Black Sea Affair (21 page)

"I know it is frustrating, comrades. But we are professional officers of the Russian Air Force. And let us focus on our goal. We are not seeking a fight with the Americans. Our goal is to drop our ordnance so that that a nuclear bomb is not built by the radical Islamic forces in Chechnya."

The colonel's comments resonated. "Be prepared. Be ready. Be vigilant. Go now and do your duties." The colonel nodded at the sergeant.

"Attention!"

Alexander and the other pilots rose from their chairs.

"You are dismissed."

The USS
Honolulu
The Sea of Marmara

Other than the hum of the freighter's engines overhead, eerie silence pervaded every sector of the submarine.

Honolulu
had shut her engines to avoid any possible sonar detection, and the sub was being carried through the water in the giant O-rings under the
Volga River
's hull.

Other than coordinates on the control panel, the control room lighting was subdued.

The GPS showed them at 41.10 degrees north latitude and 29.10 degrees east longitude. Speed indicator showed the sub moving under the water at five knots. They were headed on a course of three-five-six degrees, just slightly to the west of due north.

Pete had served aboard United States submarines all over the world. The Pacific. The Atlantic. The Med. The Indian Ocean. But 41.10 degrees north latitude and 29.10 degrees east longitude was a location under the seas that he had never sailed.

Pete eyed the amber screen showing the electronic map of the shoreline above their location. Two land masses were split into by a long, narrow waterway. His executive officer, Frank Pippen, stood at his side. Their eyes met, and there was a silent look of amazement. All around the control room, men looked up in bewildered silence.

Their position -- 41.10 degrees north latitude and 29.10 degrees east longitude -- was the entrance to the Bosphorus Strait.
Honolulu
's crew could do nothing, except depend on the the
Volga River
to carry them through these dangerous waters. If the
Volga River
could stay in the middle of the channel where the water was deep enough, if the Turks did not stop her, if the sub didn't scrape the rocks in the treacherous channel, if they could make it just another nineteen miles . . .

"Ever watch
Star Trek
, Mr. Pippen?" Pete asked his executive officer.

"Watched all the reruns, Skipper."

"Remember the beginning of the show when the
Enterprise
would swoosh through the stars with the theme song and Captain Kirk's voice came on with that line about 'Space . . . the final frontier'?"

"Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it."

"Know what other line I'm thinking about if we can hang on about three more hours and make it through to the Black Sea?"

Frank smiled. "Let's see if I can remember it. Hmm. 'These are the voyages of the
Starship Enterprise
'?"

Pete's eyes stayed on the black and amber GPS monitor. The monitor now showed the submarine and the ship in the southern channel of the Bosphorus Straits, headed north, toward the first bridge spanning the European and Asian sectors of Istanbul. All around them, millions of Turks were undoubtedly carrying on their affairs in the daily bustle of one of the world's most historic and exciting cities, oblivious that a United States nuclear submarine was at this moment transiting the waters just a stone's throw from their work and play.

"Good guess, but not exactly."

Master Chief Sideman wore a sly grin on his face.

"Anybody else? Chief of the Boat? You've got that cheese-eating grin on your face."

"Would the skipper be referring to Captain Kirk's immortal and timeless declaration that the
Starship Enterprise
would 'boldly go where no man has gone before'?"

Pete felt himself smiling. "Gentlemen, your chief of the boat is a learned and articulate man of the world, having embarrassed your distinguished executive officer by reciting such valuable information -- information that is of vital importance to the United States Navy and to the security of the United States of America."

That brought a roar of laughter from the control room crew, and a "thank you, sir, " from the COB, as the electronic image of the ship and sub could be seen on the monitor turning to the northeast in the middle of the channel, and making a slow approach toward the First Bosphorus Bridge.

The laughter subsided.

"Enjoy this moment, gentlemen, " Pete said. "No matter what happens from this moment on -- whether we live or die -- at this moment you are doing something that no submariner in the world has ever done before. You are transiting the Bosphorus underwater. And if we make it another seventeen miles or so, you will be the first American submarine crew ever to go on a combat mission in the Black Sea."

Pete let that thought seep in.

"In the next few days, I expect things to get hot for us. But no matter what, gentlemen, always remember that you were here. Now." He looked at every one of them, fighting back tears. "And always remember, I am very proud of you -- each and every one of you."

"We're proud of you, Skipper, " one of them said. "We're in this together."

The control room fell silent again, except for the faint hum of the freighter's engines above. That seemed appropriate, given the gravity of the moment. All eyes went back to the black and amber screen. They were now passing under the First Bosphorus Bridge.

Pete contemplated it all.

If the Turks were going to stop them, they probably would have by now. His sub was making history. But this history would never be recorded in the books or studied at the Naval War College.

They passed under the First Bosphorus Bridge, beginning a slight turn to the left, now on a course due north and headed toward the second bridge.

If this would be his last mission, if he would soon die, if he would sacrifice all for country and was about to lead his men to their watery graves with him, why not let his mind linger a little longer on the eternal memories he had left behind. Coley crossing home base after his first home run. Hannah beaming from getting superior scores at "Miss Michelle's" dance competitions. The children's first communion. Making sandcastles and sandsharks during summer vacations at Hilton Head. Their giddy laughter when playing "tickle monster." Their first steps. He was there for it all before the divorce.

In the silence of the moment, he envisioned the last time he saw them. For in three hours, God willing, there would be no time for daydreaming. Twenty miles into the Black Sea,
Volga River
would retract her giant O-rings, and
Honolulu
would be set free to become again what she was meant to be: a deadly hunter-killer of the depths.

