He would instruct the ship's chef to fill their ice cream with powder from sleeping pills taken from sick bay. Because the powder had no taste, they would not know they were being drugged. They would be told that if they finished the first bowl, the second bowl would have chocolate on top!
The first bowl would make them drowsy. The second would knock them out like sleeping dogs.
They should be completely groggy in the morning from their ice-cream induced hangovers. So groggy, hopefully, that no one would mention the absence of Masha Katovich.
His only worry was the little rat they called Dima. The hideous-looking scarback seemed to cling to her like she was his mother or something.
He would shoot Katovich and toss her overboard. And then, he would have Aleksey bring Dima to the back of the ship where no one could see. They would toss the little rat overboard too, and then tell the others that Dima was seasick and Masha was taking care of him.
Yes, that would most certainly work, especially since Masha and Dima were always together. Then they would report this tragedy to the authorities. Poor Dima, who was at play on the deck, was running, got too close to the edge, and fell into the sea. Masha, a wonderful and heroic woman who would give her life for her children, dived into the sea after him. They circled the area looking for survivors, but found no one.
Yes, that would be the perfect alibi. That would work.
Now was the time.
"Miss Katovich!"
She looked up at him and waved.
He motioned her toward him. "Come over here! I need to see you for a moment."
She started walking toward him. Something was odd about her walk. She seemed to be scratching her back.
She approached to within a few feet of him. "I was watching the children play the American game called volleyball."
"Yes, I can see." He nodded toward Akelsey, who still had the rats occupied. "Listen, Masha, something important has come up."
"Dah?" She kept scratching her back.
"We have received a radio transmission from Sebastopol about the children."
"About the children?"
"Dah. Walk with me, please." He led her back onto the small deck-way surrounding the superstructure in the rear of the ship. They kept walking. They were almost near the stern now.
Batsakov looked around.
They were out of sight of anyone else on board.
He reached inside his coat and felt for the pistol.
The USS Honolulu The Black Sea
Torpedo tubes one and four are flooded, sir, " the OOD said. "Awaiting your orders!"
"Range?"
"Range to target – twelve hundred yards, sir."
"Easy, " Pete said. "Just a little closer."
"Are you going to fire both torps, Captain?" the XO asked.
"One torpedo should do the job, don't you think, XO?"
"On a Russian freighter, I should think so, Skipper."
"I say we save torp four." He glanced at Frank. "We may need it."
Frank did not respond for a couple of seconds. "You got that right, Skipper."
"Range to target?"
"Range now eleven hundred yards."
Pete raised his finger. "On my mark, prepare to fire torpedo one."
"Range now one thousand yards."
"Fire torp one!"
"Fire torp one!"
A powerful swoosh rocked the Honolulu.
"Torp's in the water!"
Tension filled the control room. There was no turning back now.
"Range to target?"
"Torpedo is at eight hundred yards and closing, Captain."
Pete checked his watch.
"Now seven hundred yards."
"Six hundred yards to target and still closing."
"Time to impact?"
"Time to impact fifty seconds, Captain. Now five hundred yards."
Pete checked his watch again.
"Range four hundred yards. Time to impact forty seconds."
The Alexander Popovich The Black Sea
The wind whipped hard around the stern of the ship. A sudden surge of cool air in her face and hair emboldened her to the task at hand.
She knew this was the time.
It was either him or her.
She held her hand in place behind her back to avoid revealing the knife until the last second.
"Something wrong with your back, Miss Katovich?"
"I think I pulled a muscle, that is all. What did you want to see me about?"
"It is about the children." He pulled a black pistol from his jacket. "I am sorry to have to do this to such a beautiful woman."
"Emergency! Emergency!" A voice boomed over the ship's loudspeakers. "Torpedo in the water! Torpedo in the water! Brace for impact!"
The captain looked up. She dived at his midsection, lunging at him with the knife. A deafening explosion rocked the ship, spraying columns of seawater high into the air. The explosion knocked Masha off her feet. The ship rolled and listed in the water.
Masha pushed herself up and saw the captain writhing on the back deck, just in front of the Russian flag that flew off the stern. The knife was plunged deep into his midsection just below his sternum. Blood gushed around the knife. The captain moaned. "My ship! Oh, my ship!"
The gun had fallen on the deck near his outstretched hand. Adrenaline shot Masha's hand toward the gun. When she grabbed it, the thought hit her.
Dima!
The USS Honolulu The Black Sea
Contact! Contact! We got 'em, Captain!" Cheers erupted in the Honolulu's control room. Officers and enlisted men high-fived each other.
"Quiet! Quiet in the conn!" Pete held his palms down. His men responded to his call for silence. "I understand your exuberance, gentlemen, but we've still got work to do."
"Conn. Sonar."
"Go ahead, Sonar!"
"Captain, we're picking up sounds of explosions coming through the water."
"Any other contacts in the area?"
"That's a negative, Captain. Not yet, anyway!"
"Notify me when we make first sonar contact." Pete looked at his OOD. "Lieutenant McCaffity. Up scope."
"Up scope, aye, sir." McCaffity pushed the button to raise the Type 2 attack periscope. A few seconds later, Pete brought his eyes to the scope again. The powerful blast of the Mark 48 torpedo had broken the freighter into two sections. The torp had exploded under the keel, just as it was designed to do, essentially breaking the ship's back.
Thick black smoke billowed from the forward section, which was listing badly, and had floated about one hundred yards from the aft section. As bad as it was listing, the bow section might have another five minutes before slipping under the surface.
Pete hit the magnification button. This brought the whole wreckage into a close-up view.
The back section was also floating, but listing. Pete could see people scrambling around on the deck of the back section. They looked like… Children?
No. His eyes were playing tricks on him. Pete squinted and looked again. Whoever he saw running on the deck of the sinking freighter was gone.
It was time to get out of here.
"Down scope."
"Down scope, aye, Captain."
"Five degrees down bubble, make depth one-five-zero feet."
The submarine dropped another ninety feet in the water from a depth of sixty feet to a depth of one hundred fifty feet.
"Float VLF buoy, " Pete said. "I want to monitor any low frequency radio waves for a while."
The submarine released its very low frequency buoy, designed to float to the surface to monitor for radio signals emanating from sources on the surface.
"Chief of the Boat, how far to our rendezvous point with the Volga River?"
"Approximately two hundred miles, south-southeast, Captain."
"Set course for one-seven-zero degrees. All ahead one-half. Let's get out of here."