“Ice pick.”
Christine was relieved when Brackman didn’t ask her to elaborate. Pulling the wire snips from her pocket, she knelt down and cut the two men free. “We need to contact someone so they can send help,” she said. “Any ideas?”
Tarbottom answered, “There should be an Iridium phone in the command hut. We can contact the Arctic Lab in Svalbard, and if we’re lucky, help will arrive tomorrow.”
“We don’t have until tomorrow,” Christine replied. “The Spetsnaz plan to kill everyone at the ice camp before sunrise to cover their tracks, and I think they’re going to kill everyone aboard North Dakota, too. We need help tonight.”
“We can contact Michigan and have them send SEALs,” Brackman said. “They should be monitoring underwater comms. If we can get to the command hut, we can use the RATS.”
“What about North Dakota?” Christine asked. “If Michigan can hear us, will the Spetsnaz on North Dakota hear us too?”
“It’s possible,” Brackman replied. “But if the Spetsnaz have taken over the submarine, I doubt anyone is monitoring underwater comms.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“We need to get to the command hut without being seen,” Brackman said. “Do you know how many Spetsnaz are at the camp and where they are?”
Brackman had directed his question at Christine, but Tarbottom answered. “I saw one platoon board their helicopters and head to the Russian camp. I think there are eight left here at Nautilus, not counting Klokov. There’s one in the PRM control van and another at the LARS operating station. I don’t know where the other six are.”
“I know where five of them are,” Christine replied. “Four are in the berthing hut beside Verbeck’s, and a fifth is dead inside Verbeck’s hut, along with Klokov. That leaves one.”
She pulled Klokov’s pistol from her jacket and handed it to Brackman. He took the gun, then moved to the door, cracked it open, and peered outside. “I don’t see anyone,” he said, then opened the door and led Christine and Tarbottom into the cold night air.
66
USS MICHIGAN
“Captain to Control.”
Wilson’s first indication something was amiss was the 1-MC announcement, requesting his presence in the Control Room. He was touring the submarine’s spaces and had just returned to the Operations Compartment. He ascended the nearest ladder, reaching the Control Room seconds later.
Lieutenant Barbara Lake was on the Conn, holding the WQC microphone, wearing a worried look. “We’ve been contacted by Ice Station Nautilus,” she began. “The station has been taken over by Russian Spetsnaz, who have also taken control of North Dakota.”
“What?” Wilson said as he reached Lake. “Give me the mike.”
Wilson brought it to his mouth. “Ice Station Nautilus. This is Michigan actual. Say again, over.”
A response over the WQC followed. “Michigan, this is Captain Steve Brackman, the president’s senior military aide. The ice station has been assaulted by Russian Spetsnaz, and they have also taken control of North Dakota. Request immediate assistance, over.”
Wilson connected the dots. The Russians wanted the tactical hardware and software aboard a Block III Virginia class, and were willing to resort to nefarious means.
He activated the WQC. “Ice Station Nautilus, this is Michigan. Understand all. Wait, over.” He turned to the Chief of the Watch, “On the 1-MC, request Commander McNeil’s presence in Control.”
The Chief of the Watch passed the word and a moment later, the head of Michigan’s SEAL detachment arrived. Wilson brought McNeil up to speed.
“How many Spetsnaz are we talking about?” McNeil asked.
Wilson relayed the question over the WQC, which was followed by the response, “There are seven Spetsnaz at Ice Station Nautilus, sixteen aboard North Dakota, and twenty-four at the Russian ice camp. Over.”
“May I?” McNeil gestured toward the microphone, and Wilson handed it to him. The SEAL asked his next question. “Ice Station Nautilus, Michigan. Do you know where the Spetsnaz at Nautilus are deployed?”
McNeil listened intently as Brackman informed him there were two Spetsnaz at the submarine rescue equipment control stations, four in a berthing hut, and one on patrol.
“Understand all. Will send assistance,” McNeil replied. Brackman explained they would wait at the edge of the PRM ice hole, then McNeil handed the WQC microphone back to Wilson. “Request you pass on the 1-MC, SEAL platoon OICs report to Control.”
