With her eye still to the periscope, Stucker pressed the button on the communication panel for the Captain’s stateroom and retrieved the microphone, then informed Michigan’s Commanding Officer of the new contact. Wilson entered the Control Room a moment later, his arrival announced by the Quartermaster: “Captain in Control.”
Wilson stepped onto the Conn. “Let me take a look.”
Stucker swiveled the periscope to a bearing of zero-four-five, then stepped back as Wilson placed his face against the eyepiece. After examining Master one, he handed the periscope back to Stucker, who continued her circular sweeps.
“Take an observation of Master one,” Wilson ordered.
Stucker repeated back the order, then hesitated. Determining a contact’s bearing was easy, but range was another matter. To determine the range, she needed to know the contact’s masthead height. To determine that, she needed to classify the contact. Submarine officers memorized surface ship silhouettes — their superstructure design, antenna placement, and weapon launcher arrangement — but it was sometimes difficult to distinguish between the various classes. Sonar would often help, classifying surface ships based on their screw configuration, but the Russian ubiquitous twin four-bladed screws on this contact provided little insight. Wilson had most likely classified the Russian warship during his brief look, but Stucker wasn’t sure.
Her hesitation conveyed her uncertainty, and Wilson gave her a clue. “If I told you Master one carries eight Sunburn missiles and two Shtil missile systems, what ship class would you be looking at?”
Stucker stopped on the contact during her next revolution, shifted to high power, and activated the doubler. Based on the ship configuration and armed with Wilson’s critical data, she now knew what she was looking at.
“It’s a Sovremenny class destroyer.”
“Correct,” Wilson replied.
Stucker called out, “Prepare for observation, Master one, Number Two scope. Use a masthead height of one-two-zero feet.”
The Fire Control Technician of the Watch (FTOW), seated at one of the combat control consoles, reconfigured his displays, then replied, “Ready.”
Stucker tweaked the periscope to the left, centering the crosshairs on the target, then pressed the red button on the periscope handle, sending the bearing to combat control. “Bearing, mark.”
“Bearing zero-four-five,” the FTOW called out as an image of the contact appeared on his console. Using the dual trackballs, he outlined the length and height of the contact, then reported, “Range, one-two-thousand yards.”
Stucker called out, “Angle on the bow, starboard thirty.”
The FTOW called out, “Matches,” indicating Stucker’s estimate of the contact’s course matched what fire control had calculated. They now knew its range and course, and with another observation in a few minutes, they’d nail down the contact’s speed.
Wilson settled into the Captain’s chair on the Conn, and as Stucker waited a few minutes for another observation of Master one, another gray superstructure appeared on the horizon, and a moment later a third. As Wilson monitored the situation on the Perivis display, it didn’t take long to conclude what was occurring. The Russian warships were sortieing from Latakia. However, they were headed in an unexpected direction.
Captain Wilson had positioned USS Michigan west of Latakia, planning to fall in behind the departing Russian warships as they headed northwest, around Cyprus, rejoining the rest of the Russian Northern Fleet as it headed toward the Black Sea. Instead, they were headed southwest.
Turning to Stucker, Wilson ordered, “Station the Fire Control Tracking Party. Rig ship for Ultra-Quiet.”
Stucker relayed the orders to the Chief of the Watch, and the announcements went over the shipwide 1-MC announcing system. Personnel streamed into the Control Room, and several minutes later, every console was manned and a new Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Charlie Eaton — the ship’s Navigator and the Battle Stations Torpedo Officer of the Deck — was on the Conn.
“I am ready to relieve you,” Eaton announced.
As the two officers completed their relief, Stucker’s thoughts went to the Russian warships headed southwest. Where the heck are they going?
29
ZAPORIZHIA, UKRAINE
From across the crowded cobblestone plaza, Randy Guimond peered through the open window of the darkened fifth-story apartment, studying the temporary four-foot-tall wooden platform, its sides draped in white-, blue-, and red-striped bunting that matched the colors of the Russian Federation flag. Although the crowd had thickened in anticipation of tonight’s speeches, the platform, with a podium placed near the front, remained empty. Guimond checked his watch; another five minutes before Alex Rudenko and his associates took the stage.
It was only a few days ago when Guimond met with Rudenko in the private room at the back of the Ukrainian-cuisine restaurant Korchma. Rudenko was a leading member of Ukraine’s Opposition Bloc, an amalgamation of six political parties opposing Ukraine’s attempt to join NATO, preferring a pro-Russian, or at least neutral, stance. Their position had strong support here in the Zaporizhia Oblast, where twenty-five percent of the residents were ethnic Russians and seventy percent of the population spoke Russian.
During Ukraine’s recent Euromaidan revolution, President Viktor Yanukovych’s Russian-leaning administration had been replaced with a pro-Western government. Public sentiment had been sharply divided, with the Donbass — the oblasts of Donetsk and Luhansk — declaring their independence from Ukraine. A full-fledged civil war erupted between the separatists and the Ukrainian government, with the Donbass separatists supported discreetly by Russian troops and equipment.
Many in Zaporizhia also favored independence from Ukraine or outright assimilation into Russia, but the oblast remained part of Ukraine. With Donbass to the north and Crimea, already annexed by Russia, to the south, Zaporizhia would be the next domino to fall. All it needed was a nudge. As Rudenko and his associates climbed onto the stage, Guimond raised his rifle to his shoulder and placed his eye to the scope.
Guimond had chosen the apartment carefully, five stories up to provide a clear view of the participants on the platform, along with a short trek down a nearby stairwell to a car behind the building. Also carefully selected was the Ukrainian-made Zbroyar Z-008 Tactical Pro sniper rifle in his hands, outfitted with a scope and five-round box magazine. Five rounds weren’t many, but would be sufficient for tonight’s festivities. Guimond was wearing gloves, so his fingerprints wouldn’t be added to those of the Ukrainian national who had unwittingly sold the rifle to an SVR agent.
Rudenko moved forward to the podium, flanked by two men on one side and a man and woman on the other. The five men and women joined hands and raised them in unity, drawing cheers from the crowd. After releasing hands, Rudenko greeted the gathering throng, his voice booming from speakers beside the podium. Guimond listened as Rudenko’s speech progressed through the expected tenets, keeping the scope’s crosshairs centered on Rudenko’s head.
As Rudenko reached the climax of his speech, advocating for Zaporizhia’s succession from Ukraine, Guimond adjusted his aim, down and to the right, stopping on Rudenko’s left shoulder. He had told Rudenko he wouldn’t be killed, but failed to mention he’d be shot.
Guimond pulled the trigger, moving to his next target as Rudenko lurched backward. Two quick squeezes and the men to the right dropped onto the podium. Guimond swung left, where the third man and the woman were scrambling toward the podium steps. Another squeeze and a round hit the woman in the side of her head, sending her tumbling down the steps. The final man dove off the side of the podium onto the cobblestone plaza, but not before Guimond put a bullet into his thigh.