Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (79 page)

 
          
“What
about helping us?” the captain shouted. “We need helicopter-capable warships
out here to launch an assault on the terrorists holding that tanker,”

 
          
“The
frigate
luidny
is two and a half hours out,” the executive officer said.
“They are switching their ASW helicopter with an armed attack helicopter to
assist in an armed assault on the tanker Three Border Patrol Type 206MP missile
hydrofoil patrol boats are also en route, about seventy minutes out.”

           
“Barely enough time,” the captain
muttered. “How long until the tanker crosses into Turkish waters?”

           
“Should be within Turkish treaty
waters in ten minutes on present course and speed.”

 
          
The
captain shrugged. “No matter We won’t let a little thing like lines on a map
stop us. Notify me when the hydrofoils come into range and the Ka-27 is
refueled, and we'll try another assault on the tanker How long until we get
back within gun range?”

 
          
“Fifteen
minutes.”

 
          
“We’ll
try a couple shots on the superstructure and perhaps convince them to give
themselves up,” the captain said. “Notify me when we get within extreme gun
range.”

 
          
It
was the weirdest chase anyone had ever seen—two massive ships, separated by
just a few miles, with one pursuing the other at barely the speed of a brisk
bicycle ride. With aircraft, Captain Boriskov thought, everything happens so
fast; with maritime warfare, everything happens so slow. But soon they were
within maximum range of the forward AK-130, and the big twin-barreled gun
opened fire. Two 70-pound high- explosive shells impacted the superstructure
just a few seconds apart, ripping huge holes in the living spaces. A second
two-round volley hit the bridge itself. A small fire started in the living and
engineering spaces from the first blast.

 
          
“This
is the
Ustinov
,;” a voice came on the radio.
“Congratulations on your shooting—you have managed to destroy the bridge. I
don’t think we can control the ship well enough from the auxiliary control
station. But I wouldn’t fire any more rounds at the superstructure. We have
sent the
Ustinov
's
crew into those spaces. Hit us again, and you’ll be killing your fellow
Russians.”

 
          
“Cease
fire, cease fire,” the captain said, looking on with his repeater of the
telescopic low-light optronic gun sight. “This is Captain Boriskov of the
Russian Federation Navy destroyer
Besstrashny
the skipper responded on
the radio in English.

           
“What kind of cowards put hostages
in harm's way? You should release the crew into lifeboats. This is between you
and me."

 
          
“I
think we will leave the crew where they are for now— they're safe as long as
you stop firing into our superstructure.”

           
“Who are you? What do you w ant?”

           
“Never mind who I am,” Patrick McLanahan
responded. “We wish to send Comrade Pavel Kazakov a little message: if he flies
his little stealth toy any more, he and all of his partners and business
associates will suffer.”

 
          
“What
stealth toy? What are you talking about?”

           
“Pavel Kazakov has been involved in
a campaign of terror and mayhem throughout
Europe
,” Patrick went on. “He has been responsible
for creating enough fear and destruction within the Balkans that the
international community was forced to respond by sending Russian peacekeepers
into otherwise peaceful countries. But all this has been created specifically
so the Russian army can protect Kazakov's new pipeline.”

 
          
“You
claim the Russian Army is in league with Pavel Kazakov? Ridiculous.”

           
“President Sen'kov, Colonel-General
Zhurbenko, and many others in the Russian military high command are on
Kazakov’s payroll,” Patrick replied. “If they weren’t enticed by Kazakov’s
money, Kazakov sent his Metyor-179 stealth fighter- bomber in to attack Kazakov
has killed thousands in order to create enough fear to convince others to go
along.”

 
          
“What
proof do you have of all this?”

           
“We have sent a tape recording of
conversations between Kazakov, Metyor Aerospace Director Fursenko, Chief of the
General Staff Zhurbenko, and Russian National Security Advisor Yejsk, to the
world’s major media outlets, discussing this plan,” Patrick said “Zhurbenko and
Yejsk agree to mobilize the Russian army in response to the terror created by
Kazakov and his stealth warplane, specifically so Russian troops could occupy
and control foreign territory that Kazakov needed to build his pipeline across
the Balkans from the Black Sea to the Adriatic Sea. By tonight, the whole world
will have heard this tape.”

           
“How do we know this tape is
authentic? How do we know any of this is real?”

 
          
“Because
we have also included a tape recording of President Sen’kov of
Russia
discussing the matter with President Thom
of the
United States
,” Patrick radioed. “Sen’kov agreed to let
two captured American pilots free in exchange for Thom agreeing not to reveal
the contents of the tape. The Russian government eventually leaked the
information on the two captured Americans and their aircraft shot down over
Russia
.” “So President Thomas Thom was involved in
this as well?” “President Thom’s goal was the release of his captured fliers,”
McLanahan replied. “Sen’kov’s goal was not to have embarrassing intelligence
information leak out on how he was going to go along with crime boss and drug
dealer Kazakov in taking over the Balkans in order to share in the profits of a
one-hundred-million-dollar-per-day oil venture. If Thom is guilty of anything,
it is of trusting Sen’kov. Sen’kov is guilty of collusion with Pavel Kazakov.”

