As the PRM descended deeper beneath the ice cap, the pilot in the control van atop the ice reported they had gained sonar contact on North Dakota, and a few minutes later, a dark object appeared on the display, growing slowly larger until a submarine materialized from the haze. The submersible slowed its descent, and Leonov felt the thrusters kick in, maneuvering Falcon toward a hatch in front of the submarine’s conning tower.
Commander Tolbert stood beneath the Forward Escape Trunk, waiting for the arrival of the submersible carrying Vice Admiral Dahlenburg. The COB and XO were also there, while the rest of the officers and chiefs were standing by in their respective spaces. The cooks were already whipping something up to serve the Admiral after his tour. Tolbert had no idea what they would come up with, but was confident his Culinary Specialist Chief would concoct something worthy.
Seaman David Lorms was standing by with a WIFCOM radio in his hand, in communication with Control in case anything went wrong. It wasn’t often one opened a hatch while at two hundred feet. Auxiliary Division Chief Larry Johnson was standing by to drain the cavity above the hatch and open it. In the few minutes since they were notified over the WQC, everyone had scrambled into position.
A loud clank from above announced the PRM’s arrival. There were a few other metallic sounds and then silence, except for a faint humming. Several minutes passed, and then Tolbert heard the metallic tap code. Nine taps; the DSRV had formed a seal with North Dakota’s hull and pumped out most of the water in the transfer skirt connecting the two vessels.
Chief Johnson opened the hatch drain, and the residual water above the hatch flowed from the drain pipe at the standard rate, indicating the pressure on the other side was normal atmospheric, rather than pressurized to two hundred feet. After thirty seconds, the water ebbed to a halt and four taps were heard; it was safe to open the hatch. Johnson climbed the ladder to within reach of the hatch handwheel, then looked down to Tolbert for direction.
“Open the hatch,” Tolbert ordered.
Johnson turned the handwheel, and once the hatch lugs disengaged, he pushed the heavy, spring-loaded hatch up until it latched in the vertical position. Tolbert peered through the opening; the submersible hatch was open and men were climbing down. Chief Johnson dropped down from the ladder and moved out of the way, and the first man descended the ladder. He was wearing white Arctic gear instead of Navy foul-weather gear, but that wasn’t surprising given their location. The man dropped onto the deck and turned toward Tolbert.
He had never met Admiral Dahlenburg, but knew what he looked like. The first man wasn’t him. Nonetheless, Tolbert greeted his guest. “Welcome aboard North Dakota.”
The man said nothing as he took a step forward. His eyes scanned the confined space, shifting rapidly from one person to the next. The second man landed on the deck and took a step aft as a third man descended swiftly behind him.
When the third man hit the deck, he said something Tolbert didn’t understand, and the three men pulled pistols from their pockets.
Tolbert reacted immediately. “Repel boarders!”
Seaman Lorms brought the WIFCOM to his mouth, but before he could say anything, he was shot between the eyes and collapsed to the deck. Tolbert turned back toward the man in front of him, who was swinging his pistol toward his head. He tried to duck, but was too slow. He felt a hard crack against his skull, and his world went black.
Fifteen minutes later, Captain Second Rank Leonov stood in the empty Central Command Post of the Virginia class submarine, marveling at the technology. There were so many displays, consoles, and computer servers that he had difficulty grasping how much equipment they were dealing with. His order had been simple: strip all hardware of value. That amounted to pretty much the entire damn submarine.
Leonov turned as his platoon leader and six other Spetsnaz entered the Command Post.
“What is the status?” Leonov asked.
Captain Lieutenant Erik Topolski replied, “We have control of the entire ship. The crew is bound in their berthing compartment, with the exception of three watchstanders in their engineering control room. I thought it best to leave them on watch, but guarded, while the submarine’s nuclear reactor was in operation.”
Leonov nodded his approval. He had expected to board a disabled submarine, with the crew clinging to life as its atmosphere became toxic. Instead, the ship appeared fully operational. Leonov’s eyes swept around the Command Post, locating a depth indication. The submarine was hovering at two hundred feet, and he was uneasy leaving the Command Post unmanned. “Select a crew member who can control the submarine’s depth and angle, and station him at the proper position.”
Topolski acknowledged the order as Leonov examined the Command Post again. There was a lot of equipment to strip, and they had until daylight to complete their mission and return to Camp Barneo, vacating the American ice camp before implementing the last phase of their plan. They would need to move fast. Fortunately, many of the consoles were identical.
“Begin here in the Command Post,” Leonov directed. “Gut one of each type of console, and strip all servers.” He added, “Be careful with the equipment. It must be functional when it is reassembled.” He surveyed the consoles again. They were energized. “Find a crew member who can deenergize their equipment. Kill however many men you need until someone complies.”
“Yes, Captain,” Topolski replied.
Topolski issued the order to one of his men, then followed up with the rest. They removed their parkas in the warm submarine as they prepared to disassemble the Command Post equipment.
Leonov addressed Topolski again. “I will inform Captain Klokov of our status, then return with the material to complete the mission.”
Topolski acknowledged as Leonov left the Command Post and headed toward the submarine’s open hatch, then climbed the ladder into Falcon. The two attendants were at the far end of the submersible, still under the surveillance of the Spetsnaz left behind. Leonov directed the Americans to establish communications with the Spetsnaz commander in the PRM control van and Glover complied, then handed his headset to Leonov. Captain Klokov was quickly updated.
Leonov handed the headset back to Glover, then grabbed a white duffel bag they had loaded aboard Falcon on the surface. He slung the heavy bag over his shoulder, then descended the ladder into the submarine.
63
Captain First Rank Klokov stood at one end of the control van beside Peter Tarbottom, with another Spetsnaz at the other end and three Americans manning the panels between them. As he handed the microphone back to the nearest operator, the control van door opened and another Spetsnaz entered, along with a gust of Arctic air. Captain Lieutenant Kiril Boganov, head of Second Platoon, reported, “All American prisoners are bound and locked in their berthing huts, except for one man at the launch and recovery station and the four men here.”
Klokov examined the four civilians in the control van. The three men at their stations — the pilot, who maneuvered the submersible; the co-pilot, who operated the submersible’s sonar and video systems, and a third man monitoring life support aboard the submersible — appeared essential. Their boss, however, was not.
“Take Tarbottom to one of the berthing huts,” Klokov directed.