Ninety Degrees North

by Stephen Makk

  Nathan wasn’t happy with either solution, but maybe that’s all they had. Then...

  “Weaps? What mines do we have aboard?”

  “CAPTOR mines, just four of them.”

  Nathan smirked. This might be it. “No. What about those Japanese mines the JSDF gave us?”

  Weaps thought for a while. “You mean those oscillating mines, the CM7s? We used one during trials, we’ve one left. But they’re years old. They were a drift mine, not tethered, hydrostatically-controlled to maintain a pre-set depth. But they were set up so that they’d explode due to a quick change in depth; it might mean a passing ship.”

  “So what if we lay one behind us? What would a passing submarine do to the hydrostatic pressure?”

  “Jeez, we’d need to be lucky. Maybe not, though; we are in a confined space. Yes, sir, it might work, but they’re old. They’re 1960s Japanese Self Defence Force.”

  Blake knew it was worth a try. “It’s a chance. Get one in tube five, set for our current depth and deploy.”

  Weaps smiled. “I hope it goes off. It’s old.”

  “And, Weaps, get Lucy wound back in.”

  The mine was dug out from the rear of the weapons store and loaded into tube five.

  Benson called out, “Fish gaining, Type 53 now 0.6 miles behind and gaining.”

  “Mine ready, sir.”

  “Deploy it, Weaps.”

  Weaps flooded the tube, opened the doors and ejected the mine. There was a clunk on the hull as the mine made contact. The room looked around nervously as there was another clunk further aft.

  “Jesus H Christ,” said the Chief.

  “It’s pressure activated,” said Weaps. “Relax.”

  A minute passed by.

  “Lucy is now rewound and safe.”

  “Fish, 0.25 miles from the mine. Closing.”

  Nathan decided he’d assume that it wouldn’t work. “Ready countermeasures starboard side. Come 100 meters to port.”

  The boat moved up to the canyon’s left-hand side. The ice wall sped past, alarmingly close.

  “Fish 300 meters to the mine, 200, 100.”

  There was a pause and then the rear of the boat was pushed up like a toy. There was a hull-shaking boom and the sea boiled.

  The boat was thrown around the boiling, churning sea. Crew were thrown across the room. The cabin lights blacked out and then the auto red night lights came on. Gradually the boat settled.

  “Damage control report, Chief,” barked Nathan.

  “Sir.” The Chief disappeared back aft.

  “Benson, the fish?”

  “No contact, sir.” He grinned. “I think we got it. Goddamn it, we got it.” Benson laughed.

  The crew breathed again with relief.

  Nikki smiled across the room at Nathan. “You lucky bastard, sir.”

  Nathan grinned at her. He knew it wasn’t over yet.

  “Weaps, stream the lure. Get Lucy out there and sniffing. Planesman, down bubble 20, trim for descent, make your depth 700 feet, come about to 280 degrees.” Nathan fixed his team one by one with a hard stare. “People, we still have a Yasen class out there.” Nathan walked over to the Weapon Officer’s station. “I want four Mk48s in tubes. Do we still have contact with Deputy Dawg?”

  The main lighting came back on.

  “Yes, we do, sir. I don’t know how the hell we have. The control computer on the Pointer does receive positional information from us; it must have kept Deputy Dawg close enough. We are still linked by the wire.”

  “Benson, what’s the Yasen up to?”

  Benson ran his finger over the controls and studied his dripping oil screen. “Nothing, sir, it’s quiet out there. Lucy and the Dawg aren’t picking anything up either.”

  He walked over to the XO’s station.

  “This stinks, Nikki. He hasn’t just disappeared.”

  She leaned close. “He could have gone deep. Or just done an all stop and could be nearby waiting for us. Holy shit, he could have decided to back off and plan his next attack more carefully. I just don’t know. I’m useless.”

  “No, Nikki, you’re not. We just don’t know. It’s like a dark room with a chessboard lit by a desk lamp in the middle. You want to stop your opponent playing. If you see his arm reach out to the board making a move you can slice it off with your sword; he can do the same to you. You both must play the game, and distraction is possible. You can guess where he is, but it’s just a guess. If you reach out to play, will he slice your arm off? Can you slice his off?”

  She nodded. “That’s about it. Where did you learn that?”

