by Stephen Makk
The Weapons Officer set up the console’s controls, and a Mk48 was readied.
Nikki might need to engage the enemy; she’d much rather avoid that.
“All ahead stop. Weaps, ready countermeasures port and starboard.”
“Aye, sir, all ahead stop.”
The prop spun down and the boat coasted to a stop. She’d wait here silently.
Minutes passed by.
“Sir, Tango one is one mile away. His track takes him 200 yards astern. Sir, half a mile now.”
Nathan reappeared and nodded to Nikki. Carry on.
The clock ticked down. Would he launch a fish or pass them by?
Nikki swallowed. She was worried; every part of her said engage and destroy, but she couldn’t. Would the Akula hear them?
“Tango one 200 yards astern, sir.”
Nikki hung her head and bit her top lip. Come on, move.
“He’s passing astern, sir; range 400 yards.”
She felt a rivulet of sweat roll down her forehead. How does Nathan cope with this?
“Tango one is now 400 yards south of us,” said Benson. “No aspect change… tracking… tracking. Now 800 yards, no aspect change.”
Nikki held her breath. Wait… Wait.
Time to move. She looked at the Planesman.
“Hold it, Nikki,” said Nathan. “Let him get over a mile away before you move.”
She smiled and nodded. She waited until he was one point five miles away.
“Planesman, resume course, 12 knots.”
“Twelve knots, aye sir.”
The boat continued on her way to the edge and free water. She looked at the power readings. Batteries at 30%, a reasonable margin she knew.
“Nikki, hand the conn to Weaps. I’ll get coffees and see you in the wardroom.”
“Sir.”
Several minutes later, he entered the Wardroom with two coffees and set them down on the table.
“Anything else, Miss Kaminski? A jam and cream doughnut maybe?”
Nikki grinned.
Nathan sat down. “When we get up there, I’ll call 73 Easting; he’ll be well south of us. We have Stanley and his SSNs down there, running a flank attack. I’d like to do the same.”
“Squeeze ’em,” said Nikki. “Should work.”
“I was thinking that if the nukes flank them, they should gather in the middle, and we pair come in behind them. We’d be better joining up with 73 Easting by running north and south on the surface.”
Nikki set her cup down and scowled.
“There’s a problem with that, Nathan. Enemy air. He’s bound to have good radar where we have a photonic mast system based on the AN/BPS 16. Ok, but inferior to his. We must expect Russian maritime patrol birds and they’ll be packing the Kh-35 GRAU missile.”
“Yeah, I know, we might have to keep diving. But this way we can stay near the ice edge and that means power top-ups. I’ll ask Kamov to call the SSNs to stay back, while Easting backs us up to get under, and then we clean up from behind.”
Nikki took a sip of coffee, held it, and stared at Nathan. “I don’t like it. They could make sneak attacks. We’ll have to be ready to dive quickly. It’ll be a dangerous run to meet up with Easting.”
“That’s true, but it’s the quickest way to catch the SSNs in a fore and aft pincer.”
They both returned to the control room, and an hour later they were under clear water.
“Planesman, up angle 15, trim fore and aft, make for periscope depth.”
“Aye, sir, come to periscope depth.”
The deck tilted up by the bow, then shortly after levelled.
“Periscope depth, sir.”
Nathan touched menus on his screen and the scope raised above the waves, did a 360 and retracted. He looked at the photo and spun it around. It was mostly ice flows, but some clear water. He looked at the horizon and the sky, checked the radar, and all was clear. “XO, inform the Chief Engineer that he can run his diesels for a charge. Lemineux, try to raise 73 Easting.”
The Communications Officer operated options on his screen. A minute later, he responded.
“Sir, 73 Easting isn’t responding to satellite prompts. She must be submerged. Wait, sir… I’m receiving a message for your eyes only from COMSUBPAC.”
“Very good, send it to my terminal. I’ll read it in my cabin.”
Nathan walked aft to his cabin where he accessed his wall screen. He read and listened to the message. He sighed, rubbed his temples, and then sat back and closed his eyes to think.
