by J C Ryan
“All right, let’s see what Ivan wants to talk about.”
When the Ensign signaled the Captain that the radio frequency was open, Locklin addressed the Russians.
“This is the Captain of the Trepang. How can we assist you?”
“It is not we who need the assistance, Trepang. This is the Captain of the Pozharskiy offering assistance to you.”
“That’s very kind Pozharskiy, but we are not in need of assistance at this time.”
“Really, Captain? I find that hard to believe. Your boat has been limping along for nearly a week, and I see you have a man on deck making repairs."
“Oh, that,” he said nonchalantly, "well, we’ve been cruising slowly, making better maps of the bottom, noting hazards. We’re trying to increase safety for submarines in the Arctic. I’m surprised your government wasn’t made aware of our mapping project. As for the man on deck, he is cleaning the surface of one of our sonars.”
“We know all about your mapping project,” Petrov lied. “It is simply of no interest to us because we already have highly detailed maps that identify the sub-marine hazards in the Arctic. As usual, you Americans are woefully behind us.”
Locklin heard the snickers around the CIC at the Russians attempted bravado. “It seems like he knows more about our ‘mapping project’ than we do since it doesn’t exist,” Yoder muttered from the sonar station.
“Well, Captain, that is good news. To know that we won’t have to come to the rescue of a Russian sub in trouble out here, will free us up for other duties.”
“Yes, like repairing your ineptly built submarines. It looks to me like your man is attempting to weld places on the hull.”
“As I said, he’s cleaning the surface on one of our sonars. Amazing how much it looks like welding, isn’t it?”
“Let us not play these games, Captain. We know about the unfortunate incident of trying to surface through the ice that damaged your boat. Now, what are you doing out here? Why didn’t you signal for assistance from your government at the time of the incident? What is it that you are hiding?”
Turning to his exec, Locklin ordered him to have Hunter return immediately, finished or not.
“You must be misinformed. We have not attempted to surface until now, to clean our sonar. We certainly haven’t had need of signaling for any assistance. As for what I’m hiding, why don’t we start with you telling me what you’re hiding?”
A long silence followed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, our sonar is clean, we’ll be on our way,” Locklin said. “Hope you have a good journey, let us know if we can be of any assistance.”
Drawing his index finger across his neck Locklin ordered the radio connection severed. “Get us out of here, now!” he said. “Dive! And get Hunter up here – I want to know about the repairs he made.”
CHAPTER 7
Onboard the Knyaz Pozharskiy
“MESSAGE HEADQUARTERS THE name of the sub, her sail number, and that we’re continuing to pace them – they’re hiding something. Then take us down and put us back in their starboard baffles,” Petrov ordered.
“What is their heading?”
“173.5 degrees south, sir.”
“They’re heading for the Aleutian Islands and then probably on to their submarine base in Washington State. Send that to headquarters as well.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Signaling to his executive officer, Commander Roman Luski, to follow him, the Captain left the Command Center. He didn’t speak until they were in his quarters.
“What are your thoughts on this matter, Commander?”
“Like you, I believe the Americans are hiding something, but I’ve got no idea what it could be. Why would they’ve tried to surface through the ice knowing how thick it is?”
“You think they knew it was too thick to get through?”
“Yes sir, I do. They can’t be that stupid. If they had truly wanted to surface, they would have put as much speed behind her as possible. But, had they done that, their boat wouldn’t still be operational; it would be on the bottom of the ocean. From what I saw, the damage isn’t consistent with a high-speed impact. My only conclusion then is that it was unintentional – perhaps a mechanical malfunction.”
Petrov rubbed his thick beard, his fingers disappearing in the salt and pepper hair under his chin. “I can’t see a mechanical malfunction being unnoticed long enough to create that scenario – as you’ve said, the Americans are no fools. Why would they start to surface through the ice and then abort? We’re missing something.”
