Ice Station Nautilus (27 page)

VEPR

“Combat Stations are manned, Captain. All compartments report ready to submerge.”

While
Vepr
’s crew prepared for combat, Baczewski did his best to conceal his anticipation. After waiting twenty years to engage an adversary, the wait was finally over. He turned to his Watch Captain.

“Submerge to one hundred meters.”

With ice keels descending to sixty meters, Baczewski ordered his submarine deep enough to avoid them.

Seconds later, the Compensation Officer reported, “Venting all main ballast tanks.”

Vepr
sank into the dark waters.

USS
MICHIGAN

“Conn, Sonar. Receiving ballast tank venting sounds, bearing two-seven-zero.”

Lieutenant Lake acknowledged the report, then informed Captain Wilson. Intel messages had reported an Akula surfacing near Ice Station Nautilus, and the Russians must have been monitoring underwater communications. It didn’t take long for Wilson to conclude why the Akula was submerging.

Wilson ordered his Officer of the Deck, “Man Battle Stations Torpedo.”

Lake passed the word, and the Chief of the Watch made the announcement over the 1-MC, which was followed by the loud
bong-bong-bong
of the General Alarm reverberating through the boat. The Chief of the Watch followed up after the alarm ceased, “Man Battle Stations Torpedo.”

Commander McNeil entered Control from the Battle Management Center, and Wilson filled him in. “The Akula is submerging. We need to be ready in case they attack. Where do we stand in shelter operations?”

McNeil replied, “The two SDVs have been launched and the shelter doors are shut. The remaining SEALs are entering Missile Tubes One and Two now, preparing for mass lockout.”

“That’ll have to wait,” Wilson replied, “until we determine the Akula’s intent. We’re a sitting duck right now; we need speed.”

Wilson called out, “This is the Captain. I have the Conn. Lieutenant Lake retains the Deck. Dive, secure from hovering. Helm, ahead two-thirds.”

As the Dive secured hovering and the Helm rang up the ordered bell, Wilson checked
Michigan
’s course. They were pointed south. As good a course as any, for the time being.

VEPR

“On ordered depth of one hundred meters, Captain,” the Watch Officer reported. “Request steerage orders.”

Baczewski checked the chart on the navigation table. Before surfacing in the lead,
Vepr
had detected the American SSGN hovering seven kilometers to the east.

“Steersman, right full rudder, steady course zero-nine-zero. Ahead two-thirds.”

The Steersman acknowledged, and
Vepr
turned east, increasing speed. Baczewski kept his eyes on the hydroacoustic display, looking for their adversary. After closing half the distance to the American submarine, the expected report came across the speakers.

“Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Hold a new contact, designated Hydroacoustic two-five, bearing one-zero-zero. Analyzing frequency tonals.”

Before attacking, Baczewski had to verify it was the correct target. There were two American submarines under the ice, and it would not reflect well on him if he sank the wrong one.

Hydroacoustic followed up, “Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Contact two-five’s tonals correlate to Ohio class submarine.”

They had found their target. “All stations, track Hydroacoustic two-five.”

After determining the contact’s bearing rate, Baczewski decided to maneuver for a second leg of analysis, to verify their target was still hovering, and if not, its course, speed, and range.

“Steersman, left full rudder, steady course zero-zero-zero.”

69

ICE STATION NAUTILUS

Inside the command hut with Brackman and Tarbottom, Christine steadied herself against the edge of the RATS console. The vodka she’d consumed had kicked in, and she was feeling the effects. There was nothing for her to do at the moment, however, so she waited while Tarbottom searched for an Iridium phone battery. He had located a phone in the command hut, only to find the battery missing, and was checking everywhere for a spare battery. At the hut entrance, Brackman had the door cracked open and was peering outside.

Tarbottom concluded his search. “No luck,” he said. “The Iridium phone is useless.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Brackman said. “
Michigan
’s SEALs will arrive soon. I think it’s time we head to the ice hole. Can we get there without being seen by the Spetsnaz at the Launch and Recovery System?”