Finally, he sat up. “Thanks, Kamov. It’s not much to ask I suppose.” He smiled and picked up the intercom.
Nikki was in the galley, drinking a coffee with Kate LeDonns from Engineering.
“Really? You must have been knocked out with that, Nikki?”
Nikki leaned close. “It was worse, he…”
The intercom sounded. “XO to my cabin. XO to my cabin. Captain ends.”
Kate grinned. “Off you go, Nikki.” She waved her hand toward the door.
“I don’t…”
“You’re summoned to his cabin.” Kate laughed. “You just behave yourself, girl,” she said with a wink.
Nikki shook her head and left the galley. She knocked and then entered Nathan’s cabin. He was sat on his bunk and he patted a patch next to him. She sat.
“We’ve just got a message from Kamov. You need to see it.” He brought up the screen.
PRIORITY RED
R 231347Z MAR 96 ZY12
COMSUBPAC PEARL HARBOR HAWAII//N1//
TO STONEWALL JACKSON
PACFLT// ID S072RQ81//
NAVAL OPS/02
MSGID/PACOPS 6735/CNO ACTUAL//
MSG BEGINS://
COMMUNICATIONS AUDIO BROADCAST FOR YOU AND LIEUTENANT COMMANDER KAMINSKI. FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. CNO KAMOV.
MSG END://
“I’ve watched it already, Nikki.”
He set the screen playing, and the Naval crest appeared with the Bald Eagle carrying a gold anchor. It was followed by Admiral Kamov’s head and shoulders.
“Blake, Kaminski. I know you’re at the edge of the ice, probably replenishing your power. You’ll no doubt be in contact with the USS 73 Easting soon. We’ve received some communications from Minnesota’s trailing wire and the battle under the ice seems to be having some success.
“Blake, I have some new orders for you. It’s vital that we deny the enemy domination of the Arctic. We mounted a large airstrike against the Northern Fleet with some success but heavy casualties. Unfortunately, it wasn’t decisive.
“USS Stonewall Jackson’s task is simple but difficult: sink the Northern Fleet’s flagship Pyotr Velikiy, Peter the Great. I know this is an awesome task, but it will have an effect beyond the Cruiser’s capabilities as a warship. It will drive a dagger into the leadership’s heart.
“We are sending our best. It’s our Achilles against their Hector. Good hunting, Commander Blake.”
The screen faded.
He turned to Nikki. “What do you think?”
She shut her open mouth and shook her head. “Holy fuck. He may as well have said, ‘Oh, and just sneak into the Kremlin and take out the leadership.’” She put her head in her hands.
“Can we do it, Nik?”
“She’ll have the mother of all ASW screens. Destroyers, Frigates, the air will be thick with Helix Helicopters, probably an SSN down below too.”
“I know, we’ll be one boat against that lot.” Nathan frowned.
“Ah,” Nikki looked up grinning, “remember the Swedish boat Gotland took out the carrier Ronald Reagan in an exercise.” The Gotland was a diesel-electric boat. She laughed. “We just have to do it for real.”
Nathan smiled for her, but inwardly he knew he carried a heavy burden. Ironically, the blow he’d deal the enemy, if successful, was as much political as military. If Peter the Great couldn’t face down the Americans, who could?
Nikki was right: its ASW screen would be the best. But
she’d face the best; it was what his boat was designed and built for. Nathan knew he had to take the fight to where the enemy didn’t want it.
The plaque in the main companionway carried General Jackson’s words: “… but to find the enemy, and strike him; to invade his country, and do him all possible damage in the shortest possible time.”
That was it, Nathan knew; they needed to get in close and give him the bayonet.
17
“Lemineux, tell USS 73 Easting to travel north for 70 miles and then go under the ice and join Stanley’s Minnesota and the other SSNs hunting the Russian boats down. Make sure he has the under-ice tactical situation as far as we understand it. Oh, and let COMSUBPAC know what he’s doing.”
“Sir.”
“Planesman, make west-southwest, speed 6 knots. Maintain periscope depth. We’ll let the Chief Engineer get a full charge.”
Right, now it’s weapons time.