A moment later, Lieutenants Jake Harrison and Lorie Allen arrived. McNeil explained the situation, then instructed Harrison, “Take a squad in the two SDVs and head to the surface ASAP. The rest of us will follow via mass lockout.”
67
K-157 VEPR
Captain Second Rank Matvey Baczewski made his way through his Shchuka-B attack submarine, assessing the readiness of his ship and crew. He was in Compartment One, checking the status of his eight torpedo tubes and forty torpedoes. Although Vepr carried twelve 650-millimeter-diameter wake-homing torpedoes, designed to chase down American aircraft carriers, Baczewski focused on the twenty-eight 533-millimeter-diameter, multipurpose torpedoes, with both wake and active/passive sonar homing capability. If Vepr was called into action beneath the ice, they would use their smaller, but still deadly, sonar homing torpedoes.
In preparation, Baczewski had already ordered tubes One through Four loaded. His crew and submarine were ready, but for now, they waited. Since surfacing in the lead of open water a few kilometers from the American ice camp, it had been quiet aboard Vepr. One of its antennas was raised to receive radio transmissions and a periscope was up to monitor activity at the American ice station.
There was no guarantee Vepr would be called into action, however. Their presence near the disabled American submarine was a contingency plan; one that Baczewski hoped was implemented. After all, what was the purpose of building such magnificent submarines and the thousands of hours spent training their crews if they were never used? The thought of retiring from the Navy after never firing a torpedo or missile in defense of his country grated on him. An opportunity had finally presented itself, but it remained just beyond his grasp. His orders were clear—he could not act without justification.
Baczewski continued his tour through the submarine; it was his way of pacing, relieving the nervous energy. He was about to leave the Torpedo Room when the speakers in the compartment energized.
“Captain, Hydroacoustic. Receiving underwater communications. Request your presence in Hydroacoustic.”
Baczewski headed into Compartment Two, arriving at Hydroacoustic a moment later. He opened the door to the darkened room, revealing four Hydroacoustic Party members, along with Lieutenant Chaban. Baczewski had augmented each Hydroacoustic watch with someone who understood English, so underwater communications between the American ice station and their two submarines could be monitored.
Lieutenant Chaban relayed what he had heard. Spetsnaz had taken control of the American ice station and attack submarine, but someone at the ice station had managed to call for help. The American guided missile submarine was preparing to send SEALs to the ice station. Baczewski considered contacting the Spetsnaz unit, warning them of the threat from below. However, Fleet Admiral Ivanov had been clear; no details of their endeavor could be transmitted on official channels. However, if Vepr eliminated the SEALs, Baczewski was confident the Spetsnaz would deal with the issue at the American ice station.
He retrieved the microphone and pushed the button for the Central Command Post.
“Watch Officer, this is the Captain. Man Combat Stations. Prepare to submerge.”
68
USS MICHIGAN • K-157 VEPR
USS MICHIGAN
Lieutenant Harrison climbed the ladder inside Missile Tube One, pulling himself through the hatches at the top into the starboard Dry Deck Shelter. Petty Officer Tim Oliver and two more SEALs followed, while in Missile Tube Two, Chief Jeff Stone led a second four-man team i
nto the port Dry Deck Shelter.
After Commander McNeil’s order, Harrison had selected the members of his eight-man squad. They would be the first to the surface, followed by the remaining twenty-four SEALs. There had been a flurry of activity, with thirty-two SEALs preparing for combat, while the other half of the detachment—Navy divers—prepared to operate the shelters, air systems, and other equipment necessary to deploy the two SEAL platoons.
Harrison climbed into the hangar where the SEAL Delivery Vehicle was stowed. After donning air tanks and fins, he climbed into the SDV along with the other three SEALs. He rendered a thumbs-up to the diver on the other side of the Plexiglas shield, and dark water surged into the shelter. After the hangar door was opened, the mini-sub exited and Harrison spotted the other SDV emerging from the port shelter. The two SDVs lifted off their rails, then passed above the Dry Deck Shelters and over Michigan’s bow. In the distance, the ice station lights illuminated the hole cut for the rescue equipment. Harrison adjusted course, as did Chief Stone, and the two SDVs angled toward the light.
