“Then we may be able to help you,” he smiled, “but first Yana, we have a task for you.”
“I am big all ears, Owen.”
He grinned. “The expression is ‘all ears’. We’d like you to go to Eastern Ukraine on a mission for us. Can you do that? Are you known to their security people?”
“We both know I am not. I’m with The Kievan Unit.”
Owen nodded. “From the American perspective what we don’t want is the region to descend into war. If it does, it’ll probably spread. Also, this would feed into the hands of Russian expansionists. They want a new Greater Russia; a return to the Soviet Union by another name. I don’t think you want to see that?”
“No, we don’t.”
Owen didn’t tell her about the nuclear aspect. As a former part of the Soviet Union, the Ukraine was a virtual nuclear power, and that was a genie he didn’t want to climb out of its bottle. Many Ukrainian scientists and engineers had worked on the Soviet nuclear arsenal. The Russians would see that as a potentially hostile nuclear power on their border. All hell could come from that one.
“Yana. Here’s what we’d like you to do. Make contact with Pro Western, Ukraine groups in the east of the country; open some channels for us.”
“I can do that, but I can’t just drive across the border, and access through Russia is dangerous for me.”
Owen smiled. “Don’t worry about that Yana, we’ll get you in there quietly.”
She helped herself to another Oreo as he reached over and pressed a button on his desk phone. The door opened and Owen’s assistant walked in.
“Bruce will take you to the Field Operations section. They’ll help you with the infil.”
“Infil?” she frowned.
“Infiltration. Good luck, Yana.” She left with Bruce. Owen sat back and sighed. “She’ll need a shit load of luck.”
Chapter 4
“SIR,” SAID COMMANDER Krupa, the Communications Officer. He handed Franks a communications slip. “This just came in from CINCUSNAVEUR, sir.”
PRIORITY RED
B 86563571Z JUN 48 ZY87
CINCUSNAVEUR NAVAL FORCES EUROPE. NAPLES ITALY//E1//
TO NEW YORK CITY
EURFLT// ID E947QV54//
NAVAL OPS/31
MSGID/EUROPS 6722/CINCUSNAVEUR ACTUAL//
MSG BEGINS://
PROCEED TO W78.53.67.6.23 E96.51.46.7.49. FLEET ORDER CD 483. 21.30 ZULU. ACKNOWLEDGE.
MSG END//
Franks read it, the location was sixth fleet area code, but he knew the system. He turned to the Planesman.
“Come to 130 degrees. Speed fifteen knots.”
“One three zero at 30, aye sir.” He handed the slip to the XO Cortez. CD 483 was ‘surface the boat to take personnel on board’.
“Who, sir?”
“I’ve no idea, Gabriel. We’ll find out when we get there.”
YANA SAT ON THE BOUNCING rubber tube of the rigid hull inflatable boat, watching the outboard motor create a wake in their path. The sky was dark and cloud covered. Astern were the receding lights of the port city of Trabzon, Turkey. The two Turks had met her at the airport and waited with her until dark. About 9pm they had cast off and left the jetty. The two spoke English, but she’d got little from them.
Around eight miles offshore, they cut the engine, switched on a light and waited. After ten minutes, one of the men spoke and pointed.
Yana looked puzzled. Something arose from the sea. Something big and black, and water cascaded from it. She soon realised what it was: a submarine. The two men started the outboard and headed towards it, then came alongside and slowed. Two men from on board the long deck threw a rope; one of the Turks tied it around her and she was pulled unceremoniously aboard.
“Welcome aboard Ma’am. This way.” She was led away to the sail, she climbed it and descended down the ladder into the boat. An Officer in a blue coverall met her.
“Welcome aboard the USS New York City, Miss Borisova. I’m Captain Franks. This is the Chief of the Boat. You’ll know him as Chief. He’ll show you to your bunk.”
The Chief led her away.
Franks watched the young woman as she left. He knew she need to be infiled ashore in potentially hostile territory. Why? She resembled his nice, why her? What did she know? Franks knew the basics of the environment she’s be going to. She could be dead in two weeks. He felt responsible for her. It was odd he knew, it was above his pay grade. Nothing to do with me. Yet it was, he knew he was a part of it. Live or die Yana was his now. He shook his head. Franks returned to the control room.
“Pigeon, get me a course for the Kerch Strait. If she needs to be put ashore in eastern Ukraine, then we’ll need to be in the Sea of Azov.”
“Bearing three three zero Sir.”
“Flood forward. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth. Planesman, down bubble 15, make your depth 270. Speed 18 knots. Bearing three, three zero.” The boat vented air and pushed forward against a gathering wave. The foredeck and sail slipped down into the black waves and below the cool dark depths.
The boat approached the Kerch Strait.
“It’s nearly dawn XO, we’ll go through now. It’s shallow, but deep enough. Take her through Cortez.”
“Aye sir. Come to three five, five degrees. Up bubble ten. Trim for bow up. Make your depth 100.”
“Three five five, up ten for 100, aye.” The boat rounded Tuzla Island and headed through the Kerch strait towards the Sea of Azov. The boat made its way northeast.
“SIR, IT LOOKS LIKE we have a contact,” said Nosey.
Franks looked up from his Conn table where he wrote up his log.
Nosey listened for some time. “Request a coast, Sir.”
“All engines stop, bring her to a stop,” said the XO.
“Let me, Cortez,” said Franks.
“Sir.” The boat came slowly to a halt and hung drifting silently. Waiting, listening. Franks let Nosey do his thing. He closed his eyes and listened; Nosey now lived in a different world. Sounds, distant cargo ships, fishing boats, biologics. That would be sea life, fish, whales. Even seabirds up close. Sound, sound. The sound of the sea.
“Contact, to the north, refining.”
Franks waited, he knew you couldn’t push him.
“Contact, bearing three six zero, range seven miles. Depth 120, speed 16 knots.”
“ID?” asked Franks.
Nosey held his hand up. A few minutes later he looked up. “Sir, we have an Akula class heading for the Kerch Strait.”
Franks shook his head. The Akula class was a formidable SSN, the enemies’ most feared nuclear hunter killer.
Nosey knew the Russian boat’s reputation. “Sir, our warshot status is tubes one to three Mk 48 CBASS, tube four Harpoon.”
Franks looked to his XO. “He’ll have heard of the action south of here. No doubt he’s heading south to get into the fight.” Franks sighed. “I’d like to take him on, but I know that getting Miss Sports Illustrated ashore will be the Pentagon’s goal. We’ll have to play hide to his seek.”
“Sir, the Akula’s slowed, eight knots now. It’s heading down the center of the channel.”
Franks folded his arms and looked down at the deck. What the hell should they do with this one? “XO. We need to get out of his way. Pigeon. Get a chart up of the area.”
“Sir, we have this on the display.” She brought up an image on screen.
“XO, let’s take a look.” To the west was the port of Kerch deep in a bay. To the east was a long thin peninsula leading from the Sea of Azov towards the southwest.
“So. Cortez, he’s heading down the channel parallel to this peninsula.” He read the name. “The Chushka Bar. You can hardly call it a peninsula, it’s 100 yards across for most of its length. That’s what, five miles? The Kerch channel is maximum two miles wide.”