He would find and destroy the
Alexander Popovich.

The rest would be in God's hands.

CHAPTER 13

Erebuni Air Base

Outside Yerevan, Armenia

Captain Alexander Giorsky sat in the cockpit of his MiG-29 Fulcrum at the end of the runway at Erebuni Air Base. The Fulcrum was armed with the latest laser-guided air-to-surface missiles, soon to be delivered courtesy of the Russian Air Force to targets around Grozny.

But Giorsky wasn't concerned about the ground munitions at the moment. Rather, his focus was on the R-73 Archer air-to-air missiles that he would fire at an American fighter.

The MiG-29 had defeated the American-built F-16 on many occasions in war games conducted by the German Luftwaffe. But the F-15 Eagle was another question. The twin-engined Eagle was not as good as the U.S. Navy's now-retired F-14 Tomcat, nor was it as nimble as the smaller F-16 Falcon. But the Eagle was much faster than the Falcon, carried more Sidewinder missiles, and had a better long-range attack capability. Still, the Eagle would have its hands full againt the MiG.

The final check on the R-73 Archers showed them ready to go. The R-27 Alamo medium-range air-to-air missiles were mounted and ready.

Giorsky signalled thumbs-up to his wing man, Junior Lieutenant Staas Budarin, who sat in the cockpit of the Fulcrum at the end of the runway just behind him.

Captain Alexander Giorsky could not suppress his adrenalin at the prospect of tangling with an American F-15 Eagle. If so, he would show the Americans that the MiG-29 Fulcrum was the best jet fighter in the world, and that Russian pilots were the best in the history of air warfare.

The
Alexander Popovich

The Black Sea

She weaved her hand through his outstretched elbow, plastering a smile on her face. When his bloodshot eyes and lecherous grin turned her way, she brought her other hand to his elbow also, for added spice. They stepped onto the main deck of the freighter. Cool breezes from the blue waters of the Black Sea chilled her all over.

The children were playing and laughing over in the center of the main deck. One of them spotted her, followed by shouts of "Masha! Masha!" They charged her with arms outstretched -- all twelve of them -- like a stampede of wild horses.

She released the man who would have her dead and kneeled down, holding her arms wide open. Little Dima was the first to embrace her. Blonde and scrawny, his slightly crossed blue eyes radiated like the full moon through the thick glasses that the Allisons had bought for him.

But his smile! Oh, how his smile could light up a room. Or a house. Or a city block for that matter!

She would have never admitted it, but Dima was her favorite. She would adopt him if she were married and could afford it.

Her arms wrapped around him tightly, and her hands felt the leathery third-degree scars all over his back. Scalding water poured on him by an abusive parent had nearly killed him. When a relative called the police, they snatched him out of the hellhole where he was living and brought him to the orphanage.

"I love you, Masha!" He smiled and planted a huge kiss on her cheek.

She kissed his forehead. "I love you too, Dima."

Sasha, Katya, Svyetlana, Staas, and the others rushed her like little ducklings swarming their mother. They hugged and kissed and kissed and hugged. She let all twelve of them get into the act before she said anything.

"Children, this is
Kapitan
Batsikov. He is the captain of the
Alexander
Popovich.
He came down to meet you! Would any of you like to ask questions to a real sea captain?"

"
Kapitan
!
Kapitan
! Can I drive the ship?"

"
Kapitan
! I want to see them making the food!"

"
Dah
! Me too."

"Children! One at a time!"

They hushed but kept raising their hands and standing on their tiptoes.

"Let me handle this!" Batsakov said in a grandfatherly voice. He went down on one knee. They surrounded him. Masha wanted to vomit.

The knife was tied to her thigh with a scarf. She considered driving it into the man's back.

She glanced down at Dima, whose eyes were glued on the captain. She would rather go to prison than let him die.

"Miss Katovich!" Masha realized that the captain was calling her name. "They want to know if they can go swim with the dolphins. What do you say?"

"Oh, I think the water is too deep and we are too far from shore!" she said.

"Besides, " Batsakov added with a sinister laugh, "you might get eaten by the sharks! Ha, ha, ha!"

"You mean there are really sharks out here?" Sasha's eyes were bug-eyed.

"
Dah
!
Dah
, " the captain said. "These waters are filled with sharks. If you ever fall overboard, better to let yourself drown, because soon the sharks will come and bite off your feet, and then bite off your legs, and then . . ."

"Really?"

"
Dah
!
Dah
!" the captain continued. "And then they will eat your arms and your head and save the rest of your body for the crabs! Ha! Ha!"

Their eyes widened. Masha wanted to plunge the knife in his back.

"And now, children, I must go. Miss Katovich and I have a dinner date. But do not fear, " the captain said. "My friend Aleksey here will take good care of you while we are gone. He is a
real
sailor and he will show you the ship. He will answer any more questions you have. And when the time comes, he will put you all to bed!" He turned to Masha, extending his elbow again. "Shall we?"

"Of course,
Kapitan
, with pleasure." She took his elbow. "Have fun with Aleksey, children!" Her eyes caught Dima's. He looked bewildered, probably because she was with a man. "I will see you all soon!"

They ascended a steel stairway leading back up toward the captain's stateroom. He turned to her. "What did you think of my child psychology?"

"Child psychology?"

"Telling them the sharks will eat them! Now they will not get too close to the side of the ship, and will not fall overboard! Ha! Ha! Ha!"