Black Sea Affair (38 page)

All that would change, Pete knew, if he tried running past the naval blockade that the Russians were stringing just south of him across the Black Sea.

All they could do at this point was sit in the water, and wait and pray.

Pete checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes had passed since he sent the SEALs into the water for the dangerous mission of attaching plastic explosives on the submarine's hull. Time was of the essence. There was little room for error. Any second, a depth charge could strike too close or a wave of torpedoes could close in on his isolated submarine.

Lieutenant Phil Jamison stepped into the control room.

"How are they, Phil?"

"Trembling and crying every time they hear a ping or the slightest shake from a depth charge."

"What did you tell 'em?"

"I told them not to worry, that we'd be safe soon. Didn't seem to do much good, sir."

"What about the woman?"

"Frankly, she seems to have nerves of steel. Said she was relieved to be aboard."

"Skipper, " the OOD said. "The SEALs are finished. They're back in the sub now."

"Very well, Mr. McCaffity. Prepare for emergency surface maneuver."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Ka-27 Chopper Number 3
Above the Black Sea

Junior Lieutenant Igor Pavalov dropped his last depth charge into the sea, then waited several minutes for a visual confirmation that the bomb had exploded. Unlike his last two charges, which exploded at one hundred fifty feet, this baby would sink twice as deep, to three hundred feet, before sending a wave of explosive concussions and sound waves through the water.

Pavalov waited another minute or two. Another white mushroom rose to the surface of the water. Perhaps this one had struck the target. Perhaps he would get credit for sinking the American submarine. He would stand in Red Square before President Evtimov and receive the highest award bestowed on a Russian citizen.

He would be declared a "Hero of the Russian Federation." The honor had been bestowed to several military members fighting in Chechnya. So why not bestow it upon the Navy helicopter pilot who sunk an enemy submarine -- an
American
submarine
--
which had somehow infiltrated the Black Sea?

He lingered a bit longer over the surface of the water, hoping to see debris from a submarine floating to the surface.

Nothing.

But he had expended ordnance and he was rapidly losing fuel. He would need to start heading back within the next fifteen minutes or be prepared for a long swim.

Pavalov rotated the chopper on a stationary, midair axis, pointing the nose on a course of ninety degrees -- due east -- then called his squadron leader and announced that he would be flying back to Sevastopol for refueling and reloading.

A large cylindrical nose burst through the sea like a whale leaping through the surface. The long, dark object shot above the water and then splashed down onto the surface.

This was no whale.

This was a submarine!

A
Los Angeles -
class submarine! It had broken the water perhaps a quarter of a mile just east of his position. And
his
depth charges had forced her to the surface!

If only he had a torpedo or more depth charges . . . he would go in for the kill right now.

"Light Blue Three to Light Blue Leader!"

"Go ahead, Light Blue Three."

"I have got it!"

"Got what?"

"The American submarine! My depth charges have forced her to surface!"

"What is your position?"

Pavalov gave the latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates.

"Maintain visual for as long as your fuel will allow. Your relief is on the way."

"Very well, " Stavinskiy replied, fuming that someone else could get credit for the kill that he was responsible for.

"Maintaining visual, " Pavalov said again over the radio. "Please allow the record to reflect that the submarine surfaced as a result of my depth charge."

He waited for an answer. No response. Pavalov inched the chopper forward, closing to within a hundred yards or so in front of the American submarine. He brought the chopper's altitude down to one hundred feet, so low that the prop blast was blowing a round circle on the water's surface.

The pilot brought his binoculars to his eyes for a better look. He studied the conning tower. Could the sub have surfaced to fire a missile? Of course not. It could have fired a missile from under the water. It had surfaced for one reason and one only.

The hatch on top of the sub swung open. Men stepped up onto the open bridge. They brought up an American flag.
The murderous pigs
. He thought for a moment of directing machine-gun fire at the men standing on the bridge.

But what glory was there in that? Shooting men standing on the top of a submarine would not make him a hero of the Russian Federation. The president wanted the sub sunk. This was his path to glory.

The men waved at him, like he was their best friend.
How odd, these
Americans
. And then someone brought another flag to the bridge.

This was not an American flag.

This was a white flag! They waved it back and forth through the air! The Americans were surrendering!

His
depth charges had forced the Americans to surrender! After he became a hero of the Russian Federation, there would be speeches and parades and parties in his honor.

Igor picked up the microphone again.

"Light Blue Three to Light Blue Leader! The American submarine is surrendering to me right now! Repeat, the American submarine is surrendering to me!"

CHAPTER 24

The USS
Honolulu

The Black Sea

Pete stood on the open air bridge of his sub, his orange jacket flapping under the wind blasts from the five Russian ASW helicopters hovering in the late-afternoon sky. The choppers circled the
Honolulu.

Two corvettes, naval vessels just smaller than a U.S. Navy destroyer, plowed through the water from the east.

Pete peered through his binoculars at the sharp, angular, grey ships churning toward his position. One had a hull number of 053 and the other was 071. "Well, well. More guests joining the party."

"Our taxi into Sevastopol?" Frank Pippen mused.

"Or wherever else they decide to take us, " Pete said.

"Looks like they're making about fifteen knots, sir, " Lieutenant Jamison said.

"Mr. Jamison, go check your registry of Russian naval vessels for hull numbers 053 and 071."

