“Shto?” Boriskov shouted. “You cannot do that! It would be a monumental ecological disaster! That spill would pollute a large portion of the Black Sea for years!”
“Let it be on Pavel Kazakov’s hands,” Patrick said. “Maybe by sinking this ship, the world will soon learn everything about Kazakov and his bloody greed.”
“What are we going to do, Captain?” the Besstrashny’s executive officer asked. “We won’t be able to reach it in time.”
“We are going to have to disable it,” Boriskov said. “Combat, this is the captain. Target the rudder and propulsion area of the stem on the tanker. I want it stopped dead in the water. Once we catch up to it, we’ll board it and hold it until help comes from Russia.”
“We are inside Turkish treaty waters, Captain,” the navigator warned. “We are prohibited from discharging weapons.”
“This is an emergency situation,” the captain said. “Combat, carry out my last—”
“Bridge, Combat, high-speed aircraft inbound, low altitude, bearing zero-two-zero, range eight-seven kilometers, speed … speed thirteen hundred kilometers per hour!” the radar operators in the Combat Information Center called out. “Multiple contacts.”
“Attention, attention, destroyer Besstrashny, this is the Black Sea Alliance bomber north of you,” the bridge crew heard moments later. “You have entered Alliance treaty waters and are hereby ordered to reverse course immediately or you will be fired upon.”
“There’s that Alliance bullshit again,” Boriskov exclaimed. “Number One, battle stations.” The battle stations alarm rang once again. “Combat, release batteries on the forward 130 only and open fire. Disable the tanker before it gets too far into Turkish treaty waters.” The AK-130 cannon opened fire on the tanker, one two-round volley every four seconds. The stem of the tanker Ustinov exploded in a burst of flames.
“Bridge, Combat, inbound antiship missiles, bearing zero-two-zero, eighty kilometers and closing, speed nine hundred kilometers per hour and accelerating, sea-skimmer! Additional radar contact aircraft, bearing three-four-zero, multiple contacts, low altitude and high speed, possible antiship missile attack profile as well.”
“Helm, hard to port heading zero-two-zero,” Boriskov ordered. “Combat, Bridge, cease fire on the tanker. Stand by to defend against high-speed sea-skimmer. All defensive batteries released.”
“Sir! Look! The tanker!” Boriskov turned and saw a massive ball and column of fire, like a small nuclear explosion, erupt on the forward portion of the tanker. The fire was so bright that it cast shadows on the deck of the Besstrashny over twenty kilometers away. Seconds later, the shock wave from the blast rolled over them, rattling windows and sending a vibration through the deck.
“The tanker is gone,” Boriskov said. “It’ll be on the bottom in minutes, and they’ll be cleaning up that oil slick for the next ten years.”
“Bridge, Combat, numerous small vessels approaching the tanker from the south,” the radar operator reported. “Possibly Turkish naval patrol boats or fire boats.”
“Never mind the damned tanker — it’s gone,” Boriskov shouted. “Time to impact on that sea-skimmer?”
“Sea-skimmer passing twelve hundred kilometers per hour,” the radar operator reported. “Time to impact, three point four minutes.”
“Count down every fifteen seconds.”
“Destroyer Besstrashny, this is the Black Sea Alliance Air Command. You will reverse course immediately or we will continue our attack,” the radio message said.
“How dare you attack a flagship of the Russian Federation Navy!” Boriskov retorted. “I warn you, abort this attack or consider it an act of war!”
“You have committed an act of war by opening fire in Turkish waters without authorization,” the bomber crew responded. “We have begun the countdown on five more antiship missiles, Captain, and we will launch them if you do not cease fire and reverse course immediately. It may be an act of war, but the Besstrashny will be the first casualty if you do not head out of Alliance waters immediately.”
“Time to impact, three minutes.”
The bridge crew looked over at their captain in horror. They were positioned correctly to defend against the first missile, but not against more fired from a different angle. If the other bombers launched, the Besstrashny’s defenses could be quickly overwhelmed.
“Black Sea Alliance, or whoever you are,” Boriskov radioed, “this is the Besstrashny. We will exit your waters without further incident. Abort your attack.” Seconds later, they saw a flash of light in the sky, and the CIC reported they had lost contact with the first sea-skimmer.
“Yibis ana v rot!” Boriskov swore loudly. “Comm, Bridge, notify Destroyer Group in Novorossiysk — tell them we came under attack by some group calling itself the Black Sea Alliance. Give position, include details of the weapon they fired at us, notify them that we are being directed on where to go from here under threat of massive aerial attack, and ask for instructions.”
Rather than make it better, the oxygen just seemed to be making Stoica’s headache worse. He tried to gulp down some water to keep his mouth and throat moistened, but his liver was sucking all the moisture out of his body to try to digest all that rotgut wine, and he was losing that battle.
Yegorov wasn’t making it any better. He was continuing a steady stream of chatter on the intercom, repeating every message over and over. “Six bombers! Did you hear that? This Black Sea Alliance has surrounded the Besstrashny with six bombers! This Black Sea Alliance has got balls, I’ll admit that.”
“Can you please shut up and just find the one closest to the destroyer, Gennadi?” Stoica asked.
“I’m not sure which one without activating the radar.”
“Then just pick one, and let’s let him lead us to the others,” Stoica said impatiently. “This is not rocket science.”
“The nearest one is at our eleven o’clock, range approximately fifty kilometers,” Yegorov said. “Just outside maximum missile range.”
“I know what the maximum range of our missiles is, damn you, I know,” Stoica moaned. Along with the four emergency R-60 missiles in their wing launchers, the Mt-179 Tyenee carried an AKU-58 external weapon pylon on each wing with one radar-guided R-27P missile on the bottom of the pylon and one R-60 heat-seeking missile on each side of the pylon, plus two Kh-29TF TV-guided missiles in the bomb bay, with its receiver pod bolted onto the aft external centerline weapon station behind the bomb bay. The R-27P was one of Russia’s newest air-to-air missiles, developed by Metyor Aerospace, that was designed to home in on enemy radar signals — it did not need any guidance signals from its launch aircraft.
“You’re lucky if that old hag didn’t mix some kerosene in with that wine, Ion,” Yegorov said, and chuckled.
“Idi na-huy, Gennadi.”
“Forty kilometers. Coming within R-27 range. Ready to commit weapons.”
“Where are the other bombers?”
“I’m detecting two more aircraft at our two and three o’clock positions, range unknown, so they must be farther than fifty kilometers away. Surface search radar only — no fire control or uplink signals. I think they’re the bombers that are covering the Besstrashny.”