fleet headquarters, then descrambled aboard the Glorious October
Revolution.
“Yes, Comrade Admiral. All missile guidance systems have been
programmed with the appropriate coordinates. We are ready to fire the
first on two minutes’ notice.”
“Very well. In the name of the Ruling Council, I hereby direct you to
fire missile number one at precisely 1530 hours, Moscow time.”
“But, might not the rebels capitulate, Comrade Admiral? Surely-”
“They will not surrender, not so long as they assume we are bluffing.
Once a city dies, they will know that we are in deadly earnest.
Frankly, I suspect that the surrender will come through within ten
minutes of the destruction of the target … just long enough for
Leonov’s people to receive confirmation that the city is gone. Then
they will come around.”
“Yes, sir.” Dobrynin felt sick. He showed nothing, however, in his
face. Strelbitski was standing close by his side, and the eyes of every
man in the communications compartment were on him. “Of course. It will
be done according to your orders.”
“Excellent.” Karelin’s voice nearly purred. “I am counting on you,
Comrade Captain. Do not let me down.”
1502 hours
Control room/attack center
U.S.S. Galveston
“The order decodes as “Sink the Typhoon, sir.”
Montgomery nodded. It was as he’d feared. “God in heaven.”
“There’s more.”
“What is it, son?”
“It says, ‘Radio intercept indicates Typhoon will launch on own city
about 1530 hours local time. Prompt action necessary to prevent Russian
conflict going nuclear.” It’s signed ‘Scott,’ Captain.”
“I concur, sir,” a second communications chief said. The message had
been decoded, as required, by two different men in the communications
suite.
It was now being presented to the Captain and the XO.
Montgomery looked at Harris expectantly. “Bob?”
“Authenticated, Captain.”
“I concur. Well, if the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs says so, we’d
better get on with it. God damn, but that’s fast action for Washington,
though. They must be shook to have acted that fast on this thing.
Okay.
Reel in the cable. Let’s clear for action.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Backing out of the communications shack, Montgomery strode forward to
his accustomed place in Galveston’s control room/attack center. “Mr.
Harris, what is our weapons status, please?”
“Tubes one through four loaded and ready to shoot, Captain. ADCAP Mark
48s, primed, hot and ready.”
“Very well. Bring us onto a heading of zero-zero-five. Make depth one
hundred feet. Bring us ahead slow.”
“Come to bearing zero-zero-five, make depth one hundred feet, ahead
slow, aye, sir.”
“Weapons officer!”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll have the bow doors open, Mr. Villiers. But quietly.
Crank ’em open by hand.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Montgomery felt the deck tilt beneath his feet as Galveston swung around
in a great, slow circle, then began descending once again into her
element.
For most of his adult life, Richard Montgomery had trained for this
moment, had dreamed about it, wondering whether he would be able to meet
the test if and when the time finally came. He was an attack boat
skipper, and one of the best. The Los Angeles attack submarine had been
designed to handle many missions, but her most important, the one she’d
been built for above all others, was to track and kill Russian boomers.
In a nuclear war between East and West, America’s survival might well
depend on whether a few men like Dick Montgomery could take down
monsters such as that Typhoon out there under the ice before they could
target New York or Washington from their Arctic bastions.
As the threat of global nuclear holocaust had receded, Montgomery had
assumed that his particular skills and training in tracking Russian
PLARBs would never be called into play.
Submarines had been employed in numerous military actions through the
last decade, from the Gulf War to the scrape last year with the Russians
off Norway, but he’d thought the old game of stalking their boomers was
over.
Evidently, he was wrong.
Would the Russians really launch on one of their own cities?
Washington seemed to think so, and it was not part of his job to
question his boss’s orders. Not long ago, a cruise missile from the
Galveston had helped sink the Indian carrier Viraat, part of an action