Ice Station Nautilus (30 page)

“Steersman, ahead two-thirds.” Baczewski checked the nearest depth gage. They were at one hundred meters. If their adversary was hiding behind an ice keel, he needed to go deeper, to expose the American submarine sooner.

“Diving Officer. Make your depth one hundred seventy meters.”

Vepr
tilted down as it slowed, leveling off as it approached the explosion point.

Baczewski spoke into the microphone, “Hydroacoustic, Command Post. Do you have a regain of Hydroacoustic two-five?”

USS
MICHIGAN

“Conn, Sonar. Hold a new contact on the spherical array, designated Sierra eight-six, bearing three-five-seven. Most likely a regain of Sierra eight-five. Analyzing.”

Wilson didn’t wait for Sonar’s analysis. “XO, set range to Sierra eight-six at two thousand yards, course zero-nine-zero. Speed ten.”

The range to the Akula was firm. The course and speed were guesses, but at this range, anything close would work.

Wilson followed up, “Firing Point Procedures, Sierra eight-six, tube One. Select short-range under-ice tactics. Set Enable Run to minimum.” With the last order, the torpedo would go active as soon as possible.

The watchstanders carried out their tasks, and the expected reports followed.

“Solution ready.”

“Weapon ready.”

“Ship ready.”

Wilson called out, “Match sonar bearings and shoot!”

VEPR

“Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Torpedo launch transients, bearing one-eight-zero!”

Before Baczewski could react, Hydroacoustic called out, “Torpedo in the water, bearing one-eight-zero!”

Baczewski spun toward the hydroacoustic display. A bright white trace was burning in on their starboard beam. Based on the intensity of the trace, the torpedo was close.

“Steersman, ahead flank!”

As the steersman rang up maximum propulsion, Baczewski evaluated the evasion course. He decided to place the torpedo aft of the beam, so his submarine could open range while evading.

“Steersman, left full rudder, steady course zero-six-zero. Launch torpedo decoy!”

Vepr
swung around quickly and a decoy was launched, which gave Baczewski hope until Hydroacoustic’s next report. “Torpedo has gone active!”

The torpedo going active so soon told Baczewski it had been fired from close range, which meant it would lock on to
Vepr
before the submarine could open distance from its decoy. It would also catch up to
Vepr
soon. He had to get a torpedo out quickly.

“Counterfire, bearing one-eight-zero, tube Three! Set short-range tactics.”

A target solution would not be sent to the torpedo. Instead, it would be fired down the bearing of the torpedo launch.

“Torpedo is homing!”

Baczewski remained focused on preparing their torpedo for firing. The torpedo tube was flooded and muzzle door open. All that remained was the torpedo accepting the course and preset commands.

He checked the nearest clock. He figured they had fifteen seconds left, and he turned toward his Weapons Officer, hunched over the Weapon Launch Console. Baczewski refrained from requesting a status. Forcing the Weapons Officer to reply would only waste precious time.

Ten seconds left.

The Weapons Officer finally called out, “Torpedo ready, tube Three!”

Five seconds left.

Baczewski gave the order. “Fire tube Three!”

The sound of their torpedo being impulsed from its tube greeted Baczewski’s ears, followed immediately by the deafening sound of an explosion.
Vepr
jolted forward violently, knocking Baczewski to the deck. As he pulled himself to his feet, the flooding alarm sounded from Compartments Eight and Nine. The normal white lighting in the Command Post extinguished a moment later, replaced by yellow emergency lighting. Baczewski felt his submarine slow and tilt upward, as the ocean poured into the aft compartments. With two compartments flooded, not even an Emergency Blow could keep them afloat.

Vepr
was going to the bottom.

USS
MICHIGAN

Sonar made two reports over the 27-MC. The first one announced the explosion, which Wilson and his crew not only heard, but felt. As the sound of the explosion died down, a second report emanated from the speakers in Control.

“Torpedo in the water, bearing zero-five-zero!”

Wilson had already ordered
Michigan
to ahead flank and the optimal evasion course to the southeast. He ordered a countermeasure launched, then monitored the torpedo bearings. They moved steadily aft, which told Wilson the torpedo had been fired on a line-of-bearing solution, toward where
Michigan
was when Wilson fired. The bearings continued drawing aft as
Michigan
opened range, and Wilson let out a sigh of relief as the torpedo passed behind them. Then his thoughts turned to Ice Station Nautilus.

