The others nodded in agreement.
“We are in your hands, Captain Kamani,” said Ali bin Rashid. “Allah be praised.”
The meeting broke up and the four men retired to their quarters.
Several hours later, what passed for dawn in these lower regions broke over the barren landscape of Atlas Cove. The warhead was carefully unloaded from the freighter’s cargo hold, craned down to the deck of the submarine and placed next to the open hatch of the silo housing a Stingray missile. Fortunately, the weather held, allowing the operation to take place without concern, except for Captain Grosky, who worried his orders had not included the fixing of a warhead to one of the missiles. However, after Captain Kamani told him the warhead was a dummy to obtain a true balance when the missile was test-fired, he did finally relent and order his technicians to attach the warhead.
Eventually the warhead was fitted, the missile hatch closed and the Islamic crew fully transferred to the re-provisioned submarine. Without wasting more time, the formal transfer of command to Admiral Park took place on deck. Captain Grosky took command of the Maru Blue and shortly thereafter, K449 sailed out of Atlas Cove under the tentative command of Admiral Park. Captain Kamani was glad to be underway, but surprisingly regretted the two tasks that had to be done before heading due east into the vastness of the southern seas.
Four miles out from the Cove, Admiral Park was summarily dispatched and his body thrown overboard. Kamani ordered K449 to be taken below the surface to periscope depth and then to stop all engines. Here, they would await the arrival of the Maru Blue and sink her in deep water with all hands. No evidence must be left of what had taken place over the last twenty-four hours.
After a wait of almost two hours, sonar reported contact.
“Up periscope.” The familiar hiss of hydraulics faded and seconds later Kamani watched as the Maru Blue came into view. To make sure she went to the bottom, he had decided to deploy two torpedoes. “Stand by tubes one and two.”
This was to be Kamani’s first kill as a submarine commander and he felt a thrill, tempered, however, with the knowledge that he was about to destroy a man he had come to like and respect during the long journey down through the Pacific. It was tragic that Captain Grosky and his crew had to die this way, but Kamani was left with no choice.
“Fire One!”
“Tube one fired.”
“Fire Two!”
“Tube two fired.”
K449 shuddered as the first USET 80 active/passive homing torpedo shot from its twenty-one-inch tube, packing 660lbs of lethal explosive, then again on the second.
The freighter was doomed. Two minutes later, the two torpedoes smashed into the Maru Blue within seconds of one another. The resultant impact and explosion almost split her in two, allowing tons of icy seawater to surge through the huge jagged gap, flooding the holds with such tremendous force that the ill-fated ship ploughed straight to the bottom.
Captain Kamani continued to watch the cold, grey, empty rolling waves for survivors and was relieved when there were none; he had no wish to surface. It was unlikely anyone could survive for very long in these freezing Antarctic conditions anyway.
“Down periscope. Left standard rudder. Steer two-four-zero. Make your depth 500. All ahead flank speed.”
* * *
Captain Vasily Ivanovitch Denko, commander of the Russian Akula II-class nuclear attack submarine K267, could not believe his eyes as he watched the Maru Blue through the periscope. He turned to his XO. “The freighter has been hit and is sinking!” he exclaimed incredulously, stepping back to allow his XO to take a look in time to see it sink beneath the waves.
“My God,” shot Lieutenant Sergio Alexander Nanovich, staggered at what he had just witnessed. “Torpedo?”
“Has to be, no planes this far afield.”
“What the hell was an old rust-bucket like that doing rendezvousing with K449?”
“Grosky’s orders were to hand over full command to the Korean admiral once here at the island,” replied the captain. “It must be the vessel that brought provisions and a Korean crew and was taking the Russian crew back. One thing is for certain: that freighter could only have been sunk by K449. No other sub would be in these remote parts.” He slammed his hand hard against the periscope shaft. “Those Koreans are fucking treacherous, murderous bastards… Sergio, get an urgent signal off to command; tell them what has happened and we will await further orders.”
The XO raised eyebrows in surprise before scurrying off, shocked again by not having been made fully aware of the captain’s orders.
Captain Denko, a short, stocky, bull of a man with dark, brooding features, ordered the helmsman to steer a course that would track the Russian submarine; he now firmly believed K449 was crewed by the North Koreans. Regarded as one of the better submarine commanders and a veteran of skirmishes with the Americans in the Pacific, Denko’s orders had been to discreetly track K449 on leaving Rybachiy and report on the Delta III-class submarine’s sea trials under the direction of Admiral Park Hyok and the command of Captain Grosky. Most importantly he was to monitor and report on the result of any missile testing that took place. He had patiently followed K449 right down the Pacific to Heard Island, making sure he kept a respectable distance away in its wake where it would be difficult for Grosky to detect him.
The Akula (Shark), which he had commanded for the past five years, was considered the fastest and quietest of all Russian nuclear attack submarines. It was virtually impossible to detect at speeds up to ten knots. With a crew of seventy and driven by a Pressurized Water Reactor, the vessel could reach an underwater speed of up to thirty-five knots. Her 370-foot long steel hull had a displacement of 10,000 tons submerged. Although Denko had never gone beyond a depth of 1,000 feet, the specifications stated 1,700 feet as the maximum. K267 carried twenty-four twenty-one inch, heavy torpedoes and twelve cruise missiles. Her sonar suite was capable of detecting vessels forty-five nautical miles, or more, away.
Within the hour, new orders came through: sink K449.
13
Thankfully it did not rain during the night march towards the lake. The group, led by Ryder, travelled easily through what appeared to be uninhabited countryside under a full moon. He kept up a steady pace on a northwesterly course, keeping to the valleys, avoiding the steep slopes.
After several miles of wooded terrain broken by grassy knolls and rocky outcrops, they arrived on the outskirts of Hagaru-ri. The sun began to rise above the horizon as they reached the southern end of the lake and surveyed the main highway into the town. Hazy early morning light progressively bathed the western shoreline about a mile away on the other side of the serene waters. Only a handful of boats could be seen out in the distance, along with a few boats lining the shore below. All seemed to be small sail boats and not in the best of repair. Slowly shifting his binoculars to the left, Ryder scanned the area of wharfs about half a mile distant and settled on a small group of motor-driven vessels.
“Look like steam boats down there,” he said, handing the binoculars to Song.
He ran the lenses over the wharfs. “I agree – ramshackle lot – seen better days,” he replied.
Ryder took the binoculars and looked again at the boats. He swung the lenses towards the highway below, which ran almost parallel to a river in full flood flowing from the lake. After focusing on the crowds of people milling about on the highway, he let the binoculars drop and turned to Song.