He turned toward her. “Chris? What are you doing here?”
“Waiting to board Dolgoruky. Apparently the Russians had the same idea with North Dakota.”
Harrison nodded, then turned back to Brackman. “Can you draw a diagram of the ice station, showing us where the Russians are?”
Brackman nodded and drew an outline of the station in the snow, explaining where the six Spetsnaz were, although there was a seventh unaccounted for. Brackman explained there were two men on the LARS control platform, and the Spetsnaz wore white Arctic gear, while the American wore black. Tarbottom then took a moment to explain the layout of the PRM control van and where the Spetsnaz had been stationed inside.
After Harrison conferred with Chief Stone, they broke into two fire teams. One would take out the Spetsnaz at the LARS operating station, while the other team eliminated the Spetsnaz in the PRM control van.
Harrison noticed the pistol in Brackman’s hand. “Are all three of you armed?”
Tarbottom shook his head while Christine answered, “I have a pistol.” She tried to pull it from her pocket, but it snagged on the pocket edge. After a few tugs, she pulled the weapon free. Harrison studied her more closely. Her words were slightly slurred and there was a glassy look in her eyes. Although it’d been years since they’d been out drinking, he recognized the signs.
“What the hell, Chris. You’re drunk?”
“I’ve had a few.”
“Give your pistol to Tarbottom.”
“I’m a good shot,” she replied. “Probably better than him.” She waved the gun in Tarbottom’s direction.
Harrison reached over and grabbed the gun from her hand. “I don’t want a drunk amateur firing a weapon anywhere near me.”
“I’m not an amateur.”
As Harrison handed the pistol to Tarbottom, Christine’s irritation began to mount. Harrison was treating her the same way he had in Beijing, discounting her ability. The SEALs wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her. However, considering her current condition, she had to admit he was right this time.
Chief Stone led one SEAL fire team toward the PRM control van, while Harrison led the other team along the front edge of the LARS. Christine peered around the corner as the four SEALs halted. One of the SEALs knelt on one knee and aimed his weapon toward the LARS control platform, just around the other corner.
Christine heard the whisper of his MP7, followed by the thud of a body impacting the snow. Two SEALs moved forward and disappeared around the corner, returning seconds later dragging a body. All four SEALs returned to where Christine, Brackman, and Tarbottom waited and released the dead Spetsnaz, tossing his assault rifle onto the snow nearby.
Christine perked up and turned to Harrison. “There’s an extra weapon. I could—”
“Zip it, Chris,” he said. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”
She glared at him, then sat between Brackman and Tarbottom, with her back against the LARS. A minute later, Chief Stone and the other three SEALs returned, one of them carrying a Spetsnaz over his shoulder. The Spetsnaz was deposited onto the snow beside the other, along with his weapon.
Harrison turned to Brackman, Christine, and Tarbottom. “Two down, five more to go. Since we know where four are, we’ll eliminate them next, then track down the last one. Stay here, and we’ll be back in a few minutes. Any questions?”
After Christine and the others shook their heads, the eight SEALs disappeared around the corner of the LARS. Brackman kept watch in the direction the SEALs had headed, while Tarbottom monitored the other direction. Across from Christine, the two dead Spetsnaz lay face up in the snow. She decided to keep an eye on them, just in case.
70
USS MICHIGAN • K-157 VEPR
USS MICHIGAN
“Conn, Sonar. Hold a new narrowband contact, designated Sierra eight-five, bearing two-eight-zero. Analyzing.”
Standing on the Conn between the two lowered periscopes, Wilson acknowledged Sonar’s report. Sierra eight-five was almost assuredly the Akula that had surfaced nearby, but Sonar would confirm or deny his suspicion after analyzing the frequency tonals.
In the meantime, Wilson reviewed the tactical situation. Michigan was headed south, with Sierra eight-five on the starboard beam. He decided to maintain course long enough to obtain a bearing rate for the contact, while Sonar determined its classification.
Sonar followed up. “Conn, Sonar. Sierra eight-five is classified Akula.”