 
          
“Well,
this is a very interesting fairy tale,” Boriskov said. But he was worried. For
the past several months, this is exactly what most of the Russian military
forces had been doing: protecting Pavel Kazakov’s business interests. He and
many of his fellow officers had been wondering about the grand scheme, although
it seemed to be a lucrative deal for everyone. Perhaps that was the reason:
Sen’kov, Zhurbenko, and others in
Moscow
were getting kickbacks from Kazakov, in
exchange for providing protection for his oil enterprise. Now the Russian Navy
had become his unwitting bodyguards, too. “What do you intend to do with the
tanker?”

 
          
“We
intend this to be a down payment on the very large bill Kazakov owes to the
people of the Balkans,” Patrick replied, “especially the people of Kukes,
Struga, Ohrid, Resen, and those who died in the NATO E-3 AWACS radar plane and
the Turkish F-16 shot down over the
Black Sea
by his marauding stealth fighter. This tanker and its cargo represent a
half-billion-dollar investment for Pavel Kazakov. We are going to send it to
the bottom of the
Black
Sea
.”

 
          
“Shto?”
Boriskov shouted. “You cannot do that! It would be a monumental ecological
disaster! That spill would pollute a large portion of the
Black Sea
for years!”

 
          
“Let
it be on Pavel Kazakov’s hands,” Patrick said. “Maybe by sinking this ship, the
world will soon learn everything about Kazakov and his bloody greed.”

 
          
“What
are we going to do. Captain?” the
Besstrashny
’s executive officer asked.
“We won't be able to reach it in time.”

 
          
“We
are going to have to disable it,” Boriskov said. “Combat, this is the captain.
Target the rudder and propulsion area of the stern on the tanker. I want it
stopped dead in the water Once we catch up to it, we'll board it and hold it
until help comes from
Russia
.”

 
          
“We
are inside Turkish treaty waters, Captain,” the navigator warned. “We are
prohibited from discharging weapons.”

 
          
“This
is an emergency situation,” the captain said. “Combat, carry out my last—”

 
          
“Bridge,
Combat, high-speed aircraft inbound, low altitude, bearing zero-two-zero, range
eight-seven kilometers, speed........ speed thirteen hundred kilometers per
hour!” the radar operators in the
Combat
Information
Center
called out. “Multiple contacts.”

 
          
“Attention,
attention, destroyer
Besstrashny,
this is the Black Sea Alliance bomber
north of you,” the bridge crew heard moments later. “You have entered
Alliance
treaty waters and are hereby ordered to
reverse course immediately or you will be fired upon.”

 
          
“There’s
that
Alliance
bullshit again.” Boriskov exclaimed.
“Number One, battle stations.” The battle stations alarm rang once again.
“Combat, release batteries on the forward 130 only and open fire. Disable the
tanker before it gets too far into Turkish treaty waters.” The AK-130 cannon
opened fire on the tanker, one two-round volley every four seconds. The stem of
the tanker
Ustinov
exploded in a burst of flames.

 
          
“Bridge.
Combat,
inbound antiship missiles,
bearing zero- two-zero. eighty
kilometers and closing, speed nine hundred kilometers per hour and
accelerating, sea-skimmer! Additional radar contact aircraft, bearing
thrce-four-zero, multiple contacts, low altitude and high speed, possible antiship
missile attack profile as well.”

           
“Helm, hard to port heading
zero-two-zero,” Boriskov ordered, “Combat, Bridge, cease fire on the tanker.
Stand by to defend against high-speed sea-skimmer All defensive batteries
released.”

 
          
“Sir!
Look! The tanker!” Boriskov turned and saw a massive ball and column of fire,
like a small nuclear explosion, erupt on the forward portion of the tanker The
fire was so bright that it cast shadows on the deck of the
Besstrashny
over twenty kilometers away. Seconds later the shock wave from the blast rolled
over them, rattling windows and sending a vibration through the deck.

 
          
“The
tanker is gone,” Boriskov said. “It'll be on the bottom in minutes, and they’ll
be cleaning up that oil slick for the next ten years.”

 
          
“Bridge,
Combat, numerous small vessels approaching the tanker from the south,” the
radar operator reported. “Possibly Turkish naval patrol boats or fire boats.”

 
          
“Never
mind the damned tanker—it’s gone,” Boriskov shouted. “Time to impact on that
sea-skimmer?”

 
          
“Sea-skimmer
passing twelve hundred kilometers per hour,” the radar operator reported. “Time
to impact, three point four minutes.”

 
          
“Count
down every fifteen seconds.”

 
          
“Destroyer
Besstrashny
. this is the Black Sea Alliance Air Command. You will
reverse course immediately or we will continue our attack,” the radio message
said.

 
          
“How
dare you attack a flagship of the Russian Federation Navy!” Boriskov retorted.
“I warn you, abort this attack or consider it an act of war!”

 
          
“You
have committed an act of war by opening fire in Turkish waters without
authorization,” the bomber crew responded. “We have begun the countdown on five
more antiship missiles, Captain, and we will launch them if you do not cease
fire and reverse course immediately. It may be an act of war, but the
Besstrashny
will be the first casualty if you do not head out of
Alliance
waters immediately.”