“Maybe,” Tarbottom answered. “The control station is an open-air platform on the port side of the LARS. He’ll have a full view of the approaches, but if he’s looking the other way, we should be able to sprint from the last row of berthing huts to the rescue equipment without being seen. We can then work our way to the base of the LARS, where we can wait for the SEALs.”

“Sounds good,” Brackman said. His eyes shifted to Christine, and a concerned expression appeared. “Are you okay?” he asked. “The side of your face is covered in blood.”

She had apparently done a poor job cleaning up. “It’s not my blood,” she said, then pulled the parka hood over her head.

Brackman studied her for a moment, then opened the door wider for a better view. After verifying there was no one in sight, he led them outside. They worked their way along the berthing huts until they reached the edge of the station, then cut across to the last row of buildings. Brackman stopped at the edge of the last hut, peering around the corner at the rescue equipment.

He turned back and whispered, “There are two men on the LARS control platform. One civilian and one Spetsnaz. They’re talking, and the Spetsnaz has his back to us.” Brackman added, “The PRM has returned to the surface, so there might be other Spetsnaz around. I’m going to take another look, then sprint across if it’s clear. You do the same. Understand?”

Christine and Tarbottom nodded. Brackman looked around the corner again, then sprinted across the open space, stopping behind a rack of air flasks. Christine moved into position. Peering around the corner, she spotted the two men on the LARS control platform, about a hundred feet away. There were no others in sight.

She took a deep breath and sprinted across the open expanse, reaching Brackman a moment later. As she tried to stop, she lost her footing. It wasn’t easy sprinting while wearing heavy boots and three layers of Arctic gear, and the vodka wasn’t helping. She had trouble slowing and plowed into Brackman, who caught her in his arms.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I had a little too much vodka.”

“Drinking with the enemy?” Brackman smiled.

“Something like that.”

Brackman released her as Tarbottom joined them. Brackman took the lead again, working around the end of the air flasks, then down the starboard side of the rescue equipment. Brackman stopped when they reached the forward corner of the LARS. He knelt down, joined by Christine and Tarbottom, all three focusing on the ice hole fifteen feet ahead.

The massive frame of the LARS began moving, shifting from an inboard tilt to an outboard one, with the PRM suspended from the crossbeam. Once the PRM stopped swaying, it descended, disappearing into the water.

Tarbottom whispered, “I’m going to check to see if there are other Spetsnaz.”

Brackman nodded, and Tarbottom climbed the starboard side of the LARS to get a clear look. He clambered down a moment later, rejoining Brackman and Christine.

“There’s no one,” he said. “They off-loaded equipment into the deck transfer lock and must have returned to the PRM.”

All they could do now was wait for
Michigan
’s SEALs.

*   *   *

Beneath the polar ice cap, Lieutenant Harrison shifted the SDV propeller into reverse, slowing his ascent toward the disc of light. Chief Stone did the same, and the two SDVs coasted to a halt ten feet from the edge of the ice hole. Harrison turned the propeller off and the four SEALs exited the mini-sub, hanging on to the side as Harrison reached into the cockpit and adjusted the vehicle’s buoyancy. The SDV drifted toward the ice, bumping up against it.

Stone and the other three SEALs had done the same, and with both SDVs moored against the ice cap, Harrison headed toward the ice hole.

*   *   *

Brackman noticed it first. “They’re here,” he said.

Christine looked closely, spotting a small dark blob by the edge of the ice hole; the top half of a man’s head, wearing a black diving suit and face mask. He was staring at them, then after scanning left and right, disappeared.

A moment later, eight small blobs appeared at the edge of the ice hole, and seconds later, eight men hauled themselves onto the ice, withdrew their weapons, and sprinted toward Christine. The men formed a single line down the starboard side of the LARS, removing their scuba gear, and two SEALs stopped beside Brackman.

“I need as much information as you can provide,” one of the SEALs said.

Christine recognized the man’s voice instantly. “Jake, is that you?”

He turned toward her. “Chris? What are you doing here?”

“Waiting to board
Dolgoruky
. Apparently the Russians had the same idea with
North Dakota
.”

Harrison nodded, then turned back to Brackman. “Can you draw a diagram of the ice station, showing us where the Russians are?”