“There is also the other sub to consider. Whose is it? Why is it here? And what does it have to do with the Americans and their damaged sub?”
“Good questions but with no obvious answers.”
The two men sat in silence for several minutes, each considering the possibilities.
Petrov stood, intending to leave, and then sat back down. “Oh, and one other thing, I don’t recall the Americans having a submarine identified as the Trepang. She must be a new sub, perhaps a prototype.”
“If that’s true, she could be on sea trials and carrying new, sophisticated equipment and armaments. Maybe some new icebreaking or ramming technology?”
“Now that would give any Captain plenty to hide,” Petrov said.
He thought for a moment and made his decision. “Tell navigation to back off the Americans as far as they can without losing them. Surface and relay this information to Command and ask for instructions. If we could capture a new type of American submarine and bring it home intact …”
“Yes, sir!” Luski said as he got up and left the cabin.
* * *
Washington DC
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE, Cliff Willis, and Admiral Ben Johnson waited impatiently outside the Oval Office, grateful to be invited in after only a few minutes.
“Mister Secretary, Admiral.” Daniel greeted them hesitantly. The two of them wanting to see him probably meant something to do with the Trepang. “What brings you here?”
“It’s the Trepang,” Cliff answered. “I’ll let Admiral Johnson fill you in.”
“Please, have a seat,” Daniel invited, gesturing to the two couches in the room.
Before stepping over to join them, he pressed a button on his desk and ordered coffee.
He noticed the worried frowns on the two men’s faces as he sat and inquired, “What’s the trouble, gentlemen?”
“The Trepang has cleared the Bering Strait, and is making her way across the Bering Sea.”
“That is good news,” Daniel interrupted.
“Yes. That is good news. Unfortunately, she had to surface to try to make some additional repairs, but then a Russian sub showed up and made contact. The Russian captain wanted to know what the Trepang was doing there, if they needed help, et cetera. Captain Locklin told the Russian the Trepang was mapping the bottom of the ocean. The Russian didn’t believe him, but Locklin managed to cut the conversation short and they submerged again.”
Daniel’s head tilted forward slightly, and his eyes opened wider. Are the Russians already jockeying for world leader? “Yes, and…?”
“They are aware of the Itinerant’s presence and have been maneuvering in a way that indicates they will try to keep the two boats apart.”
“How did they find out about the Itinerant?”
“She had no choice but to come into sonar range of the Russian boat, as the channel in which they were traveling through the strait, narrowed.”
“Regardless, if the Russians are going to cause trouble, the Trepang is in no shape to fight. Although the Itinerant carries a few weapons for defense, they are not capable of fending off an attack from that Russian sub.”
“What could we do to help them?” Daniel asked.
Willis stood and paced the room. “The Admiral thinks we should send in an armed escort.”
“Yes,” Johnson added, “but there could be consequences.”
“Such as?”
“Well, Mister Pre
sident, the Russians have not shown any aggression; not yet. So, sending an armed escort in could create the impression of aggression from our side and quickly escalate what is currently a peaceful situation.”
“After everything this world has been through in the past three years, do you really think the Russians would try to start a scrap with us? Haven’t they seen enough death and destruction for at least one lifetime?” Daniel asked, but he already knew the answer.
“I wouldn’t put it past them, Mister President,” Johnson replied. “I don’t trust them, and I’ve made it my life’s motto never to trust, nor to underestimate them.”
Daniel nodded.
At that moment Elize brought in a tray of coffee and refreshments. Daniel had wasted no time in seeing that she and her mother were back on staff at the White House.
“Thank you, Elize,” Daniel said, appreciating not only the refreshments, but also the additional thinking time the brief interruption provided him.
“You’re welcome, sir,” she replied, nodded, and quietly left the office.
“All right, Admiral,” Daniel said. “Let’s hear what you have in mind.”
