This shocking revelation caused Sergei to gasp.
“But that would mean you intentionally murdered Alexander Suratov!”
The Admiral of the Fleet nodded somberly.
“But before you condemn me to the firing squad, please take a moment to listen to our motives. For you see, I was not alone in this plot. Dozens of the highest-ranking members of the Defense Ministry worked at my side to see it through. And don’t think that it was an easy thing to do.
“Alexander Suratov was a dedicated public servant.
I knew him well, and to order his death and that of his staff and the Flying Kremlin’s flight crew was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do in my five decades of service to the Motherland.
But believe me. Captain, I had no other choice!”
Fighting to control his emotions, the veteran continued.
“It all started when Suratov began making those unprecedented peace overtures to the West.
Though we all desire to see a world free from war, our naive Premier was trying to make it come to pass without establishing the proper groundwork.
This really came to the forefront when he secretly announced his plan to demilitarize the Arctic in conjunction with the United States and Canada. As you can expect, the Imperialists jumped at this opportunity, and the Ottawa summit was hastily set up to seal the agreement in treaty form.
“As a submariner, I don’t have to remind you of the utter importance of the region Suratov was about to ban all weapons of war from. Though the Motherland is the largest country on this earth, we have historically suffered from a severe lack of warm-water ports. Those we do have are so poorly placed our fleet is forced to travel through Imperialist-controlled choke points to get to the open sea.
“The only ports that are completely free from outside interference lay above the Arctic Circle.
Though harsh weather and severe ice conditions make operating from them difficult, we have learned to make the most of it by building the greatest fleet of icebreakers and submarines the world has ever known.
“In the frozen expanses of the Barents, Kara, and Laptev Seas, and beneath the Arctic Ocean itself, we have positioned the ultimate revenge force. The Typhoon and Delta class submarines that patrol these waters have one purpose, to survive an Imperialist sneak attack, and to answer such a bolt-out of-the-blue strike with one of our own.
“Dozens of attack vessels like the Neva here, have been assigned the all-important task of protecting this bastion. I don’t have to remind you that a ballistic missile-carrying submarine is the most survivable of all our strategic weapons, and for us to lose our only true protected bastion for such platforms would be foolishness of the worst type. Before Alexander Suratov stripped the Motherland of its most effective weapons’ system with a single sweep of his pen, the difficult, painful decision was made to intervene.”
Impressed by this impassioned plea, Sergei nevertheless retorted.
“But why did you have to go to such an extreme as murder? And why even bother with this childish switching of tapes when you could merely have destroyed the black box before anyone was the wiser?”
Mikhail Kharkov sighed heavily before responding.
“Believe me when I tell you, Captain, that we tried to talk some sense into our headstrong Premier before he even made the West the initial offer. But Suratov was completely deaf to our arguments, so we had no other course open but to eliminate him before he sold us out.
“As for the substitute tape, I can only answer you by appealing to you in strictest confidence. For what I am about to share with you will all too soon change the political balance of the world as we now know it.”
As Sergei Markova nodded for the admiral to continue, the veteran took in a deep breath and did so.
“There is a civilian element within the ruling Politburo that has no understanding of strategic issues, unlike you and I, Captain Markova. These individuals would have just sat back and watched Suratov strip the Motherland of her most important bastion while the Imperialist powers gave up absolutely nothing in return. To readdress this serious imbalance, and to check the continued threat of Imperialist expansion once and for all, it was decided to create a fictitious scenario in which it would appear that an American aircraft had shot down the Flying Kremlin. The substitute tape you discovered would have supported this supposition by broadcasting nothing but static. For even if it had been discovered that the cockpit voice recorder had been inoperable during the flight, we had more than enough proof to sway the vacillating members of the Politburo to join us, the prize being the ultimate one — their support in authorizing an immediate nuclear strike against the Imperialist bloc nations!”
Sergei’s eyes opened wide with disbelief.
“Let me get this right. Admiral. You’re going to launch a nuclear attack against the West for an act that they didn’t even commit?”
“Pretty ironic, isn’t it, Captain?” returned the beaming veteran.
“At long last we can cripple the Imperialists with a surprise counterforce strike, and all for the cost of a single static-filled tape. This is an unparalleled opportunity, that will allow our great Socialist dream finally to be shared by all of mankind. And you, Sergei Markova, will be one of the founding fathers of the new world order that will follow.”
“If there happens to be a world left,” shot back the young captain disgustedly.
“I can’t believe that anyone in his right mind still thinks there can be a winner in a nuclear conflict. For our initial strike will generate a counter strike and the West will hit the Motherland a crippling blow with their own submarine-launched ballistic missiles. And this great dream that you speak of will turn into nothing but a nuclear nightmare.
“No, Admiral, I want no part of this madness.
And you can be assured that I’ll do everything within my power to see that your insane, twisted machination is exposed.”
Fearing just such a response, Mikhail slowly walked over to the room’s single cot, reached under the pillow, and pulled out a shiny Kalashnikov pistol.
With a steady hand he proceeded to aim this weapon directly at the Neva’s startled commanding commander.