He stopped by the navigation plot and ordered, “Plot a course to the ice hole.” Petty Officer Leenstra complied, quickly determining the bearing.

“Helm, left full rudder, steady course three-four-zero.”

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ICE STATION NAUTILUS

Under normal circumstances, Christine was an excellent shot. But that was while firing a pistol at a stationary target, at a range of twenty-five feet or less. And sober. She had never fired an MP7 before, or an assault rifle of any type. Still, she figured the principles were the same. She wrapped her index finger around the trigger and placed her eye against the sight. She examined the berthing hut to her right, where a Spetsnaz in his white Arctic gear was partially hidden around the corner of the hut, firing his assault rifle. Christine took aim, let out a slow breath, and was about to squeeze the trigger when she felt another tremor through the ice.
Michigan
must have survived the first torpedo explosion and was dueling with the Akula.

She hoped luck was with Wilson and his crew as she focused again through the MP7 sight, exhaled slowly, and squeezed the trigger. A chunk of plywood splintered from the corner of the hut just above the Spetsnaz’s head. He pulled back, out of sight. A few seconds later he peered around the corner again and Christine compensated her aim, bringing it down and to the right slightly, and squeezed off another round. A puff of snow flew up at the man’s feet. Christine adjusted her aim again and was about to shoot when a barrage of bullets pinged against the side of the decompression chamber, and two bullets thudded into Tarbottom’s body, only an inch below her face.

She put her head down until there was a pause in bullet impacts, then looked up again. The Spetsnaz was firing again, this time in her direction, and another bullet thudded into Tarbottom’s body. Christine aimed and fired again, but this time there was no indication of where her bullet hit. She must have missed to the right, the bullet passing by in the open air.

Christine fired her MP7 each time the Spetsnaz appeared around the corner of the hut, and although she wasn’t doing a spectacular job of killing Russians, she figured she didn’t need to. They were in a stalemate. Christine and the other Americans only needed to keep the Spetsnaz at bay until the rest of
Michigan
’s SEALs arrived, then the tide would turn in their favor. Assuming
Michigan
survived, of course.

Two more bullets impacted metal nearby, this time behind and just above her head. Another Spetsnaz, hiding behind a different hut, was also shooting at her. Christine alternated between the two Spetsnaz, and she thought she finally hit one, but wasn’t sure. A Spetsnaz appeared a few seconds later, and she couldn’t tell if it was the original man or a replacement. She took aim again and squeezed the trigger, but this time her MP7 didn’t fire. She was out of bullets.

She slid down behind Tarbottom, then searched his parka pockets for the pistol she had given him. She found it, and as she retrieved the pistol, the sound of gunfire diminished, then ended, enveloping the ice station in eerie silence. A few Spetsnaz were still visible, but were no longer shooting. She wondered if Harrison, Stone, and Brackman had also run out of ammo.

The Spetsnaz disappeared behind the huts, and as Christine wondered what was going on, they reappeared simultaneously, firing a heavy barrage of bullets, which pinged off nearby metal components and thudded into Tarbottom’s body. She ducked her head behind the Australian, waiting for the barrage to fade, but when it didn’t, she looked up. A dozen Spetsnaz were sprinting across the open avenue between the huts and rescue equipment. She took aim with her pistol and fired twice at the nearest man, who went down. She swung her pistol toward the next Spetsnaz, but he reached the port side of the rescue equipment, hidden from her view.

There were two Spetsnaz around the corner of the decompression chamber, only a few feet away, while a third was to her right, hidden by the habitrail. It wouldn’t be long before they advanced, and who survived would be determined by who had the quicker reaction time and better aim. Against three Spetsnaz, she didn’t have a chance.

Christine was in an untenable position. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted back toward the starboard decompression chamber, ducking under electrical cables connecting the equipment. Upon reaching the starboard chamber, she positioned herself at the corner, her pistol extended, waiting for the Spetsnaz to advance.

