Panic Switch полностью

The leaders of the column came closer, until their features could be made out. Pacino squinted in the blizzard, his mind filling with disbelief.

“Captain… Captain Alexeyev? Irina? Irina Trusov?”

One of the men holding up the near unconscious female was unmistakably Captain First Rank Georgy Alexeyev.

Alexeyev looked at Pacino, recognition dawning on his face.

“Lieutenant — Lieutenant Pacino, right?” Alexeyev’s voice was a weak croak, barely audible over the wind.

“You two know each other?” Seagraves asked.

“Captain,” Pacino said to Seagraves, “this is Captain Alexeyev of the Yasen-M submarine Kazan. And now presumably, captain of the Belgorod, right? Captain Alexeyev, this my commanding officer, Commander Tim Seagraves and my executive officer, Commander Jeremiah Seamus Quinnivan, Royal Navy. You remember Lieutenant Dankleff? And our SEAL officers?”

Alexeyev dropped to one knee, exhausted, the female kneeling with him, the other burly man looking at Seagraves.

“I’m Captain Kovalov of the submarine Losharik,” Kovalov said over the howling noise of the wind, “the deep-diver submarine assigned on this mission with Belgorod. May I ask if we can join you in your shelter? We are all exhausted and near frozen.”

“Where are my manners?” Seagraves said, smiling. “Come on, please, this way. XO, get everyone inside.” He looked at Senior Chief Thornburg. “Doc, help get these people warmed up, some hot tea all around, and coffee. And see if anyone needs first aid.”

“Yes, Captain.” The corpsman led in the two men and the nearly unconscious female. When all twenty-five of the Russian survivors were inside the shelter, the New Jersey crew followed them in. Pacino handed his rifle to Dankleff, who would stand the next two hours of polar bear watch.

“Now we really need to shoot a polar bear,” Pacino said. “I hear we’re out of rations.”

“With the chicken gone, the rest went fast. So it’s a polar bear or cannibalism,” Dankleff said over the blasting wind.

“I could use some hot coffee right about now,” Pacino said, watching as the last of the crew and the Russians entered the shelter.

Dankleff coughed. “I could use some good scotch right about now. Hell, forget good scotch, I’ll take that rotgut we found in Faslane.”

Pacino pulled open the heavy outer door of the shelter, entered the vestibule, shut the door behind him, then went through the door flap of the inner door. The oppressive, stuffy, dry heat of the shelter hit him like a fist in the chest.

“Oh my God, it’s like Hell in here,” Pacino said, pulling off his parka and hanging it with the others in the corner of the shelter. He looked over at one of the picnic tables, where the hurt female sat, the Russian submarine captains on either side of her. One of them held a cup of hot tea to her lips. She looked up from the tea, saw Pacino, handed her cup to Alexeyev, took two big steps to Pacino and slapped him hard in the face. Both the Russians and Americans stared. Pacino could feel the stinging welt on his cheek, his other cheek feeling hot from blushing in embarrassment.

“You fucking asshole!” she screamed, her accent thicker than he remembered. “You fucking did it again!”

Pacino rubbed his face while Alexeyev and Kovalov pulled Irina Trusov off him.

“What’s she talking about, Georgy?” Kovalov asked, mystified.

“Mr. Pacino here,” Alexeyev said, trying not to smile, “commanded the hijacked Iranian submarine I told you about. In the melee of trying to escape, with us trying to keep him from escaping, he got lucky and sank the Kazan. But then he came back and pulled us out of our escape chamber.”

“I was just the second-in-command of that mission, Captain,” Pacino said, turning to see Seagraves and Quinnivan looking on from over his shoulder.

“Were you here in the same submarine as in that conflict, Lieutenant?” Alexeyev said, having calmed down Trusov and sitting her back down to drink her tea. “What was it, named after one of your provinces—Vermont? Vermont, yes?”

Pacino glanced at the deck. “No. Vermont is in the drydock. There was a bad fire. We drove her replacement up here.” Pacino decided not to name the New Jersey. No sense being accused of giving the Russians intel.

“Well, if I must be shipwrecked in a polar storm with my enemy, I’d prefer it be you, Lieutenant.” Alexeyev looked at Kovalov. “Mr. Pacino not only rescued us, he was very kind to us. I suppose this is two favors I owe you, Lieutenant. Do you have food here?”

“I’m afraid the news is bad, Captain,” Pacino said. “We’re as out of food in this shelter as we were on the Panther. Most of it had gone bad. Half the crew is sick, the other half is starving.”

“This storm will die down soon,” Alexeyev said. “I expect airborne search-and-rescue will come for us soon enough. Both yours and ours. With all the explosions, Northern Fleet Command must have heard all the events.”

“Captain Alexeyev, did you have a radio to call for help?” Seagraves asked. “A distress call?”