Crossing Savage (20 page)

“Range is 9,300 yards sir.”

“XO, maneuver us closer. I want to be within 8,000 yards of that Russian sub… now. Speed seven knots.” Captain Berry's return to the more formal address of his first officer signaled that the brainstorming exercise was concluded.

“Yes, sir!”

A plan was formulating in Earl Berry's head. He could not shoot the sub, and by logical extension he figured he couldn't shoot the sled either. But then again, what would be the point of that, even if his orders allowed him to shoot first? Whatever the mission had been, the sniper team was now off the island, and at least while they were in the water, they did not represent any immediate threat.

The
New Mexico
had not received any messages since their orders to remain on station and be ready to lend assistance. No one had asked for assistance, so what was he supposed to do?

Then it came to him. Captain Berry realized that his edge over the Russian sub went beyond the element of surprise. He was certain the Russians were completely unaware of the
New Mexico's
presence. More importantly, the captain of the
Saint Petersburg
could not possibly know what rules of engagement were governing the actions of the
New Mexico.

These two simple facts opened the door to a very risky and dangerous plan—but it just might work.

And if it didn't, the
New Mexico
would need to defend herself using lethal force. Hopefully, if it all went to hell, the diplomats would be able to smooth over the confrontation, and World War III would be avoided.

The sonar officer reported, “Range 8,000 yards to Russian sub.”

Berry looked again at the LCD. The two red marks were getting close. “What is the distance between the DTV and sub?” he asked.

“Approximately 600 yards, sir,” replied the sonar officer.

“XO, do we still have Mk-48's in tubes two and four?”

“Yes, sir. Tubes two and four are loaded as you ordered. The fish have been fed continuous data updates on the location of the
Saint Petersburg.
They are set to go active on command.”

“Flood tubes two and four. Then open the outer doors,” ordered the captain.

“Sir, the
Saint Petersburg
will surely hear the sounds and locate our position. She'll know we are shadowing her.”

“Exactly the point,” replied Berry.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Meier. He relayed the order. “Flood forward tubes two and four.” There was a short pause, and then he ordered, “Open outer doors on tubes two and four.”

On board the
Saint Petersburg,
the captain had ordered her to slow to all stop, neutral buoyancy, to retrieve the divers. The divers and the DTV would re-enter the sub through the torpedo tube from which they exited at the start of their mission.

Suddenly the sonar officer jumped to life, having just heard the sounds emanating from the
New Mexico.
He knew well the characteristic sounds of torpedo tubes being flooded with water, the gurgle of air as it escaped the cylindrical chamber and was replaced by violently swirling water. The sound was very distinctive, and it must be originating close by. But how could that be? They were alone. No other vessels had been detected anywhere near to them.

“Sir! Torpedo tubes flooding!” His voice was loud, louder than it should be. And then he heard the sound of the outer doors opening on the torpedo tubes.

“Outer doors opening! Sir, they are preparing to fire on us!”

The captain was totally unprepared for this. He had allowed himself to believe that they had made it this far into American waters undetected. Was he about to pay the ultimate price for his arrogance? And who was preparing to fire upon him? It had to be an American submarine, but he had no time to figure it out. He was trying to assimilate the facts and formulate a plan. The mental pressure was enormous. He had been caught completely unaware and now, with the threat of torpedoes being launched at his boat and a DTV with two divers about to rendezvous, he had to come up with a plan.

“Where is the sub?” demanded the captain.

“Southwest of our present position—bearing approximately one-nine-five degrees. Distance… about 7,500 meters!”

The captain was weighing his options. Could he be certain the American sub knew of his presence? After all, the sub was still operating with passive sonar. In this mode, they could hear, but not accurately range to targets. Maybe they were simply conducting exercises. Maybe the American captain was only ordering his crew through combat drills, just as he did. Stay calm… think… can we still extract the sniper team and depart at top speed for deep water?

“What is the location of the DTV?”

“Approximately 200 meters from extraction, sir!”

While the captain was weighing his options, the sonar officer erupted from his chair, his voice very high. “Sir! The American sub has activated its sonar. They pinged us!” No one spoke for ten seconds. Then the sonar officer reported again. “A second ping! They know our location, and now they have confirmed distance and loaded a firing solution into their torpedoes!”

That was enough for the captain. He wasn't going to let his boat be destroyed. The sniper team was expendable. Special Forces always were—they knew that.

“Full speed! Prepare counter measures! Take us as deep as you can. Heading one-four-zero degrees! All hands to battle stations! Sonar—find that American sub!”

