Fatal Thunder: A Jerry Mitchell Novel (38 page)

Addressing Samant, Thigpen said warily, “Ah, Captain, you might want to use that stuff sparingly. It’s pretty dang hot!”

Removing the cap, Samant took a sniff and replied, “Nonsense, Commander! It smells absolutely delightful.” He then proceeded to liberally sprinkle it on a chicken leg. Thigpen winced when Samant bit down on a section of the leg with just two drops on it. Everyone at the table, including Petrov, all watched intently to see Samant’s reaction. Some of them knew exactly what kind of assault Westbrook had just unleashed on the Indian’s mouth.

Initially, Samant seemed to be enjoying the chili sauce. But then he started to chew more slowly and his eyes got bigger. After swallowing, he let out a quiet gasp, and to everyone’s surprise Samant took another bite. Once he had finished the entire chicken leg, he waved his finger at Westbrook, who had a wicked grin on his face. Samant grabbed the bottle, raised it, and asked in a raspy voice, “What is this, Lieutenant? It’s quite wonderful! Very flavorful, and the heat!”

“That, sir, is a sauce made from the Carolina Reaper, the hottest chili on the planet,” explained Westbrook with smug satisfaction. “There’s more heat in that bottle than in the entire reactor core, I can assure you.” At first, Samant nodded his appreciation, and then applauded Westbrook’s boldness. Rising, he reached over to shake the supply officer’s hand. The rest of the diners joined in and clapped as well.

*   *   *

After the meal, Jerry had those officers not on watch attend the mission overview and intelligence briefings. Before they left Guam, the squadron operations officer, Commander Walker, had condensed all the available information into a short presentation, with more detailed data and explanations in a written report. It was incomplete, but the information would be useful to the three American submarines. Walker promised updates on
Chakra
’s position, as well as the location of Chinese and Littoral Alliance forces, as new information was received.

Lieutenant Commander Thigpen led off with the intelligence community’s estimated target list. While the crumpled-up piece of paper that Petrov and Samant found in the torpedo workshop had only ten ports on it, the actual number of possible targets was twelve. Both Hong Kong and Shanghai had two large port facilities. They were far enough apart that two separate weapons would be needed to take them both out.

“Fortunately for us, a number of the targets just aren’t reachable by a submarine-launched torpedo: too far up a river, and a couple of the ports are way, way inside the Bohai Gulf, which is not exactly prime submarine water. So the list gets whittled down to the seven most likely: the two ports at Hong Kong, the two at Shanghai, Ningbo-Zhoushan, Qingdao, and Dalian.

“According to a joint State Department/CIA economic assessment, taking out five of these ports will result in the destruction of fifty to fifty-five percent of China’s export capability, along with several large oil refineries, two major shipyards, and the two largest financial centers. Civilian casualties are estimated to be,
at a minimum
, four to five million from the blast, tidal surges, and radiation-induced illness. In short, China gets royally hosed if we don’t find
Chakra
before she deploys her five packages of liquid sunshine,” concluded Thigpen, sitting down.

The junior officers present just stared at the screen in stunned disbelief. The XO’s overview was beyond scary—it was horrific!

The ship’s engineer, Lieutenant Commander Philip Sobecki, finally broke the shocked silence. He turned slowly to Samant. “This is for real, sir? I mean, your old boat has been given orders to do this?”

Samant sighed. He was getting used to the fact that when a rational person was first exposed to the plot, they simply couldn’t comprehend that someone would actually attempt to murder millions. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Sobecki. And anything I could say would not answer your next question as to why. All you can do is accept what your first officer said and work with it.”

“Okay, people,” Jerry announced, “our squadron has been given this job because there isn’t another U.S. boat that has a prayer of getting into position before
Chakra
could arrive. Based on the scrubbed target list, the commodore has decided to have our boat guard the waters around Hong Kong.
North Carolina
has Ningbo-Zhoushan to Shanghai, and
Texas
is covering Qingdao and points north. The going assumption is that Hong Kong is the first target, and that’s why we’re here. This represents a best guess, folks, nothing more. And while I accept the squadron’s initial call, we can’t afford to focus on just one avenue of approach. So we’re going to have to develop our search plan with a lot of flexibility.”