Nathan thought about it. It’s a Fleet action, Nathan grinned; us against one. So we’ll need a mix at distance, then at close in that’ll change.
“Weaps, tubes one to three Mk48. Tubes four and five Harpoon. Tube six a Pointer.”
A few minutes passed by. Nathan checked the plot, they were heading for the flagship’s last known position.
“Sir, tubes one though three Mk48, four and five Harpoon, tube six Scooby.”
“VPM?”
“All Tomahawks serviceable, sir.”
The Virginia Payload Module were two vertical tubes loaded with cruise missiles. USS Stonewall Jackson was loaded for war.
Nathan signalled Kamov to let him know of his intentions. Nikki came and stood by the conn. Blue cap and coverall, blond ponytail, she still looked a stunner. Stop it, you fool.
He looked to his screen. At a glance he could see the boat’s status. Captain Franks on the NYC would have loved it.
“The approach is a dilemma, sir: skyrockets or not?”
“It is, Nikki. We can let loose Tomahawks and Harpoons at range; it’ll cause mayhem but tell them they’re under attack. Or: sneak in quietly and you may go undetected. But it’s nice and quiet for their ASW operations too.”
Nathan thought the situation through, and he got an idea quickly, but he pulled back from it and carefully weighed up the alternatives.
“I’d like to go in quiet, Nikki. But that ASW screen?” He shook his head. He’d go with his first instinct, and knew his gut was rarely wrong. He looked to her and grinned. “Skyrockets it is. But…”
“But what?”
“In a minute, first, how do we win? We get in close with torpedoes. She’s a big ship and missiles will do great damage, but sink her? Probably not. You heard Kamov: the battle is about politics as much as military force. We must sink her, and that means torpedoes. By the way, when and by whom were torpedoes invented?”
“I don’t know, Nathan. First World War, the Germans?”
Nathan grinned. “It was invented in Syria by the Arab inventor Hasan al-Rammah in 1275. His torpedo ran with a rocket system filled with gunpowder; it was an effective weapon.”
“You learn something every day.” She smiled.
“So, back to my plan, Nikki. Here’s what we’ll do…”
He detailed his plan, and she smiled.
“It might work, will work, with timing and luck.” She raised her chin and gave him a challenging look.
He laughed. “Yeah, luck. We all need lady luck.”
SEAL team North.
Platoon Chief Whitt was proud of them, proud of them all. His men had fought against the overwhelming numbers. The VDV kept coming. The ice field was scattered with bodies, but there were more Russians than Americans.
The wind whipped up snow around and over them, but there were too many of them. Whitt knew the end was inevitable; the VDV outnumbered them.
A SEAL to his left opened up with his M4, and a Russian clad in combat whites threw his rifle to one side and fell face forward.
A grenade landed among a group of SEALs getting ready to fall back. Two remained to provide covering fire. The three SEALs now ready to pull back took the force of the explosion. A head and an arm flew up into the air. The third limped away to fight again.
Bastards, thought Whitt. They were now down to three: the two men covering the withdrawal and him. He could hear distant fire from the north, so there must be more fighting it out there.
“Come on, men,” Whitt shouted. “Give the bastards fire. Give ’em…” Whitt didn’t even feel the two rounds as they ripped through his head.
He’d led men well up here in the Arctic, and would receive a posthumous medal.
The VDV had taken a harsh beating. But numbers counted, and they had the numbers.
The icy wind blew in chilling gusts across the dark white snowfield. Lieutenant Rice had heard the fighting far to his rear. It had stopped long minutes ago. He looked across at Konerko and Carrack. Carrack had turned and was looking through binoculars to their rear.
“Sir, I see them: a line of troops skiing this way. They have rifles slung over their shoulders. It’s the VDV, it must be.”
Rice shouted to his civvies. “Nils, Marjan. You’ll have to get going yourselves from here; keep at it. Go west; we’ll hold them here.”
Marjan skiied over to Nils. She hugged him.
After several seconds Nils pulled back, then took off his snow goggles and wind chill hood from his lower face. He pulled down her hood and kissed her.
