He had hovered in his helicopter twenty feet above the waves, waiting. His copilot had almost convinced him to drop his sonar buoy or leave, when the stern of the Saratov shot through the surface no more than a quarter mile away. The screw was turning madly as it chopped into the air before it lay down. Dumbfounded was the best way to describe his feeling.
Through his binoculars it was apparent that the sub was in a bad way even before she settled. Oil and grease spewed from the gaping hole in the bow. It looked like the nose could separate and fall off at any moment. The deck was ripped open, and the gash was so severe that he could make out several torpedoes strewn around a compartment.
“Holy shit, someone scored a hit,” said his copilot.
It was apparent that the Saratov wasn’t going anywhere, and there was no reason for him to attack. “Toledo, Toledo. This is Whiskey Bravo Seven. Have hostile in clear sight and holding attack pattern.”
It was Booker who responded. “Describe the ship, Whiskey Bravo.”
“Well, she’s Russian all right. She still holds the Soviet insignia on her sail. Ship has sustained substantial damage to the bow and looks to be inoperable. I’m confident that she’s no threat.”
Kyle waited for further instructions, but none came. “Awaiting your advisement, Toledo.” Still no answer. “Toledo, still waiting your response, do you read?”
The radio crackled, and an unfamiliar voice came over. “Whiskey Bravo Seven. Drop torpedo and sink the ship.”
“Please repeat, Toledo. Be advised that ship is inoperable.”
“Understood, Whiskey Bravo. Repeat, drop torpedo. Drop torpedo now.”
Kyle had a conflict with his orders on a moral level. They had the sub. It couldn’t fight back. Yet for some reason, the Toledo thought it was still a danger. He placed his thumb on the release button, and the torpedo splashed in the water with a small parachute dangling behind it. Immediately it acquired its target. That’s when Kyle saw two men emerge on the top of the sail.
Andri looked at the damage grimly and waited for Sasha to emerge. There was too much gone for the ship to recover, and he knew it. The next step was in question. There were no options left.
Sasha emerged and looked forward. “How bad is it, Captain?”
“Bad enough. We’ll have to abandon ship and hope we get picked up.”
“What about the enemy?”
“We haven’t been chased to the surface, so there’s a good chance that they, too, are having some difficulty.”
Sasha found it surprising that Andri was taking the sinking of his vessel, his creation, so well. His lifetime work lay before his eyes irreparable, yet he stood fast, showing little emotion. Sasha seemed to feel more defeat than him, and he turned away to compose himself. He gazed astern and caught the wake of the torpedo running across the water. There was no time to speak. Only time to react. He picked Andri up and tossed him into the ocean as the explosion erupted against the Saratov.
Sasha didn’t look back. He slid down the mast to the bridge and closed the hatch behind him. Men were scrambling in all directions, trying everything to keep her afloat as she began to fall uncontrollably.
“Full astern, full astern!” he screamed into the intercom. There was no response. He rushed across the compartment and threw every switch to blow any tanks left, but there weren’t any. The Saratov was sinking like a rock, and everyone on board was going for the ride.
Nick had been trying to coax Marina from the escape pod when the torpedo struck. She had been refusing because she knew there was no way they were getting off without Sasha coming after them. She was crying and on the verge of hysteria when the vessel violently shook.
It threw Nick back into the corridor, and he slammed against the wall, momentarily knocked silly. His next recollection was feeling the attitude of the sub change dramatically, and looking through the small window in the bulkhead door, he saw water pour through a gaping hole in the reactor room. Then he felt Marina tugging at his arm.
“Come on, Nicholas. We’re sinking!”
“I know” was all he could muster.
“Come on. We have to leave. We have to get out before we go under.”
That woke him up. “The lifeboat!”
They crossed the corridor and squeezed their way through the hatch and closed it tightly behind them.
Inside the pod was an eerie silence, and for a second, they both were caught in that. The ship tossed again, sending them tumbling over each other and calling them to their situation. Nick reached and pulled the lever that exploded the bolts and released the pod from the ship. They heard the simultaneous small explosions as the bolts disintegrated, but the pod didn’t budge.
“Where is it? Where is it?” Nick searched for the depth gauge in a small panic. “Ah, here, ah, fuck!”
“What is it? What is it?”
Now Nick was irate, and he lost all his composure. “I told that son of a bitch that this piece of shit wouldn’t work.” He banged furiously against the walls. “It doesn’t fucking work. We’re too deep.”
“What do you mean?”
“The pressure is holding us against the ship, see!” He pointed to the gauge as it wound past three hundred meters. “We’re too deep to get away.”
Marina only knew that what he meant was bad news for their survival. “What can we do? How do we get free?”
“We can’t.” Within one instant, Nick seemed to regain his composure. He seemed to reconcile himself with death. “The only way we get out is if the pressure on the inside of the ship is equal to the pressure on the outside of the ship. For that to happen, the bulkheads must blow. By then we’ll be too deep.”
A small rapping interrupted. The ship tumbled again, and it was several moments until they could see out the small view hole in the pod’s hatch. There on the other side was Sasha. His head was bleeding, and he was begging to be let in. The ship fell faster into the rift.
“Fuck you!” screamed Nick in what he thought to be a last stand of defiance. “Hey, you dumb fucker, I’m one hundred percent true-blue American. What do you think about that?” He had dropped the Russian language the second he saw Sasha pleading. “This at least serves you right.”
Marina pulled him back. “Nicholas, Nicholas! Please don’t. Hold me right now. Please hold me.”
He ignored her. His rage was too great, and he continued to scream at the pathetic Sasha. Clearly, he had lost his mind.
They weren’t watching the gauge when it passed four hundred meters. The bulkhead between the reactor room and the corridor had been too badly damaged to withstand any more pressure. It only took a millisecond for the door to fly off its hinges and flood the compartment. The instant compression of the air blew the pod from the ship like a rocket, leaving Sasha crushed in the depths. The Saratov fell to an unknown grave in the gorge, signaling the end of a few men’s ideals.
Claustrophobia came back. Nick knew why, and it took every ounce of him to control his mind. He and Marina waited for the pressure to crush the pod, but it didn’t come. Instead he heard the balloon eject and then inflate. He looked wildly for the gauge and saw it squashed to the bottom of the dial. Feeling around the seams he couldn’t tell if the pod was sweating from the pressure or if it was him. How deep can this go? We’ve got to be at the limit. It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing he could do.
“Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.”