Chapter 80
All that was necessary was to retract two masts.
The Cheyenne was underway in less than a minute, her reactor ginning up for full speed.
Her props shook from maximum revolutions, no attempt whatsoever was made to minimize her noise signature.
They knew precisely where they were going, and that they had to get there fast. Only after the Cheyenne was speeding through black water was there time to critique the rushed plan.
“Blast a hole in the ice with thousand-pound bombs?” Bennett remarked.
He and Hansen had recused themselves to the wardroom once they were underway.
“I guess it might work.”
“It reminds me of what that reporter asked you in San Diego last week. I thought it was a dumb question at the time.”
Hansen remembered. It had been Fleet Week, and he’d been giving tours of the boat. A local reporter had posed a question about Arctic operations: Could the Cheyenne’s torpedoes be used to breach the pack ice?
Hansen’s answer had been quick and definitive.
Torpedoes were a horizontal weapon meant to hunt down ships, he’d said.
The warheads fused on or near steel hulls, and gave straight-line penetration—the destructive energy funneled in the wrong plane of motion.
It might shake up the ice on the surface, but there was no way a torpedo could create a hole big enough for surfacing a submarine.
“Come to think of it, it might work with a Mark 48,” Bennett said with a grin. He was referring to the Navy’s torpedo type that was capped with a nuclear warhead.
Hansen didn’t smile. “We’re not carrying any of those… and anyway, I don’t think that would set a very good precedent.”
“Do you really think these fighters can blast open a breach that’s big enough?”
“Three hundred and sixty feet long, thirty-two feet wide? It’ll be a challenge. But they’re carrying thousand-pounders, and those pack a punch. It also doesn’t have to be a perfect fit.”
“I’ll bet we could get by with a lot less, especially on the beam. The ice on the sides will be weak—I figure it might fracture pretty easily if we come up fast.”
“True,” Hansen agreed. “And if we put a few scratches on the hull, I don’t think anybody will raise a fuss. We just need to get high enough to open the deck hatch and take on seven people. Then we dive and go deep. After that, we’re home free.”
“How do you figure?” Bennett asked.
“According to headquarters, the Laika we saw earlier just stumbled into this whole mess. They said it was the only Russian boat in the area, and now it’s on the bottom.
We’re up against the Chinese here, and while they’re a definite threat to our people on the surface, they won’t be once we’re submerged. ”
“Their subs rarely come up this way.”
“Exactly. Right now, they’re focusing on the Pacific and Indian Oceans. In particular, the South China Sea. Once we go deep and quiet, nobody’s going to find us.”
The two officers went over logistics. The last thing they covered was the plan to address injuries, Bennett having been busy during that part of the headquarters briefing.
“How many wounded are we talking about?” he asked.
“There are seven individuals, and it sounds like most of them have some sort of injury.”
This brought a weighted silence. The two SEALs and their Finnish counterparts had spent weeks on board Cheyenne.
They’d mingled with the crew and shared meals.
The four operators were universally liked and respected.
The idea that they had been injured in the line of duty cast a pall over the proceedings.
Bennett’s reaction, therefore, was perfectly natural. “We’re going to get them out,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Hansen said. “Whatever it takes.”