Three hours later, the fires on board Simbirsk had been put out. The crews of Shiloh and Peter the Great examined the damage as both cruiser captains had straddled the damaged World War II warship in a protective layer that any enemy would find hard to get past. A total of over six hundred men lined the decks of both with automatic weapons as they all scanned the sea for further threats.
The two captains, Jack Collins, Carl Everett, Henri Farbeaux, and Salkukoff met at the burned fantail of the Simbirsk.
“The phase shift power plant, was it damaged at all?” Captain Kreshenko asked, looking at Jack.
“Professor Gervais and the master chief are evaluating that as we speak. Thus far, it looks as though the quick thinking of Gervais saved us from the enemy getting to the equipment. He and his assistants locked themselves inside the engine room and dogged the hatches. They couldn’t get in and were butchered by the Russian, American, and Royal Marine contingent sent by you. Obviously, we need more security aboard Simbirsk. We can’t risk losing that ship at this point.”
“Are you suggesting that these … these creatures were after the power plant?” Salkukoff asked with skepticism written on his stern face.
Collins now turned his attention to Salkukoff. “Well, let’s see here, Colonel. Their boarding parties never made an attempt to get belowdecks of either Peter the Great or Shiloh. But they did the Simbirsk. I’ve never been a big believer in coincidence, and if your files on me are as accurate as I think they are, you should know that.”
“As you say, they are accurate files, Colonel Collins. So why do we not cut to the chase, as you Americans say? Ask me your questions, and maybe I can allay your suspicions about my mission.”
“I’ll bite. What are your orders?”
At this, even Captain Kreshenko raised a brow, as he wanted the full details about Salkukoff’s mission as well. He could see that the American colonel was as suspicious about this man as himself.
“To put it bluntly, Colonel, I am here to assure my superiors are not embarrassed by this ship and the ways and means we received the technology.”
“Destroy her,” Jack said with a smirk. “But now you find yourself at cross purposes, don’t you?”
“Yes, I would indeed like to survive this, but it is not my highest priority.”
“This has nothing to do with the phase shift experiment, does it?”
All eyes went to Jack, curious at the question he had just asked. Carl even stepped closer to the Russian.
“You’re out to protect the way in which that material was stolen originally. Not only that, you’re here to stop us from finding out those sources are still active within our government, possibly even our military. That’s why you didn’t sink Simbirsk during your egress into the hurricane. You needed to know just what it was that we knew.”
“You Americans love your conspiracy theories, don’t you? This is not one of your films where the hero always figures out the dastardly scheme of the evil man. This is real life, Colonel Collins.”
“Yes, it is.” Jack turned to Kreshenko. “Captain, did you confirm with Moscow the colonel’s orders?”
The Russian captain just nodded.
“And where did that confirmation originate? Moscow?”
“No.” Kreshenko looked at Collins and shook his head. “Colonel, you are placing me in a difficult situation.”
“Yes, Captain, I am. You have close to five hundred men you’re responsible for, just as Captain Johnson does. We need to know if the only enemy we have is out there.” Jack pointed to the open sea. “Now, this man knows why the Simbirsk was targeted and why they tried to get belowdecks. We need to know why.”
All eyes again went to the Russian colonel.
“You weren’t sent to destroy Simbirsk; you were sent to salvage her and bring her home to the motherland, right?” Jack smiled as he knew he was getting warm to the truth—the same truth that Niles Compton and British MI6 wanted to get at.
“What is that?” Kreshenko asked. “What could possibly be here that Russia needs?”
“Industrial blue diamonds,” Henri answered for Jack.
“And he should know. He’s stolen enough of them from us to make the identification,” Carl said as he too eyed the Russian.
“The misguided captain is most assuredly correct, Colonel. I do know my diamonds.” Henri turned and looked at Kreshenko. “In ten years, the most advanced nations of the world will be fighting over this very limited resource for energy purposes. These fine fellows have come to utilize them in the most industrious of ways. I see them as money, but you men see them as power. Why they abound in this world and not our own will have to be explained by a geologist”—he looked at Jack and their shared memories of Sarah McIntire—“but I suspect that is the reason we have the company of your presence.”
Jack smiled and nodded at the Frenchman, who dipped his head at the colonel’s favored look.
“Speculate all you want, Colonel. My superiors want their ship and their experiment back,” Salkukoff said. “And as for your question, yes, we have recovered Simbirsk before. In 1989, she reappeared in the Black Sea with several of those disgusting creatures on board. Before we had a chance to recover her, she vanished once more. Three hundred of our men went with her. We did recover some of these from her superstructure before she did her disappearing act. Failing to recover our property will lead us to destroying her. Even with you on her, Colonel.”
