“Could this whole thing be a bluff on the part of the Soviets?
Could they be planning to use the excuse of a mutinied missile boat to launch a full-scale attack?”
The admiral stood and rubbed the small of his back.
“Interesting supposition. Captain, but most doubtful. We’ve yet to pick up any signs of an alert among their strategic forces. And then there’s the momentary landing of the Premier in Los Angeles.
That would be a hell of a way to start a war, with your leader at ground zero in the enemy’s homeland.”
“Who knows — perhaps Rodin is merely playing the part of a sacrificial goat,” Cooksey said as he stood to accept his commanding officer’s handshake.
“Good luck, Michael. How about sharing a round of golf when this whole fiasco is over with?”
Cooksey answered sincerely.
“I’d like that, Admiral.
I really would.”
“Keep your sensors peeled for that renegade Alfa,” Miller added.
“By the way. Admiral, what’s the Triton to do once we tag this Delta?”
Miller’s response was firm.
“Unless you hear from me otherwise, blow them away. Captain! You’re to go into this just as if a state of war indeed existed.”
Cooksey saluted and left the office, with Admiral Miller’s final instruction echoing in his head.
Chapter Nine
Deep below the Pacific, the Vulkan surged ever southward, its dual shafts propelling it at a speed well over thirty-five knots. Rigged for quiet running, the 509-foot vessel sped ahead in near-total silence; the only sounds it produced were the hiss of the seawater passing through the vessel’s missile casing and the popping cavitations on its propellers.
Inside the sub, the crew remained at General Quarters for what they assumed was another one of the endless exercises. But behind the locked doors of the wardroom, a dozen of the ships senior officers sat in rapt attention, their eyes focused on the tall, blond-haired figure who had called them together.
Petyr Valenko stood at the front of the room behind a compact wooden lectern. He spoke forcefully, his words delivered with crisp precision.
“Comrades, as the Vulkan’s senior officers, it is my duty to inform you that, at 1330 hours today, I confirmed the receipt of a Red Flag war alert. To my knowledge, this is no mere exercise. You are all aware of the explosion and shock-wave that we recently rode out. We believe this emanated from a torpedoed surface ship, which we have yet to positively identify because of a malfunction of our sensor recording equipment. If that action was indeed a hostile move on the part of the enemy, I fear this alert is most real.”
Valenko paused briefly to let the information sink in. Shocked expressions proved that his audience had been listening. He cleared his throat and continued.
“I am just as astounded by this revelation as you are. As soldiers, we have been well aware of the possibility of this day. Somehow, we thought it would never come; yet, here we are. No matter who is at fault, you can be assured that the Vulkan will do its best to defend the Motherland.
“A Red Flag alert is the ultimate call to war.
Because an enemy first strike could knock out command’s ability to contact us, the alert itself is all that’s needed to authorize a launch. At the receipt of this signal I was required to open the sealed operational manual which is kept locked in my safe. It was at this time that I first saw the Vulkan’s war orders..
“Our mission is a simple one. We are to stay submerged and undetected, while proceeding with all due speed to our patrol quadrant on the southeastern edge of the Emperor Seamount. At 2130 hours we will ascend to launch depth and unleash our load of sixteen SS-N-18 missiles. In this manner, the Rodina shall be served!”
As his words rang out, an anxious wave of nervous chatter flowed through the wardroom. Most aware of their concern, Valenko added, “Naturally, your first thoughts must be for the safety of your loved ones back home. As of this moment, I have no idea if nuclear weapons have yet been exchanged. Since this is the case, I have decided to exercise my command prerogative and order the Vulkan to attain communication depth at 2100 hours. We will then contact the NAVCOM satellite to confirm that a state of nuclear war exists.”
“A clamor of excitement spread through the officers as Ivan Novikov rose and spoke out sharply.
“But Captain, won’t such an ascent needlessly endanger the Vulkan’! As you’ve so eloquently stated, the receipt of a Red Flag alert is more than sufficient to warrant a launch. And besides, doesn’t the sinking of the ship topside prove that hostilities exist? The imperialist’s anti-submarine-warfare tactics are too accurate for us to so needlessly expose ourselves.”
A murmur of consenting comments followed. Valenko took in these remarks and said firmly, “It. is my command opinion that the risk must be taken. I am not about to commit this vessel’s warheads to a conflict that may not even exist. We’re talking about the lives of hundreds of millions of people. Comrades.
Can we gamble them against the receipt of a single alert transmission?
Since there was not even a hint of international crisis when we put to sea, I must insist that this preliminary ascent is warranted.”
“But the explosion topside!” whined the zampolit.
“How can you ignore it?”
“Comrade Novikov, please control yourself. Even if we could confirm that it was one of our ships being attacked, I would still stick firmly to my decision. The loss of a single vessel is one thing, the end of the civilized world is quite another.”
Again the nervous sound of chatter filled the wardroom.
With a shrug of his shoulders, the political officer reseated himself. The captain watched as Novikov traded a silent glance of concern with the doleful eyed senior lieutenant, who sat stiffly beside him.
In an effort to regain control, Valenko raised his hands for silence and spoke out loudly.
“Until this final confirmation has been achieved, it is my wish to keep knowledge of this alert to ourselves. Only after NAVCOM signals us that a nuclear war prevails will I inform the rest of the crew. I know the hours until that time will be long ones, but I am counting on you to do your duties to the best of your abilities. For the next sixty minutes I will be available in my cabin for any of you with individual questions. That is all.”
A second of strained silence followed as Valenko turned toward the wardroom’s exit. As he broke the hatch, the sound of the babbling officers rose in crescendo.
Thankful that this dreaded encounter was over the captain quickly proceeded to his private quarters.
This took him to the bow portion of the boat, on the deck immediately below the vessel’s control room.
His contact with other members of the crew was minimal as he progressed down a narrow, tube-lined corridor, ducked through a hatchway and, utilizing a plastic keycard, entered his locked domain.
Though cramped and sparsely furnished, at least his cabin offered a place to be alone. At that moment he relished his privacy as never before.
The cabin contained a fold-down bunk, a small, wallmounted desk and a single chair. A simple stool, folded into the wall, was fondly labeled the “hot-seat” by the crew members it was designed to accommodate.
There was also a private head that included a metal sink, a toilet and a cramped shower stall.
Conscious of the thick, nerve-induced sweat that stained his khaki shirt, Valenko stripped it off and went to the sink. The cool water felt good on his neck and face. After toweling himself dry, he took a second to examine his reflection in the shaving mirror. It was then he first noticed the pair of red, love bites visible on his neck, just below his right ear lobe. Like returning to a past life, his thoughts flashed back to Ivana and the night of passion from which the marks stemmed.