  “His name was Captain Franks, USS NYC.”

  Nathan thought it through. The Yasen was probably stopped somewhere, listening, hoping to detect them. How can I flush him out? Vodka might do it, but that’s not an op…

  “Sir, I heard a venting and flooding of ballast tanks from the north. I think it’s him, he’s coming down from the icecap.”

  “Weaps, get a firing solution on him.”

  “Shit,” said Benson, taking off his headphones. “Loud bastard, he just pinged us.”

  “Solution laid in.”

  “Flood tube, open doors, fire when ready.”

  The Weapons Officer set up his controls. He didn’t have to wait long. “Launch tube two, fish running and hungry.”

  “Planesman, vent for rapid ascent. Go.”

  Nathan had to get the boat up into the canyon again and hide; let the fish seek out the enemy. USS Stonewall Jackson rose up into the canyon and held her position. She was hiding and facing west, the seaward entrance was about half a mile down the canyon to the west.

  “Planesman, hold at depth 250 feet.”

  “Aye, sir, hold at 250.”

  “Fish is pinging, running in. Cutting wire,” said Weaps, his voice raised in anticipation. “Fish is hungry and on terminal.”

  “He’s launching countermeasures,” said Benson. “Prop noise; he must be evading.”

  Nathan knew there was nothing they could do now; it was down to the Mk48 and the Yasen’s Captain.

  The seconds ticked by, the control room waited and the crew looked at each other and then quickly away, as though ashamed.

  “We should have had impact by now,” said Weaps in disappointment. “I think we’ve missed.” Benson folded his arms behind his head. “I can still hear the Mk48 running; it’s goddamn missed. Shit.”

  The Yasen was still out there: a threat.

  “I’m going to stay here for a short while, then sneak out and get behind him. Ok, XO?”

  Nikki nodded.

  The boat was quiet. Out there was a Russian shark and it wanted them.

  “We’ve reloaded tube two with a Mk48, sir.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Benson. “Jesus H Christ.” He was open mouthed. “Sir, the Yasen has entered the canyon. It’s staring us in the face; he’s flooded a tube and opened the outer doors.”

  The Weapons Officer set up his console for flood and open outer doors on tube two.

  “Sir, can I action a fish setup?”

  “Yes, but don’t launch.”

  The Mk48 was soon ready.

  Benson shook his head. “We’re facing each other down in a duel. You can’t do that with submarines.”

  Nathan rubbed his temples. “Yeah, guess what? Nobody told Ivan that.”

  Benson was right. USS Stonewall Jackson was facing K-561 Kazan half a mile away down an inverted ice canyon, just like a pair of wild west gunfighters, but swap the Colt or Smith and Wesson for a Mk48 and a Type 53. Nathan knew only one of them would survive.

  SEAL team North.

  Whitt and his man skiied toward the muzzle flashes of the right-hand team. They dropped and crawled the last 20 yards to the line of men holding this side.

  Whitt could see they’d taken casualties, a medic tended to an injured man. His men took up positions and released fire at the men approaching them. A man to his left opened up with a Mimi heavy machine gun. Fire poured into th
e advancing VDV. It slowed them, but still they came on.

  Further off to his right, a grenade exploded among his men, screams sounded out into the white darkness. It was that close now. Whitt took out his hand-held comms set.

  “Back gun, this is Fox one actual.”

  “Fox one, Back gun.”

  “Bearing 120 degrees, ranging fire.”

  “Copy.”

  Several seconds later, 70 yards in front, a mortar exploded.

  “Back gun. Twenty degrees left, ten yards in. Fire.”

  Another mortar landed just in front of the Russians. He saw men blown unreasonably to one side and a leg arc through the air.

  “Back gun, maintain range, advance fire to the right. Walk the line and feed the Mothers.”

  Mortars landed by the first, and one by one, round by round, punched a line towards the right, blowing enemy troops to pieces. But Whitt knew there were many more behind them. The VDV wasn’t finished yet by any means.

  USS Stonewall Jackson.

  Nathan looked over at Nikki and grinned. “I guess this is your first time. Facing an enemy SSN down an ice canyon?”

  “Yeah, you don’t get many ice canyons down Georgia way.”