This heading would take the
Saint Petersburg
southeast—close to the last known position of the American submarine but on a path to the continental shelf. Once there, the sea floor dropped precipitously.

“Not detecting her on passive sonar! Unless she goes active again, we won't have a position update!”

The
Saint Petersburg
was the pride of Russia. It represented the state-of-the-art in non-nuclear submarine design. She had an advanced sound-absorbing coating on her hull, but that only helped to reduce sonar reflections at long distance. Still, the captain thought they had a decent chance of escape if he traveled at the maximum speed of 28 knots. But he had to reach deep water. If the American sub did launch torpedoes, she could use countermeasures—canisters ejected from the submarine that made lots of noise—and hopefully her sound-absorbing coating would confuse the active sonar on the torpedoes.

The captain ordered, “New heading! One-five-five degrees, maximum speed!”

Captain Berry was pleased. His plan had worked. It was a bluff, of course, but the Russian captain had no way of knowing that. Meier was very much impressed, and he made a mental note to never forget this lesson. He figured it was the combination of surprises—first being very close to the Russian sub undetected and then announcing their presence by the unmistakable sounds of an impending torpedo attack. Meier smiled inwardly as he imagined the shock that must have registered in the Russian captain.
He may have even soiled his pants
.

With no time to think and the imminent threat of destruction, the Russians had little choice but to abandon their extraction plans and depart the area at the fastest possible speed. Their only other choice would have been to call Captain Berry's bluff—turn and fight.

Berry had gambled that they wouldn't choose that option. Obviously here on a covert mission and well within U.S. waters, they would not risk creating an international incident by being the first to fire upon a U.S. naval vessel. Such an outrageous act would likely lead to war. The best his country could expect would be a massive U.S. military retaliation—not good at all. In the end, the Russian captain had chosen exactly as Berry would have.

That left the sniper team and their two-man sled in the water with nowhere to go.

Yuri and Vasili had steered their sled exactly, following the GPS and inertial navigation system. Now, about 75 meters from the
Saint Petersburg,
they could just begin to make out the faint outline of the submarine. At a depth of perhaps 35 meters, she was shallow, which would make it easier for them to enter through the torpedo tubes. The submarine was stationary, and she looked huge hovering there in the dimly lit water.

Their dry suits had kept the two special operations soldiers reasonably warm, despite the fact that they were essentially motionless while being towed by the sled. Still, it would be good to be back aboard the submarine. They had learned long ago never to relax until the mission was completely over. And that meant escape—a return to international waters, undetected and safe from harm.

The distance had closed to 45 meters, and they were angling toward the bow of the submarine where they expected to find two open torpedo tubes. Yuri eased back on the throttle to control their approach speed. Just a little further to go.

All of a sudden, the
Saint Petersburg
began to accelerate forward quickly. At the same instant, they heard a deep whirring sound—the prop was cavitating as the boat attempted to sprint away from its present position. They had to get away from the stern and the massive prop. Too close, and they would be drawn into the rapidly spinning propeller and be chopped to tiny bits!

Yuri fully depressed the thumb throttle. The DTV jumped forward, and Yuri rotated the handle grip, moving the dive planes and causing the DTV to rise rapidly. Their ears popped as they climbed to shallower depths. The divers were breathing rapidly to ensure the air pressure within their lungs was constantly equilibrated with the decreasing water pressure.

Still turning to port, Yuri sensed he was now at a 90 degree angle to the departing submarine and prayed he could put enough distance between their tiny DTV and the massive propeller of the
Saint Petersburg.
He kept the throttle depressed, and the sled was now moving at its maximum speed of fifteen knots, gobbling energy from the batteries.

It seemed to take hours, but in fact, the near disaster was over in less than one minute. The submarine was departing at top speed. All that Yuri and Vasili could see was the wake of bubbles left by the cavitating prop. Yuri released the throttle and the sled coasted, slowly rising to the surface.

They bobbed in mild seas—waves averaging about three feet, the wind light at about four knots. Both men raised their dive masks and removed their scuba mouth pieces. They needed to conserve air, but more importantly, they needed to communicate.

“What the hell just happened?” asked Vasili.

“I don't know. But I'll tell you this—we came really close to becoming fish chum.”

“We have to assume the
Saint Petersburg
will not return. We will have to find another way home.”

“It will not be easy,” said Yuri. “The batteries are low. We can make it back to the island, but I don't think there is enough reserve power to reach Sand Point on Popof Island to the north.”

“With luck, we can find a generator at the cabin and recharge the batteries. But we will need to evade the Americans. Has the sled suffered any damage to the navigation equipment?”