There were so many variables, so many things to go wrong, that Carter did not even want to think about it. He had a job to do, and he was here. It was time to do it.
The ship's communicator squawked. Carter picked it up. "Carter."
"You ready back there?" McDowell asked.
"Five minutes. Are we in position?"
"We're barely a half mile offshore. We'll give you five minutes, and then we'll surface. You'll have exactly two minutes to get up on deck, inflate the raft, and get clear."
"We'll be ready," Carter said. He hung up.
"Are we there?" Forester asked.
"We surface in five minutes."
Quickly they donned their survival suits, strapped on their equipment, and got the big rubber raft ready to go. They had blackened their faces so that they would be all but invisible in the night. Forester's eyes were wide. He kept licking his lips. Carter felt sorry for him, but he did have guts.
They were rigged for nearly silent running this close to the shore, so that the only indication they were surfacing was an amber light that turned red at the same time the white lights in the compartment also turned red. Ninety seconds later they rose partially out of the sea, the waves moving the big boat around.
Morgan clambered up the ladder to the hatch, and when the status light winked green, he spun the dog wheel and popped open the hatch. A lot of water came below as Morgan scrambled up on deck. Carter and Barber shoved the life raft up to him, and then helped Hansen and Forester up. Barber went next, and Carter went last. One of the crewmen closed and redogged the hatch.
The wind and seas were tremendous. Even from this far offshore they could hear the surf crashing on the rocks. The snow was being blown horizontally. Even dressed in their survival suits they could feel the bitter cold.
Morgan had the big rubber raft inflated and over the side in under forty-five seconds. He held the lanyard while they all climbed aboard, then he stepped aboard and shoved them away from the sub.
The wind and seas immediately took them toward the shore, their short aluminum oars barely effective in keeping them stern to.
They never heard or felt the Silver Fish submerge. After the first twenty yards they all realized they were fighting for their lives. Each wave crest threatened either to swamp them or flip the rubber boat. In either case they would not have a chance of survival.
For a seeming eternity they could not see anything ahead of them, and the ominous pounding of the surf got louder and louder.
Carter spotted a huge rock directly ahead of them. "Port! Port!" he shouted.
Morgan and Barber saw the boulder at the same moment and they dug their oars into the boiling water, hauling the boat to the left.
A huge breaking wave lifted them past the boulder, shoving them over onto their side. Carter got the impression of Forester tumbling out of the boat and he tried to grab for him but missed, and then the ice-cold Siberian waters were closing over his head, and he was fighting for his own survival.
His shoulder smashed into something, tossing him to the right, then upside down, before he reached out and grabbed what felt like the edge of the rubber boat.
The next wave pulled him away from the boat, which was above him, and he hit on his knees. Somehow he was on his feet, his head above the water. He staggered a few paces toward the rocky beach, when another wave lifted him up and deposited him ashore.
Hansen was facedown in the surf. Carter struggled over to him and pulled him farther up on the rocks. Hansen's eyes fluttered and he started coughing up water, so Carter took off the carrying case and hurried back down to the beach.
The wind was shrieking around the rocks, and every few seconds a huge wave broke on the beach. Morgan and Barber appeared out of the darkness, dragging the big rubber boat behind them. Blood streamed down the side of Barber's face, but he seemed all right.
"Have you seen Forester?" Carter shouted over the wind.
"No," Barber shouted. "How about Hansen?"
"He's okay. He's up on the rocks. I saw Forester go overboard," Carter said. He helped Barber and Morgan haul the boat farther up on the shore, and then the three of them went back to the water's edge where they split up.
Carter found the computer expert wedged between two rocks, his entire body bent over backward in a hideously grotesque position. His back had been broken in at least a half-dozen places. His eyes were open, and his tongue bulged out of his mouth. The radio strapped to his back had been smashed as well.
By the time Carter had dragged his body back up onto the beach, Barber and Morgan had returned. Morgan checked Forester's pulse.
"Poor bastard," Barber said.
"We're going to have to hide his body until we return," Carter said. "We can put it with the life raft."
"One thing for sure," Barber said. "They sure as hell don't know that anyone has come ashore. Not in this shit."
"Don't be so sure," Morgan snapped.
"He's right," Carter said. "Let's get our things together and get the hell out of here."
Hansen was dazed but able to move under his own power by the time they had hidden the rubber boat between some rocks, Forester's body with it.
They divided up the gear and started north along the coast, moving as quickly as they could. At times they had to go well inland before they could find a passage around rock outcroppings. At other times they were able to walk along the rocky beach. Inland they had to deal with snow that was at times hip deep. On the beach they had to contend with the shrieking wind and waves crashing into the rocks.
As they worked their way north, Carter did a lot of thinking about Forester. The man should never have been assigned to this mission. But then neither should Barber or Hansen. They were liabilities. Morgan, with his UDT and demolitions skills, would be useful. But the others were going to be a hindrance.
It took them nearly an hour of moving fast through the storm before they caught a glimpse of the lights on the submarine base. They had just left the beach and were working their way over a hill. Carter held them up at the crest.
"There," he said, pointing down toward the light atop the perimeter fence.
"Jesus," Hansen said.
There was some scrub between their position and the fence, beyond which was a broad no-man's-strip bordered by the woods Hansen had drawn on the sketch map. If the sketch was accurate, on the other side of the woods were the submarine pens.
They lay at the crest of the hill, the wind howling around them as Carter watched for any sign of movement along the fence — either on the outside or the inside. But there was nothing, which meant the Soviets probably relied on visual sightings from guard towers along the fence. Combined with the isolation of the base, perimeter security would not be anywhere near as rigid as security around the sub pens, and especially around the Petrograd sub itself. Tonight the darkness and the intensity of the storm would cover their entrance onto the base.
Carter looked at his watch. It was a little after nine. They weren't running too far behind schedule. It was still possible, if everything went reasonably well, that they would be able to rendezvous with the Silver Fish at midnight.
He pulled away from the crest and faced the others. "We're going through the fence and across the open strip into the woods. Hansen, you'll stay just within the trees and watch the fence. If the breach is discovered, you'll have to come get us."
Hansen nodded.
Carter turned to Barber and Morgan. "Depending upon what we find on the other side of the woods, I want to go underwater to the Petrograd pen. Ideally I would like to get aboard, take the chip, and get out without anyone knowing about it."
"That's not too likely, is it," Barber said.