Hart bent his knees, slacked his jaw, and held tightly to the table, but he kept his eyes on the digital dead-reckoning tracer table in front of him. He could see four torpedoes active, and the Severodvinsk sub was taking evasive actions, trying to avoid its own destruction.
At the same time, the USS James Greer was doing exactly the same thing.
It occurred to Hart then and there that each combatant in this fight was about to kill the other, and everyone would die.
He heard a low, whining sound above him now, loud enough that he squatted down for an instant as if to take cover. Soon he realized what he was hearing. The Phalanx close-in weapon system — abbreviated CIWS and simply called “C-whiz”—was a missile-defense system, an automatic cannon that used the Aegis radar and a Vulcan 20-millimeter Gatling gun to attack inbound antiship missiles with 4,500 rounds a minute. It was the last defense on the destroyer, and when it fired, it meant an antiship missile, in this case one moving at two and a half times the speed of sound, was only seconds from impact.
The C-whiz sounded to Hart like the world’s largest lawn mower, and it roared above him in four two-second bursts. After the last burst, Hart heard the sound of impacts all over the ship. He felt a jolt, and lost his footing and dropped to the deck of the CIS.
Commander Hagen knelt next to Hart, and he spoke to the bridge, calling for a status report. When none came, he dropped his headset and ran out of the Combat Information Center.
Hart stood back up slowly. He wasn’t sure what the hell had happened, but he was pretty certain the James Greer did not just get hit by an antiship missile.
That was noisy and disruptive, yet they hadn’t been blown to pieces as if they’d been slammed into by an Oniks.
He had just looked down at the table when he heard, “USWE, Sonar. I have cavitation at heading zero, zero, two. Contact-Enemy Sub Zero Three. Torpedo impact!”
Across the CIC men and women began cheering. The Severodvinsk had managed to avoid three of the four Mark-54s fired at it, but the last one detonated below its hull, and tore the submarine in half at a depth of two hundred meters.
On his display Hart watched a Polish corvette turn toward the location of the explosion and begin steaming closer to inspect the wreckage. It was only three and a half miles away, and it would be there in minutes.
The celebration was quick; it was subdued in the CIC when moments later the two Aegis display screens went dark. Calls over the 1-MC requesting firefighting personnel and medical teams began soon after.
Hart made his way up to the main deck minutes later, and by then he had heard the news. The last of the three Oniks missiles fired at the James Greer had been destroyed by the C-whiz just 525 yards from impact, but the kinetic energy of the inbound missile had sent hundreds of pounds of shrapnel against the ship, ripping through radar systems, destroying communications equipment. Debris had ripped into the bridge, killing three outright and injuring eleven more.
Hart saw small fires and torn metal, blood on the deck, and wounded carried by in the passageways.
He figured this was only a hundredth of the effect of the Oniks had it slammed into the hull, but this was still bad. His vessel was wounded enough to severely curtail its operations until it could limp back to port and go through repairs, and men and women were dead and wounded.
Hart walked back down to the CIC, knowing he needed to evaluate the status of the warship’s fighting capabilities. He had no idea if other dangers hid in the waters below him, and he knew the Poles had just lost their two largest naval vessels.
Exhausted, disheartened by the death around him, he realized his work would not end until he was home, or politicians in Moscow and Washington somehow figured out how to end this war.
President of the United States Jack Ryan hung up the phone with the president of Poland, then he looked at Scott Adler, sitting in his customary position across his desk. “It’s settled. They’ve agreed.”
Adler blew out a long sigh of relief. “Good.”
He then turned to Secretary of Defense Bob Burgess and DNI Mary Pat Foley, both sitting farther away on one of the sofas in the seating area of the Oval Office. “This had better work.”
Mary Pat said, “It’s our best play. The most direct way to affect things over there.”
Burgess nodded. Said, “While you were on your call, I spoke with Secretary Hazelton. The naval battle is over. We had damage to our destroyer, and the Poles lost two frigates and a fast attack boat.”
Ryan sighed. “And what did that get us?”
Burgess cracked a hint of a smile. “Three subs. As far as we know, everything they still had in the water over there that poses a threat to our Marine landing ships.”
“Thank God.”
The SecDef added, “The destroyer that sank the Kazan, their most advanced attack sub?”
“Yeah?”
“DDG-102. The James Greer.”
Admiral Jim Greer had been Ryan’s mentor at CIA.
The President cocked a slow, sly smile. “Funny damn world, isn’t it, Bob?”
“Sure as hell is, Mr. President. I think Admiral Greer would get a kick out of it.”
Ryan said, “Let’s give it to the Poles.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The Kazan. We’ll give the credit for the kill to the Polish Navy.”
Burgess said, “A lot of good men and women on the James Greer gave their all to win that sub. Handing it over to the Poles diminishes the work of the U.S. Navy in all this.”
“They didn’t get into that work to be famous.”
“Still, Mr. President. It’s the biggest naval success in a generation, and the Poles deserve a lot of recognition, but robbing the James Greer of their part in it seems wrong.”
“I’m not robbing anyone of anything, Bob. I’m just aware of how important a diplomatic coup it would be if the world, and the Russians, thought the Poles did this on their own.”
Burgess was not happy about this, and Ryan saw it. “Bob, you’re pissed, and I appreciate that. But this is the right move. When the smoke clears and the James Greer gets back home, I’ll go out and visit them and make a big deal about their efforts in the Baltic, without being specific. I’ll talk about their sinking of the Kilo. I’m going to be unpopular around the Navy on this one, I understand, but I’m only thinking about discouraging Russia from attacking its neighbors.”
Burgess blew out a long sigh. “You’re still popular with the Navy, Mr. President.” He chuckled. “Maybe you’ll let me stand behind you when the Greer gets back to port so I can give the sailors a little wink, let them know we know what they did.”
Ryan agreed to this, then stood and looked at his watch. “It’s almost time to go on TV. If I’m going to do this I want it to be ready for the news in Moscow. I’ll spend an hour with the speechwriters and then I’ll go on-air.”
80
President Jack Ryan wore a blue suit with a red tie, and he sat at his desk in the Oval Office and looked into the camera. His comments would be broadcast live all over the world, certainly even in Russia, although some there wouldn’t see him.
After a serious greeting and a little background on the short land war in Lithuania, he said, “From here on, I will refer to the actions of the Russian military currently under way in the Baltic as Volodin’s invasion. While he enjoys the support of the majority of the Russian population, I am aware that the information on which the Russian population is basing its support for Volodin is carefully manipulated.” Ryan placed the palms of his hands on his desk and looked down at them. For a moment it looked like the teleprompter had stopped and he was lost.