Jerry turned to Petrov and asked, “Captain Petrov, in general, what were the improvements to
Chakra
’s sonar during her refit?”

“All the improvements were to the towed array,” began Petrov. “The new array is completely digital and the signal processing uses algorithms that were derived from the Irtysh-Amfora sonar suite that was on … on my old boat. Theoretically, you are looking at a potential four-to-five-decibel improvement in the signal-to-noise ratio.”

“Damn! That’s huge!” blurted Gaffney,
North Dakota
’s sonar officer.

Petrov smiled at the young officer’s outburst. “Yes, indeed, Lieutenant. I’m afraid this will complicate your search planning considerably.”

“Stuart, I want you to work with Captain Petrov to update
Chakra
’s sonar characteristics in our threat database. I need to know how much of our acoustic advantage we’ve just lost,” ordered Jerry.

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Gaffney.

He then looked toward Thigpen and added, “XO, you and the nav will work with Captain Samant to figure out
Chakra
’s best avenues of approach and a list of potential firing positions. I want contingency options if she doesn’t behave the way we think she will.”

Standing, Jerry finished his instructions to his crew. “We have a little more than two days before we reach the coast of Hong Kong. I need to have all this work completed and double-checked before we assume our station. Since it’s late, we’ll start first thing in the morning. Sleep well tonight, it will probably start getting a little hectic tomorrow.”

17

CONFESSION

9 April 2017

1200 Local Time

Wardroom, USS
North Dakota

Aleks Petrov had never had sloppy joes and sweet-potato fries before, but it turned out to be very good. He was pleasantly surprised at the Americans’ culinary creativity, and it was a welcome break from the spicy Indian food he’d had to subsist on for months. For the first time in quite a while, Petrov felt safe and at ease—but there was an edginess that still nagged at him. Sure, he was on a submerged nuclear submarine, bound for a desperate battle with a dangerous opponent, but that was still a day away, at least, and he could use the time—in fact, he needed the time—to rest and heal. And think.

He’d remained quiet during the meal, seated with Samant at the head of the table on Jerry’s left, while the officers treated them as honored guests. A lively conversation had sprung up during lunch as they reconstructed
Chakra
’s encounters with
North Dakota
during the Littoral Alliance war. Although the conversation had begun as a continuation of the morning’s planning session, the discussion of an Akula-class’s strengths and weaknesses in a sub-on-sub battle had turned into an animated exchange of war stories.

Petrov’s left side still ached, from fatigue if nothing else. Although they’d gotten some sleep during the twelve-hour flight from India to Guam, he and Samant had also talked extensively, trying to understand their place in a massive conspiracy. And Petrov’s first night on board had been a restless one, with dreams of compartments flooding and men drowning. He’d awakened in a sweat, shaking as he tried to remember who the men were—he didn’t recall them being members of his crew on
Severodvinsk
. But they seemed somehow familiar. Exhausted, he managed to make it through the morning’s work with the help of lots of coffee.

Petrov had been unaware of the extent of Russia’s role in this mess until he’d listened to the Americans warn the Indian leadership. He was especially ashamed that Orlav and Kirichenko, former Russian naval officers, were the main culprits behind this scheme. Petrov doubted very much that Dhankhar had gone looking for Russian nuclear weapons on his own—Kirichenko would have initiated the first contact.

He felt he’d atoned somewhat by sharing information on
Chakra
’s recent modifications with the Americans. Normally such sensitive data would be considered classified by both the Russian and Indian navies, but if they were successful, it would be a moot point. And if they failed, they would have larger problems than a simple breach of security.

Petrov had said little at lunch, and then only in response to direct questions. More than once he caught Jerry giving him sidelong looks now and then. Petrov was also watching Mitchell as well, seated at the head of the table on his boat. The Russian fondly recalled his own short time as a submarine captain, and he envied Jerry. Petrov had always been honest with himself about the loss of
Severodvinsk
. He still missed being her captain, and he missed the men he’d lost, but there was no helping that now.