“Who do you work for? Whoever they are must think you are expendable, because without your Simbirsk, you’re as stuck as we are,” Jack persisted.
“I work for my government, of course.” Salkukoff never allowed his eyes to leave Jack’s.
“The orders, as confirmed, never originated in Moscow, Colonel. I must insist you answer Colonel Collins’s question,” Kreshenko said.
Salkukoff stepped back and then looked at all of them. “I work for my government.”
“President Putin is not the head of that government, is he?” Henri asked.
“Does it really matter, Colonel Farbeaux?”
“Colonel, you have to see this,” Charlie said as he came forward with Jenks in tow. The master chief was also holding a small fire extinguisher. Ellenshaw saw the serious faces of the men standing in an angry circle, and he and Jenks stopped. “Uh, we’re all still friends here, right?” crazy Charlie asked, lowering the rag he had been trying to show Jack.
“I have a feeling we’re not, Professor,” Kreshenko said, but he was not looking at the Americans. He was staring straight at Salkukoff.
Carl turned to Charlie. “What have you got, Doc?”
Ellenshaw was silent at first as he caught the heavy vibes streaming off the angry men.
“Doc?” Everett asked again.
“Oh, this.” He held out an old red rag. It had a clear substance dripping from it. “It was recovered from the stern decking, and we suspect it was how the fire was started. Chief?”
Jenks nodded. Ellenshaw allowed the rag to drip onto the old wood decking of Simbirsk. Then Charlie eased over to Jenks and accepted a small square of steel.
“As you see, this substance doesn’t burn the wood deck, correct? Now watch this,” Ellenshaw gingerly laid the small piece of steel onto the substance. Suddenly, the liquid activated, and a magnesium-type of flare-up happened. The steel melted right before their eyes, and then when it touched the wooden deck, it slowly fizzled to nothing.
“Damn,” Carl said as he kneeled to examine the spot. “Chemical?”
“Organic,” Jenks said. “In the late ’70s, I heard rumors that the navy was experimenting with the glands of certain fish and other sea life, and they were amazed to find some of these same properties. This stuff more than likely originated with some kind of fish—clam, who knows? But it was a substance that was harvested, to be sure.” Jenks looked over at the assembled men. “Evidently, our aggressive friends from the sea are a little more knowledgeable than we gave them credit for.”
Without warning, Jack quickly reached out and deftly removed Salkukoff of his holstered weapon and then tossed it to Everett. Kreshenko looked momentarily shocked, but Salkukoff did not.
“Easy, Captain,” Henri said as he stepped up beside Kreshenko.
Everett looked from the Russian captain to Jack. Then he went to Kreshenko and handed him the Russian pistol.
“Captain, I suggest you place this man under arrest until such a time as we can get the hell out of this screwed-up world,” Collins said.
Kreshenko shocked them all by handing the pistol back to Salkukoff. “Consider yourself under arrest, Colonel. You still have the privilege of defending yourself, but you are hereby prohibited from venturing belowdecks of Simbirsk.”
“A wise decision, Captain,” he said as he holstered the pistol.
Jack looked at the two Russians and shook his head and then turned away, followed by Carl and Henri.
Ellenshaw looked at Jenks.
“We have got to start being in on these meetings.”
“Yeah, we end up missing the good stuff.”
Master Chief Jenks easily tossed Kreshenko the fire extinguisher and left with Charlie.
* * *
Just after 6:00 A.M., alarms were sounded again on all three ships. Men crowded around the railings and watched as the alarms died down to nothing as the fleet of villagers started to sail by on their small wooden ships. With their brightly colored sails pushing them through the strangely colored sea, sailors from both nations watched them go by. There were catcalls and whistles when the men of both navies saw the women inside the boats as they prepared their fishing nets for the day.
“Look at that,” Carl said as he stood next to Jack. “It’s like the world moves on for them. Death by those fish-looking pirate bastards must be close to an everyday occurrence.”
“I’m afraid you’re probably right, Swabby.”
As the hundred boats moved silently past the warships, one of the men with mud covering his face raised a hand. Unlike the day before when there was not even an indication that these small people even realized they were there, this time there was a greeting. Jack watched the headman as he lowered his arm. Jack’s mind was filled with the glee of that little girl as he gave her the saltwater taffy. Then the memory broke apart as he saw her face in death not three hours later. He turned away from the railing.
“You’re having the same thoughts on Director Compton’s edict on getting involved with indigenous people?”
Jack watched the small fishing boats vanish into the rising sun of the east and then turned and nodded. “I tend to lean more toward the Garrison Lee way of doing things.”
“Yeah, kill the bad guys, and then we’ll figure out the rest.”
