“A quarter mile at maximum. I’d like to get closer than that,” Riley replied. They were at least three-quarters of a mile behind the Koreans. Riley’s best estimate was that it was going to be close, very close.
He hadn’t mentioned the additional problem of weapons on board the ship. If it carried weapons, Riley had to assume that once he fired on the party pulling the sled, the ship would return fire. He didn’t fancy the idea of being caught out on this ice in a running gun battle — the forseeable conclusion wasn’t favorable for him and the two sisters.
As they went along, Riley noticed black spots on the ice about three hundred yards to the left. He dropped down, out of sight, pulling Sammy and Conner with him. An ambush? He raised his head and peered at the figures, finally realizing what he was looking at. Seals were lying near a water hole they’d broken in the ice. It was the first sign of animal life they’d seen.
“There they are!” the political officer exclaimed, pointing off the starboard bow.
The captain trained his telescope in that direction. “There are four men, and they are pulling a sled with something on it.”
“I want you to gather a party of men to go out there and help them.”
The captain wasn’t thrilled with that idea. His men were civilians, and he didn’t want to risk them on the ice. But he turned to his executive officer and reluctantly relayed the order.
Seven hundred yards off the port side, the ice suddenly erupted, three long black shafts pushing through. The shafts abruptly widened and a massive black conning tower appeared, tossing aside the ice like child’s blocks. The ice behind the tower split to reveal a long black deck sloping 150 feet behind the tower. The exposed portion of the vessel was almost as long as the Am Nok Gang.
“What is that?” the political officer gasped.
“A submarine,” the captain replied, stunned at the sight.
“I know that, you fool,” the officer snapped. “Whose submarine? American?”
“I don’t know.”
“What should we do?”
The captain turned to look at the officer. “There is nothing we can do.” He nodded at the black hull. “We wait to see what they do.”
Pak and his men halted, staring past the ship at the submarine. He knew in his heart that it was all over. Even if they made it to the ship, the Americans would never let them sail away. He wondered how the plan had failed.
“Sir?” Kim turned to him for instructions.
Pak looked at his executive officer. “We go to the ship. Quickly.”
The four men strained against the rope.
Riley started sprinting as soon as the submarine broke surface, leaving Sammy and Conner behind, yelling at them to stay put. He passed four seals around a small circle of open water. The distance was now down to five hundred yards. Another two hundred and he could fire.
The present Hawkeye on station was the third one rotated in; the earlier ones had exhausted their fuel supplies and returned to the Kitty Hawk. The radar operator had picked up the sub as soon as the mast breached the ice. Now he was busy guiding in the Osprey and the two F-14 Tomcats from the Kitty Hawk, matching the glowing green dots representing the planes with those of the ship and submarine.
“Eagle One, this Eye One. Assume heading eight seven degrees, range one hundred fifty kilometers and closing. You’ve got a sub on the surface, about seven hundred meters to the east of the ship. Over.”
“Roger. Out.” The acknowledgment from the pilot of the lead Tomcat was heard in the operator’s left ear. In his right ear was the tactical center of the Kitty Hawk demanding information.
“Eye One, this is Big Boot. Do you have an ID on the submarine yet? Over.”
“Negative. Over.”
“Eye One, what is Eagle’s ETA? Over.”
“ETA five minutes. Over.”
Pulling at the front end of the rope, Pak felt the ice crackle beneath him. He halted and looked down in surprise. In his haste he’d run onto a thinner portion. There was no way it would support the weight of the bomb, twenty feet behind him.
“To the left,” he ordered Kim, Sun, and Ho.
As they turned, the thin ice exploded upward, and Pak caught a glimpse of a massive black and white snout rising into the air. The snout split in two, revealing rows of glistening white teeth. The forward half of the creature slammed down onto the ice, half out of the water, and the teeth closed on Kim.
The XO’s scream was cut short as the killer whale slid back with its meal into the hole it had just made in the ice. Pak pulled out his knife and desperately slashed at the rope around his waist as he was dragged toward the hole. He succeeded just inches short of the freezing water. Ho and Sun were not so fortunate. Scrabbling at the ice as they moved inexorably toward the hole, the men were pulled in. Pak had a last glimpse of Ho’s pleading eyes as the rope, still attached to Kim and Sun, drew him under the ice.
Pak quickly cut the rope attached to the sled and scrambled away from the thin ice.
“What happened?” screamed the political officer.
“Killer whale,” the captain curtly replied, saying a mental prayer for the three men. “That’s how they hunt seals.” He removed his eye from the telescope and turned to look at the political officer. “Men. Seals. Not much difference is there? What do we do now?”
They both twisted their heads as two gray jets came roaring in low over the ice from the west.
“Big Boot, this is Eagle One. Over.”
“This is Big Boot. Over.”
“Roger. We’ve got a visual on the sub. You’ve got one Russian Delta class boomer on ice. Over.”
There was a pause. “Roger. Maintain station and await further instructions. Break. Viking Two, break from patrol and head for target site, maximum speed. Over.”
“This is Viking Two. Roger. Out.”
Aboard the E-2 the radar operator exchanged a worried look with the SIGINT operator. The Delta was the largest submarine in the world and carried twelve missile-launch systems for multiple-warhead ballistic missiles. What was it doing here?
The Viking diverted by the Kitty Hawk’s tactical operations center was its primary antisubmarine defense system — a plane totally dedicated to killing submarines, carrying both torpedoes and depth charges for that purpose.
The radar operator checked his screen. He estimated another fifty minutes before the Viking arrived. He had a feeling that whatever was being played out below would be over long before the Viking arrived.
His eyebrows raised at the next message from Kitty Hawk. “Eagle One, this is Big Boot. Delta submarine is to be considered friendly. I say again. Delta submarine is to be considered friendly. Out.”
Riley came to a screeching halt after witnessing the whale attack. He looked down and realized he could see a dark shape through the ice. He quickly sidled left to thicker ice, figuring that if he couldn’t see the whale through the ice, it couldn’t see him.
He twisted his head and watched as the two planes with U.S. Navy markings flew by once more. About fucking time, he thought. Of course, they couldn’t spot one man on the ice.
Riley moved forward more slowly, aware that the lone man ahead had a weapon that could kill him as easily as the whales could.
Pak glanced up as American planes flew by. He looked to the whaling ship and beyond it to the submarine. He could not pull the bomb by himself. There was only one thing left to do. He reached inside his parka and took out a sheet of paper.
Pak bent over the gray carcass of the bomb. He had done this once before, so he knew the preliminary steps. He stripped off his gloves — ignoring the knife of cold that stabbed into every joint — and flipped open the latch on the control access panel.