Panic Switch полностью

“So what?” Alexeyev said. “Better to return from this mission with no torpedoes, yes? Which brings me to the next tactic. If we can’t confirm a kill on Hostile One after shooting a Shkval at him, we’ll fire the last Gigantskiy at him.”

Lebedev’s eyes grew wide. Alexeyev could see the whites of her eyes above and below her irises. “Sir, the box — as you described it — is only seven miles wide, and the last time we shot a Gigantskiy, we almost lost the entire first compartment to fire and explosions. That could have sunk us. We’ll be too close, Captain. The next time we may not be as lucky. Plus, we might have latent damage from the first detonation that we haven’t discovered yet. A second explosion could cause a catastrophic failure from a hundred systems.”

“My plan is to shoot the Gigantskiy, then spin the ship and sprint northward back the way we came. We’ll have a thick ice wall between us and the detonation.”

Kovalov looked unhappy. “It’s an awful risk, Captain. And still no guarantee this will kill the American. He survived the first detonation.”

“Do we care?” Alexeyev asked. “We need to return to Zapadnaya Litsa with no weapons, Sergei. Our patrol report will claim a kill unless we absolutely have proof he survived. And even if the American boat does survive, we’ll have no more weapons, so there’s nothing we can do about the hostile submarine.”

“Let me make a suggestion, then, Captain,” Kovalov said. “While you are spinning the ship, my crew and I will undock the Losharik and maneuver away from you.”

“What? Why?” Alexeyev held out his hand for a cigarette, pulled over the ash tray, and sat at one of the seats of the table. Kovalov and Lebedev also sat. Alexeyev lit up and looked at Kovalov through the smoke.

“Just in case, Captain. If something goes wrong and Belgorod lies on the bottom, Losharik would be helpless with your bulk lying on top of us. You’ll be a crushing weight above us. We’ll be useless. But if we’re free of Belgorod, Losharik can rescue your crew from the upper hatch of the escape chamber and drive us all back to open water, where we can call for help. And while we wait, we can keep everyone warm and fed — assuming our reactor survives.”

Alexeyev nodded. “What do you think, Madam First?”

Lebedev exhaled hard, her cheeks blowing out momentarily. “I don’t know, Captain. Losharik isn’t equipped for operation under the ice. I think she’d have trouble finding open water. And what if the nuclear explosion damages her? How well will Losharik survive a shock event?”

“A damned sight better than Belgorod,” Kovalov said. “Our pressure hulls are spherical titanium, good down to twenty-five hundred meters. That’s five times the depth of Belgorod’s test depth. We can stand a shock wave better than Belgorod can. And if we’re under ice without you, I’ll use the side-scan sonar to feel out the ice field. I’ll have to do a lot of thrusting and spinning, but I can find open water.”

“Madam First?” Alexeyev asked.

“I guess it will work, Captain. I’ll feel a lot better when that goddamned Gigantskiy is gone and we’re still okay.”

Alexeyev reached over and clapped Lebedev on the shoulder. “Madam First, we’ll be home safe in two weeks.”

Lebedev and Kovalov stood. “I’d better start up Losharik,” Kovalov said.

“I’ll brief the central command post crew,” Lebedev said. As she left the captain’s stateroom, once Kovalov had walked down the passageway, she unzipped her coveralls slightly and pulled out a small, silver crucifix she secretly wore around her neck. She kissed it, her eyes shut, then put it back in her coveralls, looking around to make sure no one had seen her.

The watch officer’s voice crackled through the ship on the shipwide announcing speakers. “All Losharik personnel, report to the Losharik.”

“Captain, Officer of the Deck, Master One has started back up. I’ve got flooding noises. I think he’s vertical diving from the open water overhead.” Senior Chief Albanese looked over his shoulder. “I recommend we set up to follow him.”

“Bring her off the bottom, Mr. Pacino,” Captain Seagraves said, “and hover at four hundred while we figure out what he’s doing.”

“Pilot, insert a positive rate and hover at depth four hundred,” Pacino ordered Dankleff.

“Insert a positive rate and commence hovering at four hundred feet, Pilot, aye,” Dankleff acknowledged.

“OOD,” Albanese called, “Master One is putting on fast revs. I’m getting him over a hundred RPM on one seven-bladed screw, bearing two five five. One-twenty RPM now and still increasing. One-fifty. One-eighty. Two hundred RPM.”

“Jaysus,” Quinnivan said, leaning over Albanese’s sonar stack. “He’s hauling ass. What the fook is he doing?”

“Two hundred forty RPM, sir, and now steady on two-fifty.”

“He must be going flank on that one screw,” Pacino said to Seagraves and Quinnivan.