"None," McCafferty confirmed. Even the trip into Faslane had been unlucky. The guard ship for the safe-transit corridor, HMS Osiris, had gotten into attack position without their having detected her. Had that Brit diesel sub been a Russian, McCafferty could very well be dead now. "We had our big chance against that amphibious group. Things were going perfect, y'know? The Russians had their sonobuoy lines out, and we beat them clean, just about had our targets lined up for the missile attack-I figured we'd hit with our missiles first, then go in with torpedoes-"
"Sounds good to me," Simms agreed.
"And somebody else launches his own torpedo attack. Screwed everything up. We lofted three Harpoons, but a helo saw us do it, and, bingo! we had the bastards all over us." McCafferty pulled open the door to the Officers Club. "I need a drink!"
"Hell, yes!" Simms laughed. "Everything looks better after a few beers. Hey, that sort of thing happens. Luck changes, Danny." Simms leaned over the bar. "Two strong ones."
"As you say, Commander." A white-coated steward drew two mugs of warm, dark beer. Simms picked up the bill and led his friend to a corner booth. There was some sort of small party going on at the far end of the room.
"Danny, for crying out loud, let up on yourself. Not your fault that Ivan didn't send you any targets, is it?"
McCafferty took a long pull on his mug. Two miles away Chicago was reprovisioning. They'd be in port for two days. Boston and another 688-class sub were tied to the same quay, with another pair due in later today.
They were to be outfitted for a special mission, but they didn't yet know what it was. In the meantime, the officers and crewmen were using their modicum of free time to breathe fresh air and unwind. "You're right, Todd, right as ever."
"Good. Have some pretzels. Looks like quite a shindig over there. How about we wander over?" Simms lifted his beer and walked to the end of the room.
They found a gathering of submarine officers, which was not a surprise, but the center of attention was. He was a Norwegian captain, a blond man of about thirty who clearly hadn't been sober for several hours. As soon as he drained one jar of beer, a Royal Navy commander handed him another.
"I must find the man who save us!" the Norwegian insisted loudly and drunkenly.
"What gives?" Simms asked. Introductions were exchanged. The Royal Navy officer was captain of HMS Oberon.
"This is the chappie who blasted Kirov all the way back to Murmansk," he said. "He tells the story about every ten minutes. About time for him to begin again."
"Son of a bitch," McCafferty said. This was the guy who had sunk his target! Sure enough, the Norwegian began speaking again.
"We make our approach slowly. They come right"-he belched-"to us, and we creep very slow. I put periscope up, and there he is! Four thousand meters, twenty knots, he will pass within five hundred meters starboard." The beer mug swept toward the floor. "Down periscope! Arne-where are you, Arne? Oh, is drunk at table. Arne is weapons officer. He set to fire four torpedoes. Type thirty-seven, American torpedoes." He gestured at the two American officers who had just joined the crowd.
Four Mark-37s! McCafferty winced at the thought. That could ruin your whole day.
"Kirov is very close now. Up periscope! Course same, speed same, distance now two thousand meters-I shoot! One! Two! Three! Four! Reload and dive deep."
"You're the guy who ruined my approach!" McCafferty shouted.
The Norwegian almost appeared sober for a moment. "Who are you?"
"Dan McCafferty, USS Chicago.
"You were there?"
"Yes."
"You shoot missiles?"
"Yes."
"Hero!" The Norwegian submarine commander ran to McCafferty, almost knocking him down as he wrapped the American in a crushing bear hug. "You save my men! You save my ship!"
"What the hell is this?" Simms asked.
"Oh, introductions," said a Royal Navy captain. "Captain Bjorn Johannsen of His Norwegian Majesty's submarine Kobben. Captain Daniel McCafferty of USS Chicago."
"After we shoot Kirov, they come around us like wolves. Kirov blow up-"
"Four fish? I believe it," Simms agreed.
"Russians come to us with cruiser, two destroyers," Johannsen continued, now quite sober. "We, ah, evade, go deep, but they find us and fire their RBU rockets-many, many rockets. Most far, some close. We reload and I shoot at cruiser."
"You hit her?"
"One hit, hurt but not sink. This take, I am not sure, ten minutes, fifteen. It was very busy time, yes?"
"Me, too. We came in fast, flipped on the radar. There were three ships where we thought Kirov was."
"Kirov was sunk-blow up! What you see was cruiser and two destroyers. Then you shoot missiles, yes?" Johannsen's eyes sparkled.
"Three Harpoons. A Helix saw the launch and came after us. We evaded, never did know if the missiles hit anything."
