Read Ice Station Nautilus Online
Authors: Rick Campbell
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Sea Stories, #United States, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Military, #Spies & Politics, #Espionage, #Technothrillers, #Thrillers
The Spetsnaz had probably called back to the Russian ice camp for help, so Harrison spoke into his headset, ordering Chief Stone to pull his fire team back to the LARS, where they would wait for the other twenty-four SEALs, who should be emerging from the ice hole any time now. Hay wasn’t ambulatory, so Oliver heaved him over his shoulder again, and Harrison did the same with Kratovil’s body.
Harrison reached the LARS at the same time as Chief Stone and the rest of his fire team. He laid Kratovil’s body in the snow beside the two dead Spetsnaz while Oliver propped Hay against the side of the LARS, between Tarbottom and Christine. Oliver unzipped Hay’s wet suit to take a look at the wounds, but there was little they could do until they got him back aboard
Michigan
, where their Medical Officer could tend to him.
In the still night air, Harrison heard the faint, rhythmic beat of approaching helicopters. More Spetsnaz were on the way. He checked his watch. He didn’t understand why the other SEALs hadn’t arrived yet.
Where the hell were they?
VEPR
After examining the solutions on both fire control consoles, Baczewski’s First Officer called out, “Confirmed target maneuver, Hydroacoustic two-five. Contact has turned away again.”
Before Baczewski could respond, his Weapons Officer, seated at the Weapon Control Console, called out, “Detect! First fired unit!”
Baczewski studied the fire control display. Their first torpedo had detected a contact at the location of their adversary’s first maneuver. It was likely homing on a decoy. He needed to steer the weapon away from the countermeasure and put it back onto their adversary’s trail. The Fire Control screen displayed an estimate of the American submarine’s path. It had turned away twice; first to the north and a second time to the east.
“Weapons Officer,” Baczewski ordered, “Steer both torpedoes right eighty degrees.”
The Weapons Officer acknowledged, and a moment later, their torpedoes veered right.
USS
MICHIGAN
“Conn, Sonar. Upshift in Doppler, both torpedoes. Torpedoes have turned toward.”
Wilson acknowledged the Sonar Supervisor’s report, then stopped behind Petty Officer Chris Malocsay, one of the fire control technicians manning the combat control consoles, and examined the torpedo solutions on the geographic plot. The Russian Captain had steered both torpedoes past
Michigan
’s decoys, and they were now chasing
Michigan
from behind. The bearing to the first fired torpedo was climbing up
Michigan
’s port side, which meant its course was too far to the north. The bearings to the second torpedo were steady, however, which meant its solution was dead-on.
Wilson was about to order another course change when Sonar called out again. “Second torpedo is range-gating! Estimated range to torpedo is two thousand yards.”
The torpedo had detected
Michigan,
then adjusted the interval of its sonar pings to more accurately determine the target’s range. It was homing.
Wilson’s options were limited. An Emergency Blow was out, since they were operating under the polar ice cap. He could eject another decoy and turn again, but with the torpedo locked on to
Michigan
, the odds of it being distracted by a small decoy were low. His thoughts turned to the thin sliver of water they were traveling in. The smooth bottom of the Barents Sea offered no hiding places, but the jagged ice keels did. He needed to find one. And fast.
The Sonar Supervisor reported, “Torpedo range, one-five hundred yards!”
Wilson turned to Lieutenant DeCrispino on the Conn. “Officer of the Deck. Energize the under-ice sonar. Set range to maximum.”
DeCrispino complied and the two men stared at the display, searching for a colored patch indicating a vertical surface. Just off to starboard, a red patch appeared.
“Helm, right ten degrees rudder, steady course zero-nine-zero.”
The Helm complied, and
Michigan
swung to the ordered course.
Torpedo range, one thousand yards!
Wilson focused on the red patch, which was growing slowly larger. He would have to wait until it faded from the screen, indicating
Michigan
had passed beneath it.
“Officer of the Deck,” Wilson said calmly. “Prepare to launch countermeasure.”
