AK 239: The Enemy Is Already Here

Geographic North Pole

82.7° N 114.4° W

July 4^th

^{Seven months later}

A quiet, beautiful, perfectly clear day for an arms transfer at the North Pole.

And when I say, at, the Russians insisted:

AT: 82.7° N 114.4° W to be more precise.

The ice is pure white, almost bluish in some thinner spots, as in a movie. The air temperature was exactly that of Moscow in the dead of winter — 0°C but this is July!

The deal almost didn’t happen as the Americans insisted on some symbolism of their own. The exchange must take place only on the 4^th of July and the Russians finally agreed.

Geo North, or G. North, as it’s sometimes referred, was laid claim by the Russians in 2007 when they were the first country in the world to plant their flag on the seabed 13,980 feet below this very spot.

That’s almost three miles underwater!

Quite a feat!

No one had ever travelled to the bottom of the poll and done that before.

After they planted their flag the Russians then proceeded to brag to everyone in the world about what they’d done.

“You might have planted a flag on the moon first but we Russians planted our flag on the seabed at the North Pole first,” exclaimed Olga Kasparov, Russia TV-12 anchor reading from her teleprompter.

It was the line that the state had ordered her to say.

The Russian expert Olga interviewed said,

“The estimated value of just the minerals in the Arctic is worth up to two trillion dollars.”

“And this doesn’t include ninety billion barrels of oil or 1,669 trillion cubic feet of natural gas, about one quarter of the world’s known gas reserves.”

Western and Russian newspapers have pointed out that:

“All of these rich resources are the reason Russia had gone ahead with their promise and have begun building ten airfields in the Arctic. Russia’s Federal Agency for Special Construction (Spetsstroy) had promised some time ago to build military facilities on six Arctic islands.”

G. North sometimes has ice thick as ten feet! No sub in the world could punch through that much ice.

This year, however, the ice is only about six feet thick (two meters) which is about the maximum a sub can penetrate.

Suddenly, the quiet of nothing is interrupted by the massive nose cone of TK-20.

I’m the first person to climb out of the front hatch. Message traffic from the admiral said I could wear my Navy dress whites for the occasion.

I help Captain Vasili onto his hull for one last look.

Then I help Admiral Baker onto the hull.

We are all in our Navy dress.

I’m standing next to Captain Vasili.

All three of us stand in amazement at the beauty of this pristine place.

“May I ask you a question, captain?”

Captain Vasili quickly replies trying to act American, “Shoot!”

“Why do you always stand so close when you speak to me?”

The captain smiles, “A Nebraskan asked me this at the feed store. All older Russians do this. Habit I guess. When we were ruled by dictators last time you wouldn’t want a Soviet agent overhearing what was, likely, complaining about the government.

The captain takes a step back.

I quickly smile and say, “No, no. I don’t mind. You have a fascinating culture, captain.”

Vasili thinks then says, “I’ll always be Russian but my heart is now in America.”

It seems like an eternity passes as we stare across hundreds and hundreds of miles of nothing but Arctic ice.

“Are you gonna miss her?” I finally ask.

“I’ve been missing her since I left St. Petersburg.”

Vasili is obviously referring to his wife.

He looks like he could care less about this old bucket of rusting bolts.

Admiral Baker, “It’s none of my business, Agent Denning, but what did you say to Agent Tavana on my ship at breakfast that made her grab your hand. You guys made every man in that room jealous.”

I’m actually embarrassed and that’s pretty hard to do.

“I just said, Jen, what are you doing for dinner?”

The admiral sees there is definitely something going on here beyond his pay grade, so he smiles and wisely shuts up.

Russia’s newest SSBN, the Borei class sub, Knyaz Vladimir, recklessly crashes through the ice immediately next to us, making all of us, Vasili, the admiral and myself have to catch ourselves.

A Russian sailor immediately pops the front access hatch and steps onto her hull.

The sailor then helps out a much older and slower Admiral Perchinkov who looks to have aged 20 years.

He doesn’t look happy but if you lived in temperatures like this, you likely wouldn’t be happy either!