VEPR
Matvey Baczewski stood in the Central Command Post, waiting impatiently while his First Officer shifted between the fire control consoles, analyzing the data from Hydroacoustic. The American SSGN was no longer hovering; they must have heard Vepr submerging.
Baczewski evaluated the geographic display. Bearings to the contact drifted rapidly to the right, which meant the American submarine was headed south. Once their adversary’s course was refined to within ten degrees and its speed to within a few knots, they would be ready.
Captain Third Rank Petr Lukov, Baczewski’s First Officer, was hunched over the shoulders of the two men at the fire control consoles. He tapped one Michman on the shoulder. “Set as Primary.” The Michman complied, and Lukov announced, “Captain, I have a firing solution.”
Baczewski ordered, “Prepare to Fire, Hydroacoustic two-five, tube One.”
USS MICHIGAN
Captain Wilson studied the sonar display, watching Sierra eight-five on their starboard beam, drifting aft. With only one leg of bearings, there was insufficient data to determine the contact’s solution; it could be close and operating at slow speed, or distant and headed toward them at high speed. He was about to reverse course to determine which scenario he was dealing with when a report from Sonar came across the Control Room speakers.
“Conn, Sonar. Receiving metallic transients from Sierra eight-five. Possible torpedo door mechanisms.”
Wilson acknowledged Sonar’s report, then called out, “Firing Point Procedures, Sierra eight-five, tube One. Select under-ice presets. Open outer doors, tubes One and Two.”
As the personnel in Control executed their checklists, Wilson added, “Helm, left full rudder, steady course north.”
If the Russian crew was preparing to fire, it would be prudent to maneuver.
VEPR
“Contact maneuver,” First Officer Lukov called out.
Baczewski stopped beside Lukov and reviewed the two fire control displays. Instead of bearings drifting to the right, they were now steady. Their adversary had turned to the north. It would take a few minutes to sort out their contact’s exact course, but in the meantime, Baczewski would maneuver to a more favorable position.
“Steersman, right standard rudder, steady course one-two-zero.”
Vepr would move behind the American submarine.
USS MICHIGAN
“Possible contact zig, Sierra eight-five, due to upshift in frequency.”
Wilson evaluated Sonar’s report. The Akula submarine had either increased speed, turned toward them, or both. After analyzing the new bearing rate, it became clear the Russian Captain was maneuvering into Michigan’s baffles. Two could play that game.
“Helm, ahead full. Left full rudder, steady course two-nine-zero.”
The Helm rang up the higher bell as he shifted his rudder left.
Michigan’s Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Marcus Benjamin, announced, “Outer doors open, tubes One and Two. Weapon in tube One has accepted presets and is ready with the exception of Master solution.”
Benjamin looked over his shoulder at Lieutenant Commander Terry Sparks. The Weps could not report Weapon Ready until the XO determined a firing solution and updated it to Master. Unfortunately, they were in the middle of a melee, with both submarines maneuvering aggressively. Who lived and died would be determined by which crew determined an adequate firing solution first.
VEPR
“Contact two-five is maneuvering again,” the nearest fire control Michman announced.
Baczewski moved behind the Michman, evaluating the new bearing rate. It was drawing aft more rapidly than expected. The American Captain was astute, realizing Vepr was headed into his baffles, and was attempting the same.
With both submarines alerted to the other’s presence and tactical goals, the scenario would degenerate into a circular tail-chase, each submarine constantly maneuvering to prevent the other from entering its baffles or developing a firing solution.
Baczewski decided to change tactics.
“Cancel fire,” he announced, followed by new commands. “Prepare to fire, Hydroacoustic two-five, horizontal salvo, tubes One and Two. Tube One fired first.”
During a circular tail-chase, it would be difficult to determine a solution with enough accuracy to shoot a single torpedo. However, he was confident the course, speed, and range of their adversary could be bracketed sufficiently for a salvo.
After evaluating the fire control display, Baczewski ordered, “Set target course to two-seven-zero, speed twenty knots. Use system range.”
Baczewski’s First Officer complied, then called out, “Solution updated.”
“Torpedo ready,” followed.
The Watch Officer announced, “Countermeasures armed.”