DeCrispino stopped beside the Countermeasure Launch Panel, lifting up the plastic cover over one of the buttons.
Torpedo range, five hundred yards!
Wilson was about to jettison his plan—the ice keel was too far away—and eject a decoy and turn, when the red blotch faded to orange, then yellow. They were passing under the ice keel.
When the color faded to black, Wilson ordered, “Dive, make your depth one hundred feet. Use twenty up!” After the Dive acknowledged, Wilson added, “Helm, right hard rudder, steady course one-eight-zero.” He turned to DeCrispino. “Launch countermeasure!”
The Lieutenant ejected the torpedo decoy as
Michigan
tilted sharply upward and twisted to starboard. Wilson followed up with another order to DeCrispino. “Secure the under-ice sonar.”
As
Michigan
rose toward the ice, Wilson gambled there were no additional ice keels; that they were under a smooth ice floe, giving them a few feet of clearance to the top of the sail.
The Weapons Officer called out, “Loss of wire continuity, tube One.” They had lost the wire guide to their torpedo, cut by the ice keel, but that was the least of their worries. They had no updated information to send it.
Michigan
leveled off as it reached ordered depth on a course paralleling the ice keel. This was the best he could do.
It was up to the Russian torpedo now.
Harrison did a quick recon of the submarine rescue equipment, then deployed the ambulatory SEALs in his squad, leaving the injured Hay sitting beside Christine. Harrison took station at the forward corner of the LARS, and Chief Stone anchored the far end near the air flasks, with three other SEALs taking position in gaps between the rescue equipment. The last SEAL, sniper Tim Oliver, climbed the A-frame that launched and retrieved the PRM.
Stone and the other three SEALs worked their way to the port side of the equipment so they would have a clear view of the avenue running between the last row of huts and the rescue equipment, while Harrison remained on the back edge of the LARS, due to lack of cover if he moved to the forward corner. Harrison told Brackman and Tarbottom they’d be put to use if the situation warranted it.
The sound of approaching helicopters had faded a few minutes ago, but there was no sign of Spetsnaz until Harrison’s hand went to his headset, then he took aim with his MP7. Harrison began firing, his weapon barely making a whisper. Neither the MP7 nor Russian AK-9 made much sound when they fired, but in the still Arctic air, Christine heard bullets pinging off metal rescue components and thudding into plywood huts.
Christine felt a tremor in the ice, and her’s and Brackman’s eyes locked for a moment. A torpedo had exploded beneath the ice cap. The Akula and
Michigan
must have engaged, which explained why the rest of the SEALs had not arrived.
“Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Explosion in the water, bearing zero-nine-zero. Loss of wire guide, second-fired torpedo.”
Baczewski didn’t need Hydroacoustic’s report to know one of their torpedoes had exploded. The sound was audible through the steel hull as the shock wave rumbled by.
Hydroacoustic followed up, “Loss of Hydroacoustic two-five. Breaking up noises, bearing zero-nine-zero.”
The tension in the Command Post dissipated, and his First Officer congratulated the two men operating the fire control consoles, slapping them on the shoulders.
Hydroacoustic called out suddenly, “Torpedo in the water, bearing zero-three-zero!”
“Steersman, ahead flank,” Baczewski ordered.
Their adversary must have counterfired while evading, and the torpedo had just gone active. However, it was not likely an accurate shot. He monitored the bright white trace on the sonar display, concluding the torpedo was headed southwest. Not a bad shot, Baczewski conceded. But not good enough.
“Steersman, right full rudder, steady course three-zero-zero.”
The Steersman complied and
Vepr
reversed course. Baczewski monitored the torpedo bearings, which drifted rapidly to starboard. The torpedo hadn’t detected
Vepr
.
Baczewski kept his submarine headed northwest until the torpedo passed astern, then ordered a new course. “Steersman, right full rudder, steady course zero-nine-zero.”
Vepr
turned toward the bearing of the torpedo explosion. Baczewski wasn’t convinced they had sunk the American submarine. His Hydroacoustic Party had reported a submarine breaking up, but it could have been an ice keel breaking apart instead.
