Houston disengaged the automated carrier landing system, taking manual control. After evaluating whether to ditch the aircraft into the ocean or risk a landing with one engine and a fuel leak, he decided.
“Approach, bravo-one-five. I’m bringing it in.”
Captain Randle stood on the port side of the Bridge, looking aft. The damaged Super Hornet appeared in the distance, a small gray speck growing slowly larger, wobbling as it was buffeted by strong winds. Randle’s attention shifted from the jet to the Landing Signals Officer, standing on the Flight Deck. The LSO held a radio handset in one hand, advising the pilot on engine power and glide path. In his other hand, he held the pickle switch controlling the Optical Landing System, containing red wave-off and green cut lights, which directed the pilot to either abort the landing or make adjustments during his approach.
The Super Hornet angled down toward the deck, its tailhook extended. The pilot’s control of his aircraft was impaired with the engine flameout, and if he landed late and his tailhook missed the arresting cables, he would have to bolter, pushing his remaining engine to full throttle to regain sufficient speed before he ran out of carrier deck. A bolter was always an exciting event, and with only one engine, a hazardous one.
Randle watched the green cut lights flash periodically during the jet’s descent, sending last-second guidance to the pilot. He followed the Super Hornet in, its wings wobbling one last time before the wheels hit the Flight Deck. The jet’s tailhook snagged the number two arresting wire and the aircraft screeched to a halt. Randle let out a deep breath, relieved the pilot had landed safely. However, that was one more jet down, adding to the repair department’s workload.
52
USS MICHIGAN
With his submarine at periscope depth, Wilson sat in the Captain’s chair in the darkness listening intently to the Conn speaker, which was broadcasting intercepts from the submarine’s Electronic Support Measures sensor. This evening’s trip to periscope depth had been uneventful, with the only required tasks being a radio broadcast download and a position fix for the inertial navigators. After the tense forays to the surface during the past week, in proximity to Russian combatants, tonight’s trip to periscope depth had been leisurely and stress free.
The bleeps and buzzes emanating from the ESM speaker were a foreign language to the untrained, but Wilson’s experienced ear told him there were no surface combatants nearby. Confirming his assessment, the ESM Watch called out, “Conn, ESM. Hold no threat radars.”
The Officer of the Deck acknowledged the report, and as Lieutenant Jayne Stucker rotated slowly on the periscope beside him, Wilson reflected on how the U.S. Submarine Force had changed in his almost forty years of service.
Wilson was a mustang—a prior-enlisted officer, having joined the Navy fresh out of high school. After ten years as a nuclear electronics technician, he received his commission as an officer and worked his way up the ranks, eventually becoming Captain of the nuclear-powered fast attack submarine USS Buffalo. Following command, he was assigned as the senior instructor for newly assigned submarine commanding officers, overseeing their training during tense at-sea tactical engagements as they completed final preparations for command.
When his instructor tour ended, Wilson accepted command of Michigan instead of a submarine squadron, choosing to end his career at sea instead of behind a desk. With commands of fast attack and guided missile submarines under his belt, along with several years training future commanding officers, Murray Wilson was the most experienced submarine commanding officer in the Fleet.
Michigan tilted downward as Lieutenant Stucker ordered the submarine back to the safety of deep water, and the low-level lights flicked on. Wilson read Michigan’s latest OPORD, containing the details concerning his next mission. With transit through the Suez Canal on the surface deemed too risky under current conditions and Michigan’s Tomahawk missiles no longer needed in Ukraine at the moment, Navy leadership had identified an alternate use for the guided missile submarine. Michigan’s tactical systems were being called into service.
Although Michigan was built as a ballistic missile submarine, it was a far different ship today from when it was launched three decades ago. With the implementation of the Strategic Offensive Reductions Treaty, the Navy reconfigured the four oldest Ohio class submarines as special warfare platforms. In addition to carrying Dry Deck Shelters with SEAL mini-subs inside, Michigan had been reconfigured with seven-pack Tomahawk launchers in twenty-two of the submarine’s twenty-four missile tubes.
During the conversion from SSBN to SSGN, Michigan and her three sister ships received a slew of tactical system upgrades. The combat control consoles were now the most modern in the submarine fleet, as were Michigan’s new sonar, electronic surveillance, and radio suites. The torpedoes aboard Wilson’s submarine were also the newest in the U.S. Navy’s arsenal; Michigan was fully loaded with MK 48 Mod 7 torpedoes, the most advanced heavyweight torpedo in the world.
Wilson approached the Quartermaster, seated at the navigation table. “Hand me the waterspace advisories.”
Petty Officer Pat Leenstra handed the folder to Wilson, who perused the messages, which detailed the routes of all fast attack submarines transiting across the Atlantic Ocean, so the ballistic missile subs on patrol could stay out of the transit lanes. There were two fast attack submarines, one from Groton and one from Norfolk, fresh out of maintenance periods, late to the party and hightailing it across the Atlantic toward the Mediterranean.
Wilson estimated they’d be a few hours behind, and Michigan would lead the way.
53
MOSCOW
Darkness had enveloped the Russian capital by the time three black sedans pulled up to Hotel National, not far from the Kremlin. Christine O’Connor and Dawn Cabral, weary from the long flight from Washington, D.C., stepped from the center car while Diplomatic Security Service agents emerged from the other two vehicles. Christine was looking forward to a good night’s sleep; the Russian morning would come soon enough, followed by the first day of the continental security summit. Without much prodding, Russia had arranged a reception the first evening, where the summit participants could socialize while discussing less contentious topics. It was there that their translator, Elena Krayev, would attempt to snare Boris Chernov.
While the bellhops collected their luggage, Christine and Dawn entered the hotel lobby, where they were met by Barry Graham, an aide to the U.S. ambassador to the Russian Federation. After introductions, he handed the two women their door cards, informing them their rooms were on the tenth floor. As Christine and Dawn prepared to call it a night, Graham informed them that their translator for the summit was on her way over and would arrive shortly.
It wasn’t long before Elena Krayev entered the hotel lobby, wearing a form-fitting skirt and tailored blouse accentuating her figure, draping a garment bag over a shoulder while pulling a carry-on suitcase behind her. Elena was even more stunning in person than on paper. Heads turned, both male and female, following her as she walked through the lobby.
Elena spotted Christine and Dawn and headed their way. Upon reaching the Americans, she greeted them with a firm, confident handshake. She was given a hotel room on the same floor as Dawn and Christine, purportedly in case the negotiations went later than expected, so she wouldn’t have to endure the long trek to her home on the outskirts of the city. In reality, she’d been given a hotel room nearby with the hope she could entice Chernov to her place instead of his tomorrow night. In case things didn’t go as planned and she needed assistance, a CIA extraction team was only a few doors down the hall. If they went to Chernov’s place, an emergency extraction would be much more complicated.