“Yeah, this noninterference stuff, sometimes it’s hard to see and grasp, even coming from one of the smartest men in the world.”
A Russian commando approached Collins, and with a sour look on his face, he reported, “Colonel, I have been sent to inform you that Colonel Salkukoff has requested you join him aboard Peter the Great.” The Russian saluted, but Jack held firm. The hand remained raised just below the man’s helmet. The commando finally caught on. “We have a prisoner.”
Jack finally returned the salute, and the Russian left with an arrogant gait. He brushed by two American sailors, and one of the men made a turn to go after the commando, but Captain Johnson walked by at just the right time and shooed the men back to work. The captain, his eyes momentarily on his men, finally turned and went to Jack and Carl.
“This is getting a little tense around here,” Johnson said as he joined the two.
“I don’t think it’s going to get any better,” Jack said. “Fighting a common foe hasn’t resulted in forgetting old animosities, has it?” Collins said, and then he faced Johnson. “It seems we’ve been invited over to Peter the Great. Want a look-see at this marvel of the seas?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnson answered as he gestured toward the gangway and the waiting Zodiac. “But you know, I think I’ll take a marine strike team with us. I like to share my experiences.”
“And Henri,” Jack said, smiling. “I like the way the Frenchman gives Salkukoff the creeps.”
“I like that aspect also,” Johnson agreed.
“We’re starting to think more alike every hour, Captain,” Carl said as he and Jack followed the captain of Shiloh to the waiting Zodiac.
* * *
Deep in the bowels of Shiloh and her darkened CIC, several radar men were busy making adjustments to their repaired systems and failed to see that the horizon had momentarily filled with a blip that, if they had seen it, would have been comparable in size to an entire battle group, just sitting there on the horizon.
Their own three ships were about to face the entire home fleet of their aquatic enemy.
LOS ANGELES–CLASS ATTACK SUBMARINE USS HOUSTON
Tempers and fears remained high as sailors accustomed to having everything they ever needed supplied to them by the navy had been exhausted. They fought tooth and nail with repairing so many systems that none of them suspected they would ever see home again. Several times, Houston started sliding down the mountain shelf as her weight turned against them. The ballast tanks remained filled with seawater as they battled the pumps that would eject that water from their tanks.
“Okay,” the chief of the boat said from a crawl space. “Try her now.”
With relief exploding from his pent-up breath, Captain Thorne heard the outer and inner vents open and then just as quickly close. He squeezed his eyes shut in offered prayer, as did the tired and frightened men around him.
“That did it, Chief,” Thorne said as he winked at the young ballast control technician next to him. The chief crawled out of the small enclosed space. He was covered with sweat.
“Remind me to write one hell of a nasty letter to the Electric Boat Division about making more room behind these damn consoles!”
Thorne assisted the small career navy man to his feet and slapped him on the back. “I’ll deliver it myself, Chief.” Thorne turned and nodded back into the control room. “Okay, Gary, give her a shot of air, and we’ll see if the chief’s magic works.”
Inside the control room, Gary Devers nodded at the ballast control officer. The man closed his eyes and then turned the small switch that activated the powerful pumps. They heard it throughout the boat as the ballast pumps kicked in. Every man heard the pumps start doing their job as water was beginning to be forced from the ballast tanks.
A loud cheer went up throughout the entire length of Houston. Captain Thorne stepped through the hatchway and watched the faces of his XO and of his ballast control officer. He waited for the word.
“Pumping ballast from the boat to the sea!” the officer called out loud enough that another cheer shot through the boat.
“Gary, have the engines ready for all back.”
“Aye. Make ready for full astern, and then—”
The explosion sounded distant, but every man knew exactly what it was. Ballast control had blown another one of her precious circuit boards as the makeshift system was unable to withstand the load of the powerful pumps.
Houston settled and calmed as the pumps wound down. The lights flickered and then steadied as USS Houston started to slide down the large shelf they had come to rest upon. The boat scraped and shuddered as every man felt the boat start to speed up. And then, as suddenly as the slide of death had started, it skidded to a stop and then silently went back to her death slumber precariously close to the end of the shelf.
Thorne placed his head into the crook of his arm and then cursed their luck. They had gone through every circuit board that they found, washing machine parts to privately owned stereo equipment. Even the old movie projector had been used. It all seemed hopeless.
“Close the outside vents. It doesn’t seem Houston is ready to leave just yet,” Thorne said with a wink to those control room crew who were watching him. This time, he saw the hopelessness in their eyes as the realization struck them that odds were fast climbing they would never see the open sky again. Thorne once more brought up the 1 MC mic. He started to talk but faltered, and then he momentarily hung his head. Instead of talking to his crew like he should have, he replaced the mic and then started forward, away from the despondent eyes of his young crewmen.
