“Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Hold a new contact, designated Hydroacoustic two-five, bearing one-zero-zero. Analyzing frequency tonals.”
Before attacking, Baczewski had to verify it was the correct target. There were two American submarines under the ice, and it would not reflect well on him if he sank the wrong one.
Hydroacoustic followed up, “Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Contact two-five’s tonals correlate to Ohio class submarine.”
They had found their target. “All stations, track Hydroacoustic two-five.”
After determining the contact’s bearing rate, Baczewski decided to maneuver for a second leg of analysis, to verify their target was still hovering, and if not, its course, speed, and range.
“Steersman, left full rudder, steady course zero-zero-zero.”
69
Inside the command hut with Brackman and Tarbottom, Christine steadied herself against the edge of the RATS console. The vodka she’d consumed had kicked in, and she was feeling the effects. There was nothing for her to do at the moment, however, so she waited while Tarbottom searched for an Iridium phone battery. He had located a phone in the command hut, only to find the battery missing, and was checking everywhere for a spare battery. At the hut entrance, Brackman had the door cracked open and was peering outside.
Tarbottom concluded his search. “No luck,” he said. “The Iridium phone is useless.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Brackman said. “Michigan’s SEALs will arrive soon. I think it’s time we head to the ice hole. Can we get there without being seen by the Spetsnaz at the Launch and Recovery System?”
“Maybe,” Tarbottom answered. “The control station is an open-air platform on the port side of the LARS. He’ll have a full view of the approaches, but if he’s looking the other way, we should be able to sprint from the last row of berthing huts to the rescue equipment without being seen. We can then work our way to the base of the LARS, where we can wait for the SEALs.”
“Sounds good,” Brackman said. His eyes shifted to Christine, and a concerned expression appeared. “Are you okay?” he asked. “The side of your face is covered in blood.”
She had apparently done a poor job cleaning up. “It’s not my blood,” she said, then pulled the parka hood over her head.
Brackman studied her for a moment, then opened the door wider for a better view. After verifying there was no one in sight, he led them outside. They worked their way along the berthing huts until they reached the edge of the station, then cut across to the last row of buildings. Brackman stopped at the edge of the last hut, peering around the corner at the rescue equipment.
He turned back and whispered, “There are two men on the LARS control platform. One civilian and one Spetsnaz. They’re talking, and the Spetsnaz has his back to us.” Brackman added, “The PRM has returned to the surface, so there might be other Spetsnaz around. I’m going to take another look, then sprint across if it’s clear. You do the same. Understand?”
Christine and Tarbottom nodded. Brackman looked around the corner again, then sprinted across the open space, stopping behind a rack of air flasks. Christine moved into position. Peering around the corner, she spotted the two men on the LARS control platform, about a hundred feet away. There were no others in sight.
She took a deep breath and sprinted across the open expanse, reaching Brackman a moment later. As she tried to stop, she lost her footing. It wasn’t easy sprinting while wearing heavy boots and three layers of Arctic gear, and the vodka wasn’t helping. She had trouble slowing and plowed into Brackman, who caught her in his arms.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I had a little too much vodka.”
“Drinking with the enemy?” Brackman smiled.
“Something like that.”
Brackman released her as Tarbottom joined them. Brackman took the lead again, working around the end of the air flasks, then down the starboard side of the rescue equipment. Brackman stopped when they reached the forward corner of the LARS. He knelt down, joined by Christine and Tarbottom, all three focusing on the ice hole fifteen feet ahead.
The massive frame of the LARS began moving, shifting from an inboard tilt to an outboard one, with the PRM suspended from the crossbeam. Once the PRM stopped swaying, it descended, disappearing into the water.
Tarbottom whispered, “I’m going to check to see if there are other Spetsnaz.”
Brackman nodded, and Tarbottom climbed the starboard side of the LARS to get a clear look. He clambered down a moment later, rejoining Brackman and Christine.
“There’s no one,” he said. “They off-loaded equipment into the deck transfer lock and must have returned to the PRM.”
All they could do now was wait for Michigan’s SEALs.
Beneath the polar ice cap, Lieutenant Harrison shifted the SDV propeller into reverse, slowing his ascent toward the disc of light. Chief Stone did the same, and the two SDVs coasted to a halt ten feet from the edge of the ice hole. Harrison turned the propeller off and the four SEALs exited the mini-sub, hanging on to the side as Harrison reached into the cockpit and adjusted the vehicle’s buoyancy. The SDV drifted toward the ice, bumping up against it.
Stone and the other three SEALs had done the same, and with both SDVs moored against the ice cap, Harrison headed toward the ice hole.
Brackman noticed it first. “They’re here,” he said.
Christine looked closely, spotting a small dark blob by the edge of the ice hole; the top half of a man’s head, wearing a black diving suit and face mask. He was staring at them, then after scanning left and right, disappeared.
A moment later, eight small blobs appeared at the edge of the ice hole, and seconds later, eight men hauled themselves onto the ice, withdrew their weapons, and sprinted toward Christine. The men formed a single line down the starboard side of the LARS, removing their scuba gear, and two SEALs stopped beside Brackman.
“I need as much information as you can provide,” one of the SEALs said.
Christine recognized the man’s voice instantly. “Jake, is that you?”
He turned toward her. “Chris? What are you doing here?”
“Waiting to board Dolgoruky. Apparently the Russians had the same idea with North Dakota.”
Harrison nodded, then turned back to Brackman. “Can you draw a diagram of the ice station, showing us where the Russians are?”
Brackman nodded and drew an outline of the station in the snow, explaining where the six Spetsnaz were, although there was a seventh unaccounted for. Brackman explained there were two men on the LARS control platform, and the Spetsnaz wore white Arctic gear, while the American wore black. Tarbottom then took a moment to explain the layout of the PRM control van and where the Spetsnaz had been stationed inside.
After Harrison conferred with Chief Stone, they broke into two fire teams. One would take out the Spetsnaz at the LARS operating station, while the other team eliminated the Spetsnaz in the PRM control van.
Harrison noticed the pistol in Brackman’s hand. “Are all three of you armed?”
Tarbottom shook his head while Christine answered, “I have a pistol.” She tried to pull it from her pocket, but it snagged on the pocket edge. After a few tugs, she pulled the weapon free. Harrison studied her more closely. Her words were slightly slurred and there was a glassy look in her eyes. Although it’d been years since they’d been out drinking, he recognized the signs.