Bocharkov took in the man standing before him. The young officer was a few inches taller than Gromeko. The exposed arms showed a tightness of muscle from exercise and training. He had short hair — almost more stubble than hair — covering his head; the high and tight style of the Spetsnaz. The officer stared directly into the eyes of Bocharkov for a few seconds before glancing away.
This man was not to be trifled with, Bocharkov realized. Men such as him, with their own sense of self-importance, had been the cause of more deaths in Russian history than even religion.
“Is this your first time on a submarine?” Bocharkov asked.
“I was on the K-56, Captain. This is my second.”
“Then you have not operated from a submarine before now?” Ignatova asked sharply.
Dolinski shook his head. “No, sir, I did not say that. If I conveyed that, then I was misunderstood. I have done missions before now from submarines, but this is my first time in the Pacific.”
“Could we go over the mission?” Bocharkov asked, crossing his arms.
Dolinski looked around the radio shack, eyeing each of the men in it. “It is very classified, sir,” he said after several seconds.
“We promise to keep it inside this room. This is the most secure space we have on board the K-122.”
Several seconds of awkward silence gripped the radio shack.
“Shit!” Ignatova said.
“Tell them,” Gromeko said to Dolinski. “This is the captain; he has to know.”
Dolinski looked at Gromeko for a few moments, and then nodded. “Sir, we believe the Americans are about to invade North Vietnam. My orders are to find out what they are going to do.”
“So you think the answer is in Olongapo? The largest Asian port in the American Seventh Fleet?”
“Captain Second Rank Ignatova, an American amphibious task force was scheduled to arrive in the last forty-eight hours. The Kitty Hawk aircraft carrier and her forces should have arrived yesterday. These forces will sail sometime in the coming week for the Gulf of Tonkin — for Yankee Station, as their navy calls their operational area.”
“Even if they are in Olongapo Harbor, there is not much we can do about it,” Ignatova said.
Gromeko and Dolinski glanced at each other.
Dolinski spoke. “Captain, the Soviet Union has decided that we cannot allow the Americans to invade North Vietnam without doing something. If the Americans were to cross into North Vietnam, then the Chinese would come to their rescue.”
“The Vietnamese hate the Chinese more than they do the Americans,” Orlov said. “They have fought—”
“The Americans are already bombing the shit out of it,” Ignatova said. “Their people will not support a new front in the quagmire the Americans have found themselves in.”
“Maybe they are going elsewhere,” Orlov volunteered.
“Where would they go?” Dolinski asked, the right side of his lips curling up. “This is their war. These are their warships. The only other thing going on now is in the Middle East, and the Fifth Eskandra is watching that.”
“Even if the Soviet Fifth Fleet is watching those events, what is to keep the Americans from sneaking up through the Red Sea?” Orlov asked calmly. “It seems to me that this would be a good operational deception plan,” he finished, looking at Bocharkov and Ignatova.
“I don’t think the Americans will ever start a second war. Especially one to save their Jewish ally in the Middle East.”
“I do not think that is—” Orlov started.
Bocharkov motioned Orlov quiet. “Excuse me, Lieutenant Commander Orlov.” He turned to Dolinski and Gromeko. “The mission? How do you propose to discover if the Americans are planning on landing their Marines across the border — I mean how do you propose we stop them from invading our ally? Sink them?”
Neither Spetsnaz officer answered, then both shrugged simultaneously. “Don’t know,” Dolinski answered. “Ours is not to stop them, just find out what their intentions are.”
Bocharkov uncrossed his arms. “Tell me what your plans are and tell me in excruciating detail.”
For the next hour the officers of the K-122 listened as first Dolinski outlined his orders and mission, then the boat’s Spetsnaz officer, Gromeko, reported on how the equipment they would need would be dispersed among the two officers and three enlisted Spetsnaz and how and where they would exit the boat. As the briefing continued, the two Spetsnaz officers seemed to loosen up in sharing details — proud of what they had planned, excited over the prospects of finally taking the battle to the Americans, and exuberant over the pride they had in being selected for this mission.
Bocharkov, Ignatova, and Orlov listened impassively, each aware of the dangers these Spetsnaz officers seemed unaware of in their planning. Lieutenant Vyshinsky stayed in the background at the briefing; Bocharkov was sure the shy Ukrainian was more afraid of being asked his opinion than he was of the mission on which they were embarked.
Each phase of the plan made sense from a logical sequence of events, but where they intended to do it, what they intended to do, how they intended to do it without alerting the Americans — all were fraught with danger.
There was a moment during the discussion where the two Spetsnaz officers stopped to straighten out a minute detail. During that lull, Bocharkov’s thoughts turned to his junior officer years when he, too, had the enthusiasm and confidence these Spetsnaz officers had in their ability to do anything. It was an enthusiasm dampened by his age and tempered by wise confidence earned from experience.
He raised his hand when he realized the discussion had become more a jostle for leadership than a concrete assessment of operation. They stopped.
“Let me sum this up for everyone — and, XO, correct me if I am wrong.” Bocharkov smiled at the Spetsnaz lieutenants. “Don’t want to put either of you in the position of correcting me.” Gromeko grinned. Dolinski’s expression never changed. “We are going to sneak the K-122 into Subic Bay and park her on the bottom right up alongside the American warships. That your plan?”
“You can’t be serious? Olongapo Harbor?” Orlov asked.
Both officers nodded.
“Gentlemen, that is the easy part,” Dolinski said.
“About that, you are right, Lieutenant,” Bocharkov agreed.
Vyshinsky seemed to meld into the bulkhead near the hatch.
“But where you are wrong is that we are not going to sit on the bottom — though I appreciate your initial idea. Bottoms are notorious for being unpredictable. You never truly know what is resting there — especially after this many centuries of use. Plus — and we will check — I don’t know the depth, but if aircraft carriers can sail up and park alongside a pier then we will have plenty of depth beneath us.”
“I understand there are lots of uncharted relics, sunk over the years, that dot the bottom of Subic Bay,” Ignatova said. “And Olongapo Bay is nothing but muddy, shallow water. Only the local fishing fleet can use it.”
“I believe the depth outside of Olongapo Bay is in excess of one hundred meters,” Dolinski said.
“Then you would be unable to egress the boat at that depth.”
Dolinski’s lips tightened for a moment before he replied, “No, sir, Captain, it would be too deep.”
“My thoughts, too,” Bocharkov said. “We will have to go to periscope depth before you leave the K-122, Lieutenant. Sixteen meters. Two reasons for periscope depth: One, it allows me to see where we are inside the heart of the American fleet, which also means I can see where they are, and two, it will allow you easy egress and ingress to the K-122.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gromeko answered.
“And your mission will not be during daylight hours. I only say that in the event you may have thought differently.”