"And you, Captain? Why would you commit yourself and your ship to this mission?"
Raindrops splattered across the bridge. "Stalin deported my grandfather to Siberia with the entire Chechen population during the Great War. He never returned. The rest of my immediate family moved to Egypt. There, I fell in love with the sea. But we always kept in touch with our cousins, who returned to Chechnya in the fifties."
The captain stopped. He seemed caught up in his thoughts.
Salman studied the deep lines in his face. "And for that you would sacrifice your ship?"
Rain-darted wind stung their faces. The captain stared at the sea as he spoke. "When Maskhadov became president, we felt that there was hope for our homeland. When he introduced Islamic Law in 1997, we began the process of leaving Egypt to return to our homeland and families. I would retire from my role as a ship master. But they raided a mosque near Grozny and killed all of my aunts and uncles and cousins. And then they killed Maskhadov."
The rain was driving now, but the captain stood like a rock. "The Russians let all the other states go. Belarus. Ukraine. Moldovia. Georgia. But not Chechnya. They will never allow an Islamic state to exist on their borders." Rainwater drenched his black beret and his all-weather jacket.
"I was there when they killed him, " Salman said.
This brought the captain's eyes off the raging sea. Sadir raised his eyebrow.
"Maskhadov, " Salman said. "I was there when they killed the president."
"So we understand one another."
"Yes, " Salman said. "You sacrifice your ship for your family, and I help you sacrifice it for our martyred president and my beautiful wife and daughter."
The captain turned from the rain, ducked under the eaves of the flybridge, and fired up another cigarette. "I am prepared to sacrifice all for my martyred family, for our martyred president, and for our bleeding nation." He blew a cloud of smoke, but the wind carried it back into Salman's face. "Are you and your men ready to do the same?"
"All my men have stories similar to ours, Kapitan. They are the brightest sons of Chechnya. They are at work below even now. Get us the fuel, and we will deliver."
The captain dropped his cigarette on the deck and stamped it out. "Out there. Somewhere. We will find what you need. And when this is over, though we will never see it, there will be a new day for Chechnya and a new day for Islam."
CHAPTER 7
The USS Honolulu
Five miles east of La Maddalena
4:30 p.m. local time
A thick overcast hung over the aqua blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the air was heavy with the smell of rain.
From the open bridge atop the sail of the USS Honolulu, Commander Pete Miranda surveyed the open waters through his binoculars. The horizon out toward the Mediterranean was open, except for the northeast-bound ferry that ran from Sardinia to the Italian port of Civitavecchia.
Lieutenant Commander Frank Pippen, Pete's executive officer, along with the officer of the deck and two lookouts joined Pete on the small open bridge area. All five men wore orange weather jackets and blue ball caps with USS Honolulu stenciled in gold.
Pete handed the binoculars to one of the lookouts standing behind him, then extracted two Montecristo cigars from his khaki shirt pocket under the weather jacket. He handed a cigar to his XO.
"Thank you, sir, " the XO said.
"My pleasure, Frank." Pete flicked a lighter and lit the end of Frank's cigar. Pete allowed himself a few drags, taking in the view for a few minutes without saying a word.
"Tell me about your family, Frank."
"Emily and I divorced several years ago. Never had kids."
"Anybody special since?"
"You know how it is. You meet women in bars." The XO took another puff, coughing as if he were choking on the smoke.
"You okay?"
"Yes, sir." Regaining his equilibrium, Frank continued. "Here today. Gone tomorrow. The Navy's a jealous mistress." Another puff on the Montecristo. More coughing. "How about you, sir?"
"How about me… what?"
"Family, sir?"
"I was born in Chile. My family immigrated to Texas. I met Sally at North Texas State." His voice cracked. A long puff helped him check his emotions. "She and I got married my senior year, and then I went off to OCS. I think they were hot on Latin American officers. I applied for subs, got picked up for the program."
He looked away from his XO. "Anyway, Sally and I divorced five years ago after having two kids. Haven't seen 'em in almost a year."
Three seagulls danced in the air in front of the submarine, just out over the partially submerged bow. The thought struck Pete that he may never see his ex-wife or two children again. Another lump swelled in his throat.
"Too bad, sir."
"My daughter Hannah is thirteen now. She's got the sweetest Cinderella face you'll ever see. She's kind of standoffish, though. Doesn't wanna be hugged. And my boy Coley." Another drag from his cigar. "Well, he's my boy."
"And your wife?"
"What about her?"
"She ever remarry?"
"Nope." Another puff. "I tried getting back together. She wanted none of that."
Honolulu rolled slightly through the swells on top of the water. Pete squinted and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.
"Anybody special since?" The XO looked at him.
"Like you said, XO. The Navy's a jealous mistress."
"Yes, sir."
Cool wind whipped up from the east, from the direction of the Italian mainland. The great city of Rome lay 225 miles across the open water of the Tyrrhenian Sea – off to their left. Pete had taken submarines along this southeasterly course toward the Mediterranean many times, and always felt reverential awe for the great seas of biblical times. These ancient waters had been sailed by the Greek and Roman navies of antiquity.
Other than the sound of the sub's engines churning through the water, silence reigned. Pete wanted to savor these last moments of communion with the salt air and the sea breeze.
"Do you think he will do it, sir?"
"Do I think who will do what?"
"The president. Do you think he will order us in?"
"I hope and pray that he won't, Frank. But given our current relations with Russia and given the president's big push to curtail terrorist activities, I think he will. But we'll see."
Another pause.
"I'm praying too, Skipper, " Frank said. "I'll be honest with you. In all my years in the Navy, I've never felt like I've started a mission where death was a real possibility. Lately, the Navy has gone unchallenged by all the other navies of the world. But this is different."
Their eyes locked. "Yes, Frank, it is."
"I'm ready to go if I have to, Captain. I'm ready." The XO's voice was sure and steady.
Pete slapped Lieutenant Commander Frank Pippen on the shoulders.
He checked his watch. It was time.
"XO, take her down, " Pete ordered.
The XO picked up the microphone on the bridge. "Control bridge." A brief pause. "Sounding."
"Bridge. Control. Sounding one-two-zero fathoms."
"Lookouts, clear the bridge!" Frank ordered.
Three orange-jacketed lookouts scrambled down the aluminum ladder leading to the control room.
"Officer of the deck, prepare to dive!" the XO ordered.
Pete descended the ladder from the open-air bridge leading to the control room. A rumble on the aluminum ladders followed him. Pete hopped from the last step to the control room floor, then announced, "Captain is down."
"Captain is down!" the officer of the deck parroted.
Clanking and rumbling on the steel-grated floors echoed throughout the sub. Men jogged down metal ladders. Some slid down the handrails like batman descending the batpole. Red lights flashed on and off. Cacophonous sirens sounded.
"XO down." Frank hopped from the ladder to the deck of the control room.
"XO is down!" the officer of the deck parroted.
"Submerge the ship!" Pete ordered.
"Diving officer submerge the ship!" the XO parroted. "Make your depth one-five-zero feet."