While they waited, Ennis explained that an initial “soft” seal had been created between the PRM and submarine by a rubber gasket on the bottom of the transfer skirt. As water was pumped out, creating a pressure differential, the final seal would be metal-to-metal as the rubber gasket was depressed. The sea pressure would force the PRM onto the submarine like a giant suction cup.
After verifying the pressure on each side of the transfer skirt hatch was the same and holding, Ennis opened the hatch, revealing the black surface of the submarine beneath six feet of seawater. He unhooked two dewatering hoses and lowered them through the hatch until they came to rest on top of the submarine, then activated two high-pressure dewatering pumps, which pumped out the remaining water.
Ennis retrieved and fastened a metal rope ladder to the top of PRM, letting it fall through the hatch. He climbed down onto the submarine and tapped on the hatch fairing with a metal hammer. He stood to the side as the hatch opened, pushed upward by a Spetsnaz with his Arctic parka removed, revealing his green mid-layer.
The Spetsnaz dropped down out of the way, and Harrison descended the ladder, with Stone following closely behind.
Standing in the Command Post of the American submarine with six other Spetsnaz, Captain Second Rank Leonov heard the metal clank of the PRM mating with the submarine. That was Leonov’s signal to wrap things up. They would board the PRM, with each man carrying whatever additional equipment he could fit in his lap.
But first, Leonov descended to the Torpedo Room, then headed to the forward end of the compartment, where a block of C-4 was pressed to the top of each torpedo warhead. Twenty-three of the detonators had been slaved to a master, and Leonov stopped to examine it. After verifying the timer delay was set to one hour, he reached into the duffel bag and retrieved the remote initiator, which he would activate before boarding the American submersible. He slid it into his pocket, then turned and headed toward the Torpedo Room exit.
Harrison descended the ladder into North Dakota, looking down to identify the number and location of the men below. There was a single Spetsnaz, who was standing on the left side of the ladder. As Harrison landed on the deck, he turned to the right, presenting his back to the Russian so he couldn’t see his face. He unzipped his parka and retrieved his MP7, and when he heard Chief Stone’s feet hit the deck, he turned toward the Spetsnaz, as did Stone. The man’s eyes widened, but before he could react, Harrison put three bullets into him.
After donning his headset from his pocket, he called into the PRM, and the other fourteen SEALs descended. Harrison dispersed a two-man team to each level of the Forward Compartment, joining the seventh SEAL in his squad to form a second team in middle level, while Chief Stone led his squad aft.
It wasn’t long before they encountered a Spetsnaz, disassembling a rack of equipment in upper level. Three whispers from an MP7 dropped the Spetsnaz, and the lead team continued on while Harrison dropped down to middle level behind another team. The SEALs emerged into the submarine’s Control Room, filled with a half-dozen Spetsnaz, plus what looked like one crew member seated at the Ship Control Station. The two SEALs in front of Harrison opened fire, taking down four Spetsnaz while the other two Russians dove behind equipment.
Harrison moved to the starboard side of the Control Room while the first pair of SEALs moved quickly down the port side, killing the two remaining Spetsnaz before they could retrieve their weapons. The first two SEALs continued through the forward opening of the Control Room, while Harrison stopped beside the man seated at the Ship Control Station. A quick interrogation determined he was Chief Larry Johnson, placed on watch by the Russians to ensure the submarine remained stable while it was being stripped.
Lieutenant Harrison remained in Control to assess the situation, listening to headset comms. Everything was going well. There were no SEAL casualties so far and ten dead Spetsnaz. Only five more to go.
Leonov had just reached the staircase leading from the Torpedo Room when a man in a black wet suit began his descent. It took Leonov only a second to realize he wasn’t a Spetsnaz and a split second more to realize what he was. Leonov reached for his pistol as he ducked out of the way, but was too slow. The advancing SEAL had his weapon raised, and fired three rounds.
Two bullets tore into Leonov’s chest and a third hit him in the forehead, snapping his head back. He collapsed to the deck as pain tore through his body. The SEAL stepped over him and a second man removed the pistol from his grip, tossing it aside. A second later and both men were gone. Leonov lay on his stomach at the base of the ladder in agony, wondering how he was still alive. He’d been shot in the head. Slowly, he moved his hand up and located a long wound on the left side of his head. The bullet had impacted at an angle, and must have ricocheted to the outside instead of piercing his skull. Not that it mattered. He was already having difficulty breathing; his lungs were filling with blood.
The two Americans returned from where they had headed, this time at a more leisurely pace. One of them spoke into his headset, reporting the Forward Compartment, Lower Level, was secure. He asked if assistance was required elsewhere, and after a short pause, the man replied, “Understand. North Dakota is secure.”
One of the two SEALs reached down, and Leonov closed his eyes as the man lifted him roughly to the side to examine him. He released Leonov and he fell onto the deck again. The two Americans left him behind, climbing the ladder to middle level.
Leonov could barely move, but was able to reach inside his pocket and retrieve the remote detonator. As his vision faded to darkness, he slid the protective cover out of the way and pressed the button, sending the signal to the master detonator.
85
Gathered around the navigation plot in Control, Lieutenant Harrison received updates from Chief Stone and his two squad leaders. All fifteen Spetsnaz were accounted for, which translated to fifteen dead Russians, while Harrison’s men had suffered no casualties. They had taken the Russians by surprise. They had also located the crew, bound in berthing, and after dispatching the Spetsnaz guarding them, they were now being freed, the plastic ties around their wrists and ankles cut. Crew members were straggling into Control, each man stopping in his tracks upon entering the gutted Control Room.
The submarine’s commanding officer arrived, staring in disbelief as his eyes swept across the stripped consoles. He spotted the four Navy SEALs in the center of Control and headed over, introducing himself.
“Paul Tolbert, Commanding Officer of North Dakota.” He wasn’t sure who the senior SEAL was — no rank was displayed on their wet suits or Spetsnaz parkas, so his eyes wandered across the four men until Harrison responded.
“Lieutenant Jake Harrison.” He extended his hand.
“Thanks, Jake,” Tolbert said as they shook. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”