Stephen Makk
The Black Sea Horde
Chapter 1
“HI, I’M NATHAN BLAKE. I don’t believe in luck. That’s just the way it is. It’s just not me. But Lady Luck, she didn’t agree, she believed in me.
It was years ago now, the day I embarked on my patrol.
I was seeing Lucy at the time and it was on a visit to her elder sister’s in Houston. We spent some time down on the waterfront, the Buffalo Bayou. I visited the Battleship Texas, and I was on board her for an age. She was a monster with ten fourteen inch guns and had seen action in both world wars. I’d read a few books and seen some films about the Navy and was interested, but was it for me? I was just a boy from landlocked Arkansas.
They’d always encouraged me towards construction. I know my family had in mind for me a degree in Civil Engineering; they could see Nathan the Architect. It ran in the family.
A naval recruitment facility sat on the quayside by the ship. I wandered inside and spent a while in there. You know how it is? When it happens, it happens quickly. I knew that day what I wanted to do.
I left the recruitment facility, but went back the following day. The Petty Officer knew he had a recruit. He knew it, and I knew it too. I was going to join the submarine service; I’d found my calling. I knew it was right.
Now, some years later, here I am. Lieutenant Commander Nathan Blake; Weapons Officer on board the nuclear submarine USS New York City.
I knew that day in Houston I’d made the right choice; the only choice for me.”
“I’M AFRAID IT WILL happen. The Russians will put their puppet into power at some point. It’s just when, not if.”
“I can keep control of the government. I can stay in office, the insurrection in the East of the country can be subdued,” said Petro.
He stared at the President and shook his head; with his short grey hair and stubby beard, Vasyl was known by the people as father of the nation. He’d never sought power for himself, just freedom for the nation. The Ukraine belonged with the west, with Europe, not the Slavic East.
“No. It’ll happen, they’re too strong. To resist them, we need an ally from the west.”
Petro grunted and shrugged.
The waitress brought out and served more coffee and butter cakes. She smiled.
“Thank you,” said Petro.
They’d picked the restaurant in the Oblonskyi District as it was low key. Away from any attention, the press and they hoped, any spies.
“Who? Which ally?”
“We need not just the one from the west. We need the many.”
“Vasyl, how are…?”
“I know a way. We need something to happen. To make it happen will be difficult. We’ll need someone in the west to pull the right levers and say the right things.”
“What do we need to happen? Who will do that?”
“I’ll ask this person. It’s better that you don’t know what is needed, or who this person is. I’ll tell you just that the person I have in mind has been an Officer in Army Intelligence. You can trust me.”
Petro knew Vasyl had the good of the nation in his heart. If he could trust anyone, it would be him. “Do then what you must Vasyl. For the good of the nation.”
He smiled. “You have made the right choice. I’ll ask this person to take on a heavy task.” Vasyl looked down. “The heaviest burden of all.”
She’d finished breakfast and was cleaning away the plates when the cell phone rang; it was her ex Brigade Commander. He’d asked her to meet someone. There’d been no real choice. She walked from the North end of Saratovska Street into Kiev’s Dubky Park. She sat on the third bench and watched the squirrels running up and down, playing in the trees. He walked over to her and sat down, handed her a coffee in a disposable cup, then prised open one for himself.
“Hello.”
She turned and looked at him in surprise. It couldn’t be.
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he smiled, “yes. It’s me.” Vasyl took a deep breath. “Yana. Do you love your country?”
“Of course. What do you want with me?”
He held up his hand. “Before you give your answer, the nation, listen to what she asks of you.” He quietly explained what would be needed of her. “So. There it is. Now you may give your answer, Yana.” He placed his hand on hers. “If it’s no, I will think no less of you. It’s a heavy burden to ask.”
She stared at him with a steely resolve in her eyes. “If you think I’m worthy, then yes, I will do it.”
He patted her hand. “Then I can rest easy. Yana, you have the nation under your wing.”
SHE’D MET THE CONTACT. Of all the covers he could hide under, he ran a stamp-collecting store.
She supposed it was appropriate. After the store had closed he’d explained her cover and where she’d live. He’d outlined her new life in a couple of hours.
“This my dear, is your new passport.” He passed over the dark blue Ukrainian biometric passport. Her picture was inside. No doubt it had been issued by the correct bureau. It would have been done quietly at the order of the Military Intelligence undercover unit.
Yana Sumska had become Yana Borisova. A new life, an old cause. Yana was now the most important member of a new undercover agency.
It was not a part of the Secret service of the Ukraine, The Sluzhba Bezpeky Ukrayiny. This organisation was unofficial, unaccountable, a secret that didn’t exist. She’d become a member of that shadow; known simply as The Kievan Unit. She’d start tonight.
THE BOAT SURFACED IN the Sea of Marmara. The upper hatch opened and Lieutenant Commander Blake felt the first fresh warm air since he’d left Groton, Connecticut. He got some time out in the sail. It was a hot bright day with a light breeze.
Around lunchtime, the boat sailed into the Bosporus, the eighteen mile long strait from south to north, connecting the Aegean and the Sea of Marmara to the Black Sea. On its banks was the teaming metropolis of Istanbul.
The USS NYC sailed through on the surface, within a mile of the city, a visible symbol of NATO’s reach into the Black Sea. It was a statement to Russia. “We’re here, and we come and go as we please.”
Blake was impressed with the historical city, Old Byzantium and Constantinople. Powerful and imposing for two thousand years. He found it stunning. A dense imposing cityscape, old buildings, large mosques with tall minarets. A teaming waterway, ferries, small and large. The place was a hive of bustling activity; suspension bridges spanned the straits. They were soon in the open sea. The Black Sea. As night fell, the hatches were closed.
Captain Karl Franks was an old sea dog, one of the most experienced submarine skippers in the fleet.
In the NYC’s control room, the crew stared into monitors or marked the chart, he nodded to his XO, Lieutenant Commander Gabriel Cortez. For Franks, it was the start of yet another two-week patrol. He knew his SSN was the best kick ass boat in the 6th Fleet.
“Flood forward. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Dive, dive, dive. Planesman, down bubble 15, make your depth 330 feet. Speed 15 knots.”
“Fifteen at 100, aye sir.” The deck tilted down to the bow. The huge wave rose up the sail, and the boat finally sank from sight. The USS NYC headed down into the gloom and levelled out.
“Zero bubble sir,” called out the Planesman. The boat was now level at 330 feet.
There were ructions in Ukraine. The east of the country was effectively ceding, becoming a client state of Russia. With a majority of Russian speakers, this was prime expansion ground for Russia. The Eastern Donbass region’s DRP and LPR led the move for separation. The Crimean peninsula was annexed by Russia. Turmoil on this scale affected European democracies and had to be watched. If it escalated, conflict between East and West could flare up. NATO had to play its part.