CARRIER 9: ARCTIC FIRE By: Keith Douglass

very spot he’d been probing with his fingers just moments earlier. “Very

good,” he said soothingly. “See–you can learn how to operate as I wish.

In the future, pattern your reports on the questions I just asked.”

The sonar technician nodded nervously, wondering just how likely it

was that he would survive the cruise after all.

“Set quiet ship,” Rogov ordered to the conning officer. The word was

passed in whispers throughout the submarine. Unnecessary machinery was

turned off, and the few crew members still wearing shoes slipped out of

them, treading silently on the steel decks in thin cotton socks. Aft, in

engineering, the engineers reset all of the machinery to its optimum

quieting configuration, relying on the extensive shock mounting and sound

isolation systems built into the propulsion plant to prevent any noise from

radiating out through the hull into the sea. In the galley, the cooks

quickly secured every bit of gear within reach, padding the edges of the

braces holding large pots and utensils to ensure that no sudden shift

inside the boat would cause noise to come out of their compartment. Based

on the rumors that they’d heard floating back from the control room,

disobeying one of their new commander’s orders would bring swift and

serious consequences.

“The anti-air missiles?” Rogov said, turning to the submarine’s

executive officer. “When were they last tested?”

“Six months ago, Colonel,” the man said quickly. “We’ve detected some

minor operating deficiencies in their performance. Whether or not they

would work now, after having been-”

“Colonel! Colonel, sir,” the sonar technician said suddenly. “The

anti-air missiles and CODEYE radar were tested just three weeks ago, right

before we deployed on this mission. The captain said,” the man paused and

swallowed, then continued doggedly, “the captain said it performed within

specifications.” The technician shuddered slightly, and leaned back

against his chair, wondering whether or not he had just done a good job of

following orders or had committed treason. The line seemed so very unclear

anymore.

“Very well,” Rogov said quietly. He turned back to the executive

officer. “You were perhaps not on board during that workup operation?”

The executive officer stood silent. Rogov leaned forward, and in a

motion so quick that the executive officer barely had time to flinch,

reached out and slapped the man across the face. “I need an answer,” Rogov

said, in the same quiet tones. “I must know now whether or not I shall

need to be constantly watching my back, or whether you will perform your

duties. Make your choice.”

The executive officer took in the faces of the men standing behind

Rogov, saw the pale, pleading eyes, the fearful yet supportive expressions.

What he decided would make a difference in their lives–whether they lived,

whether they died, and whether anyone with sufficient technical knowledge

of the submarine remained on board to ensure their safe return home. The

executive officer swallowed hard, then said, “My memory seems to have

failed, Colonel. The technician is right. I had forgotten about that

test.”

Rogov slipped behind the executive officer and thrust one meaty

forearm around the man’s throat from behind. Pulling the XO’s head back,

Rogov extracted his pistol from its holster. He placed the snub nose of

the 9mm against the executive officer’s temple and said quietly, “it may be

that I will need to kill you very soon, but it will be your decision, not

mine. As I said, make your choice now. Will you follow my orders? On

your word as a naval officer.”

The executive officer could barely breathe as the arm tightened down

over his windpipe. He managed a hoarse gasp. “Yes.” The pressure ceased

abruptly, and he felt the cold, hard barrel move away from his head.

As his vision cleared, he saw that the aura of fear in the crew’s face

had turned to sheer terror. If Rogov had fired the pistol inside the

submarine, there was a good chance it would have penetrated the hull,

sending a fire-hose-hard stream of water into the most sensitive electronic

gear on the submarine. Even if they’d been able to patch it, too much of

their war-fighting capability might have been permanently damaged.

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