“Helm one quarter, aye,” crackled back into his ears. A smooth, black, unbroken wave rolled over the Leader’s bow. The boat’s single screw, now half out of the water, chopped the wake into gray froth sixty feet behind him. A few curious gulls slid by, checking out this bulbous newcomer.
The wheel turned easy in the Captain’s hands and the Leader turned gently to port. He would put the boat with the dock on the starboard side. The sub tender could draw itself across with a minimum of fuss. The Leader was very thirsty. The final run through the Straits of Tushima had drained much of the diesel fuel needed to sustain operations. The Captain turned to his signalman behind him.
“Flash the tender. I want him to start resupply and refueling us as soon as possible.”
The signal lamp began to clatter away in the seaman’s hands as he relayed the message.
THE WAREHOUSE – ZERO HOUR
Hunter lowered his field glasses. “He’s going to put in on the west side of the dock. Probably so the tender doesn’t have to screw around too much to get him resupplied.” The dark greyness outside was getting lighter by the second. “Shit.”
Sean knew how Hunter felt. Daylight raids could be suicide.
Gayle moved up beside the two men. “It’s getting light outside. What’s the plan commander?”
“Same as before. Just ’cause there’s a little daylight doesn’t mean we can’t pull this thing off.” Hunter pulled out his sat phone and put the call in to Eisenhower. “Home Plate, launch the Alpha two element. Wait five and launch the Alpha three group.”
“Roger First Base, Alpha element engaged. Alpha one inbound your position in twenty. Squawk secure fifteen for Alpha one.”
“Copy that, secure fifteen.” He folded the phone shut with a snap. Hunter looked at Gayle. “It’s going to get hard and fast out there very quickly Captain. Are you and your Russians up to it?”
It annoyed Gayle that Hunter had not thought to include the two SAS officers in his question. Still it was expected. All of these special warfare types seemed to belong to the same exclusive boys club. She looked at the three Russians, AK74’s in their hands. They looked capable. They looked ready.
“It’s a little late to be asking that,” Gayle shot back. “But if you want my opinion, I think my team are as comfortable with those rifles as they are with tensor calculus.”
Hunter kept his face neutral. “Sorry I asked. Addison and Harris will work out your approach to the dock. They’re two of the best and we need all of the skill we have to pull this off. What you accomplish there, God help us, is up to you and the rest of your team.” The SEAL commander turned back to the other fire teams. “Get to your positions.”
“Open the forward torpedo loading hatch. Brace for the dock.” The Captain cut the screw and coasted the last feet. The Great Leader nudged against the special fenders, which had been lowered by the harbor crews from the side of the dock. The fenders were designed to protect the special anechoic tiles that covered the Leader’s bullet-shaped hull. The Captain frowned as his eyes found plenty of bare patches on the upper deck. The tiles must have been ripped off during the harrowing moments of the cargo transfer off the coast of Madagascar. He would have to get the engineer on that right away. The dock was crowded with military trucks and soldiers. The inner circle had left nothing to chance.
The front of the Leader split open as the forward torpedo hatch dropped down into the torpedo room. The Leader’s sail was just higher than the level of the dock it now sat beside. The Captain looked at the small group of officials standing at the brick levy’s edge. They were less than fifteen feet from him.
“Comrade Sung, I did not expect to see you here.”
The Captain turned around and looked at the political officer’s beaming face. He had forgotten about his toadying dead weights.
Sung was thin, cadaverous looking for one so young. His hand moved out from his side, his palm pale, the nails bitten to the quick. “I would not miss the culmination of so great a plan.” His smile was paper thin and sharp. “Especially one I have worked so hard to bring to fruition.”
There had been enough party fawning in these few seconds to last the Captain a week. He cleared his throat and cut in on the conversation before it got any more nauseating. “Be that as it may, I and my crew have fulfilled my part of this mission. One of my men is deathly ill and my forward section contaminated with radiation.” He leaned against the side of the open air bridge and looked into Sung’s face. “It would please me to no end to have these things off my boat.”
Sung turned to the Colonel behind him, his tone soft but his eyes hard. “I am in agreement. The good Captain has more than fulfilled his share of the mission.” Sung checked his watch. “And the next flyby of an American spy satellite is in one hour. Start the unloading at once. The units must be under cover as quickly as possible.”
The Colonel began to bark out commands to his men. The crane equipped six-by backed toward the edge of the dock in a grinding of gears. As soon as the rear wheels were chocked and the out riggers deployed, the crane swung around and its mottled steel cable snaked down to the waiting opening of the forward torpedo hatch.
Two Hind helicopters, painted in North Korean colors, rounded the point of the bay. Sung looked at the Colonel and nodded. He had to admit, the man was thorough in his job. He would have been surprised if he knew the Colonel thought Sung was the one to call in the Hinds. The deadly looking helicopters took up a low circling route around the middle of the bay.
The damaged warhead was the first out of the sub. The boat’s doctor had felt that a short exposure to the radiation that leaked from its cracked case would cause no long-term effects. The Captain watched the splintered crate spin slowly out of the hatch and hoped the man was right. It was not good to die from an enemy you never knew was there. A crew on the rear of the crane truck was waiting to snag the crate with loading hooks. It took great effort, but Sung kept his distance.
The morning sun began to illuminate the harbor with harsh gold light. Everything stood out in brilliant relief, a shining sepia-colored photograph of reality. They were down to the last crate. The sub tender had swung fuel lines across the dock space. Members of the Leader’s crew were topside assisting with refueling, as the Leader drank her fill. The Captain had retreated back inside the steel confines of his boat. He was glad that the political officers had decided to go ashore, and gloat beside their Comrade Sung.
New and disturbing orders had been issued to the Leader. The cramped confines of the officers’ mess was not the best place to hold a meeting, but there was nowhere else.
The Captain started the proceedings. “Well?”
The head engineer shrugged his grease-stained shoulders. “The tiles I cannot replace. We put to sea with no spares. This boat is so new, I doubt they even have any spares.”
“But otherwise.”
The Engineer nodded, “But otherwise, everything is okay. We took no major damage in the engagement with the Americans. Battery power should be up to full in about four hours.”
“Good.” The Captain turned to his first officer. “I wish we could give the men some time on shore, but we have orders to put to sea as soon as possible and begin attacks on shipping in the Strait of Tushima. I need to know our remaining weapons inventory.”
The last of the heavy crates from the Leader touched the wood on the back of the transport truck. The soldiers who had loaded them started to pull a heavy tarp across their bulk. Sung turned to the Colonel standing beside him.