Chapter 55
Langley
Holy crap…” Adam Bennett muttered as digital images from the Cheyenne’s photonics mast hit the display monitor.
Hansen had been on edge for the better part of an hour.
They had been fifteen miles away, running at high speed, when a spike sonar contact seized everyone’s attention.
The noise was so loud it had overwhelmed their own signature.
Even more disconcertingly, it was distinctly steel-on-steel.
According to the sonar operator, who’d been forced to pull his headset off, it had sounded like a train wreck.
That description, as it turned out, was disquietingly accurate.
“The analytics were dead-on,” Bennett remarked as he studied the scene. “There really was a collision.”
The control room fell silent, everyone transfixed by the stunning images.
There was no mistaking the scale of what had occurred.
Dead and injured men were splayed out on the ice, and the submarine was on fire, a one-way trip to Davy Jones’s locker all but assured.
They were looking at the aftermath of a massive maritime disaster.
Notwithstanding the fact that the nations involved were undeclared enemies, everyone in the control room felt a sailor’s regret for the loss of life.
“How the hell did that happen?” Hansen asked, probably rhetorically.
Drake, standing on the perimeter, said, “More to the point, how are we going to insert ourselves in that mess to pick up the people and hardware we’ve been ordered to retrieve?”
“I’m not sure we are,” Hansen replied. “The situation has changed drastically.”
The captain considered his next move.
He had brought the Cheyenne to periscope depth as a precaution. After registering the distant collision, and knowing there were very few ships in the area, his personal DEFCON level had redlined. Something unexpected had happened, and he wasn’t going to expose his boat until he knew what it was.
With that in mind, on reaching the target area Hansen had ordered the upward-looking cameras put to use.
These had immediately registered an open channel above.
Roughly sixty feet wide and arrow-straight, it could only be a path the Snow Dragon 2 had plowed.
The new ice was barely crusted over, and although Hansen had no intention of bringing the Cheyenne fully to the surface, he’d realized that the channel would be the perfect place to rise to periscope depth.
Now they had their answer. Not only were the photonics giving a perfect picture of the situation, but he had been able to deploy an antenna to communicate with PACFLT.
“Sir, new message,” said the PO2 at the comms station, validating Hansen’s plan.
He moved to look over the man’s shoulder, read the message once, then summarized it for the crew.
“Our command authorities are aware of this collision and have ordered us to remain clear. Our objective, this black case, remains the priority, but it’s now on the move.
Apparently, two individuals are transporting it across the ice.
We’ve been given a new coordinate set where the ice should permit us to surface.
Our orders are to proceed there at best speed, punch through, and deploy our Special Forces friends to facilitate the exfiltration of two individuals and the device they’re carrying. ”
Hansen glanced at Drake, but the former SEAL’s expression gave nothing away.
“Oh,” Hansen added as an apparent afterthought, “headquarters claims to have identified this submarine as a Russian attack boat—a Laika-class prototype, the Aurora.”
“Laika-class?” Bennett remarked. “Since when did those go operational? And what would a Laika be doing up here?”
“Two good questions, and I don’t have any answers.
But I would say that she hardly appears operational anymore.
” He studied the low- light images on the monitor.
“Looks to me like the Snow Dragon 2 plowed straight into her, and I can’t imagine it was an accident.
” He turned to address his crew. “Ladies and gentlemen, we need to all be on our A-game. This is the kind of thing wars break out over. I don’t know what this device is that everyone is after, but it obviously has national security implications.
From this point forward, we will operate accordingly. ”
Hansen began issuing orders.
“Pull down the photonics mast before somebody spots us. Comms, before we pull the antenna, let’s send a SITREP to PACFLT.
Include a few of the images we just captured.
We need to be sure everyone back home is aware of the urgency of the situation here.
As soon as we get an acknowledgment, we’ll dive and sprint for this new point.
It’s only forty miles, so we should be there in less than two hours.
” As Hansen spoke these last words, he was looking directly at Lieutenant Drake.
“Aye,” the former SEAL said, before turning and heading toward the wardroom.
“I’m getting something new, captain,” said the sonar man.
“Another mystery contact?”
“No, this one is very identifiable. Permission to go to speaker?”
Hansen nodded.
The control room went quiet as the audio went live.
The sounds were metallic, like metal being bent in a vise.
Which, in essence, was exactly what it was.
The Aurora remained on the surface, but she was lower now.
And she was going through her death throes.
Compartment walls were warping, watertight doors bursting under the pressure of tons of seawater.
The creaking and grinding worsened, the wails of a dying warrior.
Hansen sensed the mood in the room turning grim.
“Cut it,” he ordered.
The tech tapped his keyboard and the speaker went silent.
Every set of eyes was on the captain. Hansen met each of them, one by one, before saying, “There is no room for error, people. No room at all.”