It appears that they had been in the process of significantly increasing their speed to intercept the cruiser when we intervened. As of that moment, their range had kept them from either receiving a clear message or transmitting one of their own.”
“Is there any sign that the Vulkan knows of our presence?” quizzed Dzerzhinsky.
“I seriously doubt it. Captain. Their sonar remains on passive search, and I believe that they are not yet fitted with the new remote-controlled units as we are.”
Dzerzhinsky exhaled a long sigh of relief.
“I don’t have to remind you. Senior Lieutenant Nikulin, how important it is for us to keep well out of the Vulkan % range. Above all, they mustn’t find out that we were responsible for the Natya’s sinking.
Activate the anechoic sonar masking device, and rig the boat for a state of ultra-quiet. We’ll remain here for several hours while the Vulkan continues on to its patrol sector.”
Again Nikulin clicked his heels, then turned to enforce the orders.
When the captain turned to survey the periscope well, he was relieved to find that Boris Karpovich was gone. Not having the stomach to check the fate of the last of the cruiser’s survivors, he reached over and hit the hydraulic switch that sent the scope down with a loud hiss.
The captain knew he was fortunate that the senior lieutenant had arrived when he did. Otherwise, he would have said something to the zampolit that he might have later regretted. The next few hours would be equally as tense, and it would be best for all concerned if the political officer stayed as far away from the captain as possible. His current duty was difficult enough without having that arrogant slob around to aggravate him.
The Cheka had a single, vital mission now, and nothing must get in the way of achieving it. Protecting the Vulkan had to be the number one concern of every crew member. It would be a difficult task, but not an impossible one. Invigorated by the challenge, Dzerzhinsky pushed himself to the plotting board.
Here he began working on the most efficient course to take them to the Vulkan’s preplanned launch site.
Chapter Eight
Viktor Rodin had never been the type of person who was overly worried, yet this long afternoon proved a rare exception. With three and a half hours to go until his plane touched down at Los Angeles, the Premier sat at his desk, picking nervously at a plate of fruit.
Except for the normal sounds of the IL-76 in flight, a hushed silence possessed the cabin. As he had for the majority of the trip from Petropavlovsk, a single individual shared his private compartment.
Stanislav Sorokin sat at the conference table, hastily transcribing a coded transmission only recently received from the underground national command center, buried some fifty kilometers from the outskirts of Moscow.
The whitehaired admiral looked every bit his age, and then some. Rodin couldn’t ignore the strain and anxiety so visible in his companion’s face. He had been taking their predicament just as seriously as had the Premier. Of course, he had every reason to: the forces responsible for this current mix-up were under his direct jurisdiction.
Rodin was in the process of slicing into a large green pear when his desk phone rang. Wiping his hands on a napkin, he quickly picked up the receiver.
The sound of static was loud, yet a familiar, strained voice was still audible.
“General Secretary Rodin, this is General Kirovakan.
I’m afraid I have most unsettling news. It appears as if the cruiser Natya has gone down in the North Pacific with a loss of all hands. Not only have all attempts on our part to reach the ship been unsuccessful, but the results of a recently concluded reconnaissance flight have just reached us. The pilot reports a large oil spill in the sector the Natya was to be penetrating. Among the bits of wreckage found floating within this spill was an empty life jacket, with the Natya’s name clearly printed on it. As of now, there are no visible survivors.”
Speechless, Rodin sat there and digested the tragic report. From the other side of the cabin, the admiral looked up and caught Rodin’s shocked gaze. The Premier abruptly diverted his glance back to his desktop. Summoning his inner strength, he found the courage to reply.
“That is indeed horrible news, General. What is the status of the alternative IL-38 relay plane?”
Again Kirovakan’s words flowed out somberly.
“Five minutes ago, the IL-38 crashed while attempting to take off from Petropavlovsk’s airport. All men aboard are believed killed.”
A nauseous dread filled Rodin’s gut as he spoke quietly into the receiver.
“This is a black day. Comrade General. Please continue your efforts to reach the Vulkan with the land-based ELF systems. I will get back to you shortly.”
The Premier hung up the phone and buried his throbbing forehead in his hands. He was struggling to focus his thoughts when his guest’s query broke the stillness.
“What in the name of Lenin has happened, Comrade?”
Rodin lifted his head and somehow found words to answer.
“It appears that the Natya … has been sunk with a loss of all hands.”
“That’s impossible!” Sorokin cried, his voice trembling.
“Tell that to the reconnaissance pilot who saw for himself what was left of this once mighty warship.
There’s not even one visible survivor!” the Premier replied icily.
The admiral’s face reddened as he sat forward, his eyes wide.
“I tell you, it was an American torpedo that took the lives of those four hundred brave men.
Open your eyes, Comrade General Secretary, the blame is all too obvious!”
Though it would be easy enough to agree with this observation, the Premier couldn’t ignore his instincts.
“We still have no direct proof that the United States is involved in this matter. After all, what would they have to gain by all this?”
“An excuse to strike us first with a barrage of nuclear warheads!”
Sorokin countered.
“This is just the opportunity that the imperialists have been waiting for. Why else have they been spending hundreds of millions of dollars to build such weapons systems as the MX and Trident missiles? If they were such advocates of peace, why build armaments specifically designed for a crippling first strike? Their President Palmer has been cleverly leading us to the gallows all this time.”
The IL-76 shook as a wave of turbulence buffeted its fuselage. Rodin grabbed the edge of his desk to balance himself, then attempted a reply.
“It is much too convenient to blame every problem that comes our way on the Americans. I’m still of the opinion that this is all some sort of internal affair. I deeply mourn the loss of the Natya’s crew, yet a larger concern faces us at the moment. If, somehow, the Vulkan indeed received a proper release code, what are the contents of its captain’s operational manual?”
Admiral Sorokin silently cursed the Premier’s stubborness. Yet, if he was going to keep the man’s trust he would have to answer his every request unerringly.
The admiral shakily stood and handed Rodin the results of the coded transmission that he had been transcribing. Rodin anxiously read the report, which was an exact copy of the war orders that were stored inside the Vulkan’s safe.
The initial instructions ordered Captain Valenko to run submerged and undetected for a period of eight hours after the receipt of the first Red Flag signal.
Only then were they to ascend to launch depth to release their lethal load of ballistic missiles.
Rodin found nothing unusual in such an attack plan. Since submarines had the benefit of being difficult to spot, it was standard procedure to hold back their warheads until after the more vulnerable, land-based ICBMS were released. What he did find disturbing, though, were the contents of the addendum attached to these orders. Starting with the PAVE PAWS radar site at Beale Air Force Base in the state of California, he took in the wide variety of targets that the Vulkan’s warheads were assigned to eliminate.