Baczewski gave the order. “Fire tubes One and Two!”
71
ICE STATION NAUTILUS
Lieutenant Harrison crept along the outside of the plywood hut, his Heckler & Koch MP7 raised to the firing position. Following behind him were the other three members of his fire team: Tim Oliver, sniper; Brad Kratovil, breacher; and Jim Hay, communicator. Chief Stone’s fire team had fanned out on both sides of Harrison’s team, two men per side, each man moving down a different alley between the berthing huts. Harrison stopped at the edge of the hut to examine the next row. According to Brackman, the berthing hut containing the four Spetsnaz was directly ahead. Between the two rows of huts was an open expanse of snow—a thirty-foot trek.
Chief Stone’s fire team would remain behind, providing cover, while Harrison’s team moved into position for the assault. Harrison signaled his fire team, then sprinted across the open expanse, pulling up against the berthing hut. Oliver and Hay followed, lining up behind Harrison on one side of the door, while Kratovil positioned himself on the other side, standing by to open the door. It was a simple plywood door with no locks, so no extraordinary measures would be required to enter. Harrison and the two SEALs behind him raised their MP7s to the firing position, and Harrison gave the signal.
Kratovil pulled the door open, and Harrison surged into the berthing hut, moving to his right. Oliver moved to the left as he entered, providing access for Hay.
Harrison took the scene in quickly. There were four Spetsnaz in the room. Two were sitting at a small table against the far wall playing cards, while the others were lying prone on two of the six beds in the hut.
One of the Spetsnaz at the table, facing the door, reacted immediately, reaching for his AK-9 assault rifle leaning against the wall. The other Spetsnaz at the table turned toward the door, while the other two Spetsnaz, who were still awake, rolled from their bunks, also reaching for their AK-9s.
Harrison took aim at the Spetsnaz at the table, putting a bullet in his head as his hand grasped his assault rifle, while the other two SEALs put three bullets into each man rolling from his bunk. Harrison shifted his aim to the second Spetsnaz at the table, who was also reaching for his weapon. Three more bullets neutralized the threat, and Harrison shifted back to the first Spetsnaz, verifying his first shot had killed him. A quick check confirmed all four Spetsnaz were dead.
Six down, one to go. The seventh Spetsnaz was either on patrol or in a different berthing hut. Harrison decided to inspect each berthing hut, starting with the adjacent one.
After a short discussion of the plan with his fire team, Harrison led the way to the nearest hut. Using the same procedure, Kratovil pulled the door open and Harrison, Oliver, and Hay surged in. There were two dead Spetsnaz inside. One was lying on the floor, with a puncture wound in his neck and the front of his white artic gear stained red. A second Russian sat by a table, with a hole in his left temple. On the floor beside the first Spetsnaz was an ice pick.
Oliver lowered his MP7. “Nice work,” he said. “I’d like to meet the guy responsible for this.”
Harrison spotted a half-empty bottle of vodka on the table and recalled Christine was drunk. He was pretty sure he knew who was responsible, and it wasn’t a guy. Harrison exited the berthing hut, then headed toward the next one.
* * *
Nicholai Ovechkin hitched the strap of his Izhmash AK-9 assault rifle higher onto the shoulder of his white parka as his boots crunched through the snow. It was cold tonight, but thankfully there was no icy wind cutting into his exposed face. Even so, he’d be glad when his watch was over, exchanging places with another Spetsnaz in a warm berthing hut.
Ovechkin turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. Gathered outside the Spetsnaz commander’s hut were four armed men wearing black wet suits. Ovechkin moved back behind the berthing hut, pulling his radio from its holster. He spoke quietly into the microphone, attempting to contact another Spetsnaz on duty. There was no response from Leonid. Nor Alexander or Josef. He switched channels, hailing Second Platoon at Barneo, and this time he received an answer. Reinforcements would arrive shortly.
He slid the radio back into its holster, then slipped his AK-9 from his shoulder and raised it to the firing position, looking through the optical sight as he peered around the corner. The four men were moving toward another berthing hut, but not so fast as to present a challenge. He took aim on the closest man and squeezed off two rounds, then moved to the next as the first man stumbled to the ground.
