“A word about what? That we don’t know anything yet?”
“I was thinking—”
“Stop thinking, Commander. Let the crew think what they want at this time. We don’t know what happened, and I’m not about to lie to them and say it was the hurricane—which, by the way, according to water conditions, has vanished. Why do I want to scare these kids any more than they already are?”
“I see your point, Skipper.”
Thorne was starting to turn away when he stopped and lowered his head. He turned with a half smile on his lips.
“Gary, right now I’m afraid my voice will betray the fact that I’m as scared as hell. That won’t help anyone. I want them, hell, I need them to believe we can get this boat up and out of here, not what it is they will face when we do surface.”
“Yes, Skipper, I understand.”
Thorne smiled and then turned away. He picked up a phone outside the aft torpedo room after he heard his engineering officer ask for him.
“Thorne.”
“Reactors are breathing again, Captain,” reported the reactor officer.
Before Thorne could answer, he heard the main ventilators kick in. He felt the cool air and closed his eyes. He then heard the washing machines in a far-off compartment start up and a loud cheer erupted throughout the boat. He opened his eyes at the sound of cheering, and then he winked at XO Devers. One of his biggest worries was the horrible thought that after both his reactors had scrammed, they wouldn’t be able to get them back up. He felt the relief flood through him just as the main lighting came blaring to full life.
Devers watched as Thorne lowered the phone without saying anything further to the reactor officer. He eased the phone from Thorne’s hand.
“Well done, Lieutenant. Now let’s see if we can get ballast control back up. One step at a time, boys. One step at a time.” He reached out and hung up the phone. He saw Thorne was still holding his head down, and the first officer knew his captain was relieving himself of some of the doubts that had crept into his thinking. He saw his shoulders slump and knew he was trying to control his emotions. He patted the captain on the back and moved forward without him.
“To all crew members. The movie tonight will be Poseidon starring Kurt Russell. All personnel off duty may attend.”
Devers heard the crew give out a cheer. He knew it was just an announcement, but it was a normal announcement. And that was good.
USS Houston was not only breathing once again—it was starting to come back to life.
11
KIROV-CLASS BATTLE CRUISER PETER THE GREAT
The motor launch ferrying Captain Kreshenko and his first officer over to the Simbirsk rode lightly over the small swells of ocean. Sailors from Shiloh lined her rails after transferring freshwater to the old Russian cruiser to see the great warship up close. Her missile launchers gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. She was prickled with defensive armaments that looked far more operational than their own. They watched as the Russian sailor tossed one of the Americans a line until Kreshenko and Dishlakov could hop from the whaleboat to the gangway. They were met at the top by Colonel Salkukoff. The three men saluted, and then the colonel gestured for them to follow. Introductions were made, and then the inevitable confrontation between warring sea captains reared its ugly head. Johnson refused to salute the Russian captain.
“What gave you the right to fire upon my ships and aircraft?” Johnson asked angrily.
“The right of any captain to defend his territory, and this ship is Russian territory.” Kreshenko gave Captain Johnson a wide berth.
“That subject will remain closed for the moment, gentlemen. We’re here to find out if we can get these sailors home without killing everyone.”
All eyes went to Jack Collins. Of the eleven men standing at the fantail, it was Kreshenko who looked perplexed.
“What do you mean?” he asked Salkukoff in Russian. The quick exchange registered with everyone when the color drained from Kreshenko’s features. He leaned against the steel cable that wound around the Simbirsk. He looked to be in shock.
Jack took this time to face Captain Johnson. “Look, I know you are angry, Captain. But I need cooperation from these men. Until I get it, you will cease trying to pick a fight that we cannot win at the moment. Besides, you’re accusing the wrong man of firing on your assets. The man you want, the one who gave orders, is that man right there.”
Johnson saw that Collins was pointing at Salkukoff. Johnson grimaced, but he quickly relented and just nodded.
