During a circular tail-chase, it would be difficult to determine a solution with enough accuracy to shoot a single torpedo. However, he was confident the course, speed, and range of their adversary could be bracketed sufficiently for a salvo.
After evaluating the fire control display, Baczewski ordered, “Set target course to two-seven-zero, speed twenty knots. Use system range.”
Baczewski’s First Officer complied, then called out, “Solution updated.”
“Torpedo ready,” followed.
The Watch Officer announced, “Countermeasures armed.”
Baczewski gave the order. “Fire tubes One and Two!”
71
Lieutenant Harrison crept along the outside of the plywood hut, his Heckler & Koch MP7 raised to the firing position. Following behind him were the other three members of his fire team: Tim Oliver, sniper; Brad Kratovil, breacher; and Jim Hay, communicator. Chief Stone’s fire team had fanned out on both sides of Harrison’s team, two men per side, each man moving down a different alley between the berthing huts. Harrison stopped at the edge of the hut to examine the next row. According to Brackman, the berthing hut containing the four Spetsnaz was directly ahead. Between the two rows of huts was an open expanse of snow — a thirty-foot trek.
Chief Stone’s fire team would remain behind, providing cover, while Harrison’s team moved into position for the assault. Harrison signaled his fire team, then sprinted across the open expanse, pulling up against the berthing hut. Oliver and Hay followed, lining up behind Harrison on one side of the door, while Kratovil positioned himself on the other side, standing by to open the door. It was a simple plywood door with no locks, so no extraordinary measures would be required to enter. Harrison and the two SEALs behind him raised their MP7s to the firing position, and Harrison gave the signal.
Kratovil pulled the door open, and Harrison surged into the berthing hut, moving to his right. Oliver moved to the left as he entered, providing access for Hay.
Harrison took the scene in quickly. There were four Spetsnaz in the room. Two were sitting at a small table against the far wall playing cards, while the others were lying prone on two of the six beds in the hut.
One of the Spetsnaz at the table, facing the door, reacted immediately, reaching for his AK-9 assault rifle leaning against the wall. The other Spetsnaz at the table turned toward the door, while the other two Spetsnaz, who were still awake, rolled from their bunks, also reaching for their AK-9s.
Harrison took aim at the Spetsnaz at the table, putting a bullet in his head as his hand grasped his assault rifle, while the other two SEALs put three bullets into each man rolling from his bunk. Harrison shifted his aim to the second Spetsnaz at the table, who was also reaching for his weapon. Three more bullets neutralized the threat, and Harrison shifted back to the first Spetsnaz, verifying his first shot had killed him. A quick check confirmed all four Spetsnaz were dead.
Six down, one to go. The seventh Spetsnaz was either on patrol or in a different berthing hut. Harrison decided to inspect each berthing hut, starting with the adjacent one.
After a short discussion of the plan with his fire team, Harrison led the way to the nearest hut. Using the same procedure, Kratovil pulled the door open and Harrison, Oliver, and Hay surged in. There were two dead Spetsnaz inside. One was lying on the floor, with a puncture wound in his neck and the front of his white artic gear stained red. A second Russian sat by a table, with a hole in his left temple. On the floor beside the first Spetsnaz was an ice pick.
Oliver lowered his MP7. “Nice work,” he said. “I’d like to meet the guy responsible for this.”
Harrison spotted a half-empty bottle of vodka on the table and recalled Christine was drunk. He was pretty sure he knew who was responsible, and it wasn’t a guy. Harrison exited the berthing hut, then headed toward the next one.
Nicholai Ovechkin hitched the strap of his Izhmash AK-9 assault rifle higher onto the shoulder of his white parka as his boots crunched through the snow. It was cold tonight, but thankfully there was no icy wind cutting into his exposed face. Even so, he’d be glad when his watch was over, exchanging places with another Spetsnaz in a warm berthing hut.
Ovechkin turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. Gathered outside the Spetsnaz commander’s hut were four armed men wearing black wet suits. Ovechkin moved back behind the berthing hut, pulling his radio from its holster. He spoke quietly into the microphone, attempting to contact another Spetsnaz on duty. There was no response from Leonid. Nor Alexander or Josef. He switched channels, hailing Second Platoon at Barneo, and this time he received an answer. Reinforcements would arrive shortly.
He slid the radio back into its holster, then slipped his AK-9 from his shoulder and raised it to the firing position, looking through the optical sight as he peered around the corner. The four men were moving toward another berthing hut, but not so fast as to present a challenge. He took aim on the closest man and squeezed off two rounds, then moved to the next as the first man stumbled to the ground.
72
“Torpedo in the water, bearing two-five-zero!”
Wilson acknowledged Sonar’s report, then examined the geographic display. A red bearing line appeared, radiating from Sierra eight-five, forty degrees off the port bow. He needed to turn away.
“Helm, ahead flank. Right full rudder, steady course three-four-zero. Launch countermeasure.”
The Helm rang up ahead flank and twisted his yoke to right full, and Lieutenant DeCrispino launched one of Michigan’s decoys. A white scalloped circle appeared on the geographic display, recording the location of their countermeasure.
Wilson returned his attention to getting a torpedo into the water. His crew was still at Firing Point Procedures, but his Executive Officer hadn’t determined a satisfactory solution. With Michigan increasing speed to ahead flank, they would likely lose Sierra eight-five due to the turbulent flow of water across Michigan’s sensors. They needed to launch a torpedo soon.
He stepped from the Conn and stopped beside Lieutenant Commander Sparks, examining the solutions on the three combat control consoles. With the frequent maneuvering by both submarines, the three solutions were all over the place, failing to converge on a similar course, speed, and range of their target. As Wilson evaluated his options, he was interrupted by another announcement by the Sonar Supervisor.
“Torpedo in the water, bearing two-four-five!”
A purple bearing line appeared on the geographic display. Their adversary had launched a two-torpedo salvo. Wilson responded immediately.
“Check Fire. Quick Reaction Firing, Sierra eight-five, tube One.”
Wilson canceled their normal torpedo firing process, implementing a more urgent version, which forced his Executive Officer to send his best solution to the torpedo immediately. The Russian Captain wouldn’t know how well aimed the torpedo was, and it was better to give him something to worry about instead of letting him refine his solution and send updates to his torpedoes over their guidance wires.
Lieutenant Commander Sparks shifted his gaze between the three combat control consoles, then tapped one of the fire control technicians on the shoulder. “Promote to Master.”
Sparks announced, “Solution ready!”
Lieutenant Benjamin, hunched behind another fire control technician at the Weapon Control Console, followed up, “Weapon ready!”
“Ship ready!” the Officer of the Deck announced.