81

USS
MICHIGAN

Michigan
was traveling at ahead flank, and Commander McNeil felt the tremors in the deck as he climbed into the starboard Dry Deck Shelter, joining the dozen SEALs inside. He would normally have remained aboard
Michigan,
but after their encounter with the Akula, he was certain the Russians on the surface had been alerted. Lieutenant Harrison and his men would soon be engaged by the second platoon of Spetsnaz, and McNeil decided every remaining SEAL, including him, would ascend to the surface.

The vibrations in the deck eased, and the lighting in the hangar extinguished, allowing eyes to acclimate to the dark water outside.

A minute later, the diver at the forward end of the hangar announced, “Flooding down.”

Cold water surged through openings in the deck, rising rapidly as air was vented from the top, until the chamber was completely flooded. The hangar door swung slowly open, and the two SEALs at the front of the chamber stepped to the edge, then pushed off, surging toward the surface. The SEALs behind followed quickly in pairs. In less than thirty seconds, two dozen SEALs exited the port and starboard shelters, and McNeil followed, rising toward a white, wavering disc of light in the distance.

82

ICE STATION NAUTILUS

A few seconds after Christine reached the starboard decompression chamber, the three Spetsnaz appeared, working their way toward her. She took aim on the lead Spetsnaz and fired. She was certain her bullet hit him, but instead of collapsing to the ground, he moved quickly to the side, out of her view. The other two Spetsnaz retreated to her left and right, hidden by the rescue components. In the still night air, she could hear their feet crunching in the snow.

The two Spetsnaz on her left reached the other side of the decompression chamber, and she could hear the Spetsnaz on her right working his way toward her. There was nowhere to fall back to; behind her was the open expanse of the polar ice cap. She could head left, toward Brackman and Chief Stone, assuming they were still alive, or right, toward Harrison. She decided to head toward Harrison, but would have to sprint past the habitrail equipment, which didn’t offer a solid shield of protection. The Spetsnaz would have a clear shot as she passed by.

She turned toward the LARS and sucked in a deep breath, preparing for the sprint toward Harrison when she heard a man’s voice behind her, speaking Russian. Although she didn’t understand what he said, his tone was unmistakable. She slowly raised her hands in the air as she turned around, spotting a Spetsnaz with his assault rifle aimed at her. He gestured toward the pistol in her right hand, and she dropped it onto the snow.

Two more Spetsnaz appeared behind the man, dragging Brackman between them. They had him by his upper arms, facedown, his head sagging. They deposited Brackman’s body beside Christine, then joined the first Spetsnaz. Christine knelt down and checked Brackman. He was alive, but unconscious, with blood oozing from a gash in his forehead.

The first Spetsnaz pulled a radio from a holster and spoke into it. He received a response and returned the radio to its slot, then raised his rifle toward Christine. It took her only a second to realize the Spetsnaz had asked for instructions on what to do with their prisoners, and the response had been unfavorable. He didn’t bother bringing the AK-9 sight to his eye; he simply pointed the assault rifle at her, and Christine heard the sound of bullets thudding into flesh.

Two of the three Spetsnaz collapsed to the ground, leaving the Spetsnaz with the assault rifle aimed at Christine. His eyes widened as he adjusted the aim of his rifle to the left. There were three more thuds and he crumpled to the snow. Christine turned around slowly. In the shadow of the LARS, Harrison and three other SEALs were approaching, their MP7s raised to the firing position, while four more SEALs were advancing behind them.

The rest of McNeil’s men had arrived.

83

ICE STATION NAUTILUS

Inside the command hut, Christine listened as McNeil conferred with Vance Verbeck, Commander Ned Steel, and the two SEAL platoon leaders, Lieutenant Harrison and Lieutenant Allen. The SEALs had scoured the ice station, killing all but a half-dozen Spetsnaz who surrendered, then freed the ice station personnel bound in the huts. McNeil assimilated the information quickly, determining the most pressing issue was the Spetsnaz takeover of
North Dakota
. It appeared the Spetsnaz intended to wrap things up and return to the Russian ice camp by sunrise, erasing their tracks in the process. Exactly what they had in mind regarding
North Dakota
was unknown, but there wasn’t much time to lose. It would be sunrise in three hours.