As the group settled in once again around the table, it was Jack who tried to calm things down and bring the men leading this insanity to some form of compromise. He specifically looked at Henri Farbeaux. He had not said much since meeting Salkukoff in person, and Jack knew that not knowing what was on in the Frenchman’s mind usually led to major trouble.
“Captain, welcome aboard. While we can argue rights of salvage forever, I believe the problem at hand should take precedence.”
There were nods around the table, but mostly from the American contingent. The Russians placed poker faces on their countenances.
“Captain, I am proud to say that Master Chief Jenks, Captain Everett, Mr. Ryan, and I served with your half brother during the Overlord operation.”
Captain Kreshenko stood and nodded toward Jack and then simply sat down.
“Before we get into our mutual problem, we have to discuss the defensive posture while we are in this situation. Captain, may I assume you are having the same difficulties as ourselves in regard to the EMP invasion of our integrated systems?”
Kreshenko looked at Salkukoff, who gestured that he should answer the question.
“Yes, all defensive and offensive missile weapons systems are down. We don’t have the necessary replacement boards in ship’s stores. Like your Shiloh, we have only close-in weapons. Basically, small arms.”
“Thank you, Captain, for being honest. As you may have heard, we are in the same boat, no pun intended.”
Kreshenko looked at Salkukoff, and he said that the small pun was nothing to even think about. It seemed the American sense of humor evaded the Russian captain.
“We currently have both weapons officers from Peter the Great and Shiloh evaluating the sixteen-inch gun system aboard Simbirsk. They seem to think those big guns might do us more harm than good if we attempt to fire them. They’ll keep going on their evaluations until they are told otherwise.”
“Captain Johnson, with your command boards for the Aegis system down, do you still have drone capability?” Jack asked, trying to get Johnson back on track as far as cooperation went.
“We had to change out transmitter boards on the Raytheon drone. We cannibalized three personal cell phones and a navy satellite phone, but she’ll be up and running within the hour.”
“Good. We’ll need it. I want that island scouted.” Jack turned to Salkukoff. “Colonel, now that we know that weapons-grade uranium was used in the process for the phase shift experiment, how safe is it for my people and yours to be working around it?”
“I would think at this point safety is the least of our concerns. Are not all hands expendable in this endeavor?”
Most faces registered shock around the makeshift conference table. Jack remained standing while facing down this cold-blooded man he knew was not hesitant to kill or maim those in his way. Jack leaned forward with his hands planted firmly upon the tabletop.
“Let me make this clear to you, Colonel: where we come from, no one is expendable. You may blame politicians or think-tank generals, but never assume a field commander will ever give up the life of his people willingly. I repeat, there are no expendables on this or any ship here.”
Salkukoff just smiled. He nodded at Jack, and the colonel felt the Russian was merely mocking him. If truth be told, he felt like shooting the bastard right in front of everyone.
“Radar. Both Peter the Great and Shiloh. Gentlemen, not knowing what’s out here can kill us all.
Besides the drone, we need an early warning system up and running. Captains, make that a priority.” He faced Captain Kreshenko and his first officer, Dishlakov. “Captain, right now, we have to throw off any animosity we may have toward each other. If we cease our cooperation, none of our men, mine or yours, will ever see home again. For most of us around this table, that may not affect too many lives. But we all have kids out there who do have families, who do love their children, and they want to get home. They don’t want to get into a pissing contest. That stuff is for the real world, not this one.”
Kreshenko looked at Dishlakov. Barely understanding the language, he raised his brows in question.
“He means we don’t need to see who has the biggest muscles,” Charlie said, clarifying the “pissing contest” comment.
Jack was just getting ready to get people back to work when again alarm bells started to sound, and men started running to prepositioned action stations aboard Simbirsk.
“Watercraft coming in from the south!” an American lookout from Shiloh shouted.
Jack and the others went to the railing. Carl handed Collins a pair of field glasses.
“Where away?” Carl called out as he raised his own glasses to his eyes.
“Ten points off the stern,” a Russian sailor called out.
