A Northern Thunder (31 page)

“Good.”

“By the way, Admiral, we did a lot to recruit her. I’ve got five years invested in bringing her around. Any idea who told them she was loose?”

“No.” Krowl had already decided that when this was over, Scott needed a major reassignment.

“Colonel, got a moment?”

Will sat in the officer’s galley with his legs propped up. Ship life was testing his patience. “Yes, Skipper,” he said. He and Hollington had kept up the ruse of being distant. It benefited neither his team nor the
Florida
crew to know how deep their friendship ran.

“How about in my quarters?” said Hollington.

“Let’s go.”

The Skipper’s quarters, not far from Command and Control, was close to the officer’s galley.

Will followed Hollington in and closed the door.

“Okay, our orders are to get in close—about ten to twenty nautical miles south of Wonsan Harbor—and let you and the team off without endangering this multi-billion dollar weapons platform.”

Will knew the last comment was customary for all commanders. One was to do the mission but not endanger the vessel—unless that was the only way to complete the mission.

“Then we wait,” said Hollington.

“J. D., the team will take me in and then leave,” said Will. “If I’m in the slightest trouble, I don’t want you, or this boat, or especially my team, to come back for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just do it.” Will’s suspicious mind had served him well so far. If finding Nampo wasn’t the only problem, he didn’t want either his team or Hollington’s boat to be at risk. It would be his problem to solve.

Hollington let out a big sigh as he leaned back against the bulkhead. He had been the pledge leader at his Auburn fraternity, Alpha Tau Omega, and was not one to be messed with. Often, he was the one keeping the brothers from hazing the pledges, and otherwise keeping everyone in line. His loyalty was fierce to both his friends and the men of his Trident.

“Will, I can’t help you if it risks this boat or crew.” He said it to emphasize the point.

“You won’t need to, and I don’t want you to,” said Will.

“Okay, let’s play these cards out.”

T
he knock on the hatch woke Will from a shallow sleep.

“Sir, it’s midnight.”

“Yes.” He was more than ready. Two weeks on the boat with no long jogs, not to mention anticipation of the mission, had made him feel increasingly like a penned-up animal waiting for the gate to open.

“Your team’s waiting in the galley.” The chief of the boat leaned into the room as he spoke from the well-lit corridor.

Will quickly put on his utilities and boots and made his way to the galley, where J. D. Hollington waited with his crew.

“Steaks for everyone—it’s our tradition, Colonel.” The galley chief brought in a platter stacked with t-bones.

“Finally some benefit from the risk of death,” Moncrief hollered as he plunged his fork into the top steak.

“Skipper, can I talk to my folks?”

“Sure.” Hollington closed the galley door, then the officers’ mess door behind him.

Will pulled out a map and several satellite photos. In front of the men, he laid out the photos in coordination with their location on the map.

“This is Wonsan, twenty clicks to the north. Your mission is to get me and my gear ashore at this location here.” He pointed to a rocky area where a small stream flowed into the ocean from the mountain above. “I want to set up a well-camouflaged tent here. And that’s it,” Will said. “That’s all I want you to do.”

“Sir?” said Hernandez.

“No ‘sir’ about it. You’ll do nothing more.”

“What about in-country?” Despite what Will had said initially, Stidham had always expected to go inland with his boss.

“There’s no need. If I need you, all I want is your availability after the landing in the ASDS,” said Will. “And. . . no matter what happens, if you’ve not heard from me by twenty-two-hundred the day after tomorrow, you’re to return to the
Florida
.”

“Sir, we can’t leave you.”

“Moncrief, that’s a direct order. No word by me by twenty-two-hundred on D plus two and you, Gunnery Sergeant, are directed to return to this boat.”

“But—”

“No but’s. That’s a direct order.”

“Sir—”

“Again, a direct order.”

“Yes, sir,” said Moncrief.

“Okay, let’s go down to the ready room.”