He needed to be certain.
Vepr
surged toward the spot their torpedo had detonated.
As Wilson hoped, the torpedo had slammed into the ice keel and detonated, triggered by the contact sensor in its exploder mechanism, and he wondered if their adversary had been fooled.
Michigan
was still barreling along at ahead flank, paralleling the ice keel, and he maintained course and speed until they were two thousand yards from the explosion.
Wilson ordered, “Helm, back full. Left full rudder, steady course north.”
The Helm ordered the backing bell and twisted his rudder, and
Michigan
did a 180-degree turn while it slowed. As
Michigan
steadied on the reverse course, it coasted to a halt.
“Helm, all stop. Dive, commence hovering. Set keel depth to one hundred feet.”
The Helm and Dive complied, and
Michigan
maintained position where she was, with the ice keel on her port side, shielding her from the Akula hunting them. Wilson gave no further orders, and Lieutenant Commander Sparks approached him on the Conn.
“What’s your plan?” Sparks asked.
“I’m hoping the Akula Captain won’t want to report he
might
have sunk us. He knows that if we survived, he might regain contact if he gets here fast enough. When he arrives,” Wilson added, “we’ll be waiting for him.”
Sparks nodded his understanding as Wilson called out, “Attention in Control.” He explained his plan, and after concluding his brief, adjusted his weapon load.
“Weapons Officer. Reload tube One.”
Sitting against the LARS between Brackman and Tarbottom, Christine listened to Harrison’s communications with the other SEALs. As best she could tell from the one-sided conversation, they were seriously outnumbered. Another platoon of Spetsnaz had arrived and were interspersed along the last row of huts across from the rescue equipment.
Harrison and the five other SEALs were keeping the Spetsnaz at bay, but not without cost. The SEAL on the left side of the decompression chamber had been hit, and a moment later, the SEAL in the habitrail section stopped responding. Harrison turned to Brackman and Tarbottom.
“I need your help. Take an AK-9”—he pointed to the assault rifles lying by the dead Spetsnaz—“and take position on either side of the decompression chamber. Take the headsets off Kratovil and Hay so we can communicate.”
Brackman and Tarbottom put the Spetsnaz pistols in their parka pockets and retrieved the Russian AK-9 rifles, then Brackman pulled a headset from the dead SEAL while Tarbottom removed one from Hay. The injured SEAL had his eyes closed and was either dead or unconscious. After Brackman and Tarbottom conferred, Brackman headed to the far side of the decompression chambers while Tarbottom took station on the near side. The two men hustled down the side of the LARS, disappearing into the shadows.
Harrison returned his attention to the opposing Spetsnaz as the firefight continued. Several minutes later, it became clear the situation was deteriorating when Harrison called Tarbottom and another man’s name several times with no apparent response, and things took a turn for the worse when a man’s body thudded onto the snow a few feet from Christine. Tim Oliver, their sniper, lay motionless in the snow, his eyes frozen open, as his MP7 ricocheted off LARS support beams as it fell.
That left only two SEALs—Harrison and Stone—plus Brackman. Christine’s eyes went to Harrison as his gaze shifted from Oliver to her. “Okay,” he said. “Take Kratovil’s MP7 and take position on this side of the decompression chambers.”
Christine scrambled across the snow and retrieved Kratovil’s MP7, then hurried down the side of the LARS. After working her way through the gap between the habitrail and the decompression chambers, she reached the other side of the submarine rescue equipment, across from the Spetsnaz. Tarbottom was sprawled facedown in the snow. She lay on her stomach beside him and checked for a pulse, but found none.
She remained prone, using Tarbottom as a shield. Spetsnaz were partially hidden behind the corners of the huts, firing at Brackman, Stone, and Harrison. Propping the MP7 on Tarbottom’s body, she aimed at the nearest Spetsnaz.
VEPR
“Captain. One thousand meters to the explosion point.”
Baczewski acknowledged the Electric Navigating Party Leader. They were closing rapidly on the spot their torpedo had detonated, with
Vepr
still at ahead full.