“Sir, the sub following the Trepang is the Knyaz Pozharskiy or Prince Pozharskiy, captained by Ruslan Petrov. The Pozharskiy is a relatively new boat, a Borei II Class Submarine based out of Polyarny and assigned to the Northern Fleet. Captain Petrov is an experienced mariner, patient, shrewd, and calculating – not someone to trifle with.
“I believe he is still analyzing his exchange with Captain Locklin, and when he is finished, he will take action; what action will of course depend upon what he believes Locklin is doing or hiding.”
“I see why you’re concerned,” Daniel acknowledged.
“That’s not all I’m concerned about. Our sources in the Russian Admiralty advised us that Admiral Fedorin diverted the Knyaz Vladimir, another Borei Class sub, that was due to put into port at Vilyuchinsk. Instead, he sent her to back up the Pozharskiy.
“The Vladimir is captained by, Kazimir Yuditsky. He is a younger man. Less experienced than Petrov and known to be somewhat of a ‘hot-head.’ He tends to act first and think later. Rumor has it he is in jeopardy of losing his command, because of his reckless behavior – a rogue captain, if you will.”
“This Yuditsky sounds like just the kind of man we need to start a war. But, if they’ve already sent another sub, under command of a reprobate captain to the scene, they’re the ones escalating the situation. We will just respond in kind. Or am I missing something?” Daniel asked.
Johnson grinned. “I agree, Mister President.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Authorize me to send an armed escort—ships and subs—military, of course.”
“You have it.”
“Mister President, in anticipation of your desire to bring the Trepang in safely, I’ve put two Destroyers, three submarines, and an aircraft carrier on alert status. The aircraft carrier and two of the subs are already at sea in the North Pacific. The other three vessels are at our bases in Washington State.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “That’s a lot of fire-power.”
“Yes, sir. I’m hoping if we show up with an overwhelming force, we won’t need any of it. Deterrent power.”
“Good point.” Daniel nodded.
“All right send them out – but tell them they are not authorized to throw the first punch. Understand?”
Johnson smiled. “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure they get the order.”
He started to leave, but Daniel stopped him.
“Admiral, would you list the ships for me? I’d like to know.”
“I thought you would.” Johnson handed Daniel a piece of paper as he left the office.
Daniel read the printed list:
Everett, Washington
DDG-86 USS Shoup Destroyer Arleigh Burke Class
DDG-122 USS Basilone Destroyer Arleigh Burke Class
Bangor, Washington
SSN-799 USS Idaho Attack submarine Virginia Class
SSN-801 USS Utah Attack submarine Virginia Class
Bremerton, Washington
SSN-21 USS Seawolf Attack submarine Seawolf Class
CVN-80 USS Enterprise Aircraft carrier Gerald R. Ford class
If those Russians know what’s good for them, they’ll behave themselves. Or they’ll be in for a nasty surprise.
CHAPTER 8
Onboard the Trepang
CAPTAIN LOCKLIN LAY on the bunk in his darkened quarters – sleep was out of the question. The Russian sub trailing them made him uneasy, their ace-in-the-hole, the Itinerant, was now known to the Russians. The Trepang continued to limp along at half speed, and Ensign Hunter hadn’t been able to complete the needed repairs to the sub in the limited time they’d been on the surface.
The repairs he’d made were holding, but the boat was slowly taking on water through the remaining leaks. It wasn’t the slowly dripping water that bothered him – they would reach Bangor port long before that would be a problem. The problem was the Russians, and whether they would force him to have to dive deep. Drippy leaks at one-hundred-twenty-five feet were mildly concerning, the question was, would they rupture at five-hundred or one-thousand feet?
Locklin didn’t want to find out, but he had a nasty feeling he was going to. He thought of his wife and family, and their home in Virginia. The faces of his crew members drifted before his mind’s eye, and he thought of their families.
Will any of us see home again?
Silently, he said a prayer asking God that all would come right.
His intercom sounded. “Captain to the CIC.” It was followed by a quick rap on his door. “Captain?”