72
USS MICHIGAN
“Torpedo in the water, bearing two-five-zero!”
Wilson acknowledged Sonar’s report, then examined the geographic display. A red bearing line appeared, radiating from Sierra eight-five, forty degrees off the port bow. He needed to turn away.
“Helm, ahead flank. Right full rudder, steady course three-four-zero. Launch countermeasure.”
The Helm rang up ahead flank and twisted his yoke to right full, and Lieutenant DeCrispino launched one of Michigan’s decoys. A white scalloped circle appeared on the geographic display, recording the location of their countermeasure.
Wilson returned his attention to getting a torpedo into the water. His crew was still at Firing Point Procedures, but his Executive Officer hadn’t determined a satisfactory solution. With Michigan increasing speed to ahead flank, they would likely lose Sierra eight-five due to the turbulent flow of water across Michigan’s sensors. They needed to launch a torpedo soon.
He stepped from the Conn and stopped beside Lieutenant Commander Sparks, examining the solutions on the three combat control consoles. With the frequent maneuvering by both submarines, the three solutions were all over the place, failing to converge on a similar course, speed, and range of their target. As Wilson evaluated his options, he was interrupted by another announcement by the Sonar Supervisor.
“Torpedo in the water, bearing two-four-five!”
A purple bearing line appeared on the geographic display. Their adversary had launched a two-torpedo salvo. Wilson responded immediately.
“Check Fire. Quick Reaction Firing, Sierra eight-five, tube One.”
Wilson canceled their normal torpedo firing process, implementing a more urgent version, which forced his Executive Officer to send his best solution to the torpedo immediately. The Russian Captain wouldn’t know how well aimed the torpedo was, and it was better to give him something to worry about instead of letting him refine his solution and send updates to his torpedoes over their guidance wires.
Lieutenant Commander Sparks shifted his gaze between the three combat control consoles, then tapped one of the fire control technicians on the shoulder. “Promote to Master.”
Sparks announced, “Solution ready!”
Lieutenant B
enjamin, hunched behind another fire control technician at the Weapon Control Console, followed up, “Weapon ready!”
“Ship ready!” the Officer of the Deck announced.
“Shoot on generated bearings!” Wilson ordered.
Wilson listened to the whirr of the torpedo ejection pump as the torpedo was impulsed from the tube, accelerating from rest to thirty knots in less than a second. Inside the sonar shack, the sonar technicians monitored the status of their outgoing unit.
“Own ship’s unit is in the water, running normally.”
“Fuel crossover achieved.”
“Turning to preset gyro course.”
“Shifting to medium speed.”
Michigan’s torpedo was headed toward its target.
Wilson examined the red and purple lines on the geographic display, with new lines appearing every ten seconds. The red torpedo bearings were marching slowly forward, which eased Wilson’s concern until he evaluated the purple lines. The bearing to the second torpedo remained constant. The Russian captain had fired a torpedo salvo, with a lead torpedo fired slightly ahead of Michigan and a lag torpedo fired behind. When Wilson turned away, he had unwittingly put Michigan on an intercept course with the second torpedo. He needed to maneuver again.
“Helm, right standard rudder, steady course zero-seven-zero. Launch countermeasure.”
Michigan turned toward the east as Lieutenant DeCrispino launched a second torpedo decoy. Wilson watched intently as the second torpedo closed on Michigan.
73
ICE STATION NAUTILUS
As Harrison’s fire team moved across the snow toward the next berthing hut, the first indication of danger was the splatter of warm blood against his face and Kratovil stumbling to the snow. Hay lurched sideways a second later, also collapsing as Harrison and Oliver dove to the ground, sliding around and pointing their MP7s to the left, down a long avenue between two rows of berthing huts. Oliver sent a volley of MP7 rounds down the alley, although Harrison wasn’t sure if he had identified a target or was firing for effect. Chief Stone’s men, alerted to the presence of a Spetsnaz hiding behind one of the huts, also opened fire.
Ice Station Nautilus Page 21