More sailors emerge and toss a plank across so Perchinkov can walk directly onto TK-20.

Admiral Perchinkov says, “You know, Vasili, we have five submarines watching you.”

Vasili says, “Five? The Americans said it was six, not counting us. And “we” want you to know we have nine watching you.”

A new Cold War standoff has begun.

Right here!

Right now!

As the two, old steely Russians stare down each other with contempt, Admiral Baker opens his mouth but before he can speak, I look at him as if, “I wouldn’t!”

I’ve heard the admiral does not like to take advise from anyone.

He wisely takes mine and decides against stepping into this private war between these two, old, Russian titans.

Vasili then says,

“I don’t want to see water any more. I found the people of Nebraska to be quite lovely."

Admiral Perchinkov shows Captain Vasili a picture of the Russian flag planted three miles beneath them on the seabed.

“See Vasili,” as a slight I notice Perchinkov refuses to use his title as captain,

“You’ve made one huge mistake. Where we’re standing and, as for as far as you can see, in any direction is a Russian gold mine."

Vasili responds,

“Your president is very good at weaponizing information but he’s not so good with the truth. Just because you plant a flag somewhere doesn’t make the place yours. The Arctic belongs to all of us. Ever see corn and wheat waving in a Nebraska summer breeze? I have. Come visit me sometime, comrade!”

Everyone watches this stout Russian admiral, as his neck slowly turns red. His blood rises somewhere above eye level. If his blood pressure gets any higher it just might blow his head clean off!

Further, if Perchinkov had a weapon it looks like he would kill Vasili! Right here and right now.

Vasili gives him a stoic Russian salute then motions for his wife to walk to him. Perchinkov does not return the salute.

We all feel the weight of a thousand years of Russian history transpire as Vasili’s wife walks to him. Vasili won’t ever again look at Perchinkov. Vasili grabs his wife and hugs her.

After eternity passes of Perchinkov staring at this horrid sight, he turns and walks to his front hatch and enters “his” sub.

A twenty-one-year-old, hulky sailor leans over to me and asks: “What just happened?”

I say: “It would take a thousand years to explain, son, at least a thousand!”

Russian sailors look around confused as to what is happening next.

I worriedly ask, “Ya think Perchinkov just might leave us out here while he submerges?”

Vasili ignores my worry and instead says to me, “So what will you do now commander?

I smile at the commander line again and then answer,

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll start my own local chapter of the ASPCA.”

Vasili asks, “ASPCA. What is that?

I sarcastically answer,

“The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Acronyms!”

Vasili looks at me sincerely as he studies my game face then says,

“Was that good American joke?”

I sincerely ask, “I don’t know, was that good American joke?”

The captain is sincerely confused and does not know how to answer.

Admiral Baker steps in laughing and says,

“Hell ya!”

“That’s a great American joke.”

The admiral then mumbles to himself as he mumbles under his breath,

“ASPCA! Now that’s funny.”

I pull out my trusty Motorola SRX 2400 and say, “Okay, we’re gonna need a lift.”

If you thought the Russians were careless, here comes the USS Alaska.

She punches through and practically lands on top of TK-20. The conning tower is angled perfectly so that Vasili, and General Baker, and I can walk from the front hull of TK-20 right onto the conn!

On the USS Alaska conning tower former Lieutenant Commander Jennifer Tavana is the first person to appear. She is allowed to wear her Navy dress whites for the transfer too.

She looks a lot better than I.

“Well that explains it! A woman’s driving this thing!” I say.

Jen ignores my chivalrous attitude.

Jen holds out her hand for Vasili.

“Welcome aboard captain.”

Then she holds out her hand for me in a very “different” manner.

I grab it and step aboard. “Welcome aboard commander,” she says teasingly.

“Thank you but…”

Jen salutes me and I think:

What the hell!

I salute her back saying,

“Thank you Lieutenant Commander.”

Jen starts to say, “Former…” but the word doesn’t make it out as she looks to think:

What the hell, as well!

No sooner did we say that, then we quickly disappear beneath the ice.