They wolfed down the steaks, as if it might be their last real meal for some time.

Two cabins away, the team came to a small chamber room with nothing but four empty duffle bags, one on each of four metal chairs.

“Now, take everything off.” Will began to strip, removing each item of clothing and putting them into one of the duffle bags. “Rings, watches, necklaces—everything.”

The four naked men then went through another hatch into a room with four small tables lined up in a row—each with an issue of uniforms, boots, and underclothing.

“This is all Soviet,” Will said, “down to the last stitch. Put on your wetsuits, seal up the Spetsnaz uniforms in these waterproof pouches, and grab your weapon.”

The men suited up in the plain black wetsuits and slung their packs and weapons over their backs. Now they moved to the third cabin, directly below the open hatch to the ASDS.

“Let’s go,” Will directed. Turning toward Hollington, who had entered the room, he further instructed his men, “Don’t endanger this boat.”

Hollington smiled at the comment. “That won’t be a problem. Good luck and Godspeed.”

Will felt a small flutter of emotion. All was in place, and all was beginning. He climbed up into the mini-submarine, where the men sat in two rows facing each other, alongside their packs and the black, lightly frosted barrel.

“Sir, we have direct contact with PAC.” The Navy lieutenant who skippered the mini-sub sat in a seat directly behind its operator. Gauges and scopes, similar to panels on the Gulfstream, were all in blues and greens. He handed a headset, tethered to a long cord, to Will.

“PAC, this is the team. Go,” said Will.

“Team, this is PAC and ESC.” Even over the headset, Will recognized Scott’s British accent. He thought of Scott sitting in a vault-like room in the basement of the newly finished glass and brick building at Camp Smith. Pacific Command’s new headquarters stood on a hilltop looking out over the mountains of Hawaii and the expanse of Pearl Harbor.

And, again, Will thought of Krowl, silent, listening in from the Executive Support Center deep in the heart of the Pentagon.

What hour is it?
Will thought absently, looking down at his Soviet watch with its small red star and deep green dial.
It’s another day in Washington
, he thought as he did the mental calculation of time zones.

“You have perfect weather,” said Scott.

“That is confirmed,” said Will. The weather officer of the
Florida
had given him an update as they left the galley. A gale-like snowstorm was following them as they headed ashore—“perfect weather” indeed for going undetected. Will could expect at least ten hours of blizzard conditions, followed by sporadic snow flurries and then another storm. The temperatures would be in the thirties.

As the small submarine rocked to the side, Will grabbed the panel of electronic boxes. He felt the rise of the vessel like an elevator ascending.

“Are you go?” said Scott.

“We are go.” Little else needed be said.

“We have the satellite ready for reception of your transmission.”

“Affirm last.” Will again imagined, somewhere in space, a satellite’s small boosters going off in a syncopated motion as the satellite itself moved to a location in the geo-orbit directly above the Korean peninsula. The satellite might even be able to capture the shadow of the ASDS parked offshore from the North Korean coast. “Lieutenant, what’s your plan?”

“Sir, the
Florida
’s about twenty-two nautical miles offshore.” He pointed to the scanning screen of one of the sonars. It showed a green outline of the shore and a fixed larger object well out to sea. “We’ll park this on the bottom offshore about five-hundred meters.”

“How long will you wait there?”

“We can sit on the bottom, parked and anchored, for as long as needed,” said the lieutenant. “We have some lithium batteries that keep us charged up, and a snorkel, if needed, for air.”

The $250 million price tag for the Advanced SEAL Delivery System bought a dry, warm transfer vehicle that allowed the big boat to stay as much as a hundred miles offshore.

“We can stay here, anchor, and let you swim in and out from our lower hatch all day long.” The young lieutenant was clearly proud of his new command. On his blue jumpsuit, he had the gold badges of both a Navy SEAL and a submariner. “And if you get the bends, we can handle them as well.”

