CARRIER 9: ARCTIC FIRE By: Keith Douglass

“Just what I said. My men have detected a small boat with

approximately six people on board, inbound this location. Unless directed

otherwise, I intend to eliminate these complications. Your orders?” The

Spetsnaz commander’s voice was harsh and broken over the speaker. The Kilo

was moving at steerageway just barely below the surface of the ocean, her

antenna poking up above the surface for a scheduled communications break

with the team ashore.

Rogov paused, staring at the microphone, then swore quietly. The key

to executing this mission successfully required no interference from

outside sources. At the very least, if the natives landed, they would be

witnesses. They must be Inuits or Aleuts, or one of the many other bands

of native Alaskans that roamed the waters between the islands, foraging

from the sea and living as they had for centuries on the desolate islands.

Since the Oscar had eliminated the prying Greenpeace intruders, that was

the only possible explanation. From what the Spetsnaz commander had said,

the boat was too small to attempt trans-Pacific voyages. Therefore, it had

to have come from one of the other islands.

He paused and considered his options. Sinking the Greenpeace boat had

been accomplished silently and stealthily with a submarine, and there was

no evidence left behind to betray the mission. But Inuits–somebody might

miss them, and one of the other isolated islands might have contact with

the mainland. Finally, he reached a decision. “Avoid them if possible.

If you are observed or if they come ashore, take them hostage. We’ll

consider other options at a later time.”

“Very well.”

“And I will be joining you ashore tomorrow morning.” He glanced over

at the Kilo’s executive officer, who was watching him with a faintly

hopeful look on his face. “The Kilo will remain offshore to provide

assistance as needed.”

He hung up the microphone abruptly, knowing that the Spetsnaz

commander understood exactly what the phrase “other options” meant.

The executive officer didn’t. If he had, he would have known that no

Cossack ever left an untrustworthy officer at his back.

CHAPTER 5

Wednesday, 28 December

1000 Local

cvic, USS Jefferson

Commander Busby frowned and stared at the technician standing in front

of him. “You’re sure about this?”

The technician nodded. “No doubt in my military mind, sir.” The

younger man pointed at a series of lines stretching across the printout.

“Look at those frequencies. Those aren’t from military communications.

Not ours, anyway.”

“What are they from, then?” Busby asked. The three lines on the paper

that the technician pointed to were cryptic strings of numbers, indicating

frequencies and times of detection. To anyone else, it could just as well

have been a report from a Supply logistics computer. He smiled for a

second, wondering how many top-secret reports looked just as mundane.

“What’s your best classification?” he asked finally, tapping his

pencil on one column of numbers. “These frequencies–this isn’t a

long-range system.”

“You’re right about that. I’d call it some sort of short-range

tactical system–maybe even hand-held. Look how the signal strengths vary

so widely. Could be caused by geography–somebody walks behind a rock and

the antenna’s not fully extended, you get that sort of dip.”

“Did you check with our SEALS? Maybe they were playing with some of

their toys.”

The technician smirked. “Thought you might ask about that. And no,

it’s not our SEALS. The frequencies don’t match up at all.”

Commander Busby sighed and tossed the paper on his desk. The last

thing he needed right now was evidence of unknown short-range tactical

communications in their vicinity. He closed his eyes for a moment,

visualizing a chart of the area. Nowhere those signals could have come

from but the islands to the north. He opened his eyes and saw that the

technician had come to the same conclusion.

“This is impossible, you know. Just how am I supposed to explain to

the Admiral that we’re detecting radio signals from the godforsaken rocks

called the Aleutians? Nobody lives there, and we’re certainly not ashore.

If we’re wrong about this, we’re going to stir up a hell of a lot of

trouble for nothing. Every intelligence group on board and back home is

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *