fishing boat was departing the area. The Greenpeace ship had been
interfering with their operations, and their captain had finally given up
trying to fish those waters. The captain claims to have seen a large
fireball, and then the Greenpeace ship disappeared off the radar scope.
Now what does that sound like to you?”
Tombstone swore silently, then turned to his operations officer. “Get
everything we have airborne,” he ordered.
The operations officer said, “Admiral, there’s not much chance-”
“I know, I know,” Tombstone said. “With survival times in the North
Pacific, there’s probably not much we can do. But I’ll be damned if I’ll
sit here and hold a briefing while there’s a chance we can save someone.
Go on, get moving!”
The operations officer had just reached the door when Tombstone
thought of something else. “Captain Craig,” he said. “That
squadron–they’re supposed to fly out for CONUS tomorrow morning, right?”
The chief of staff nodded. “The support staff will be here for
another week, but the aircraft are leaving.”
“Hold back two of those P-3s and enough maintenance personnel to keep
them up and ready to fly. And get a full load of sonobuoys and torpedoes
on them.”
The operations officer turned back to him, and looked at him
uncertainly. “You think that-”
“That the boat might have suffered a massive engineering casualty,”
Tombstone said. “But based on my experience, the most common explanation
for a surface ship sinking unexpectedly is a submarine. And if there’s one
out there …”
He let the thought trail off. If the Soviets were deploying their
submarines again–excuse me, the Russians, he thought bitterly–then it was
the height of foolishness to pull this squadron back to CONUS. Now, more
than ever, they might be needed at the westernmost point of America’s
strategic envelope. He turned back to Pamela Drake. “Thank you for the
information, Miss Drake,” he said. “We won’t be needing you here any
longer.”
“Oh, but I think you will, Stoney,” she said softly. “Unless you want
me to break the story of how ACN is now briefing Navy commanders on their
operational responsibilities, I suggest you let me stay. And I’ll want
full access to the crews of those P-3s when they return. Otherwise, you’re
not gonna like my report when I file it.”
Tombstone groaned. In the span of ten minutes, Pamela Drake had gone
from fond memory to nemesis.
CHAPTER 4
Monday, 26 December
1530 Local
Kilo 31
Two hours later, moving west at an undetectable eight knots, the Kilo
approached the area where the explosion had occurred. Except for the
chirping clicks of snapping shrimp and the low, plaintive calls of a pod of
whales, the ocean around them was silent. The lack of noise told him what
he needed to know. Had the Oscar truly suffered an engineering casualty,
she would not have been so quiet.
“Colonel, sir!” The sonar technician swiveled around in his chair to
face the center of the control room. “American surveillance aircraft in
the area.” He pointed at a line on his waterfall display.
Rogov darted across the control room, a surprisingly quick movement
for one so solidly built. “Classification?”
“A P-3 Orion–one of their ASW air-surface surveillance aircraft.”
“I know what a P-3 is, you fool.” Rogov laid one hand on the man’s
shoulder and pressed in gently, finding the sensitive nerve endings
embedded in the trapezium. “Tell me something useful.”
“Sir, it’s not very close,” the technician said rapidly. “Five miles,
maybe more. So far I have detected no noise of sonobuoys entering the
water.”
“No indication of helicopters? Or active sonobuoys?”
“No. All I can hear is the aircraft.”
“Circling?”
The technician pressed his hands over his ears, crushing the earphones
down to eliminate every last vestige of noise inside the control center.
He listened carefully, all too aware of how much his safety hung in
balance. Finally, he shook his head. “No, Comra-Colonel, sir,” he said
carefully. “They are maneuvering in the area, but they do not appear to be
circling over a sonobuoy field or making MAD runs in the area.” That was
all the technician knew, and he hoped it would be enough.
Rogov released his grasp on the man’s shoulder, and patted gently the