  He nodded and looked to his sonar operator. “Benson, do you get anything from him?”

  “No, sir, he’s come to a stop. He’s just hanging there.”

  Nathan gripped the rails on the conn. What to do? Launch a fish and he’d do the same; the Type 53 is one dangerous son of a bitch. At half a mile, it doesn’t give much running time: just 34 seconds to impact. If he went emergency deep, that would just ask for a launch; no time to escape. The boat wasn’t low on power, so there was no problem there, but eventually there would be. It couldn’t go on that long, could it?

  Nikki came over and stood by him.

  “What about trimming slightly for depth? He may match us as we sink, and we can always beat him at that. Maybe get Deputy Dawg to pulse him?”

  “I think he knows it’s just the two of us. The Russians are aware of the Pointers; they’re working on their own.” Nathan paced. “He took the initiative by coming into the canyon; let’s take it back. Planesman, ahead 3 knots, we’ll set a time limit on this farce.”

  The boat slowly started to move down the canyon towards the Yasen. A minute went by as she slowly advanced. The clock was now ticking, and the Russians would take no action, for now. Come on, Ivan.

  “Sir,” Benson said puzzled, “we have a fish running. What the…? It’s getting closer.”

  “Where? What goddamn fish?”

  Benson looked up at him. “It’s a Mk48; it’s behind the Yasen. He’s increasing revs, flooding ballast, going emergency deep.”

  What the…? Suddenly Nathan realised what was going on. “Yes.”

  The Mk48 hit home. The Yasen broke in two and gas billowed out of her. She sank into the abyss.

  Shockwaves shook the boat, and she pitched and rolled. The crew hung on as the boat was thrown from side to side. Slowly she settled.

  “Damage control reports clear, sir,” said the Chief. “Chief Engineer reports clear.”

  Nathan knew what had happened. A friendly boat had stepped in. But why?

  “Sir, I can hear a Virginia class boat below us,” called Benson.

  Lemineux, the Communications Officer, looked over. “Sir, I have a call on Gertrude, it’s the Minnesota.”

  Nathan picked up the handset. “Blake, you owe me one.” It was Captain Stanley. “I was on a perfectly good flanking attack, I had an Akula in range, then I heard you were in deepest shit. So I had to haul your ass out of it. Now I’ll have to find that mother again. If I can’t find that Akula, then it’s your ass.”

  “Thanks, Minnesota, but we had him.” Nathan grinned. “We were just waiting for the right moment.”

  “Yeah, like shit you were. Minnesota ends.”

  Nathan laughed, hung up, and shook his head. “Good old Stanley. He’ll give me a stinking pile of it for this. XO, get Deputy Dawg on board then take us to the closest free water outside of the icecap.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nathan knew that time had become an enemy now; they must get to the edge and free water. The boat turned to the east and moved off at 12 knots.

  “Sir, I have a contact. Bearing 80 degrees, range five miles. It’s an Akula, she’s coming just to our north.”

  “Planesman, come ten degrees south of our track, maintain speed,” ordered Nikki.

  “Aye, sir, south ten.”

  She was worried. Would the Akula hear them?

  15

  Major Kornukoff detached the hose from the Il-78 in-flight tanker and rolled the SU-34 fighter bomber to the left. He descended to 20,000 feet for the combat air patrol zone north of Greenland.

  “Thank you, Momma barmaid one. We’re on the CAP now,” said Lieutenant Elena Orlova, who was sat to his right-hand side.

  Kornokoff led a four ship of SU-34s on a combat air patrol.

  “Blue Ghost flight from Blue Ghost one, connecting leg one. Spread out to your station. Go.”

  “Copy, Blue one.”

  He’d led a similar CAP two days earlier and detected no enemy activity.

  “Sweeping radar,” said Orlova.

  The aircraft’s radar looked left to right around 100 miles ahead of them.

  “Airspace clean, no contacts, sir.”

  The flight cruised west for 20 minutes.

  “Sweeping radar,” said Orlova.

  There was no return, all clear. The enemy seemed to have given up in the Arctic airspace sector. Shortly after, it was time.

  “Blue Ghost flight come to leg two. On my mark,” said Kornukoff, “leg two go.”

  All four aircraft turned to the north.