"Aye, sir."

A minute later, Jamison reappeared on the open air bridge. "053 is the
Povorino
and 071 is the
Suzdaltec
. Both are ASW corvettes."

Now a small craft was speeding toward the submarine from the
Suzdaltec
. Through the binoculars, Pete saw a boarding party which consisted of three officers and eight armed sailors.

"Chief of the Watch, prepare for boarding by our guests."

"Aye, Captain, " the chief said. Within minutes, the portable floating ramp was deployed from the back of the submarine into the water. Pete, Frank, and Jamison headed back toward the stern of the ship. The boat closed within a few yards of the stern. Its engines were idling.

A crew member from the boat held up a megaphone. "Ahoy the submarine." The crewmember spoke in broken English.

"Mr. Jamison, take the megaphone. Tell them that they may board, that our intentions are not hostile, and that we mean them no harm."

"Aye, Captain." Jamison complied.

"
Bashoya spaceeba
." The reply came.

"He thanks us, Captain."

Lines were tossed back and forth between American and Russian sailors on the sub and on the boarding craft. A few minutes later the first Russian officer was making his way to the back of the submarine.

The Russian threw a salute at Pete, and Pete returned the salute.

"Tell him I am the commanding officer of the USS
Honolulu
, and tell him that he and his men are welcome aboard."

Jamison translated Pete's statement, then translated the Russian's reply. "He is the commanding officer of the Russian corvette
Suzdaltec
. He has orders to take this submarine and its crew into custody. He says that the helicopters surrounding the sub and the two ships out there are all armed with torpedoes which he will order to be launched at the sub if we do not peaceably surrender."

Pete pulled out a Montecristo, fired up a Bic lighter, and took a puff.

"Ask him if he wants a cigar."

Jamison translated.

"
Nyet. Spaceeba
."

"He says no thank you on the cigar. He wishes to know if we are going to voluntarily surrender."

Pete took another puff before answering. He looked up at the sun, now about to set over the water in the direction of Romania. "Tell the captain that I present to him the United States nuclear submarine, the USS
Honolulu
."

Russian corvette
Suzdaltec
The Black Sea

The full moon hung low over the sea, painting a rich, luminescent carpet across the water and illuminating the silhouette of the
Honolulu
, which was in tow perhaps one hundred yards behind the
Suzdaltec.

The orphans had been taken inside the Russian warship, but the American submarine crew was corralled on the fantail. Armed Russian sailors guarded Pete and his crew.

Pete stood in the middle of his crew, checking his watch. Standing next to him, Frank Pippen was doing the same thing.

Their eyes met. Neither spoke.

Thirty seconds passed. Two loud
booms
echoed across the water from the direction of the submarine. Two more
booms.
Pete caught the grin on Frank Pippen's face. The XO gave his skipper an unobtrusive thumbs-up.

Russian sailors scrambled to the fantail, waving their arms and yelling phrases that Pete could not understand. Flames burst in the open bridge area of the
Honolulu.
The submarine started sinking in the water.

Honolulu
was taking on torrents of seawater, undoubtedly from the holes in her hull caused by the SEALs' handiwork with plastic explosives. She was going under, slowly, and her weight was pulling on the back of the
Suzdaltec.
Pete ordered his men to stay put.

Pete felt the
Suzdaltec
's engines shift from ahead to neutral. This was to loosen the tension in the lines between the ship and the submarine. Even still, the fantail was listing, and water was starting to lap up over the stern.

Suzdaltec
's commanding officer had come down from the bridge and was walking about the fantail, barking orders. Were they not going to cut the lines to the sinking sub? Would they let the waterlogged sub capsize and sink the corvette? Pete had heard about Russian inefficiency. He had surrendered his sub to save the orphans. But now, if the corvette went down, they could all wind up dying anyway.

"Mr. Jamison, what's going on?"

"The captain's talking about sending a boarding party back to the
Honolulu
to investigate."

"A boarding party? The idiot is going to wind up sinking his own ship."

"To be honest, sir, I think he and some of his officers were in the galley celebrating the capture of the
Honolulu
with a little too much vodka, sir."

"Great." The Russians would wind up getting them all drowned. "Lieutenant Jamison. Tell the Russian skipper that the sub is sinking, that it cannot be saved, and that he should cut the tow lines."

"Aye, Captain, " Jamison said. He called out to the Russian skipper. "
Eezveneetzyah, Kapitan
!" Lieutenant Jamison got the Russian skipper's attention and translated the message as instructed.

The Russian captain walked over to the center of the listing fantail, waving his hands and frantically waving and yelling at Pete.

"What's he saying?" Pete asked.

"He's steamed that we sabotaged the sub, sir. Lots of cursing. Says we will be shot for it."

"Tell him he'll never live to see us shot if he doesn't cut those lines and cut them now!"

"Aye, sir."

Jamison relayed the message. More screaming from the Russian skipper. The ship's stern lapped lower into the sea. A moment later, however, Russian sailors cut the lines attaching
Suzdaltec
to the sinking
Honolulu.
The ship's stern rose back up to normal level.

Armed sailors broke through the perimeter and approached Pete. The barrels of their AK-47 assault rifles jabbed his neck and the back of his skull. They were yelling something in frantic Russian.

"What are they saying?"