“Could be closer.”
Stalzer slapped him lightly upside the head again. “Yes, Oliver, it could be closer. It could a few hundred feet away, but it ain’t. What submarine would be stupid enough to come this close.…” His voice trailed off.
No one spoke for a few seconds, before Burkeet chuckled. “Right, Chief. You’re joking, aren’t you?”
Stalzer shook his head. “I can’t think of any other way a noise spike that cuts right into the harbor barriers west of us could be picked up by a destroyer tied up pierside, sir. I know water plays a lot of tricks on us with sound, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
The sound of footsteps drew their attention. The captain stuck his head inside the small sonar cavity just as the sound of hydraulics filled the space. The clock read ten minutes after two.
“He’s dead,” Dolinski said as they dragged Zosimoff out of the water and onto the rocks below the drainpipe.
Gromeko nodded.
Fedulova and Malenkov swam up. Gromeko and Dolinski helped pull Malenkov out of the water and into the pipe.
Fedulova followed, turning over on his back, breathing heavily. “Damn, you weigh a lot, Malenkov.”
“I don’t think it is me,” Malenkov gasped.
“How do you feel?” Gromeko asked.
“My chest is on fire.”
“Help me,” Gromeko said to Dolinski. The two officers pulled Malenkov farther into the drainpipe.
Dolinski sat down on the curved side of the pipe while Gromeko and Fedulova laid the wounded Spetsnaz warrior along the bottom of the pipe. A narrow stream of water rose up along the man’s shoulders until it flowed around Malenkov’s arms, continuing its gravity-fed journey to the exit.
Dolinski’s hands rooted in the knapsack until he found the small receiver. He lifted it, unstrung two loose earpieces, and put them on. He turned on his flashlight, the red light illuminating the controls on the receiver as he duckwalked to the edge of the pipe.
Gromeko opened the wounded sailor’s dungaree shirt. The bullet had penetrated the upper left part of Malenkov’s chest, near the underarm. Bubbles of blood came out every time he took a breath.
“Looks as if it has hit your lung, Malenkov,” Gromeko said. Turning to Fedulova, he ordered, “Give me the first aid kit.”
Fedulova grabbed one from one of the divers’ belts lying along the sides of the curved pipe.
“Lieutenant Dolinski and Chief Fedulova, go ahead and get out of those clothes and into your gear.”
“In a moment,” Dolinski said. “One more minute,” he mumbled softly, pressing the right earpiece against his head. He smiled. “The mission is a success. I can hear the telephone calls of the Americans.”
“Then get changed,” Gromeko snapped.
“I am already doing that,” Dolinski replied, wrapping the earpieces around the receiver and jamming it into the knapsack. “I am already doing that,” he repeated.
Fedulova and Dolinski worked as quietly as possible, pulling off the American dungarees and slipping into their underwater gear.
Gromeko worked on Malenkov. It took a couple of minutes to get gauze over the wound, run tape across it, under Malenkov’s arm, and around the neck on the other side.
“Feels better already,” Malenkov said softly. He put his hands down and attempted to push himself up. He moaned as he collapsed back onto the bottom of the pipe.
“Don’t move,” Gromeko said. He grabbed a nearby diver’s belt and worked it around Malenkov’s waist. “This will keep you from bobbing to the surface.”
Malenkov chuckled. “To die on enemy soil is to die for our nation. I just never expected to do it this soon.”
“You’re not going to die,” Gromeko said. “All you have is a bleeding chest wound.”
“Just a bleeding chest wound?” Malenkov asked with a hint of sarcasm and a smile barely visible in the shadows. “Lieutenant, you can’t take me with you.”
“Here, let me talk with Malenkov while you change, Lieutenant,” Fedulova said.
“We can’t leave his equipment with him,” Dolinski said.
“We aren’t going to leave him.”
“We can’t take him with us. He is right. He is dying. Leave him here, if you want him to live.” Dolinski shrugged. “If he does live, then the Americans will take care of him. They take care of everything.”
Gromeko put his face a few inches from Dolinski. “We do not leave our shipmates behind,” he said, accenting each word separately.
“He will endanger all of us.”
“Then we will be endangered together.”
“The lieutenant is right, sir,” Malenkov said. “Leave me, but leave me a weapon. That way you will not have to worry about the Americans capturing me.”
“Quiet, everyone.” No one spoke as Gromeko quickly changed.
Chief Fedulova and Lieutenant Dolinski waited at the mouth of the drainpipe, watching for signs of the Americans. Above them, the noise of vehicles passing back and forth told them the warehouse area was flooded with U.S. marines.
Small beams of light searched the waters where they had fled earlier. With each sweep the lights moved along the road.
Dolinski jerked his thumb at Malenkov. “It will not be long before someone thinks of looking in this pipe. Starshina Malenkov is right. Leave him. Give him a weapon. He will die like a true Spetsnaz.”
“Looks as if the boats we were told about are coming this way, Lieutenant,” Fedulova said.
“Where?” both Lieutenants asked in unison.
“There,” Fedulova answered, pointing past Dolinksi toward the piers where the destroyers were tied up.
“Could be the liberty launches we were told about.”
Fedulova shook his head. “Most likely they are, but most likely they have been requisitioned to search for us.”
Motion to the far left caught their eyes as new running lights appeared around the end of one of the huge logistic ships anchored a hundred meters or so from the piers.
“Those are moving fast,” Fedulova observed.
Gromeko stumbled away toward his gear. The curved pipe was not made for walking. He sat down on the rippled curved body of the pipe and put on his flippers. “I am ready.” He looked at Malenkov. “This is going to be painful, but you can do it, Starshina Malenkov.”
“It is about time we go,” Dolinski said. “If the K-122 hears the commotion, the captain may have to choose between the four of us and the one hundred thirty officers and men on board.”
Fedulova nodded, his lower lip pressing his upper lip upward. “I could see where the captain would have a very hard decision to make.”
“Let’s go,” Dolinski said.
“First, we clean up our mess. Open your knapsack.” Gromeko looked at Fedulova. “Get me some rocks, heavy ones.”
“What for?” Dolinski asked.
“If we have to drop these knapsacks, then we want them on the bottom of the harbor, not floating on the surface.”
Fedulova eased over the side of the drain into the water, his head disappearing beneath the waves.
Dolinski opened his knapsack. “What for?” he asked.
Gromeko crammed their American uniforms into it. “We can leave these uniforms behind.”
Dolinski held up his knapsack. “We cannot leave this behind.”
“I know, but the uniforms we can.”
Fedulova surfaced, placing several rocks on the edge of the pipe. “Is that enough?” He picked up a couple more rocks near the edge of the pipe. “These are bigger”
“Let me put some rocks in your knapsack, Uri,” Gromeko said to Dolinski.
“My knapsack is not going to be dropped,” Dolinski said.
“We may not have a choice. If the Americans capture… or kill us, then we do not want the knapsacks bobbing to the surface with our bodies.”