“Thanks, Marjan. We gave it our best. I’m just sorry it’s ended like this. I’m glad I’m spending what little time I have left with you.” He smiled.
“No, Nils I want it to carry on. I lo… I love you. But I have to stay and fight. You go, get away. Go west, you can make it.”
“No, not without you.”
“Go, you fool! I’m a soldier.” She slapped the H&K. “Go, now. Nils, go.”
He fell back, dejected, but finally turned and skiied off, fading away into the snowflake-covered distance. She turned and threw herself to the firing position next to Rice. She aimed her H&K. “Soldier M, IDF, reporting, sir.”
“Wait until you have a clear shot and then let ’em have it. Good to have you with us.”
In the distance, the line of VDV advanced on them. She’d take as many with her as she could. They waited. It wouldn’t be long now.
There was a crack, crack from Carrack several yards off to her left. Rice opened fire too.
Marjan searched for a clear target. She saw one, slightly to the right of the rest, and she saw him turn and shout to the others. They started to increase the distance between themselves. An officer or an NCO, he must be, that was good.
She took careful aim. Crack, crack. He went down to his right and lay in the snow, his left arm sticking up motionless. Zip, zip, incoming rounds flew by. She picked another, and crack, crack. He went down and waved to a colleague; he was hit but alive.
The firefight went on and gradually the Russians got closer; many dropped and crawled forward.
More fire was incoming, and Carrick was hit in the upper chest. Konerko took the man’s webbing belt bags and removed the first aid gear, then injected him with a morphine syrette. The Russians were close now.
Marjan threw a grenade and man screamed. A Russian grenade landed yards off to her right, and she hunkered down. Marjan knew from her IDF days that the VDV would be on them in minutes, outnumbered as they were.
“Sir,” it was Konerko, “listen.”
Rice turned and frowned. “Listen to what?”
Then he heard it: the beating of rotor blades. The bastards must have got Helos up here.
Two helicopters passed overhead, rockets lit up and rushed into the Russian lines.
“What the…?”
Another helicopter, a Boeing he saw, landed to their rear, and troops got out and came over to them.
“CSAR, CSAR,” shouted one of them.
“Lieutenant Rice, Navy SEALS.”
“Come on, sir, get i
n the bird.”
“Wait,” said Marjan, pointing. “There’s a man that way skiing west alone.”
“We saw him, ma’am. We have a man picking him up right now.”
The three SEALS and Marjan got into the bird. The loadmaster made sure they were strapped into their seats. Soon a man was bundled in.
“Nils!” She laughed. They high fived and she hugged him again. “You think you can get away from the Mossad, did you?”
The Boeing roared, pulled up and away from the ice field, then turned west. Marjan laughed again.
The Pentagon. Washington DC.
General Neil Cooper USAF walked into his outer office.
His secretary, Poppy Dooley, sat at her computer. “Hi, sir. You’re late today; I was about to call the funeral service. I thought you may have passed away.”
“In your dreams, Poppy.”
He had taken her as his personal secretary after meeting her on a visit to Robbins AFB Georgia. She was a basic airman standing in for someone and he had business in the offices for many hours. She was often around and strutted a cheeky style that he liked. He was Chief of the Air Force, but to her he could be just another fighter jockey showing off. He knew he had been that guy once.
“What do you do here, Dooley?” he had asked.
“Shuffle papers, whatever they tell me, sir. When I can, I make paper aeroplanes from them.”
He grinned. “Do they fly?”
“Like a bag of bolt cutters, sir. Fly like shit.”
Cooper knew. “How would you like to do the same thing for me at the Pentagon?”
“Is the pay as good as here? Do you have a hairdresser?”
“As you can see, I don’t need one. But I’ve seen one visiting; a hairdresser I mean. The pay? It’s better.”
“Then you’ve got yourself a deal, sir.”
He’d transferred her and promoted her up to Senior Airman, given her the assignment: Personal Secretary to the Chief of Staff of the Air Force. Not bad for just six months’ service.
Poppy was now indispensable. He poured himself a coffee. A few days after she’d started, he’d asked her to make him a coffee.