Brackman nodded and drew an outline of the station in the snow, explaining where the six Spetsnaz were, although there was a seventh unaccounted for. Brackman explained there were two men on the LARS control platform, and the Spetsnaz wore white Arctic gear, while the American wore black. Tarbottom then took a moment to explain the layout of the PRM control van and where the Spetsnaz had been stationed inside.

After Harrison conferred with Chief Stone, they broke into two fire teams. One would take out the Spetsnaz at the LARS operating station, while the other team eliminated the Spetsnaz in the PRM control van.

Harrison noticed the pistol in Brackman’s hand. “Are all three of you armed?”

Tarbottom shook his head while Christine answered, “I have a pistol.” She tried to pull it from her pocket, but it snagged on the pocket edge. After a few tugs, she pulled the weapon free. Harrison studied her more closely. Her words were slightly slurred and there was a glassy look in her eyes. Although it’d been years since they’d been out drinking, he recognized the signs.

“What the hell, Chris. You’re drunk?”

“I’ve had a few.”

“Give your pistol to Tarbottom.”

“I’m a good shot,” she replied. “Probably better than him.” She waved the gun in Tarbottom’s direction.

Harrison reached over and grabbed the gun from her hand. “I don’t want a drunk amateur firing a weapon anywhere near me.”

“I’m not an amateur.”

As Harrison handed the pistol to Tarbottom, Christine’s irritation began to mount. Harrison was treating her the same way he had in Beijing, discounting her ability. The SEALs wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her. However, considering her current condition, she had to admit he was right this time.

Chief Stone led one SEAL fire team toward the PRM control van, while Harrison led the other team along the front edge of the LARS. Christine peered around the corner as the four SEALs halted. One of the SEALs knelt on one knee and aimed his weapon toward the LARS control platform, just around the other corner.

Christine heard the whisper of his MP7, followed by the thud of a body impacting the snow. Two SEALs moved forward and disappeared around the corner, returning seconds later dragging a body. All four SEALs returned to where Christine, Brackman, and Tarbottom waited and released the dead Spetsnaz, tossing his assault rifle onto the snow nearby.

Christine perked up and turned to Harrison. “There’s an extra weapon. I could—”

“Zip it, Chris,” he said. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”

She glared at him, then sat between Brackman and Tarbottom, with her back against the LARS. A minute later, Chief Stone and the other three SEALs returned, one of them carrying a Spetsnaz over his shoulder. The Spetsnaz was deposited onto the snow beside the other, along with his weapon.

Harrison turned to Brackman, Christine, and Tarbottom. “Two down, five more to go. Since we know where four are, we’ll eliminate them next, then track down the last one. Stay here, and we’ll be back in a few minutes. Any questions?”

After Christine and the others shook their heads, the eight SEALs disappeared around the corner of the LARS. Brackman kept watch in the direction the SEALs had headed, while Tarbottom monitored the other direction. Across from Christine, the two dead Spetsnaz lay face up in the snow. She decided to keep an eye on them, just in case.

70

USS
MICHIGAN
• K-157
VEPR

USS
MICHIGAN

“Conn, Sonar. Hold a new narrowband contact, designated Sierra eight-five, bearing two-eight-zero. Analyzing.”

Standing on the Conn between the two lowered periscopes, Wilson acknowledged Sonar’s report. Sierra eight-five was almost assuredly the Akula that had surfaced nearby, but Sonar would confirm or deny his suspicion after analyzing the frequency tonals.

In the meantime, Wilson reviewed the tactical situation.
Michigan
was headed south, with Sierra eight-five on the starboard beam. He decided to maintain course long enough to obtain a bearing rate for the contact, while Sonar determined its classification.

Sonar followed up. “Conn, Sonar. Sierra eight-five is classified Akula.”

VEPR

Matvey Baczewski stood in the Central Command Post, waiting impatiently while his First Officer shifted between the fire control consoles, analyzing the data from Hydroacoustic. The American SSGN was no longer hovering; they must have heard
Vepr
submerging.

Baczewski evaluated the geographic display. Bearings to the contact drifted rapidly to the right, which meant the American submarine was headed south. Once their adversary’s course was refined to within ten degrees and its speed to within a few knots, they would be ready.