Nathan grinned. “You can run, Tango 2, but you can’t hide. We’ll have your ass eventually.”
Nathan turned to Nikki. “Ok, XO, get us to the layer and let’s do our job.”
“Our power is under 10 %, sir. We’re just manoeuvrable, just.”
“Then get to it, Nikki.”
Nathan walked back down the companionway. He stood by the SEALs and gave them a thumbs up. “Soon boys.”
“Trim for the surface,” said Nikki.
“Trim set, depth 60 feet. Increasing trim. Still 60, sir, still 60.”
“Trim down to 70 feet four knots forward.”
“Aye, sir, down 70 four knots forward.”
Nikki counted one minute 30.
“Planesman, trim for 50 feet, all stop.”
“Fifty, all stop, aye sir.”
“Trim for the surface,” said Nikki.
“Trim for surface, aye sir. Sixty feet, increasing trim, 50 feet, 40 feet, 30 feet.”
The crew heard the ice creaking and running past the sail. “We’re through, sir.”
Nikki looked back down the main companionway to the sail. The companionway was full of men in Arctic whites; full face white woollen masks and snow goggles, with helmets and every weapon a man could carry.
Nikki signalled to the Chief of the Boat, Seamus Cox.
“Chief, open her up.”
Seamus, wearing his parka and woolly hat, opened the hatch, and some water spilled on the floor. He climbed the ladder, spun the wheel and opened into a dark cold night. The breeze chilled him. He climbed down.
“Up you go, Lieutenant. Give my favourite polar bear a kiss before you blow her fucking head off.”
One by one, the bulky SEALs climbed the ladder. The Chief climbed up after them and saw them all safely onto the ice, then closed the hatch, spun the wheel, climbed down and closed the inner hatch in a similar way.
The Chief shouted forward into the control room. “All grunts are out on the ice. Hatches sealed. Surface party deployed, sir.”
“Get the Chief to run the diesels and charge the batteries,” said Nathan.
Nikki called the Chief Engineer and asked him to power up the L-ions and pressurise the buoyancy vessels.
Almost two hours later, the Chief told her the task was complete. It was time to leave the surface.
“Vent for 100 feet, Planesman,” said Nikki.
The boat slid down through the ice and became free. She reached 100 feet.
“Forward six knots, trim for 100.” Nikki turned to Nathan.
“Good work, Lieutenant Commander Kaminski. Let’s have that meeting we were talking about. Wardroom now, XO.”
Nathan returned from the galley with two coffees. He sat at the Wardroom’s desk and passed Nikki a coffee.
“Weaps has the conn. I’ve got him going north after the Yasen. That mother ran like hell after Ren and Scooby tricked him. They’re both back on board now, by the way.”
Nikki smiled. “Great, can Pointers be given a battle honour?
Nathan laughed.
“So, what to do now?” said Nikki. She didn’t wait for Nathan. She narrowed her eyes. “We need to take the initiative here. Upstairs we have the Spetsnaz or VDV or whatever, and down here we’ve half the bastard Northern Fleet running around like they own the place. Let’s show ’em.”
“I agree. How?”
Nikki grinned. “To paraphrase General Jackson: The business of the US Navy is to fight. Navies are not called on to build ports, and live tied up to a pier. But to find the enemy, and strike him; to dominate his seas, and do him all possible damage in the shortest possible time… But such a war would of necessity, be of brief continuance, and so would be an economy of prosperity and life in the end. To move swiftly, strike vigorously, and secure all the fruits of victory, is the secret of successful war.” She gave him a narrow stare. “We take the fight to them. We hunt them under the ice, the Barents Sea, up the fucking Polyarny Inlet, Murmansk Fjord if needed. We give ’em the bayonet.” Nikki banged her fist on the table. “For generations, mothers will scare Ivan’s children with: Stonewall Jackson will be coming for you.”
Nathan looked at her and smiled. “You know this stretches our orders, just a little bit?”
“Well, Nathan, our orders can go and suck their own ass.”
10
The submarine’s black sail slid downwards and disappeared below the ice. Two SEALs crouched on the ice, watching. The biting cold breeze found its way into every gap in their clothing.
Operator Melenko watched it slide away. “That’s it, Crocky, they’ve gone. The only pussy in hundreds of miles has sunk into the sea.”
“Shut it with the pussy, they’ve gone now. You might get some Eskimo ass up here, but that’s it.”
“Pity,” said Melenko. “We learned about Eskimos in the Marines.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, it was a running cadence: ‘I don’t know, but I’ve been told. I don’t know but I’ve been told. Eskimo pussy is mighty cold. Eskimo pussy is mighty cold.’”
“You’ll never know, you sick fuck.”
“Crocky, did you see the ass on that Kaminski?”
“She’s an officer.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet the skipper still has her laid over the torpedo tubes or whatever when they’re off duty.”
“You need some medic…”
“Ok, people,” said Lieutenant Rice. “Form a defensive ring, 100 yards radius. Keep a lookout, the Russians are up here too.”
Crocky and Melenko donned their skis and set off to the northeast.
After an hour’s ski, Rice pulled up. “Chief Konerko, let’s see if we can raise Platoon Chief Whitt and Op Ford.”
“Sir.” He opened his pack and tried the radio set.
“Soup two from soup one, over. Soup two from soup one, over. Come in soup two.”
“Ok, we’ll try again. Let’s move east.”
Konerko stood, blew his whistle and pointed east. The men skiied off into the dark snow-flecked whiteout, the breeze mercifully at their backs.
They skiied across the white waste for an hour, stopping frequently to scan the horizon for the opposition.
“Stop here, Konerko. Get the set out and try again.”
“Sir.” The troop pulled up, men crouched and scanned the horizon.
“Soup two from soup one, over. Soup two from soup one, over. Come in, soup two.”
“Soup two from soup one, over. Soup two from soup one, ov…”
The set spit static and then: “Soup one from soup two, receiving, over.”
“Copy, soup two. Broadcast for direction.”
“Will do. One two three four five. One two…”
Konerko scanned the horizon with the set’s sensor.
“There, sir. 105 degrees.”
“Tell soup two we’re coming.”
“Soup two, hold your position. We’re coming for you.”
“Copy, soup one.” The troop skiied off on the bearing.
Within 20 minutes they had sight of the two SEALs. They closed.
“Platoon Chief Whitt, what’s your sit rep?” said Rice.
“Ok, sir, we have the package safe.”
A man and a woman stood looking on at the SEAL troop; their body language showed thanks and optimism.
“Sir, we’ve had contact with the Russian VDV. We took a few out, but they know we’re here and close.”
Rice wiped the snow from his ski mask. “We were landed by submarine. It’s gone now; there was a Russian sub down there and they had to go. An MQ-4C Triton drone will be making a patrol high over the area, so we’ll try to contact it.”