“You leave me no other alternative. Captain Markova. Now hand over those tapes! Then perhaps I’ll take compassion on you, and give you a chance to yet change your mind, before being forced to eliminate you right here and now.”
“You wouldn’t dare do such a thing on my ship,” Sergei spat out.
Mikhail Kharkov responded by abruptly cocking the hammer of the Kalashnikov and centering his aim on Sergei’s forehead.
“We’ve already been forced to sacrifice much already, Captain. One more life is inconsequential.”
Certain that the veteran meant it, Sergei decided it was time for discretion. After putting his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender, the young captain got to work to supplying Kharkov with the two tapes he had demanded.
Sergei Markova’s hands were trembling as he opened his portable cassette player, and seeing this, the admiral commented, “Easy now, Captain. I will only put this Kalashnikov into use if you force me to do so. And since I’ve already killed one man today while on the ice, I don’t find such a prospect very entertaining.
“It would be a tragic waste to have to shoot you, especially since I’ve taken such a sincere interest in your career throughout the years. Though I never had a son of my own, you were the type of individual I would have liked to have raised.”
Surprised to hear such a thing, Sergei finished removing the cassette, and cautiously handed it to the Admiral, along with its blank twin.
“Don’t look so shocked,” reflected the white-haired veteran as he pocketed the tapes.
“For I’ve been a silent admirer of yours since you first entered the A. A. Grechko Academy. Did you know that I personally saw the video tapes of each of your oral exams? Why I probably know your academic record better than you do, and it was I who was responsible for
getting you that first commission you so wanted — on that attack submarine. So come to your senses, comrade, and listen to your benefactor. Even though he is currently holding a gun to your head.”
Aware that compromising would put him in the best position to expose the veteran’s twisted scheme, Sergei nodded.
“You are right. Admiral. Perhaps I have been too hasty in my initial reaction. It’s just that the prospect of nuclear war scares me so I instinctively revolt at the very idea of such a tragedy befalling mankind.”
“And rightfully so,” retorted Mikhail Kharkov, who realized that the tense standoff was over. As he uncocked and lowered the pistol, he added.
“If I had a beautiful young wife and child waiting for me back in Murmansk, I would likely most have reacted much as you did. But if you’ll just take some time to hear me out, I believe I can convince you that the attack plan we’ve chosen to implement all but eliminates the chance of an Imperialist counter strike
Why with our new super accurate MIRV’d warheads, we can take out not only their missile silos, airfields, and port facilities, but the very communications installations that are responsible for passing the word to their missile-carrying submarines to launch. And would you believe that we can thusly decapitate our enemy with a mere one-hundred warheads on our part? Why it’s going to be incredibly easy, with a minimum of resulting radioactive fallout.”
Though Sergei was well prepared to argue otherwise, he held his tongue and sheepishly responded.
“I’d be most interested to see this attack plan. Admiral.
But first I’ve got to get us safely back to Murmansk.”
This prophetic remark was met by a firm knock on the door. As Mikhail Kharkov proceeded to hide the pistol that he had been holding under the folds of his sweater, Sergei spoke out.
“You may enter.”
Quick to do so was the concerned senior lieutenant.
“Please excuse me, comrades. But I just heard from Chief Magadan in sonar that we could have some company following us into Baffin Bay.”
“I’ll bet it’s that damned Sturgeon again!” cursed Mikhail Kharkov.
Sergei replied while standing and shaking out his tense limbs.
“Whoever it is, the best place to learn their intentions is the Neva’s attack center. Shall we, Comrades?”
In no mood to argue, the Admiral of the Fleet gave the young captain the briefest of supportive winks as he followed the ship’s two senior officers out into the passageway.
Chapter Seventeen
There was a light spring to Petty Officer First Class Stanley Roth’s step as he ambled down the passageway and entered the door marked Sound Shack. His hardworking assistant, Lester Warren was studiously hunched over a console, and Stanley gave him a punch in the upper arm to let him know that his replacement had arrived.
Seaman Warren looked up and the grin stretched across his associate’s face told him the checkup had been a good one.
“So you’re going to live after all,” observed the Texan, as he watched Roth scoot past him to get back to work.
“It appears so,” replied Stanley, who quickly seated himself and reached out for his headphones.
“Pills says that the swelling has gone down substantially, and there’s not even a hint of infection. He even wanted to know if I wanted him to try fitting me for a false tooth.”
“I didn’t think a mere pharmacist’s mate was capable of doing such a thing,” replied Lester seriously.
Stanley playfully punched his assistant in the other arm and responded.
“No, I’m only kidding you. There’ll be plenty of time to get a spare once I’m back in New London, though this time I’m picking my own dentist. Besides, right now I’m not about to bother Pills with designing a false tooth.
From what I saw, he’s got his hands full with his new patient.”
“Do you mean the Eskimo we took aboard back on Baffin Island?” queried Lester.
Stanley nodded.
“The very same, my friend. I got a peek at him laid out on his bunk, and he was still out for the count. Pills says the bruise on his chest indicates he was most likely shot. It appears he was wearing something over his chest that deflected the bullet, and that’s what saved him.”
