitting active and passive sonar signals through the water to seek out the presence of anything large and metal moving under the sea. Their signals would then be transmitted to aircraft in the air, and ships in the sea. Using a technique known as "triangulation, " like a hunter tracking a wounded animal in the woods, they would close in on their prey, then call the bloodhounds in for the kill.
Russian attack submarine Alrosa Black Sea
Kapitan. We just received this message." Captain Yuri Gagarigan put on his reading glasses and studied the message.
From: Commander, Naval District Sevastopol
To: All Russian Submarines Patrolling Black Sea, Northwest Sector Subj: Unidentified Hostile Submarine in Sector
Be advised unidentified submarine, possibly U.S. Los Angeles – class boat reported operating in sector.
Unidentified submarine last spotted on surface approximately ninety nautical miles west of Sevastopol forty-five minutes prior to transmission of this message.
Unidentified submarine believed to be hostile, and is believed to have attacked and destroyed civilian Russian freighter Alexander Popovich.
Alexander Popovich was transporting women and children to Port of Odessa for joint ceremony with presidents of Russia and Ukraine.
Bear bombers currently dropping sonobuoys in the area.
By orders of the president of the Russian Republic, you are to seek out and destroy.
"Impossible." Gagarigan folded the message and handed it back to his XO. "A Los Angeles – class submarine in the Black Sea. How could it be?"
"I do not know, " the XO said.
"What is our current position?"
"One hundred miles southwest of Sevastopol, Kapitan."
"Bring me the navigational chart for the sector."
"Yes, Kapitan."
A moment later, the executive officer spread the navigational chart on the navigation table in the control room.
"Let us plot the sub's last postion and plot our current position."
After quickly scanning the charts, the Russian sub commander took the microphone and hit the switch, allowing his voice to broadcast all over the Kilo-class submarine.
"This is the captain. We have just received word that there is an enemy submarine in the area, possibly United States Los Angeles class. This submarine has already attacked and destroyed a civilian Russian freighter that had women and children on board. The president of the Russian Republic has ordered the Black Sea fleet to destroy it.
"We believe that this submarine is in our area, perhaps within ten miles of our current position.
"It is my intention, gentlemen, that the Alrosa shall be the submarine that will carry out our president's orders. We shall do so to avenge the death of innocent Russians. We shall do so to take control of the high seas and to show the Americans whose navy is superior, and we shall do so for the glory of Russia.
"Be prepared to go to battle stations. This is the captain. That is all."
The USS Honolulu Black Sea depths
Soup. Check this out." The Bloodhound handed his earphones to the sonar officer, Lieutenant Boers.
Boers had heard enough. He picked up the microphone for direct link to the control room. "Conn. Sonar. We have a possible submerged submarine! Bearing zero-one-five. Designate contact master two-nine!"
"Sonar. Conn. Aye. Man battle stations! Torpedo, rig for ultra quiet, " cried the officer of the deck, Lieutenant McCaffity.
"Rig tubes one and three fully ready, " Pete ordered.
"Rig tubes one and three. Aye, sir."
"Man battle stations!" All over the ship, red lights flashed. Crewmen sprinted and dashed to their positions. "Battle stations! Battle stations! All hands, man your battle stations!"
"XO, come with me. Mr. M
cCaffity, you have the conn."
"I have the conn. Aye, sir."
Pete rushed to the sonar room. Frank followed him.
The Bloodhound had both hands on the outside of his earphones. Intense concentration dominated his face. Lieutenant Boers was glued to the passive sonar screen.
"Okay, what do you got?" Frank asked.
"Sir, we have a possible submerged submarine, " Boers said, "bearing zero-four-seven. Designate master two-nine. Best step for evasion, sir, is to dive deep. Recommend diving to eight-three-one feet, to avoid that sub."
"Very well." Pete picked up the microphone. "Lieutenant McCaf-fity, this is the captain. Increase your speed to standard. Come right to course two-seven-zero. Make your depth eight-three-one feet."
"Aye, aye, Captain, " Lieutenant McCaffity said. "Chief of the Watch, all ahead standard. Dive. Make your depth eight-three-one feet."
"Aye, sir, " the chief of the watch, who was also serving as the diving officer, acknowledged the order passed down from the captain. He stood just behind the helmsman, who pushed down on the steering wheel. This sent the submarine into a steep dive.
The Honolulu continued its dive as Pete and Frank returned to the control room.
The diving officer gave reports on the sub's descent. "Passing five-five-zero feet."
A message came in from the radio room. "Conn. Radio. Sir, we are out of VLF radio range. Full message capacity is cut off."
"Radio. Conn." Pete said. "Extend extremely low frequency antenna."
"Passing six hundred feet."
Back in the sonar room, a small red cylinder appeared on the passive sonar screen. Lieutenant Boers' eyes widened.
"Conn! Sonar! We have risk classification." Boers turned to one of the sonar technicians. "Mark that tape. Get the classification on your monitor."
Pete rushed into the sonar room. "What the heck is going on?"
"Sir, " Boers said, "the master two-nine is classified as a Russian Kilo-class hunter killer. Bearing zero-one-zero, sir. He's close, but I don't think he's spotted us."
"Keep an eye on it, " Pete said.
"Aye, sir."
Pete headed back to the control room.
"Passing eight hundred feet, sir."