“What the hell is it, First?”
“It’s the ending of the
“A Russian composer,” Alexeyev said. “Why the hell do you think they’re transmitting music from a Russian composer?”
“Maybe they’re trying to communicate with us, sir. Maybe they are saying they’re friendly.”
“Begging us not to shoot them?” Alexeyev shook his head. “No, it can’t be that. Damned if I know what they’re doing.”
Lebedev blew her lips out for a moment. “Who knows what the crazy Americans are thinking at any given time?” she asked. “At best it’s a trick.”
“Yeah,” Alexeyev said, glancing at his watch. “This is taking too long. Madam First, get down to the torpedo control console and see if you can help.”
“Right away, sir,” Lebedev said, unbuckling her seatbelt and vaulting out of her chair to rush to the first compartment.
Lebedev hurried down the steep stairways to the zero three deck, jogged forward through the narrow passageway, emerging into an equipment room. The door to the weapon control electronics room was open and Chief Yeger and Sobol were standing inside staring at the inside of a cabinet. Lebedev entered, noting it was a tight squeeze with all three of them in the space between the racks of electronics.
“What was wrong?”
Three tube bank control cabinets were opened. Two of them were unrecognizable, both ravaged by fire, black fused wires and control panels still emitting thick noxious smoke to the overhead.
“Look at this, Madam First,” Glavny Starshina Semion Yeger said. He pointed to a package slightly smaller than a cigarette pack, the unit nestled into the wiring harness cableway inside the port tube bank’s controller cabinet, which was undamaged.
“What is it?”
“An explosive device,” Yeger said. “Wired to go off when you gave a weapon launch signal. So the large bore cabinet and starboard cabinet are destroyed. The port cabinet survived since we didn’t try to launch anything out of it.”
“Is there a selector switch that would allow us to take manual control of the tubes? Weapons Officer Sobol said we could do a local launch.”
Yeger looked up from the undamaged port tube bank cabinet. “That is correct, we could, but it will be faster to wire the starboard tube bank to the undamaged port tube panel. I’m almost done wiring it, I just need to remove this bomb or whatever it is and jump the wires. When I give you the word, tell the central command post to give a signal to fire tube six, which will actually launch tube five.”
“What about the Gigantskiy?”
“Once the Shkval is away, I’ll do the same thing with the large bore tube cabinet.”
“Hurry up,” Lebedev said.
“Captain, XO?” Pacino said. “If I could make a suggestion?”
“You have an idea, Mr. Pacino?” Seagraves put his chin in his hand, his tell when he was deep in thought.
“Yes, Captain. Let’s do what you did in the Arabian Sea. Fire two nuke SUBROCs at Master One. One set at the other side of the box opening. The other, say, another five miles north — the direction he entered from. We set for maximum yield. Two hundred and fifty kilotons. We’ll set the depth charges to go off at depth zero.”
“Wouldn’t they just bounce on the icepack?” Quinnivan asked. “Especially if it’s thick ice above a pressure ridge?”
“Possibly, XO, but I think it’ll work. If the ice where the depth charge comes down isn’t too thick, maybe one of the depth charges will see something close to depth zero and detonate. Even if we’re not close, it could damage the Omega. Maybe fatally.”
Seagraves looked at Quinnivan and Pacino. “Mr. Pacino, coordinate with the navigator and weapons officer to set presets on the SUBROCs in VPT tubes eleven and twelve, report when ready to open the VPT door.”
Quinnivan grinned and rubbed his hands together. “A couple of nuclear explosions ought to end this mission nicely.”
“For us,” Seagraves said. “Not for them.” He raised his voice. “Attention in the firecontrol party. My intention is to fire two nuclear tipped Tomahawk SUBROCs at positions input by the navigator and weapons officer, intended to bracket Master One, even if he runs from our first-fired unit. We will hover at one hundred feet and when ready, open the aft Virginia Payload Door, spin up tubes eleven and twelve, and launch the SUBROCs.”
“Central,” Watch Officer Shvets said into the phone at his seat at the starboard side of the command console. “Understood,” he said. “Captain, if we select small-bore tube six and fire it from here, the weapons officer has wired it into tube five. That will shoot the Shkval.”
“Very well,” Alexeyev said. “Watch Officer, you man the weapon control station in the absence of the weapons officer.”
“Yes, sir.” Shvets unbuckled and switched seats, to a seat in the center of the starboard side battlecontrol lineup.
“Attention in central command,” Alexeyev said. “Let’s try this again. Procedures for firing the Shkval.”
“Ship is ready, Captain,” Shvets said, then added, “Weapon is ready.”