  A flight of F15s had left Keflavik Iceland, refuelled in mid-air and were now running in towards the Russians with their teeth bared. They launched the AIM-120D AMRAAM long-range air to air missiles. The birds raced in at 3,000 mph.

  “Sweeping radar,” said Orlova. “Airspace clean, no contact… Sir, we have a fire control warning to the south-southwest.” She adjusted her settings. “Sir, we have incoming. All call signs, repeat incoming. Vampire, vampire. Missiles inbound, computer indicates probability AIM-120 AMRAAM. Multiple inbounds, range 40 miles and closing. Blue flight, inbound enemy birds from south-southwest.”

  “Engage clutter, Orlova.” He ordered her to issue jamming systems to confuse the missiles.

  “AMRAAM’s active, now 25 miles… Kornukoff, emergency escape now,” shouted Orlova.

  The SU-34 pulled hard to the left and dived. The AMRAAM tracked the aircraft and dived after it.

  “Jink her, Kornukoff.”

  The AMRAAM struck in the rear fuselage, and the aircraft’s empennage tore off.

  Major Kornukoff shouted, “Elena, eject, eject.”

  She pulled the seat cords and the seat’s rocket motor pushed her up and out. She felt the chute open and the cold air blasted her.

  As she drifted down, Elena Orlova knew she was doomed. She’d land safely, she knew, but then she was on the Arctic icecap and her distress beacon would send out the alert. But could they really rescue her?

  Elena felt down and fingered the Makarov pistol by her side. It may just come down to that, better than freezing to death. More SU-34s were hit by AMRAAM, but only one escaped.

  The Pentagon.

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Cotton, brought the meeting of the joint chiefs to order.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the Arctic crisis. How do we resolve this situation in our favor?”

  Present was the Chief of Staff of the Army, General Sally Weingarten, USA; Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Nicolaj Kamov, USN; Commandant of the Marine Corps, Bruce Nanut, USMC; Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General Neil L Cooper, USAF; National Security Advisor, Stockhaisen.

  “Right, we’re here to discuss the solutions,” said General Cotton. “Can you share your thoughts? First, let me summarize t
he situation so far. Its roots go back to the Russians’ wish to dominate the Arctic region. We know it’s getting more important with new trade routes and its oil and gas reserves. But we can’t allow them total control. They’re a major Arctic power and they’re going to have a big say; that can’t be disputed. By the same token, they’re a Baltic power, but they don’t control the Baltic.”

  “Sir, we can…” started General Cooper, but Cotton held his hand up and carried on.

  “In truth, the current flare up is because of one man: this Danish Scientist seeking refuge in the US, and hunted by the Russians.

  “I’ve asked Lawrence Livermore laboratories what’s so important about his discoveries.” He shook his head. “They talked to me about spooky action, about things happening light years away but acting here instantly. That stupid cat in a box that’s dead and alive at the same time. They even admitted Einstein couldn’t figure it. I think they’re all smoking something over there. I gave up with a sore head. All I know is he’s important and we don’t know where he is either. Could be a goddamn polar bear’s dinner by now.

  “We currently have five attack submarines up there, and more are being readied. From the Pacific Fleet, the USS Key West and USS Oklahoma City are heading for the area. The USS Pasadena and the USS Hawaii have replaced them on station to bottle up Petropavlovsk. The world is unaware, but boats are being lost in an invisible naval battle under the ice. This hurts both us and the Russians, and may ultimately decide the conflict. But what we need is a visible spectacular. Politically that may bring the conflict to an end. Ideas?”

  “How about we occupy the icecap?” said Stockhaisen. “Invade the icecap with 10th Mountain Division. If we’re sat there, they can’t do much, apart from put on forces to match. I doubt they’ll do that.”

  General Cotton turned to the Chief of Staff of the Army, General Sally Weingarten.

  “Sally?”

  “In short, sir, a nightmare. I remember war gaming the same thing as a two star and it was a more massive undertaking than we anticipated. The logistics were staggering; that more than anything killed it. To keep an entire army up there was huge. It was way beyond what we had.” She made a sour face. “It could be done, but we’d need big industrial muscle to build the necessary infrastructure. Raids and brief deployment, yes, but real occupation long term? We’d have to carry the Senate and Congress.”