VEPR
“Combat Stations are manned, Captain. All compartments report ready to submerge.”
While Vepr’s crew prepared for combat, Baczewski did his best to conceal his anticipation. After waiting twenty years to engage an adversary, the wait was finally over. He turned to his Watch Captain.
“Submerge to one hundred meters.”
With ice keels descending to sixty meters, Baczewski ordered his submarine deep enough to avoid them.
Seconds later, the Compensation Officer reported, “Venting all main ballast tanks.”
Vepr sank into the dark waters.
USS MICHIGAN
“Conn, Sonar. Receiving ballast tank venting sounds, bearing two-seven-zero.”
Lieutenant Lake acknowledged the report, then informed Captain Wilson. Intel messages had reported an Akula surfacing near Ice Station Nautilus, and the Russians must have been monitoring underwater communications. It didn’t take long for Wilson to conclude why the Akula was submerging.
Wilson ordered his Officer of the Deck, “Man Battle Stations Torpedo.”
Lake passed the word, and the Chief of the Watch made the announcement over the 1-MC, which was followed by the loud bong-bong-bong of the General Alarm reverberating through the boat. The Chief of the Watch followed up after the alarm ceased, “Man Battle Stations Torpedo.”
Commander McNeil entered Control from the Battle Management Center, and Wilson filled him in. “The Akula is submerging. We need to be ready in case they attack. Where do we stand in shelter operations?”
McNeil replied, “The two SDVs have been launched and the shelter doors are shut. The remaining SEALs are entering Missile Tubes One and Two now, preparing for mass lockout.”
“That’ll have to wait,” Wilson replied, “until we determine the Akula’s intent. We’re a sitting duck right now; we need speed.”
Wilson called out, “This is the Captain. I have the Conn. Lieutenant Lake retains the Deck. Dive, secure from hovering. Helm, ahead two-thirds.”
As the Dive secured hovering and the Helm rang up the ordered bell, Wilson checked Michigan’s course. They were pointed south. As good a course as any, for the time being.
VEPR
“On ordered depth of one hundred meters, Captain,” the Watch Officer reported. “Request steerage orders.”
Baczewski checked the chart on the navigation table. Before surfacing in the lead, Vepr had detected the American SSGN hovering seven kilometers to the east.
“Steersman, right full rudder, steady course zero-nine-zero. Ahead two-thirds.”
The Steersman acknowledged, and Vepr turned east, increasing speed. Baczewski kept his eyes on the hydroacoustic display, looking for their adversary. After closing half the distance to the American submarine, the expected report came across the speakers.
“Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Hold a new contact, designated Hydroacoustic two-five, bearing one-zero-zero. Analyzing frequency tonals.”
Before attacking, Baczewski had to verify it was the correct target. There were two American submarines under the ice, and it would not reflect well on him if he sank the wrong one.
Hydroacoustic followed up, “Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Contact two-five’s tonals correlate to Ohio class submarine.”
They had found their target. “All stations, track Hydroacoustic two-five.”
After determining the contact’s bearing rate, Baczewski decided to maneuver for a second leg of analysis, to verify their target was still hovering, and if not, its course, speed, and range.
“Steersman, left full rudder, steady course zero-zero-zero.”
69
ICE STATION NAUTILUS
Inside the command hut with Brackman and Tarbottom, Christine steadied herself against the edge of the RATS console. The vodka she’d consumed had kicked in, and she was feeling the effects. There was nothing for her to do at the moment, however, so she waited while Tarbottom searched for an Iridium phone battery. He had located a phone in the command hut, only to find the battery missing, and was checking everywhere for a spare battery. At the hut entrance, Brackman had the door cracked open and was peering outside.
Tarbottom concluded his search. “No luck,” he said. “The Iridium phone is useless.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Brackman said. “Michigan’s SEALs will arrive soon. I think it’s time we head to the ice hole. Can we get there without being seen by the Spetsnaz at the Launch and Recovery System?”
