The shattering sound of the Gatling gun was cut short by the impact of the missile in Perry’s, midsection. It detonated under the torpedo room. The port-side torpedo tubes were blown over the side; the automatic 76mm gun was damaged; the nearest gas turbine under the blast was disabled; fires spread quickly on three deck levels. The captain could see nothing of his ship from the impact point on back — he had no idea whether or not she would be able to continue the attack.
He called for the rudder to be put over — Perry responded. But with only one engine functioning, his speed had been cut considerably. The torpedoes he had planned to use while they finished reloading the starboard tubes were gone. He had only one torpedo ready, and one helo that he had no idea whether or not he could launch, and a ship that was burning badly.
What he still had was sonar contact, and he conned his ship down the throat. He intended to take the second sub with him. Closing was difficult. His speed was diminished and Perry had been holed below the waterline. As he moved through the water, he was forcing the ship to fill faster than it normally would have. He was shortening her life — the weight would slow her and lessen her maneuverability. But that was his last concern at the moment.
Sonar had a solution: they could fire their remaining torpedo! He brought Perry to the recommended firing course. He saw his own torpedo hit the water, porpoise for an instant, then dive.
“Sonar reports torpedo running smoothly. Sonar reports other torpedoes in the water.” The Russian submarines had also fired at least two tubes. They waited.
Perry was now leaning heavily to port, smoke pouring astern. But she still was able to make about ten knots — she might still have a chance. The captain eased her on to a new course, directing his bow toward the oncoming torpedoes, and waited.
The first hit was Perry’s. It was definite. The cheering from sonar spread to the bridge. But the last report from sonar was of torpedoes closing. The sonarman had been making his report just before their own hit. Now they would hear nothing after the explosion in the water; they would not be able to track the incoming torpedoes.
Wham! Perry’s bow rose out of the water from the impact, the explosion of the Soviet torpedo lifting her, shaking her 3,500 tons like a child. When she settled back, the bow, from the missile launcher forward, was gone. There was no need for a second torpedo. Flames licked back over the forward section of the ship. Before the captain could give orders to abandon ship, the missiles in the forward magazine exploded. What was left of the little ship plunged like a rock.
A helicopter from one of the two remaining frigates arrived on the scene moments later. It found Perry’s sister ship still burning. It found remnants of Perry herself. And in separate locations, it identified what were later considered remains of two submarines.
Oliver Hazard Perry had begun the legend of the Battle of the Mediterranean one day prior to D-Day!
SPITZBERGEN
Ryng was aware of an internal struggle. It was the body’s automatic reaction to returning consciousness… get those eyes open… identify your surroundings… let the rest of the body know where it is.
One eyelid opened slightly. A sliver of light penetrated, but something else held firm. He reached up tentatively. The eye was crusted. Cautiously, he rubbed, gently removing whatever held it partially shut. He removed his hand. Light flowed in, creating a sharp pain. He blinked, closing his eye, then opening it slowly until the discomfort subsided.
Ryng knew instinctively that he must locate his surroundings before moving. But nothing registered. Nothing. Sand, gravel, pebbles. A breeze blew something that brushed his face. He rolled the eye up. A bush of some kind.
Svalbard! That was it! Spitzbergen — that island in the middle of nowhere. Longyearbyen! Russian bombers. Black Berets. Their boat. Theirs? That’s right. Denny? Forget it. Denny’s dead — no head left. I’m alive.
Why? Rockets… machine guns… depth charges…
Hold it! That’s it…depth charges. That’s what happened. Son of a bitch!
It came back now… flash… flash… flash!
The tremendous kick in the guts… shit, no! All over. That’s what happened. I swam for it. Helo disappeared for some reason… smoke! That’s it! That’s why I’m still alive. The son of a bitch couldn’t stay up any longer… maybe thought I was dead. But, a signpost in his unconscious flashed — I survived!
Smell returned. And with it his stomach churned, for he was lying in his own vomit. It wasn’t just salt water. That’s why his eyes were stuck shut — must have been face down in the stuff!
Cautiously he rubbed around the other eye, gently blinking it open. Christ, they stung. Why the hell shouldn’t they? Salt water, gravel — what a hell of a paste.
He rolled slightly to search for the sun. Forget it! Almost twenty-four hours of sun up here — no way to tell the time.
He was about to get to his knees when something in his subconscious rebelled. Listen!
There it was, only louder now. The realization came quickly. Only one thing made that steady, monotonous tone, that thrum, that relentless beat as it drew closer. He couldn’t see it, but he knew without a doubt it was a helicopter.
No dummies, those Soviet marines! They knew better. They were trained just like he had been. No body, no proof of death. Bring back the body and that job’s finished, then get on to the next body.
That helo that had gone down smoking must have informed base that they were dropping depth charges, using their last available weapon because they’d seen a body still moving down there. They’d all know there was no reason it should survive a depth charge. But they were also the type that knew, just like he would, that you never trust to luck — or even probability — that your enemy is dead if your enemy had just done what Ryng’s team had. Bring us a body, their leader would say, or just part of one. An arm or a leg will do. But bring back something to prove we don’t have to worry for the time being.
Whump… whump… whump. Now he knew where it was — almost overhead. They hadn’t seen him or the change in rotor beat would have indicated that they were hovering.
But they were covering that forsaken beach very slowly, looking for any trace that would either prove he was dead or tell them where he’d gotten to.
Ryng rolled his head, staring up. He was looking through the branches of the scrub brush. He put his head back down, satisfied that he was under some sort of cover for the time being. He felt the ooze as he rested his head on the ground, but there was no point in moving. Even as the stink came back to him again, he knew he would be crazy if he moved another muscle.
Almost on top of him now. He could feel the draft of the rotors. He caught the first movement of the bush above him, then the increased shaking as the helo passed directly overhead. Dust churned up around him, assaulting his eyes, working into his nose and mouth. Instinctively, he moved both hands over his face, covering it as best he could without moving the rest of his body. He would be harder to see through the dust, but he was damned if he’d do anything that would give them the slightest chance. There wasn’t much cover around him. The brush was about the only thing he remembered that gave any shelter as he crawled up that beach. But when? Minutes, or hours ago?
Don’t move, he ordered himself. No automatic reactions. Don’t roll over. Don’t pull your knees up. Don’t do a damned thing but cover your face. Save those senses ’cause you’re going to need them later. Blow it now, and all you’ll know is lead. The last sound you will hear, Mr. Ryng, his brain repeated again and again, is your own scream. So just take your shit like a man and in a few moments they’ll move on and you can take inventory. In just a few moments, you’ll find out whether you can move, whether you’re going to have a chance of getting your ass out of here, or whether carrion-eating seagulls are eventually going to lead them to your body. Again and again, the same voice repeated itself, just as he had trained himself to do years before, letting the mind take over, letting it control the body. Sometimes it made the body do superhuman things and sometimes it taught the body to stop.