"Listen to what I have to say, because this is where the rubber meets the road." Pete stopped again. "We cannot risk the capture of the Honolulu." His voice resonated over the chopping wavelets lapping against the hull of the submarine. "We cannot link this freighter's sinking to a U.S. submarine. Gentlemen, once we attack this freighter, if we can find her, the chances of getting back out of the Black Sea through the Bos-phorus undetected are slim. Not impossible, but I want you to understand the danger.
"So after the attack, gentlemen, we are going to make an effort to link back up with the freighter and slip back through the Bosphorus the way we came in. But remember that the Black Sea is not the Pacific Ocean. There are fewer places to hide.
"If we are able to attack this terrorist freighter, we'll have to get out of there fast. Otherwise, we may have to scuttle the Honolulu." The men looked to each side, with looks of bewilderment on their faces. "That's right. We may have to abandon ship, and then send her to the bottom of the Black Sea. That's the potential sacrifice your country is asking you to make. Any questions?"
A senior chief torpedoman's mate raised his hand.
"Senior chief."
"Sir, I know it's not the Pacific, but still, the Black Sea is a big place. Assuming we can pull off this maneuver and get through the Bosphorus without getting spotted by the Turks, just how does Washington expect us to find this freighter once she's underway?" The seasoned senior chief spoke in a drawl that made him sound like he was from Arkansas. "I think we all know that tracking the location of freighters at sea is a problem that is hard even for the U.S. Navy. There are just too many of them, and the oceans and seas of the world are just too big. I mean, no disrespect intended, sir, but ain't this like looking for a needle in a haystack? Sir?"
A number of the prospective crewmembers nodded in agreement at the senior chief's question.
Pete looked the senior chief in the eye, and eyed every crew member standing before him. "Gentlemen, the senior chief asks a great question. Frankly, I should've covered this. But then again, that's why God created chiefs and senior chiefs and master chiefs – to make sure the old man's backside stays out of a sling. Right?"
A wave of laughter followed that comment. Old man was an endearing term used in the Navy to refer to a commanding officer of a ship, submarine, or shore station, and had nothing to do with an officer's chronological age.
"Thank you, Senior, for keeping this old man's rear out of the tar pit, even before we set sail." More laughter.
"No problem, Captain, " the senior chief torpedoman said.
"I want you all to understand that we may never find the Alexander Popovich. This is, in a sense, like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even in this smaller section of the Black Sea, we are still dealing with thousands of square miles of water. We may be trying this dangerous docking maneuver for nothing. We are risking our lives on a lark that our satellites are good enough to track her down, to feed us her coordinates, and let us hunt her down and kill her.
"But here's how we're gonna try to find her. Our intelligence has picked up rumblings that the ship will be sailing from the Russian port of Sochi to Odessa in Ukraine. And from there, probably out of the Black Sea and who knows where.
"So here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna sneak through the Bosphorus under the freighter Volga River, and when we make it into the Black Sea, we will disengage from the Volga River. From there, we will sail to the entrance of the shipping lanes leading to Odessa. We will stay there, submerged, waiting. We will set an underwater steel trap. If Alexander Popovich shows up, we will spring that trap with two MK-48 torpedoes under the midsection of her hull. That should do the trick.
"And as she sinks to the bottom of the sea, we will engage in full power and get the heck out of there." There were multiple instances of head nodding. The answer seemed to have done the trick. "Any other questions?"
There was no response. "Gentlemen, you've given your lives to the Navy, and you've volunteered for this mission. You're the best that this country has to offer. You have a right to ask questions."
A chief petty officer raised his hand.
"Chief?"
"Well, sir. I think we're all either divorced or never married. The Navy is our lives, but we do have families back in the States. Many of them depend on our Navy salaries. If those salaries were gone…" The chief hesitated, searching for his words. "We all know that this business may bring death at any time. We knew that the day we enlisted. But I guess what I'm asking is… are we going down with the sub, sir?"
A large cloud cast a shadow over the sub and her prospective crew. "Fair question, " Pete began. "No, chief, we won't ask you to go down with the sub. We will abandon her, if possible, and the crew will board life rafts. Before abandoning ship, we'll arm all sensitive equipment with plastic explosives. We will trigger automatic timers that will flood the ballasts. All computers, data storage, et cetera, will be destroyed. We'll have thirty minutes at most to paddle away from the sub before she sinks."
Another hand shot up. "Yes, petty officer?"
"Skipper, are we going to try and transit the Bosphorus submerged?"
"A freighter has been retrofitted and is somewhere out there right now." Pete nodded his head to the south, toward the open waters of the Mediterranean. "The plan is to come up under the bottom of the freighter and surface, partially. We'll bring the sub's sail into a watertight compartment under the bottom of the freighter, where large O-Rings attached to the hull of the freighter will retract around the bow and stern of the sub.
"We'll have the element of surprise going in. Hopefully, no one will suspect what we're doing. Coming back out, that won't be the case. When the freighter goes down, every ship in the Russian Black Sea fleet will be hunting every inch of water looking for the vessel that attacked it. If we stop under the Volga River to reattach, every Russian and Turkish chopper in their respective air forces will be on the freighter like white on rice. We'll try to get out, but we may have to scrap the sub.
"A moment ago, I said that this crew will be moved to rubber lifeboats as the sub sinks. Speedboats will be deployed from obscure ports in Turkey, Bulgaria, and Romania to search for our crew. If we are found, we will be taken back to the shorelines of those respective countries, where the plan is to smuggle us ashore, circumventing customs, and then we will be transported to the United States embassies in those respective countries.
"If we are fortunate enough to make it that far, we could be in for a long stay within the sanctuary of those embassies. We would be evacuated under diplomatic immunity, in very small numbers to avoid suspicion, over a long period of time. In other words, by bringing only two or three of us out per month, it could take up to three years before they can get us all home.
"Now all that is true if they find us out there in our floating rafts before our food and water supply runs out."
Pete ran his hand through his hairline. "Of course if they don't find us…" He let that sentence trail off. "Well, as you know, it is a pretty big body of water out there. And with the currents and the weather…"
He let that comment hang. A cloud floated across the sun.
He pulled the Garrison cap from his belt, adjusted it on his head, donned a pair of shades, and spoke with the sharpest military bearing he could muster.
"Gentlemen, with no pressure, and no obligation, and no dishonor if you say no, I say to you this day that your country needs you. If you're prepared to go with me on your last voyage, understanding that there will be no glory, and finally, understanding that the price for saving thousands and perhaps even millions may be your own lives – then signify your acceptance of your responsibility by taking one step forward."
There was a pause. For a frozen moment in eternity the wind swirled in the silence. There was no movement in the line.