“As you know, the Russians got ’em in the water in April. Took ’em a while…guess they had some trouble with those hydraulic lifts they use up in Severodvinsk. Big Bird kept circling, sending us a picture a day, and nothing moved for nearly a week. Looked like the whole process was jammed up. But they got ’em freed up and floating, and from then on we saw quite a large workforce on those Kilos, moored alongside. Another source informed us there were a lot of Chinese, too.
“Early in May they moved…that was when we had a mild panic because it looked like they might be going straight home to Shanghai. But they were just leaving the White Sea and heading around to Pol’arnyj, just like K-4 and K-5…your two old friends, right?”
“Enemies, sir,” said Boomer.
“Precisely so,” confirmed Admiral Dixon. “Anyway, since then we’ve been watching them carefully. Our best estimate was that they’d need three weeks in Pol’arnyj for their safety trials, and then at least another three-month operational workup in the Barents Sea to bring them right up to scratch as front-line operational fleet units.
“I am sure it has not escaped you, Commander, we did not face that problem with K-4 and K-5, which were…shall we say…ignorant of our intentions. The game has since changed drastically.”
“Yessir.”
“Now as far as we are concerned, the clock started on the day they began sea trials off Murmansk, in May. We’ve watched them ever since, going out every Monday morning and returning every Friday night. As far as we can tell, their safety trials concluded without a major hitch. Those subs ain’t going to sink without us.
“We watched them complete their torpedo trials. They fired quite enough to make sure their guys knew their stuff, much as we expected. They were very thorough.”
Admiral Dixon’s voice softened, and he said, quietly, “Boomer, they must know we’re coming for them. There is no way Admiral Rankov has not blown a very loud whistle. The whole Russian Navy has got to be on full alert…there are more guards around those two Kilos than we’ve ever seen before.”
Arnold Morgan, who had been sitting thoughtfully, suddenly added, “The loss of K-9 and K-10 would represent a financial catastrophe for Moscow. Never forget that. The Chinese would demand all of their money back, every nickel they have paid out. And with justification. If they didn’t get it, they’d bag the order for the aircraft carrier. That’s a five-billion-dollar problem for the Kremlin…I am only mentioning this to highlight the level of sensitivity this entire operation will engender.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Boomer.
“You’re most welcome, Commander,” added the NSA, grinning. “You want me to come with you…make sure it gets done right?”
Boomer shuddered at the thought but sensibly kept quiet, and all three men laughed. It was Admiral Dixon who spoke next. “Boomer, I’d like to send another boat with you, but all of my instincts are saying no, except as a backup, perhaps. You get two of your own in the same patch, where the quickest on the draw wins, you’re liable to end up killing your friends.”
And a sudden silence enveloped the room as each of these vastly experienced US Navy Commanders contemplated the truth — Boomer Dunning would shoulder his huge burden all alone. Except that in a sense, Admiral Dixon and Admiral Morgan, linked by the miracle of the satellites, would go with him.
“When do you estimate they will leave Pol’arnyj?” asked Boomer.
“We’ve got it as the third week in August.”
“So my August seventh departure stands?”
“Correct. You’ll head straight up to the Faeroes, as before, and wait on station there until we see the Kilos move.”
“What if they don’t?”
“You’ll hang around for six weeks and then we’ll send another submarine up to relieve you in early October. I won’t start briefing another boat until the last possible moment, because we want this kept as tight as possible. For obvious reasons. Right now you can count the people who know about it on the fingers of two hands, which is one too many, right?”
“Right,” said Boomer. “Presumably the procedures up in the GIUK Gap will be as before?”
“Absolutely. If there’s no escort. You’ll be briefed every step of the way, and I expect you to pick the two submarines up when they snorkel, as before, IF they’re alone.”
“What happens if there is an escort?”
“We’ll have to leave that to you,” said Admiral Morgan. “But don’t, for Christ’s sake, risk hitting a surface ship…not even in self-defense. And if you can’t get in close, just keep tracking them until the escort starts to peel off, or until some other opportunity presents itself. There should be one sometime, somewhere…maybe far down the Atlantic, maybe even in the southern Indian Ocean — that’s when you’ll strike, in deep water. Remember the rules of this ball game — hit ’em low, and hit ’em hard. No mistakes. Like always. You have our complete confidence.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”
Just then the door opened and the rangy figure of Admiral Joe Mulligan was escorted into the room by two Navy guards. Boomer stood to pour him some coffee.
“No, no, Boomer. I’ll get it…you’re our guest of honor today,” he said, smiling. Which was precisely the moment when the submarine commander from Cape Cod knew exactly how thunderously dangerous this next mission was going to be.
The Admiral sat down and helped himself to the cookies, which had been placed strategically to his right. And he looked very preoccupied as he munched. “I expect you have been pretty well briefed already,” he told Boomer. “Same basic program as before. We’ll track ’em, up around the GIUK. And you’ll get rid of them at the earliest opportunity.”
But he paused, and then said, “Gentlemen, this operation, as you are each aware, could scarcely be more unlike K-4 and K-5. Because right here we have one major difference. The Kilos will not only be on their guard, they will be looking for you, as you will be looking for them. And if they find you first — one heavily armed US nuclear boat too close for comfort — they will not hesitate to open fire on you, on the basis that they’re already five to zero down in this particular contest.”
All four of the men were silent for a few moments.
Then Admiral Mulligan added, “It’s quite a long time since any American CNO sent any warship into such clear and obvious danger…and I do so with great reluctance. But for the enormous importance of this project to this nation, and indeed to the world’s freedom of sea trade, I would not — could not — be persuaded to ask any single commander to take on such an onerous task.
“Boomer, I know what the United States Navy means to you, and I believe that if you felt this could not be done, you would tell us so, and we would certainly return to the drawing board. But you have never said anything to that effect, so I presume I am correct in assuming you believe the mission is possible?”
“Yessir. I do believe that…I would also like to say that since I was about ten years old, my main ambition in this life was to become a United States Navy Captain. It’s an ambition I still have and hope one day to attain. Getting killed at the hands of some half-assed Chinaman does not figure in my immediate itinerary.”
All three Admirals laughed. But it was Joe Mulligan, the former Trident Captain, who stood up and walked over to the commanding officer of USS Columbia and without a word shook him by the hand.
“It’s a pain in the ass,” said Arnold Morgan. “But you cannot let those sneaky pricks get the first shot in. Then we’ll be in the same spot they’ve already been in. Loss of a serious warship, her crew and commanding officer…and unable to admit anything to anyone.”