Jack had trouble finding them. Then Everett nudged Jack. “To the right, coming right at us.”
Collins adjusted his view, and there they were.
“Holy shit,” Ellenshaw said as he became excited and wrested the binoculars from Master Chief Jenks, who scowled.
“Look at them all,” Captain Kreshenko said aloud. “Amazing. It’s as though we are in the South Pacific.”
Seven hundred yards away, riding low in the water, the reason for them to get so close without the lookouts seeing them, were at least a hundred small boats. Some were larger than others, but most were no more than thirty-five feet long. They had sails and outriggers, the sort used by fishermen all around the world. The sails were brightly colored in flashes of orange, blue, and yellow. The larger of these boats rode in the center of the teeming mass. The smaller boats surrounded the larger in a protective cocoon.
“Count?” Jack asked as he scanned the insides of the boats for the first time.
“I have one hundred and twelve small boats and six large. No armaments visible,” Everett called out.
“I have the same count,” said Dishlakov.
Charlie was aghast. “Armaments?” He quickly moved away from the railing and faced Jack. “Colonel, it’s obvious that these people are fishermen. These people are like the Jundiai fishermen in the Galapagos Islands. They use the larger boats for hauling the smaller boats’ catches. That’s all. Colonel, do these people no harm.”
“Calm down, Charlie,” Collins said as he centered his glasses on the largest, middle boat.
“My God. Look at their skin color,” Dishlakov said.
Collins focused and saw that the skin color was perfectly white. The people were small, maybe five foot or a little more, and their hair was blond. As the boats came closer, the men on the Simbirsk could see the newcomers’ curiosity was as great as their own. Heads moved, popped up, and they jabbered, but they soon calmed as they came alongside Simbirsk.
The fishermen came close, but their sails remained unfurled, and they slowly started to slide past the giant warship.
“Mud—they use it to protect their skin from the sun and sea. That’s why they’re white skinned.” Charlie turned to Jack and Carl with a large smile on his face. “They’re almost prehistoric. This is amazing!”
Several of the officers lining the railing stepped back when they heard Ellenshaw’s words of excitement. They all had the same smiles and inquisitive looks on their faces as they watched the strange, thin, white-haired man dance a jig. Jack couldn’t help it; he smiled at Everett. Charlie was in his element. He lost his smile when Charlie started waving his hands in greeting.
Jack watched the first of the boats slide past. The small fishermen of the largest boat just looked up at them, less excited to see the strangers than they were to see them. As Collins watched on, the small man standing at the front of his boat—Collins could see that this was their leader—simply watched the strangers in their high perch on board Simbirsk. The thin, bearded man looked up, and their eyes met. Still the boats silently slid by. All eyes of this indigenous people looked up with what could only be described as mild curiosity. They saw the large men looking down on them as they sailed past with their massive haul of fish, but the strangers held no more interest to them than a large log in the water would in regard to their safely navigating their way.
Charlie became quiet as the last of the boats slid by and toward the island five miles away.
“What is it, Charlie?” Jack asked.
“The fish inside the larger of the boats. I didn’t recognize any species. Of course, I was not as close as I would have liked to have been. Still, I failed to recognize any of those fish.”
“Captain, what do you say we get that drone in the air and see what our fishermen are up to on that island?”
Johnson nodded and left.
Jack’s eyes then went to Colonel Salkukoff. The man was just watching the fishing fleet as they became smaller as they went home. His eyes finally looked up, and he saw the American looking at him. The Russian held the look momentarily, and then Jack watched him walk away with Captain Kreshenko in tow.
Carl and Farbeaux came up to Jack, and they all watched the Russians walk away.
“Gentlemen, what are your impressions of Captain Kreshenko and his man Dishlakov?”
“Typical Russian Navy,” Carl said as he watched the retreating backs of the Russians.
“There is hatred, or at the very least a stern dislike there, I think,” Farbeaux offered.
“I agree. Kreshenko didn’t fire on Shiloh and her escorts, and he didn’t order us shot down. That order came from Salkukoff, and the Russian captain resents it.”