“Come in, Doc,” he invited, knowing his XO had notified the young man he would need assistance.
“How’s the knee, Captain?”
“Would you believe me if I said, ‘just fine’?”
“Not for a minute. I brought more morphine.”
“Isn’t there something else you can do or give me to ease the pain? I can’t afford to have that stuff messing with my brains at a time like this.”
“I suppose I could try numbing the leg just above the knee with local anesthetics, but I don’t know how effective it would be, and you probably wouldn’t be able to walk.”
“I can’t walk anyway, Doc, what difference does it make?”
“Having a deadened limb can affect your balance as you hobble about. You could injure yourself in a fall.”
“I’ll take my chances. I need my brain to function properly more than I need my leg to function. Get me to the CIC, strap me to my chair if you have to, and numb the leg – just keep my head clear.”
“Yes, Captain.”
That settled, the two made their awkward trip down the passageway and to the CIC. Once Locklin was settled in, without being strapped in his chair, the Doc injected the medication that numbed the leg.
“Is that helping, Captain?”
Relief showed on Locklin’s face as numbness spread through his knee and lower leg. There was still some pain, but it was manageable now. “Yes, thanks, Doc.”
“Let me know when it starts to wear off.”
Locklin nodded, and the young man left.
“Report,” he barked.
Lieutenant Copeland, Officer of the Deck, approached Locklin. “Sir, we are entering the Amukta Pass, transferring to the North Pacific. Depth is one-hundred-twenty-five feet. The Russians remain off our starboard stern, and the Itinerant slightly behind her off our port stern. System status is stable, hull integrity remains unchanged.”
The Amukta Pass provided a deep channel connecting the Bering Sea and the North Pacific Ocean. It was a wide strait in the Aleutian Islands of Alaska passing between Seguam Island on the west and Amukta Island, its namesake, on the east.
“All right, steady as she goes. Advise me immediately of any changes in the Russians’ movements.”
“Yes, sir.”
For the next few hou
rs, as the Trepang navigated through the Amukta Pass, the quiet sounds of the CIC, under standard operation, implied a semblance of normalcy.
Locklin watched the interactions of the crew, proud of their teamwork. Simple, concise communication between the stations allowed for timely course corrections keeping the sub on a safe path through the Pass.
A mistake or miscommunication between any of them could kill us all – we literally hold one another’s lives in our hands.
Copeland interrupted Locklin’s musings. “Preparing to exit Amukta Pass.”
“Very good,” Locklin responded. “Adjust course to …”
“Captain!” Yoder spoke urgently from sonar one. “Two new contacts; one is closing fast.”
“Bearing?”
“Contact Alpha One sub-surface, one-hundred-fifty degrees south-south-east, moving at thirty-five knots, estimate intercept in twenty-seven minutes. Contact Bravo One, surface, ninety-one degrees east, moving at five knots, estimate intercept in seventy-four minutes.”
“Can you identify the contacts?”
“Sir, Bravo One is not a known military contact. Alpha One is … stand by …”
Come on Yoder, we don’t have all day.
“Captain!” Yoder’s voice was tight. “She’s Russian … Borei Class.”
“Helm, hard about to sixty-one degrees,” Locklin ordered. Grabbing the mic and thumbing the switch, he called the maneuvering room. “We need speed!”
“Hard about to sixty-one degrees. Aye, Captain!” the helmsman replied.
“Captain!” Lieutenant Larson fairly leapt to his side. “She can’t handle any more speed!”
“She has to! We have to get away from that sub.” Locklin felt a new vibration in the deck plates as they increased speed.
“Captain, please!” Larson urged.
“I think we were too conservative in our estimates. We must chance more speed. If we can make it to the Islands of Four Mountains, we might be able to lose her.”
Larson considered the idea for a moment. “A good idea. May I respectfully suggest we not exceed twenty knots?”
