“Torpedo not ready!” the Weapons Officer finally called out. “Circular Run Interlock is engaged!”
Novikov glanced at Krasnoyarsk’s heading as it settled out at the ordered evasion course: one-four-zero. With the torpedo course after launch set at two-nine-zero, the torpedo could not be launched until Krasnoyarsk turned another forty degrees.
“Thirty seconds to impact!” Hydroacoustic reported.
“Steersman, right hard rudder! Steady course one-nine-zero!” Novikov added an extra ten degrees to the turn to ensure the interlock cleared.
The Steersman yanked the rudder control hard right, kicking Krasnoyarsk back into another turn to starboard.
“Fifteen seconds to impact!”
Novikov checked the submarine’s course, assessing how long before the interlock cleared. He figured it would take another twenty seconds.
They didn’t have twenty seconds.
Novikov realized that Michigan’s Captain had planned it perfectly, waiting until Krasnoyarsk had passed by, firing from close range, giving Novikov and his crew insufficient time to respond before the incoming torpedo caught up to them.
Ten seconds later, the Command Post was filled with the deafening sound of an explosion. Krasnoyarsk jolted forward violently, knocking Novikov to the deck. As he pulled himself to his feet, the flooding alarm sounded from Compartments Eight and Nine. The normal white lighting in the Command Post extinguished a moment later, replaced by yellow emergency lights. Novikov felt his submarine slow and tilt upward as the sea poured into the aft compartments. With two compartments flooded, not even an Emergency Blow could keep them afloat.
Krasnoyarsk was going to the bottom.
“Conn, Sonar. Detect torpedo explosion, bearing one-six-three.”
There was no need for Sonar’s report, since the sound of the explosion had just reverberated through Michigan’s hull.
Moments earlier, Michigan’s Chief of the Watch had taken manual control of the Hovering system, slowing the eighteen-thousand-ton submarine’s rate of descent as it approached the sea bottom. Michigan had landed with a dull thud accompanied by only minor metallic groans from the submarine’s structure.
Another low rumbling sound passed through Michigan’s hull. Sonar reported their assessment. “Conn, Sonar. Master one has impacted the sea floor.”
It appeared that their adversary had been sunk, eliminating any immediate threat to Michigan’s safety, so Wilson focused on returning his submarine to full operational status.
Picking up the Conn microphone, he contacted the Engine Room. “Maneuvering, Conn. Shift the electric plant to a normal full power lineup.”
The Engineering Officer of the Watch acknowledged the order, and Wilson waited until the turbine generators had been brought online and full power restored.
“Dive, set Hovering to two hundred fifty feet.”
The Diving Officer complied and Michigan rose from the bottom of the Persian Gulf again. After they cleared the coral reef, Wilson ordered, “Sonar, Conn. Report all contacts.”
A moment later, Sonar reported, “Hold only Virginia-class submarines to the south and Theodore Roosevelt to the west. Hold no foreign warships.”
It looked like the third Akula had been sunk.
Although Michigan didn’t own operating area Foxtrot, Wilson decided to keep his submarine in the area in case another Russian submarine attempted to approach within firing range of Theodore Roosevelt. However, he decided it’d be prudent to let the U.S. ASW commander know that Michigan was in Foxtrot, so friendly forces didn’t accidentally attack.
“All stations, Conn,” Wilson announced. “Make preparations to come to periscope depth.”
83
WASHINGTON, D.C.
It had been a long night as Harrison sat beside Khalila in a waiting room at George Washington University Hospital, the closest Level I trauma center to Alexandria. The surgery addressing the wound to his shoulder had taken barely an hour, and he was none too worse for the wear aside from a dull ache in his shoulder and his left arm in a sling. The hours passed by at an agonizingly slow pace as two teams of doctors attended to Christine’s knife and bullet wounds, plus the savage damage Mixell had done to her face.
Harrison was no stranger to tense situations, and controlling his nerves while on a mission had never been an issue, but his right knee jittered uncontrollably as he awaited the outcome of Christine’s surgery. Khalila said little as she sat beside him, but eventually placed a hand on his knee and pressed down firmly until the jitters subsided.
It was 6 a.m., ten hours after Christine had been wheeled into the operating room, when two doctors entered the waiting room and approached Harrison and Khalila, who rose to greet them and presented their agency IDs. Christine’s parents were deceased and she was an only child with no living relatives, so the hospital had agreed to the agency’s request that Harrison be briefed on Christine’s condition.
The physicians introduced themselves; they were the lead doctors of the two teams that had tended to Christine’s injuries. Norah Aller had led the general surgery effort to treat the wounds in her back and abdomen, while Alex Warren had led the maxillofacial surgery team dealing with her facial injuries. Norah was the first to brief.
“Christine’s general wounds — from the bullets and knife — have been addressed, but there are complications. She suffered significant damage to several vital organs and she also lost a lot of blood, which placed additional stress on her body. More critically, one of the bullets entered her spinal column.”
“Is she…?”
“Her spinal cord is intact,” Norah replied. “However, there was significant tissue damage and the resulting inflammation will put pressure on the spinal column fluid, which could impact her brain. As a result, we’ve placed Christine in a medically induced coma.”
“For how long?”
“It’s hard to predict, Mr. Harrison. We don’t even know if Christine will—” Norah stopped midsentence, pausing for a moment as she considered her words. “We’ve done everything we can, and the rest is up to her. She’s relatively young and in excellent physical shape.”
A lengthy silence followed as Norah let Harrison and Khalila absorb the details of Christine’s condition, then she turned to Alex Warren, who had led the other team of doctors.
“Although not as serious as the wounds and subsequent stress to Christine’s organs,” he began, “the damage to her face was traumatic. However, she was fortunate in some respects. There was no damage to the parotid gland and the knife missed the cervical branch of the facial nerve. But the buccal nerve was severed and the zygomatic muscles were—”
Harrison interrupted. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Can you explain in plain English?”
Warren nodded. “Basically, several muscles and nerves that control the movement of Christine’s mouth and nose, along with facial sensation, were severely damaged. The muscles have been sutured back together and the prognosis is good. The nerve damage, however, is more serious. Nerve coaptation — suturing severed nerves back together — is a more difficult procedure and the recovery is often not one hundred percent. A ninety percent recovery is probably the best Christine can hope for.”