“And the hidden asset they have in this dimension. Even if we convince Kreshenko, they all have to be destroyed and all access to these blue diamonds removed. Whatever that asset is, they may have extensive firepower. The one advantage we have is the fact we know they need the Simbirsk.”
“One little flaw in these theories, gentlemen, is the fact that these so-called allies from the sea attempted to burn Simbirsk. Why would they do that unless our friend Salkukoff had another way home?”
Henri had just thrown the proverbial wrench in the works by saying what everyone else had overlooked.
“My God,” Ellenshaw said aloud.
“In my experience, Professor Ellenshaw, God has very little to do with what we do for a living. He abandoned men like us long ago.”
Henri Farbeaux walked away after giving them all the hard truth of the day.
Jack faced Jenks, Carl, and Charlie. He saw Ryan approach. He looked hot and sweaty. He stepped up to Collins.
“What did you find out, Jason?”
“Well, you won’t believe it. It’s like visiting a wartime museum down there. Colonel, this ship is packed full of ordnance. The damn Russians never removed a thing.”
“Are you going to let us in on it or what?” Jenks asked.
“I sent Mr. Ryan on a small tour of the facilities on Simbirsk. Tell them, Jason.”
“The turrets are fully functional. They have over a thousand rounds of sixteen-inch projectiles in her magazines. High and dry, and fully functional, and as deadly as the day the old Soviet Union made them.”
“What does that mean?” Ellenshaw asked.
“It means, Doc, we now have something a little more substantial in case we need it, either against our fish-faced pirate friends or…” Everett just nodded toward the anchored Peter the Great.
Charlie Ellenshaw walked away, shaking his head. Collins knew the old hippie well enough to see what was coming.
“Where does this madness end?”
Not one of the career military men had answers to Charlie’s question, especially Jack Collins.
He was also not the only one to know that the United States and Russia were already in a state of war.
16
Captain Thorne pushed the cushioned headphones harder onto his ears as he tried in vain to hear what it was his experienced sonar men were hearing. He cocked his head and then shook it.
“I don’t hear anything that doesn’t sound like static.”
“It was there, Skipper. We heard it on three different occasions.”
Thorne removed the headphones and looked at his sonar officer. “Are you sure it wasn’t whales or something else biologic?”
“Computers say no. Our program eliminated biologics almost immediately. It says mechanical.”
“Surface?”
“We don’t know, Skipper. But it seems it has a pattern. Possibly search and then silence. We just don’t know.”
“Keep on it. It may be a moot point if we don’t get those ballast pumps operational.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thorne left the sonar suite and found XO Devers. He guided him into the mess where he sat down at a table. The cooks were busy, and they were alone.
“What do you think?” Devers asked after he himself had reported the spotty contact earlier.
“It makes my decision not to release the emergency tracking buoy and transponder look brilliant. It’s a good thing we didn’t if we have a hostile close aboard.”
“Agreed. It was a stroke of luck you waited until our situation was dire enough to tell the world we were sunk — of which that aforementioned situation is fast becoming, by the way.”
Thorne smiled at Devers.
“Well, let’s take our minds off our mysterious visitors until we can do something about it.”
Suddenly, there was movement as Houston began to once more slide down along the diminishing shelf. Thorne grimaced as the noise of scraping steel against sand and rock sent shivers down the spine of all who heard it. Both officers grabbed the tabletop and held on. Their bodies swayed in a sudden stop as Houston’s bow caught on something and her slide was arrested. Both officers let out a pent-up breath.
“Now that, Skipper, is hard to take your mind off of.”
Thorne just nodded.
The time USS Houston needed to save herself was sliding away faster than their slow ride down the mountainside.
Jack was belowdecks with Carl and Jason and their ever-present company of Russian commandos who watched their every move. They had not seen Colonel Salkukoff in three hours. Kreshenko reported that “His Majesty” had retired for the afternoon. Jack suspected he was missing for other reasons, but since the crew of Shiloh was prohibited from access to the old Russian cruiser, there wasn’t much he could do about it. The personnel he had aboard was all he could expect. With the Russian captain Kreshenko still a mystery, they knew they couldn’t take him into any confidence or suspicion they had.
“There they are,” Ryan said as he raised the heavy steel gate to show them the Simbirsk’s firepower.
Everett whistled. “Now that’s old-school stuff there, Jack.”
The sixteen-inch projectiles were lined and stacked on pallets. They were secured by heavy bands of steel bracing and looked as deadly as ever. A thousand shells filled the reinforced magazine.
“The powder bags are stored over there and seem to be high and dry,” Ryan said as he pointed to another powder magazine. “They also have .50-caliber and twenty-millimeter ammunition, enough to invade a small country. That’s not even mentioning the five-inch shells for the six mounts on deck.”
“Evidently, the old girl never got a chance to fire on that Nazi sub she encountered,” Jack said as he closed and secured the magazine.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking here, Jack?” Carl said as he opened the powder magazine storage locker. He stepped back and whistled again as over four thousand silk powder bags were covered in a heavy tarp.
“I think I am. This could be our only fallback in making sure Simbirsk never sees her home again.”
“Hopefully after we hitch a ride home on her, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Jason said with not a smile near his mouth.
The old-fashioned alarm bell sounded throughout the empty bowels of the old cruiser. The three Americans quickly gained the stairs and climbed to the upper decks. The four Russian commandos were right behind them.
The sun was bright and beat down upon the one hundred men who had been transferred over from Peter the Great and now lined the rails, manning AK-47s and the Simbirsk’s old twenty-millimeter guns. Jack went to the railing and looked out over the seas at where the excitement seemed to stem.
“Look at that,” Jenks said as he joined them, wiping his hands on another old rag. Ellenshaw was with him and had to remove his glasses and clean them in order to see the magnificent sight before them.
Coming in from the north was the fishing fleet at full sail. The colors were amazing. Jack turned as more excitement erupted behind them. They ran around turret number two and went to the starboard side. There had to be at least another fifty boats with full loads of women and children heading toward the anchored Simbirsk, Shiloh, and Peter the Great.
Jack was in awe of the native spectacle. They could hear music — flutes, small drums, and gaiety. Collins smiled, and then he heard one of the Russian sailors charge his AK-47, and as Jack watched the young man, he raised the assault rifle to his shoulder. The colonel easily reached out and gently lowered the raised barrel. Other sailors saw this, and they too relaxed.