Petrov hated his dark mood. Surrounded by friends and allies, in a place he understood, he couldn’t shake the questions that plagued him. He really didn’t want to pursue the answers, and that dread of what the answers might be also added to his ill humor.

When the meal finally ended, Petrov excused himself and headed to the XO’s stateroom, which he and Samant had taken over while Thigpen moved in with Lieutenant Commander Sobecki and Lieutenant Iverson. His intention was to lie down and think, and hopefully lose himself in sleep, but Jerry followed him up the passageway, heading for his own quarters. The captain’s stateroom was next to the XO’s, of course, and on sudden impulse, Petrov approached him and asked, “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

Surprised, Jerry answered, “Of course,” and gestured toward the door he’d just opened.

Marginally larger than a walk-in closet, Jerry’s stateroom had the luxury of only one fold-down desk instead of two, and the extra floor space allowed room for a second chair. Petrov sat down, while Jerry dropped into the chair in front of the desk. It was similar enough to the captain’s stateroom on a Russian boat to trigger another wave of memories, but Petrov refused to give in to nostalgia.

“I have some serious questions to ask you,” Petrov announced.

Jerry Mitchell shrugged. “I’ll tell you whatever I can, Alex. After all this, there aren’t many secrets between us.”

The Russian sighed. “I hope that is true. Jerry, I learned some disturbing things listening to your president and Dr. Patterson speaking with the Indians. She described how a large number of missile warheads had been diverted and hidden in a barge off the coast of Novaya Zemlya, and that she had been part of the mission that discovered those warheads. Is this correct?”

“Accidentally discovered,” Jerry added, “as part of an environmental survey.”

“A strange place to count whales,” Petrov remarked. “But more importantly, she mentioned that she was aboard the submarine
Memphis
when they made the discovery.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Jerry looked a little puzzled.

“And you were aboard that submarine as well, as a junior officer.”

“Yes,” Jerry admitted.

“I began fitting the pieces together aboard the plane. The Northern Fleet commander, Admiral Yuri Kirichenko, was court-martialed for an incident off the coast of Novaya Zemlya, which turns out to be where he’d actually hidden dozens of smuggled nuclear weapons.”

Petrov drew a breath. “Kirichenko was dismissed from the service not because he sent the Northern Fleet on what turned out to be a wild-goose chase, but because our newest and best submarine,
Gepard
, with seventy-three men aboard, was lost in that operation. Her loss was a wound felt by every member of the navy, especially the submariners.

“I was a midgrade officer, a battle department commander on
Tigr
;
Gepard
was a squadron mate. I had competed with many others to be selected for her first crew. I knew most of her officers, some by reputation, and some very well, a few were close friends. I could have been aboard her when she was sunk.”

Jerry was listening carefully, and Petrov could see that he knew more. The American had been surprised by the topic, but had listened like someone who knew what the speaker would say.

“Tell me how
Gepard
was lost,” Petrov demanded. “You know, don’t you?” There might have been more intensity in his words than he planned, but he didn’t regret them.

Jerry took a deep breath. “Your navy found
Gepard
. The investigation determined that she had been sunk by one of her own torpedoes.”

“Yes, but what was she firing torpedoes at?” pressed the Russian. “Was Kirichenko chasing your sub when he sent all those ships and planes out?”

Petrov was watching Jerry’s face. He’d always believed Mitchell was honest and fair-minded, but the American seemed to be struggling.

Jerry sat for a moment, then another. He turned toward the desk, as if looking for something; then he faced Petrov again. “It probably doesn’t matter now, since the barge’s location was revealed to your government. Senator Hardy, my former skipper aboard
Memphis
, told me he briefed the Russian ambassador about our mission, but it was while my government was investigating the Kashmir explosion. Nothing has been made public.”

“There are many families that need to know how their loved ones died.” Petrov stated it flatly, and he could see it hit home with Mitchell. “My government will never tell them, not when it involves a breach of Russian nuclear safeguards.”