“As you’re aware, Michigan has been tasked with extracting a Russian torpedo expert residing in a home along a canal in the Murmansk Fjord. The Nav will brief the submarine’s transit to within range of our SDV, then I’ll add the pertinent mission details.”
First up was the submarine’s Navigator, Lieutenant Charlie Eaton, who controlled the bulkhead display with a handheld remote. A nautical chart of the Barents Sea appeared, zooming in on Kola Bay to the south. Eaton’s brief was short and uneventful. Michigan had been heading north, preparing to slip under the polar ice cap on her way home to Bangor, Washington, when the guided missile submarine had been turned around. They were now headed toward the SDV launch point, which would be in the mouth of Kola Bay.
Eaton took his seat while Harrison continued the brief.
“Tonight’s mission is a basic extraction.” Harrison pressed the remote and a head shot of a Russian male appeared on the display. “Our target is Alexei Novikoff, part of a four-member team that’s developed new technology for Russia’s submarines, and the CIA wants to have a talk with him. We’re going to pay Novikoff a visit and convince him to return to Michigan with us. While we’re in transit, the CIA will transfer one of their interrogators aboard Michigan for the conversation.”
Harrison pressed the remote and the screen shifted to a map of the Murmansk Fjord, showing the location of Novikoff’s residence just north of the Gadzhiyevo Naval Base. Canals crisscrossed the well-to-do neighborhood, with boats tied up along backyard docks, offering easy access to the Murmansk Fjord and Kola Bay.
“We’ll be taking the SDV and we’ll need a seat for Novikoff on the way out, which means we’ll be going in with a partial fire team. Assigned to the mission with me are Senior Chief Stone and Petty Officer Carver.” Harrison glanced at the two SEALs seated behind Commander McNeil.
Harrison pressed the remote again, and the display zoomed in until Novikoff’s home filled the screen. It was similar to the adjacent houses, with a small motorboat tied up alongside the backyard dock.
“There’s no indication of security guards assigned to Novikoff, so we’re likely dealing only with a home security system, if that. We’ll figure it out when we get there. Before we launch, we’ll receive an intel update, verifying that Novikoff has returned home tonight and that he’s alone. If not, we’ll postpone the mission until a night when he’s home alone. For reasons not explained, the mission will proceed only if we’re able to extract Novikoff without anyone noticing, at least until the morning.
“Subject to your questions, that concludes my brief.”
After a few questions and a short discussion, the mission brief wrapped up. Turning to Captain Wilson, McNeil asked, “When will Michigan be in position?”
Wilson turned to the Nav, who replied, “At twenty-one hundred.”
Five hours later, Harrison, Senior Chief Stone, and Carver were seated in the SDV in the starboard Dry Deck Shelter, outfitted for the mission in black dive suits. Instead of standard scuba gear, they wore rebreathers, which provided oxygen and scavenged carbon dioxide without producing bubbles, helping to conceal the SEALs’ underwater transit. They were armed with Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine guns — compact assault rifles about a foot long with an extendable stock, an optical sight, and a noise suppressor screwed onto the barrel. An intel update reported that Novikoff had returned home alone this evening. The mission was a go.
Harrison rendered the okay hand signal to the diver on the other side of the Plexiglas shield, who flooded down the hangar. There was a faint rumbling as the shelter’s circular hatch opened, and two divers on each side of the SDV pulled the rails out onto the missile deck, then extracted the SDV from the hangar. Harrison manipulated the controls and the SDV lifted off its rails, then glided above the Dry Deck Shelter, cruising over the submarine’s bow before disappearing into the darkness.
CHAPTER 13
USS MICHIGAN
“No close contacts!”
In the darkened Control Room, Murray Wilson, seated in the Captain’s chair on the Conn, listened to the Officer of the Deck’s report. He glanced at the Perivis display, a small screen relaying what the Officer of the Deck saw through the periscope. There were no lights on the horizon, which was barely discernible under the weak glow of a quarter moon.
Lieutenant Jeff Porteous completed a detailed surface and air search, examining each sector in high power. Nearby surface ships were the initial concern, ensuring a collision wasn’t imminent, then counter-detection became the primary issue, from both surface warships and military aircraft. It was counterintuitive, but there were more aircraft flying around with torpedoes — albeit smaller lightweight versions — than there were submarines.
“Sir, I’ve completed a high-power search of all quadrants. Hold no surface or air contacts.”
“Very well,” Wilson replied. “Prepare to surface.”
After Michigan surfaced, with Lieutenant Porteous still circling with his eye pressed to the periscope, Wilson ordered, “Maintain the watch below deck.”
Normal practice was to shift the Officer of the Deck to the Bridge while surfaced, but Michigan would be surfaced for only a short time.
A seaman opened the lower Bridge hatch and followed Wilson up through the sail, where Wilson opened the upper Bridge hatch. He folded down the sail clamshells — fairings pushed up before diving to seal the Bridge opening, creating a smooth surface atop the sail for hydrodynamic purposes when submerged. Wilson stepped into the Bridge cockpit, breathing in the fresh night air. He was joined by the seaman and the submarine’s First Lieutenant, who had the necessary gear for the pending transfer.
Wilson heard the faint beat of the helicopter before he saw it. It took a while for the gray aircraft to appear out of the darkness, slowing to a hover fifty feet above the stationary submarine. A moment later, the helicopter crew lowered a man toward Michigan’s Bridge. He swung in the wind as he descended, a small duffel bag attached by a lanyard swaying a few feet below him. The First Lieutenant grounded the cable to Michigan’s steel hull, shorting any electrostatic charge that had built up during the helicopter’s transit, then the seaman grabbed the duffel bag as it swung by, guiding the man into the Bridge cockpit.
“Welcome aboard Michigan,” Wilson shouted over the roar of the helicopter rotor as the man’s feet hit the deck.
The man returned the greeting as the seaman helped him out of his harness and unhooked the duffel bag. Wilson then signaled the helicopter to retrieve its cable. The helicopter pulled up and away from the submarine, its cable swaying in the wind as it turned and headed west toward Norway.
Wilson descended to the Control Room followed by the newly embarked passenger.
“Rig the Bridge for Dive,” Wilson ordered. “Prepare to Dive.”
Lieutenant Porteous acknowledged and gave the order. “Dive, Dive,” echoed throughout the submarine, followed by the iconic ooogah, ooogah diving alarm. An officer waiting in Control ascended to the Bridge to close the clamshells and secure the bridge hatches.
“Join me in my stateroom,” Wilson said to the new arrival. “It looks like we’ve got a few things to discuss.”
CHAPTER 14