As he made his way forward, he passed his sailors, and they avoided his eyes.
“Captain, have a minute?”
Thorne stopped as he wanted to turn and tell whoever it was that he had all the damn time in the world, just as they all did, but stopped when he saw the weapons officer. He just nodded once.
“Skipper, I have to report something, and I just don’t know how.”
Thorne focused fully on the young man before him. He raised his brows as he refused to allow his voice to betray his distress over Houston’s situation to show.
The officer offered the captain a small jar. Thorne took it from his hand and looked at it. He rolled the bottle over and then held it up to the light. He lowered it, and the confusion on his face was evident. The water inside had a purplish hue to it.
“What is this, some kind of contamination?”
“No, sir. The water we took on during the initial attack, or whatever it was, was normal. Seawater, nothing more. This here is still seawater, but as you can see, it’s not the right makeup of color and other nutrients from the oceans of the world.”
“Just what in the hell are you saying, Lieutenant?”
“Skipper, when we were hit, we were in a normal surrounding of ocean water. After the flooding was controlled, we sprung a few leaks here and there, but it was controllable. But what we didn’t expect was what came through those leaks. This,” he said as he tapped the water in the small jar. “I tested the ballast tanks also, Skipper. They’re full of this stuff. The seas we’re in are violet in color and lacking commercial contaminants. Nothing—no oil or other pollution we find in oceans all over the world. No matter where we are or how deep, we always have dirty seas. But this, it’s like the ocean has never seen an oil- or diesel-powered ship. Ever.”
Thorne was even more perplexed and lost. He looked at the water and then at the young face of the lieutenant.
“How many crew know about this?” he asked as he handed the sample back.
“Just me and my weapons people. But word’s spreading fast, Captain.”
“Well, there’s not a lot we can do to investigate that right now, Lieutenant.” Thorne paused and bit his lip and then came to a decision. He took the lieutenant by the shoulder and then leaned in conspiratorially. “Lock your men up. Tell the cooks in the galley to send you all your meals. You’re now too busy to stop your leaks to venture forth.” He winked. “We can’t let this spread. These boys have too much on their plate already. Hold them until we find out one way or the other about ballast control.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Thorne nodded, and the lieutenant turned and left. Alone, Thorne faced the cold bulkhead separating some of the men’s sleeping quarters from the forward torpedo room.
“Help us out here, old girl.” He patted the steel beneath his touch. It was cold.
“Skipper?”
Thorne turned to see XO Devers standing there with a young man off shift from the torpedo room. Thorne nodded as he felt betrayed by his voice once more.
“Machinist Mate Ramirez says he might have an answer to our problem. He says it’s dangerous, but he believes it may work in getting the pumps back online.”
Thorne looked at the young man who stood nervously waiting. The captain recognized the boy but could have sworn he had never exchanged so much as a hello before this day.
“Machinist Mate?”
“The Mark 48, Captain.”
“A torpedo?” Thorne asked.
“Yes, sir. I know the Mark 48 from its tail fins to her warhead. I believe inside her guidance system there is a board we can use to rig the ballast pumps.”
“I have a feeling you have a but to offer here, Ramirez.”
“Yes, sir. It’s a big but for sure. Almost the size of my wife’s.” He smiled but found no one was smiling with him.
“Go ahead, Machinist Mate Ramirez. It’s the day for bad news.”
“We have to take the Mark 48 completely apart to get to that guidance chip.”
“I suspected that much, Ramirez,” Thorne said.
“Yes, sir. I know you did, but we have to disassemble the actual warhead. It’s the chip on the circuit board that tells the Mark 48 when and where to detonate. It’s real sensitive. Even a small charge of static electricity will set off the warhead.”
Thorne closed his eyes and then suddenly opened them.
“Can you do it without blowing us from here back home? Although that’s far more acceptable than where we are now.”
“Yes, sir, but it’s like brain surgery. The boat can have no movement at all.”
“Well, great. With the gravity slides we’re experiencing, I don’t know how we’ll be able to pull that off.”
The XO and the machinist mate waited.
“Okay, Dr. Ramirez, let’s get surgery ready.”
USS Houston might not be as dead as earlier believed. But then again, with Machinist Mate Ramirez taking apart one of the world’s most powerful torpedo warheads on a boat that only wanted to slide into a deep oblivion, suffocating might have been preferable.
Thorne closed his eyes again and this time prayed for his entire crew. He touched the cold steel of Houston’s hull once more.
“One break is all we ask for, Gray Lady.”
In answer to his prayer, Houston began another slide toward the jagged edge of the mountain.
Their break might have to come in some other form.