“We’ve got enough problems,” Moncrief chirped in from behind the men.

Will had heard that the earlier models of the ASDS had to be reworked for noise, but this propeller purred, no louder than the gentle noise of an air conditioner switching on in a home on a summer day.

“Okay, we’re on location, sir.” As the lieutenant turned around, the lights in the small submarine switched to red. The lieutenant stepped past Will and pulled down a small periscope as he pushed and held down a red bar. A small motorized sounding device ran for a few seconds. The lieutenant circled with the periscope.

“Here’s the coast of North Korea, sir.” He pointed to the scope and stepped aside so Will could look through.

Will saw darkness and the shape of a very rocky mountain. As his eyes focused and he turned the periscope, he spotted the faint, yellow light of what appeared to be a guard structure. He looked above the periscope to see an LED compass reading of one-hundred sixty degrees toward the south. He swung it around to three-hundred fifty-two degrees and the north. A large jetty of rocks extended out from shore, framing a small bay. Beyond the rocks to the north were the diffused, yellow lights of a city reflecting off the low cloud cover. With the clouds and lights, Will could tell that snow was driving toward the shore.

“Perfect,” he said.

“Sir, let’s go ‘ready.’” The young lieutenant reached beyond Will to a hatch in the center front of the mini-submarine. He pulled the hatch up and over, revealing a black water hole. The pressure in the submarine kept the water well down in the hole.

“Moncrief, you lead,” said Will. “I’ll go last. Once out with our gear, I’ll take the lead.” Will took his Type-64 pistol and spun the silencer onto the barrel. He then pulled back the slide to chamber a round and carefully put it back into a waterproof pouch, which looked more like a bag for shirts just returned from the laundry. Moncrief and Hernandez chambered rounds in two 68 Russian AKM assault rifles while Stidham wrapped up the Dragunor SVD sniper rifle in a similar waterproof bag.

Moncrief slid over the edge and worked his way down into the black, cold water. He slid the re-breather mouthpiece over his mouth, tilted the black Russian facemask to let a little water into it, and headed down the ladder.

As two hands reached up to pull it down into the water, Stidham slid a backpack wrapped in a black plastic bag into the hole. Then both Stidham and Hernandez slid the black rum-shaped barrel down over the edge. It had little buoyancy and clanked on the sides as it slid down into the water. Black straps encircled the drum, providing a good grab-hold.

“I’ll go next,” said Hernandez. He slipped down into the opening, followed by Stidham.

“Thanks, Skipper.” Will smiled at the lieutenant and slid his feet into the hole. He saluted as he descended into the black water. The water’s coldness penetrated the suit, but felt only like a cool dip in an unheated swimming pool in early summer. Will was impressed with the suit’s ability to keep him comfortable even as the shock of cold water hit the exposed parts of his face.

As he slid down the ladder, Will felt his feet touch a sandy bottom. He saw the red circle of light above him, and as his eyes adjusted, the red illuminated the ocean’s floor in a large circle. Round, smooth boulders dotted the ocean floor. He turned toward the nose of the submarine to orient himself toward shore. Will detected the shapes of the others, then saw them donning long black fins. His eyes quickly adjusted to the low light, and touching each man on the shoulder, he pointed toward the west.

In total silence, they headed in a snakelike motion toward the shore. Will felt the sea surge as he swam across the increasingly rocky floor. In the dark, his only senses were the taste of rubber in his mouth and the sound of air sucked in from his re-breather. The Soviet device, similar to that made for U.S. Navy SEALs, released no air bubbles. After some time, he stopped, gathered the team together, gave them a hand signal to wait, and slid up to the surface.

The cold air struck his face as Will broke through a wave. Icy snowflakes hit his cheeks as he turned toward the shoreline. He was just out of the breakers, feeling the ocean as it ran past him. The shore was barely visible beyond the white foamed waves crashing into jagged black boulders. Will quickly circled several times, unable to detect the slightest movement.