“I know the name,” Brannon said. He went to his desk and opened a drawer and pulled out a file. He came back to his chair and sat down and riffled through the papers in the file folder.
“Yes, here he is. His father was a captain in the Soviet Navy. His ship went down and the father drowned in 1905, in the Battle of Tshushima Straits.” He looked up at the other men.
“That was in the war between Japan and Russia, the old Russia. The Russian Navy thought they could whip the Japanese but the Japs smashed the Russian battle fleet to bits. That ended Russia as a major sea power and they are just now beginning to make a move toward becoming a world sea power again. My file on Admiral Zurahv says that he didn’t see much action in World War II but that’s understandable, the Soviet Navy didn’t have much opportunity to do anything. Since then, since World War II, Admiral Zurahv has made a big name for himself in building up the Soviet Navy and the file says he’s accumulated a lot of political power. That reinforces what you’ve just said, Bob.”
“Which leaves us where?” John Olsen asked.
“Where we are now,” Brannon said. “As I mentioned in my memo, Admiral Benson, we’re dogging every Soviet ballistic missile submarine that’s now out in the open sea. We’ve got two or more attack submarines on each Soviet submarine. The skippers of our attack subs have let the Soviet sub skippers know they’re being dogged. They’ll report that to their commands.” He stopped and closed the file folder he was holding.
“We’ve intercepted some traffic from the Soviet submarines, they’re hollering for instructions on what to do, telling their bosses that we’re riding herd on them.” A grin came and went on his heavy face. “I’ll have a copy made of the message that skipper sent after he got bumped by the Orca. He’s asking for orders to be sent back home. He’s got some minor damage to his hull up forward and he’s scared out of his wits. At last report he was on the surface and waiting to be told what to do.”
“It sounds pretty good but you’re playing a hell of a dangerous game, Mike,” Admiral Benson said. “Bob told me this morning on the way over that Captain Steel is playing dirty. Sooner or later you’re going to have to go to the President with this whole business, you know that.”
“I know about Captain Steel,” Mike Brannon said. “And I know about Wendell and about Admiral McCarty. We haven’t fired all our tubes yet, we’ve got some torpedoes they don’t know we’ve got.” He stood up and the others rose.
“I want to thank you, gentlemen, for coming over, for the information, Bob. It helps.”
Admiral Benson brushed a doughnut crumb from his immaculate jacket. He looked at Mike Brannon, his face serious.
“I liked it better when I was at sea, Mike, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Mike Brannon said. “It’s like being in World War II again, sort of.”
“Except that you aren’t sure who the enemy is,” Admiral Benson said.
CHAPTER 19
By the time Admiral Zurahv had disposed of a stack of paperwork that had accumulated on his desk the message from the submarine that had been bumped by the U.S.S. Orca was at the bottom of a small stack of messages from other Soviet submarine commanders. The Admiral picked up the stack of messages and began to read them, his beefy face beginning to glow with rage as he read messages from his submarine commanders that told of harassment of Soviet ballistic missile submarines by American attack submarines. The tone of each message was the same: worry. The submarine commanders, unused to being constantly followed, unable to understand why they were periodically subjected to high decibel blasts of sonar beams from the American submarines, wanted information. What was going on? Why were the Americans interfering with them in the open sea? Was there any change in the world political situation?
When he reached the message at the bottom of the stack and read it he smashed the palm of his big right hand against his desk and bellowed for his aide. The naval officer came in and stood at attention.
“I want a meeting of my staff at once,” the Admiral snapped. “They are to drop whatever they are doing and come here at once.” The aide saluted and left and Admiral Zurahv picked up the stack of messages and read through them again, slowly.
The staff officers arrived in a group within five minutes. They sat down in chairs in front of the Admiral’s desk and listened to his reading of the messages. When he came to the last message he stopped.
“Pay particular attention to this message. It gives evidence of an attack on one of our ships by an American submarine while our ship was in international waters.” He read the message slowly.
“He has sustained some minor damage to his hull, so far as his diver could see,” the Admiral rumbled. “That is not cause to bring him home to base but the state of his mind is more than cause to order him home. That will be done at once.” He nodded at his aide who made notes on a pad he held in his lap. “Bring him home and relieve him of command.” A captain sitting at the right end of the line of chairs cleared his throat.
“Comrade Admiral, I understand your feelings. The man is obviously frightened. But if we relieve him of command who do we put in his place? We are very short of qualified nuclear commanding officers, sir. Bring him home, yes, put his ship in drydock and get a good estimate of whatever damage was done and then, if I may suggest it Comrade, a private audience with you should put enough starch in his backbone to overcome this uncertainty he now feels.”
“He doesn’t need starch, he needs steel in his backbone,” the Admiral growled. “But I agree, we are short of nuclear skippers. Bring him home and get clearance for immediate entry to the drydock for his ship. I’ll handle him personally.
“Now we come to the heart of this business. The Americans have to be taught a lesson. Let’s discuss what form that lesson will take.”
“What form would you suggest, Comrade?” the captain who had spoken before said.
“What I’d like to do is to give them a full broadside of ballistic missiles, Captain Bogomolets,” the Admiral growled. “Incinerate the bastards! And then give the same dose to China and have an end to this bullshit about who is the major power in the world.”
“Unfortunately,” Captain Bogomolets said, “that course of action, while it is one I approve of, would require permission from the Politburo.”
Admiral Zurahv leaned back in his chair and the chair creaked in protest against his great weight. “I have information, Captain, that the entire American retaliation that we have experienced and are now experiencing is being conducted by an American admiral by the name of Brannon and without the knowledge of his president or his Congress.” He paused as his aide cleared his throat.
“With all due respect, Comrade Admiral,” the aide said. “Our land-based nuclear missiles are under the direct command of the Army, and the Army. .”
“And the damned Army is afraid of its own shadow!” Admiral Zurahv snapped. “A few Chinese begin firing off rifles along the border and the Army shifts troops halfway across Russia to reinforce the border and transfers planes thousands of miles to stand by. In the name of Lenin, they ordered planes to the airfields along the damned border with China and there are no bombs at those airfields to arm the planes!” His big hand touched a stack of paper.
“I have an urgent request in this pile from the Army asking me to ship food from Vladivostok to the Army bases along the border because they don’t have enough food there to feed the troops they’re bringing in. I have never seen such a mess in my life. Let one Chinese peasant piss toward our border and the damned Army goes into a panic.”