“Precisely my thoughts,” Farbeaux said.
“Henri, I wasn’t too thrilled with that order MI6 passed on to you. No man should be placed in that situation.” Jack turned and faced the Frenchman. “But that man cannot return with us. I think the world would be a better place without him.”
No more words were said as the announcement was heard coming from Shiloh.
“Prepare to launch drone.”
TICONDEROGA-CLASS AEGIS MISSILE CRUISER USS SHILOH
An hour later, Captain Johnson was throwing a fit. A US Marine guard stood in front of the hatch leading to the combat information center and refused to allow the two Russians inside the extensive and far-reaching advanced electronic center. Pictures and visitors were not ever allowed inside because they could compromise the security of the Aegis combat system. No Russian had ever even seen a drawing of the advanced radar and control apparatus.
“Captain, I will take full responsibility. Make sure none of your Aegis systems are in operation for the duration of their visit. Nothing but dark screens. But they must be allowed inside so they can independently verify what it is the drone will see. We need their trust and cooperation. Master Chief Jenks and their Professor Gervais are pretty close to discovering why that damn phase shift engine keeps coming on by itself. We will eventually need it to turn on when we want it to. For that, we need Gervais. He knows more about the mechanics involved than the master chief.”
“Stand down,” Johnson told the two marines. “I will enter the visit in the ship’s logbook.”
Jack watched the captain open the hatch, and then he and the others went into the most highly secretive compartment in any US Navy vessel—the Aegis Control Room.
Everett nodded when he saw that not only were the monitors and main screen of Aegis shut down, they were also covered with tarps to keep the Russians from viewing the Aegis brain. Carl’s eyes went from Salkukoff to the Russian seamen. The captain and Dishlakov were wide-eyed at the CIC. This was nothing compared to
what they had to work with. Kreshenko could not believe they lived in the same advanced world as the Americans.
“The time is coming where we will have such toys, Captain.”
Kreshenko looked down and saw that it was Salkukoff who had spoken.
“The question then is, how many people will he kill to get this technology?” Dishlakov said as he joined his captain. Kreshenko said nothing but watched as the colonel walked away and stood next to Collins.
“What have you got, Mr. Franks?” Johnson said as he approached a console with a lone officer manning a joystick. The large main display screen was on, and all eyes went there.
“Approaching the island right now, Captain. Professor Ellenshaw, you requested contaminant readings—we have them here.” The remote control pilot, a lieutenant, pointed to data scrolling across the screen in bright green letters. “Our sensors are within 5 percent plus or minus accuracy. They were just recalibrated before we left for Operation Reforger IV.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses, and Jack watched the green lettering scroll across his wire-rimmed glasses.
“No radiation and no contaminant particulate,” Charlie mumbled as Jack tried to hear. “No pollution of any kind.” Again, Ellenshaw pushed his glasses back up. “I wish the master chief were here. I think he would find this ash count interesting.”
“Why?” Salkukoff asked before Jack could.
“Sulfides, fluorides, and pumice—a lot of volcanic discharge. If I didn’t know better”—he turned and smiled at Jack—“I would say that we were looking at what the air quality would have looked like during the early Bronze Age. Heavy volcanic activity is the indicator.”
“In the North Atlantic?” Carl asked.
Ellenshaw smiled. “You mean our North Atlantic, or this one?” Charlie sniffed and then saw that Carl wasn’t smiling.
“Look at that beach,” one of the US Navy crewmen said as he pointed at a scene that looked as if it had been taken recently at one of the more fabulous Hawaiian resorts. The beach was wide, and the sands were the color of soft mocha chocolate. The drone rose higher. The beach was littered with palm fronds and other detritus that scattered on dry land after a major storm. They all noticed that the hurricane had touched this world as it had in their own. Most wondered if it was the same hurricane that had affected their world and started by the Simbirsk.
Beyond the Sea--An Event Group Thriller Page 18