“He’s a lucky stiff all right,” reflected Lester.
“Is he going to pull through?”
Stanley could only shrug his shoulders.
“Who knows? Pills sure hopes so, but he admits that he still doesn’t know what’s wrong with the guy. Because other than the bruise and his unconscious state, he appears to be the picture of perfect health.
Though he certainly could use a bath. And here I thought you Texans got funky after missing a few showers.”
“Very funny,” said Lester.
“Ease up, Les. I’m only having a little fun with you. What have we got out there that’s got you all hot and bothered?”
The Texan replied while turning up his volume gain a notch.
“The captain’s sure making things hard for us, Stan. Ever since we steamed out of Lancaster Sound, he’s been pushing the Defiance at flank speed. With all the racket produced by our own signature, it’s going to take a miracle to pick up the guys we’re supposed to be chasing.”
“The Skipper sure enough knows what he’s doing,” offered Stanley as he got back to work.
“Ivan’s only got a single route to get back home, and since they’ve got that head start on us, the Defiance is still playing catch-up. When the time’s right. Captain Colter will slow us down, and then we can do what we do best.”
“Do you think we’ll trade shots with the Russian’s once we tag ‘em?” quizzed the anxious Texan.
Stanley turned up his own volume gain and answered.
“We’re certainly not going to ring Ivan up on the underwater telephone and trade sea stories with him. The way I see it, they’re the ones who instigated this little misunderstanding, and the Defiance ain’t quitting until we get a chance to return the favor.”
With this said, both sonar operators focused their attentions solely on the hissing rush being conveyed into their headphones, as the Sturgeon class attack sub entered the northernmost extremity of Baffin Bay.
The atmosphere inside the Neva’s hushed attack center was tense, as the ship’s senior officers came storming in to counter the threat that had just been detected in their baffles. Without bothering to confer with either his senior lieutenant or his distinguished passenger, Sergei Markova wasted no time taking the initiative.
“Comrade Michman, notify Chief Koslov that we’re going to need emergency speed at once. Our course will remain on bearing three-two-zero.”
Quick to question these orders was the Admiral of the Fleet.
“Surely you can’t be serious. Captain?
This is no time for running away. We must take a stand and fight. For the Sturgeon class submarine is the only witness to our trespass here, and must be destroyed.”
Not used to having his command doubted, Sergei angrily retorted.
“As captain, I’ll be making the tactical decisions aboard the Neva, Admiral. And I say it’s just too risky to take on the Americans at this time. Not only have we spent our last decoy, but the Sturgeon class vessel has already shown the ability to outrun our torpedoes. So before opening ourselves up to being attacked once more, I say the wisest choice is to use our superior speed to transit the Nares Strait and then head straight back to Murmansk.”
“Are you saying that the pride of the Soviet Fleet is no match for a class of vessel whose first hull was laid down over two decades ago?” the unbelieving veteran asked.
Directly meeting Kharkov’s icy gaze, Sergei replied.
“That’s not the point. Admiral. As far as I’m concerned, our mission has been completed, and now it’s up to me to get us back to port as quickly and safely as possible.”
“This mission is not over until I say so. Captain!” barked Mikhail Kharkov.
“You forget who you’re sharing this bridge with, comrade. And since you’re obviously not man enough to carry out your duty, I’ll have to do it for you.”
Turning his head to address the other members of the attack center’s complement, Kharkov cried out.
“As Admiral of the Fleet of the Soviet Union, I am replacing Sergei Markova as the commanding officer of the Neva. Comrade Michman, I want you to personally see to an immediate reversal of our course.
“Battle stations, torpedoes. Comrades! It’s time to teach the proud Imperialists a badly needed lesson in humility.”
Confused by this unprecedented change of command, the Michman hesitated in carrying out his new orders. As the puzzled warrant officer looked over to the senior lieutenant for guidance, Mikhail Kharkov stormed over to the helm.
“Are you deaf. Comrade Michman?” screamed the infuriated Admiral.
“Well, since it appears that you have joined the ranks of your spineless captain, I’ll just have to carry out your duties for you. Helmsman, reverse our course right now! And ready the ship to attack.”
Equally confused was the junior seaman currently steering the Neva. This was only his third submarine patrol, and all three were with Sergei Markova as commanding officer. Since he wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone but his captain, like the hesitant which man he wouldn’t budge.
Seeing this, Mikhail Kharkov went into an absolute fit, and began madly ripping at the helmsman’s shoulder harness, to physically remove him from his position and personally replace him at the helm. It was at this point that the ship’s senior lieutenant ran forward to intercede on the helmsman’s behalf.
“Now hold on one moment. Admiral!” warned Viktor Belenko.
“Let go of that harness at once, or you’ll endanger all of us.”
As Kharkov continued furiously yanking on the harness’s jammed release mechanism, Viktor reached out and grabbed the white-haired veteran by one of his arms. An intense scuffle ensued, during which time the frenzied admiral reached into the folds of his sweater and pulled out his Kalashnikov pistol. Seconds later, the compartment filled with the reverberating explosive report of a single shot.
Under the Ice Page 32
