Panic Switch полностью

“What do you say, Lipstick?” Vevera asked. This would not be a dogfight Pacino would involve himself in, he thought, since Vevera and Dankleff were his two best friends, but he and U-Boat had survived Operation Panther, and that counted for something. Pacino just laughed at them and waved over the bartender and ordered a double McAllen 12.

“So Lipstick, looks like you’re not the junior man of the wardroom anymore,” Dankleff said. “We have two new nub officers showing up here. They’re the only hold-overs from the PCU New Jersey crew.”

“We’re keeping some of the drydock rats?” Vevera’s face showed contempt. “So not only are they non-qual nubs, they’ve never been to sea?”

“Well, they must have been aboard to conduct sea trials,” Pacino said, “without dying. There’s something to be said for that.” The bartender placed Pacino’s scotch on a coaster in front of him. Pacino held his glass up for a toast. “Well, gents, to victory at sea.”

Vevera hoisted his on-premises-made beer and Dankleff raised his Jack Daniels.

“So, guys, any word on who the skipper or exec will be?” Pacino asked.

“Nothing at all,” Dankleff said.

“Department heads?”

“No word on that either.”

“Damn,” Pacino breathed. As sonar officer, he would report to the weapons officer. His upcoming life would depend greatly on who that officer would be, and on the XO, since the XO ran the wardroom and could easily make life miserable for all of them.

“The bar’s getting full,” Pacino observed, calling the bartender over for a refill. “All we have are these three stools. We’ve got all the other J.O.s coming.”

“We have that big table over there,” Dankleff waved with this glass, then traded the empty one for a refill from the bartender. Five tables had been pushed together in the center of the high-bay area to form a single large table.

“Let’s go over there now before someone else decides to take it,” Vevera said, dropping his credit card on the bar. “I’ll meet you after I close out.”

“Wait, hold on,” Pacino said, noticing something on one of the large television screens over the bar, the only one not devoted to sports. It was tuned to SNN, Satellite News Network, a 24 — hour news channel, where a female announcer was making a report while standing in front of the Kremlin. The banner at the bottom of the screen read, “MOSCOW TERRORIST HOSTAGE RESCUE SAVES ALL BUT 2… RUSSIAN PRESIDENT’S WIFE DIES AFTER POLICE RAID….”

“Jimmy, turn that up, will you?” Dankleff shouted at the barman, who grabbed a remote and raised the volume.

“…police and elements of the FSB — the follow-on to the KGB — stormed the boutique shop inside Moscow’s famous GUM shopping mall, the giant architectural wonder situated in Red Square itself. President Vostov’s wife was one of the hostages taken, and reports have been received that Mrs. Vostov routinely evaded her SBP security detail, as she did on this occasion. A statement released by the police commander onsite indicated that Larisa Vostov was alive and unharmed by the barrage of gunfire during the raid, but the paralyzing gas used by the police and FSB led to her death and the death of a nineteen-year-old man who was one of the hostages. All of the terrorists were reportedly killed by the police units, and the other hostages were all rescued and are in stable condition in Moscow hospitals. The Kremlin released a short statement from President Vostov, which only indicated that a state funeral will be held for Larisa Vostov and the young man who died today. Meanwhile, there has been no sign of President Vostov, who is believed to have been whisked by his security detail to an undisclosed location. It’s speculated that he is in one of the hardened presidential bunkers outside Moscow. I’m Monica Eddlestein reporting live from Red Square, Moscow, SNN News—”

“You can turn it back down now, Jimmy,” Dankleff said. “Dear God. Well, come on, boys, let’s hit the table.”

Pacino stared at the now muted screen. “Man, the balls on those guys, taking the president’s wife hostage. No wonder the Rooskies went in, guns blazing.”

“Them Russians don’t fuck around,” Vevera said.

“I happen to know that from personal experience,” Pacino said, walking toward the table.

Pacino, Vevera and Dankleff took seats in the middle of the table on one side, with a view of the main entrance so they could beckon over the new arrivals. Two of the other three “Vermont-ers,” “Easy” Eisenhart and “Gangbanger” Ganghadharan, arrived together, bringing in two strangers with them.

“Easy! Gangbang!” Vevera called.

“Gang’s almost all here,” Lieutenant (junior grade) Anik Gangbanger Ganghadharan said. “No pun intended.” Ganghadharan had been Vermont’s supply officer and presumably would retain the position onboard New Jersey. He was a shorter youth, dark-skinned, of northern Indian descent.