After treating him the best he could, Valenko began his present vigil, ever aware of each passing second. If he was going to act, it would have to be within the hour. He could tell from the loud drone of the Vulkan’s engines, that they were continuing to their launch position at flank speed. The fact that this position was located in the eastern most portion of their patrol sector proved that their targets were not limited to America’s west coast. Because of the limited range of the SS-N-18s, each kilometer that the Vulkan moved east brought the warheads that much closer to being able to cover the entire continent.
Unable to rely on the help of his crew, Valenko knew that he would have to stop this insanity by himself.
Though he would have preferred to have the which man assistance, it didn’t appear that Kuzmin would be able to rise to the occasion.
Valenko reflected on the great responsibility that rested on his shoulders and inwardly trembled. To fail would mean the possible loss of untold millions of innocent lives. Though he had some knowledge of the assumed effectiveness of a surgical nuclear strike, he doubted that the West would be totally decapitated.
Surely portions of their command and communications systems would still remain operational. Infuriated by this unwarranted attack, the Americans would strike back with every warhead they could muster.
Their Trident submarines alone contained enough destructive capability to give the Motherland a fatal blow. Since these vessels were extremely difficult to track down, they could lie in waiting for months, biding the moment until revenge would be theirs.
Try as he could, Valenko failed to determine the motive that had inspired such a crazed scheme. The Premier had come out strongly against any first use of nuclear weapons. Valenko had met him only a few days before. Not only did Viktor Rodin seem to be a man of his word, he also appeared to be sincere about his present mission. Hadn’t the summit with the American President been convened to make such an attack even more of an impossibility? And why time this blow to coincide with the General Secretary’s visit to America?
There was no doubt that a dangerously sick minority was responsible.
Most likely holding high positions in the seat of the government, these conspirators genuinely believed that Rodin was the traitor for sincerely desiring peace.
Valenko had long ago come to terms with the awesome killing potential inside of the Vulkan’s missile magazine. A trained, loyal warrior, he swore to protect the Rodina without undue questions. As he viewed the current situation, there was little doubt that the Motherland’s most dangerous enemies were inside the Vulkan’s hull. No matter the risks, he had to stop them before the peace of the entire world was needlessly threatened.
Again he checked his watch and realized it was time to move. As he splashed cold water on his face, Valenko was aware of a stirring in his bunk. Quickly, he looked back into the cabin’s interior. Meeting his hopeful stare, was a dazed but conscious Stefan Kuzmin. The captain ran to his side as the which man struggled to sit up.
“Easy now, Stefan. You took quite a blow.”
Valenko caught the warrant officer as he fell back dizzily.
“What happened. Captain?” Kuzmin said weakly.
“The Senior Lieutenant and the zampolit brought you in about an hour ago. I don’t know what hit you, but for a while there I was afraid that you’d never snap out of it.”
Gradually, Kuzmin’s eyes focused.
“An hour ago, you say? Have they released the missiles yet?”
Relieved that Kuzmin’s concussion wasn’t as serious as he had feared, Valenko helped him sit up.
“No, Comrade, we still have at least sixty minutes before the Vulkan reaches the launch point.”
“Then we still have time to stop them,” Kuzmin said with a bit more strength.
“I pulled up the information that you asked for, and first-strike targets have indeed been selected. Leonov caught me in the attack center. I’m afraid he knows that we’re on to them.”
“You’ve done your job well, my friend. Now, it’s up to me to make certain that those SS-N-18s go nowhere.”
“Oh, but Captain, you’ve got to let me help you!”
the which man pleaded as he struggled to stand.
Caught by a wave of dizziness, he was forced to reach out and steady himself against the wall.
“Nonsense, Stefan. You are in no shape to leave this room.”
Ignoring Valenko’s pleas, Kuzmin took a deep breath and stood up straight. This time, his balance remained steady.
“It will take more than a little knock on the head to keep Stefan Kuzmin down,” he said as he gently rubbed the left side of his neck.
“So you really think that it’s not too late to stop them. Captain?”
Realizing the warrant officer’s stubbornness, Valenko grinned.
“We can do it, Stefan. Don’t forget-there’s that new godchild of mine who I swore to protect.”
“Well then, what’s the plan?”
Valenko turned and pointed to the air-conditioning ventilation screen.
“The way I figure it, we’d better not count on the crew for any help.
Who knows what the zampolit and the senior lieutenant have been feeding them? That means that we’re on our own. Are you certain that you want to go through with this, Stefan? That trip down the shaft is hard enough uninjured.”
Kuzmin managed a smile. ‘“I wouldn’t miss this trip for the world Captain.”
Valenko smiled in return.
“If you’re really capable, I certainly won’t turn down the help.
Between the two of us we’ll have double the chance of succeeding. I think it’s better if we split up. Would you like to have a go at cutting the firecontrol system?”
“I sure would,” Kuzmin affirmed.
“Good. You hit the taiga. I’ll go forward. Each of us is only going to get a single chance. We’ve got to make it a good one.”
Once more Valenko checked his watch.
“We’d better be going, my friend.”
Fully alert now, the which man pivoted and began his way over to the wallmounted shaft, with the captain close on his heels.
For Seaman Third Class Valeri Balashikha, the day was turning out to be a most confusing one. It was at times such as these that the nineteen-year-old, dark eyed Uzbek cursed his misfortune at having been drafted into the navy. Not only was his current duty ridiculously monotonous, but his commanding officer was in the foulest of moods. This was most unlike the weapons chief. In the past, Yuri Chuchkin had been someone whom the young conscript respected. Always fair with both his praise and complaints, the chief had been more like a friend than a superior.
But forty-five minutes ago, Chuchkin had called together the twelve seamen who were assigned to the taiga and had chewed them out. Never had the seaman heard such words come from the previously goodnatured chief. After it was pounded into their ears what a bunch of idiots they were, the men were given their orders. Not only were they to repeat the same tasks that were concluded several hours before, but this time they were to scrub down the magazine with three times the effort! Balashikha knew that the military had strange ways, but this was too much.
He had received the worst assignment of all-de greasing the launch tube sealant gaskets. Not only was the work boring, it soon got one covered from head to toe with foul-smelling, slimy grease. Even as a child, getting dirty had driven the fastidious Uzbek crazy. Not one to go sliding in the mud with his fellow playmates, he preferred to stay clean and dry. This was a delight to his mother, who always commented on what an easy child he was to raise.
He would never forget how she broke out in tears when he had received the orders sending him to Sevastopol. Father took it all in stride.