“Maybe,” Tarbottom answered. “The control station is an open-air platform on the port side of the LARS. He’ll have a full view of the approaches, but if he’s looking the other way, we should be able to sprint from the last row of berthing huts to the rescue equipment without being seen. We can then work our way to the base of the LARS, where we can wait for the SEALs.”
“Sounds good,” Brackman said. His eyes shifted to Christine, and a concerned expression appeared. “Are you okay?” he asked. “The side of your face is covered in blood.”
She had apparently done a poor job cleaning up. “It’s not my blood,” she said, then pulled the parka hood over her head.
Brackman studied her for a moment, then opened the door wider for a better view. After verifying there was no one in sight, he led them outside. They worked their way along the berthing huts until they reached the edge of the station, then cut across to the last row of buildings. Brackman stopped at the edge of the last hut, peering around the corner at the rescue equipment.
He turned back and whispered, “There are two men on the LARS control platform. One civilian and one Spetsnaz. They’re talking, and the Spetsnaz has his back to us.” Brackman added, “The PRM has returned to the surface, so there might be other Spetsnaz around. I’m going to take another look, then sprint across if it’s clear. You do the same. Understand?”
Christine and Tarbottom nodded. Brackman looked around the corner again, then sprinted across the open space, stopping behind a rack of air flasks. Christine moved into position. Peering around the corner, she spotted the two men on the LARS control platform, about a hundred feet away. There were no others in sight.
She took a deep breath and sprinted across the open expanse, reaching Brackman a moment later. As she tried to stop, she lost her footing. It wasn’t easy sprinting while wearing heavy boots and three layers of Arctic gear, and the vodka wasn’t helping. She had trouble slowing and plowed into Brackman, who caught her in his arms.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I had a little too much vodka.”
“Drinking with the enemy?” Brackman smiled.
“Something like that.”
Brackman released her as Tarbottom joined them. Brackman took the lead again, working around the end of the air flasks, then down the starboard side of the rescue equipment. Brackman stopped when they reached the forward corner of the LARS. He knelt down, joined by Christine and Tarbottom, all three focusing on the ice hole fift
een feet ahead.
The massive frame of the LARS began moving, shifting from an inboard tilt to an outboard one, with the PRM suspended from the crossbeam. Once the PRM stopped swaying, it descended, disappearing into the water.
Tarbottom whispered, “I’m going to check to see if there are other Spetsnaz.”
Brackman nodded, and Tarbottom climbed the starboard side of the LARS to get a clear look. He clambered down a moment later, rejoining Brackman and Christine.
“There’s no one,” he said. “They off-loaded equipment into the deck transfer lock and must have returned to the PRM.”
All they could do now was wait for Michigan’s SEALs.
* * *
Beneath the polar ice cap, Lieutenant Harrison shifted the SDV propeller into reverse, slowing his ascent toward the disc of light. Chief Stone did the same, and the two SDVs coasted to a halt ten feet from the edge of the ice hole. Harrison turned the propeller off and the four SEALs exited the mini-sub, hanging on to the side as Harrison reached into the cockpit and adjusted the vehicle’s buoyancy. The SDV drifted toward the ice, bumping up against it.
Stone and the other three SEALs had done the same, and with both SDVs moored against the ice cap, Harrison headed toward the ice hole.
* * *
Brackman noticed it first. “They’re here,” he said.
Christine looked closely, spotting a small dark blob by the edge of the ice hole; the top half of a man’s head, wearing a black diving suit and face mask. He was staring at them, then after scanning left and right, disappeared.
A moment later, eight small blobs appeared at the edge of the ice hole, and seconds later, eight men hauled themselves onto the ice, withdrew their weapons, and sprinted toward Christine. The men formed a single line down the starboard side of the LARS, removing their scuba gear, and two SEALs stopped beside Brackman.
“I need as much information as you can provide,” one of the SEALs said.
Christine recognized the man’s voice instantly. “Jake, is that you?”
Ice Station Nautilus Page 20
