“Sir.”
“Planesman, make west-southwest, speed 6 knots. Maintain periscope depth. We’ll let the Chief Engineer get a full charge.”
Right, now it’s weapons time.
Nathan thought about it. It’s a Fleet action, Nathan grinned; us against one. So we’ll need a mix at distance, then at close in that’ll change.
“Weaps, tubes one to three Mk48. Tubes four and five Harpoon. Tube six a Pointer.”
A few minutes passed by. Nathan checked the plot, they were heading for the flagship’s last known position.
“Sir, tubes one though three Mk48, four and five Harpoon, tube six Scooby.”
“VPM?”
“All Tomahawks serviceable, sir.”
The Virginia Payload Module were two vertical tubes loaded with cruise missiles. USS Stonewall Jackson was loaded for war.
Nathan signalled Kamov to let him know of his intentions. Nikki came and stood by the conn. Blue cap and coverall, blond ponytail, she still looked a stunner. Stop it, you fool.
He looked to his screen. At a glance he could see the boat’s status. Captain Franks on the NYC would have loved it.
“The approach is a dilemma, sir: skyrockets or not?”
“It is, Nikki. We can let loose Tomahawks and Harpoons at range; it’ll cause mayhem but tell them they’re under attack. Or: sneak in quietly and you may go undetected. But it’s nice and quiet for their ASW operations too.”
Nathan thought the situation through, and he got an idea quickly, but he pulled back from it and carefully weighed up the alternatives.
“I’d like to go in quiet, Nikki. But that ASW screen?” He shook his head. He’d go with his first instinct, and knew his gut was rarely wrong. He looked to her and grinned. “Skyrockets it is. But…”
“But what?”
“In a minute, first, how do we win? We get in close with torpedoes. She’s a big ship and missiles will do great damage, but sink her? Probably not. You heard Kamov: the battle is about politics as much as military force. We must sink her, and that means torpedoes. By the way, when and by whom were torpedoes invented?”
“I don’t know, Nathan. First World War, the Germans?”
Nathan grinned. “It was invented in Syria by the Arab inventor Hasan al-Rammah in 1275. His torpedo ran with a rocket system filled with gunpowder; it was an effective weapon.”
“You learn something every day.” She smiled.
“So, back to my plan, Nikki. Here’s what we’ll do…”
He detailed his plan, and she smiled.
“It might work, will work, with timing and luck.” She raised her chin and gave him a challenging look.
He laughed. “Yeah, luck. We all need lady luck.”
Platoon Chief Whitt was proud of them, proud of them all. His men had fought against the overwhelming numbers. The VDV kept coming. The ice field was scattered with bodies, but there were more Russians than Americans.
The wind whipped up snow around and over them, but there were too many of them. Whitt knew the end was inevitable; the VDV outnumbered them.
A SEAL to his left opened up with his M4, and a Russian clad in combat whites threw his rifle to one side and fell face forward.
A grenade landed among a group of SEALs getting ready to fall back. Two remained to provide covering fire. The three SEALs now ready to pull back took the force of the explosion. A head and an arm flew up into the air. The third limped away to fight again.
Bastards, thought Whitt. They were now down to three: the two men covering the withdrawal and him. He could hear distant fire from the north, so there must be more fighting it out there.
“Come on, men,” Whitt shouted. “Give the bastards fire. Give ’em…” Whitt didn’t even feel the two rounds as they ripped through his head.
He’d led men well up here in the Arctic, and would receive a posthumous medal.
The VDV had taken a harsh beating. But numbers counted, and they had the numbers.
The icy wind blew in chilling gusts across the dark white snowfield. Lieutenant Rice had heard the fighting far to his rear. It had stopped long minutes ago. He looked across at Konerko and Carrack. Carrack had turned and was looking through binoculars to their rear.
“Sir, I see them: a line of troops skiing this way. They have rifles slung over their shoulders. It’s the VDV, it must be.”
Rice shouted to his civvies. “Nils, Marjan. You’ll have to get going yourselves from here; keep at it. Go west; we’ll hold them here.”
Marjan skiied over to Nils. She hugged him.
After several seconds Nils pulled back, then took off his snow goggles and wind chill hood from his lower face. He pulled down her hood and kissed her.
“Thanks, Marjan. We gave it our best. I’m just sorry it’s ended like this. I’m glad I’m spending what little time I have left with you.” He smiled.
“No, Nils I want it to carry on. I lo… I love you. But I have to stay and fight. You go, get away. Go west, you can make it.”
“No, not without you.”
“Go, you fool! I’m a soldier.” She slapped the H&K. “Go, now. Nils, go.”
He fell back, dejected, but finally turned and skiied off, fading away into the snowflake-covered distance. She turned and threw herself to the firing position next to Rice. She aimed her H&K. “Soldier M, IDF, reporting, sir.”
“Wait until you have a clear shot and then let ’em have it. Good to have you with us.”
In the distance, the line of VDV advanced on them. She’d take as many with her as she could. They waited. It wouldn’t be long now.
There was a crack, crack from Carrack several yards off to her left. Rice opened fire too.
Marjan searched for a clear target. She saw one, slightly to the right of the rest, and she saw him turn and shout to the others. They started to increase the distance between themselves. An officer or an NCO, he must be, that was good.
She took careful aim. Crack, crack. He went down to his right and lay in the snow, his left arm sticking up motionless. Zip, zip, incoming rounds flew by. She picked another, and crack, crack. He went down and waved to a colleague; he was hit but alive.
The firefight went on and gradually the Russians got closer; many dropped and crawled forward.
More fire was incoming, and Carrick was hit in the upper chest. Konerko took the man’s webbing belt bags and removed the first aid gear, then injected him with a morphine syrette. The Russians were close now.
Marjan threw a grenade and man screamed. A Russian grenade landed yards off to her right, and she hunkered down. Marjan knew from her IDF days that the VDV would be on them in minutes, outnumbered as they were.
“Sir,” it was Konerko, “listen.”
Rice turned and frowned. “Listen to what?”
Then he heard it: the beating of rotor blades. The bastards must have got Helos up here.
Two helicopters passed overhead, rockets lit up and rushed into the Russian lines.
“What the…?”
Another helicopter, a Boeing he saw, landed to their rear, and troops got out and came over to them.
“CSAR, CSAR,” shouted one of them.
“Lieutenant Rice, Navy SEALS.”
“Come on, sir, get in the bird.”
“Wait,” said Marjan, pointing. “There’s a man that way skiing west alone.”
“We saw him, ma’am. We have a man picking him up right now.”
The three SEALS and Marjan got into the bird. The loadmaster made sure they were strapped into their seats. Soon a man was bundled in.
“Nils!” She laughed. They high fived and she hugged him again. “You think you can get away from the Mossad, did you?”