Raise the Red Dawn

Chapter Eighteen

“Conn, Sonar. Polar 8 is banging away at the pressure ridge and making enough noise to mask the entire area. Sounds like Times Square on New Year’s Eve out there. No word of our people yet, Skipper.”

“Very well. Signal them to keep those props churning. Steer course two seven zero. Let’s stay nearby. Just in case.”

“Aye, Skipper.”

MacKenzie walked over to the navigation table. Phoenix should be well past the keels. He studied the chart as they all waited tensely for Phil Arlin’s signal.

“Ten thousand yards. Thirty minutes,” Santiago announced jubilantly. “They should be on the other side, Skipper.”

MacKenzie wasn’t relaxing yet, not until he heard from Phoenix. The Russian captain might guess about the keels and pursue — and anybody could get lucky. Until Phoenix reported they were safely out of the area, nothing was a certainty. Additionally, his concern about the survivors on the ice weighed heavily on him. The pilot of the C-130 had reported he’d lost track of them in the storm. He was still circling, looking for them, hoping to land if he spotted them. MacKenzie had no way of knowing why the survivors hadn’t made it to the Polar 8 yet. He just had to force himself to trust that they would, and that Justine would be among them. Anything else diverted his attention from the battle at hand.

“Conn, Communications. This from Phoenix. “ ‘All clear. Proceeding to MI zone with caboose intact. Many thanks. Arlin.’ Congratulations, Skipper.’ ”

There were cheers in the conn, and MacKenzie grinned with relief. They had done it. Red Dawn and Phoenix were well on their way.

“Communications, tell Polar 8 to give it fifteen more minutes and then break off. Repeat our request for immediate notification if they pick up any of our party. Send our thanks.”

Tom Lasovic came over. “Nice work, Mac.”

“Thanks, Tom.” MacKenzie fought the lassitude relief brought, resisted the need to let his guard down now that the first part of their mission was over. It had been a harrowing thirty minutes. He looked at his XO and said with a certainty that surprised him. “But that was only round one. I’m as sure of it as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow. Akula will be back.”

“Let her come,” said Lasovic. “At least Red Dawn is safe.”

Galinin leveled the gun at Ivanna, in his own warped way having offered her a token of his respect — a quick death instead of the horror of drowning when he scuttled the ship.

Desperate to dissuade him, Ivanna faced the bloody captain and tried to reach a part of him that would balk at following suicidal orders. “What about Captain Kalik? How do you know he isn’t coming to our rescue?”

Galinin shook his head sadly. “It has been over an hour since the towing began. If he were going to attack Phoenix he would have done so by now. I’m sorry. I cannot count on any reprieve from Akula.”

Ivanna’s shoulders sagged. A few hours more and they would have been out from under this godforsaken ice cap. After all they had been through, including Pytor’s sacrifice, safety was so near. It was too cruel. “I don’t want to die,” she said, glancing toward the open hatch.

“Forget about running,” Galinin commanded, moving quickly between her and the open door. He had to take his eyes off her for a split second to avoid the water buckets, but he was as agile as a big cat and the gun never wavered from her even as he stepped over them. “No one wants to die.” He shrugged. “It can’t be helped.” He cocked the hammer and leveled the sights on her heart.

Ivanna timed it perfectly. The bar of irinium she had palmed out of her coveralls in the brief moment he had taken his eyes off her spun out of her hand in a perfect arc and landed in the bucket of seawater by Galinin’s legs. She dived for cover just as he fired. The blast of heat and toxic fumes rose up like a sorcerer’s column of flame and engulfed him. The shot went wild. He dropped the gun and clutched his face, blinded by the steam that scored his flesh. He staggered back and fell into the bulkhead.

Ivanna saw her father leading crewmen down the corridor. “Quick, in here! Father, help!”

The gun slid under one of the diesel engines. Ivanna dropped to the deck and reached desperately for it. It was too far under to reach. Galinin was still clutching his face in agony. She rammed her shoulder against the oily engine reaching as far as she could. Her fingers touched the gun. She hooked one into the trigger guard and it came free. She pulled it to her, looking for Galinin.

He hit her like a football tackle, driving the breath from her body. They tumbled out the hatchway. She got her arms around the hatch’s wheel lock, trying to stop her fall into the corridor beyond, but the steel hatch just swung shut behind them. She tried to fire. It was no use. Galinin’s big hand encircled her wrists and he plucked the weapon from her hand. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet.

“Stop or she dies!” he yelled at the approaching men, shoving the gun into her side harshly. Ivanna winced in pain. Galinin’s eyes were bloodshot orbs in a burned and bleeding face.

The crewmen stopped short, milling behind Ligichev. “Let her go,” Ligichev said quietly. “There are too many of us to stop.”

“If you move I will shoot her.”

Ligichev sighed. “Remember I told you about logic? What choice do you offer us? Either way she dies.”

“Time, that’s what I offer.” Galinin looked at him intently. “Can you be the one to sign her death warrant? You are stronger than I thought, Comrade Chief Scientist. But are you that strong?” He reached behind him and tried to turn the wheel lock. The crewmen surged forward.

“Wait,” commanded Ligichev.

The wheel would not turn. “Blast you, I forgot about the electric lock.” A sudden wicked smile crossed Galinin’s features. “But it was you who gave me the combination, remember?” He pressed the keypad.

“I warn you, Galinin…”

Whatever Ligichev was about to say was interrupted as Seaman Boslik broke through the crowd of men and leaped for his captain. “I am not going to die! Follow me!”

“No, wait!” shouted Ligichev, but it was too late. Galinin spun and fired, hitting the big seaman in midleap. Boslik fell to the deck with a heavy thud and a hole in his chest. Ligichev dropped to his side and felt for a pulse. He shook his head sadly. “I don’t understand you. What kind of captain murders his own crew?”

“In this case, a patriot.” Galinin kept the gun leveled at them as he held Ivanna tightly. “Now, are there any more heroes?”

The crewmen backed up uncertainly. Boslik’s body lay on the deck between them and Galinin, mute proof of rash action. A scant five yards separated them, but no one dared to cross it. Galinin stepped back and reached for the keypad a second time. Still holding Ivanna, he punched in the combination that would open the engine room hatch and let him put an end to Red Dawn.

“Comrade Captain, the icebreaker is no longer churning its propellers. Sonar is operating normally again.”

“Scan the area for contacts,” ordered Kalik.

Phoenix and Red Dawn were long gone. Kalik had returned Akula to the other side of the keel.

“No contacts, Comrade Captain.”

It was just the two of them now. Seawolf’s captain had surely lost Akula in all that noise, just as he had lost Seawolf Now each was trying to pick up the other’s trail to maneuver for a clean shot. Where would the American captain go? What was his next plan? The man was cunning and resourceful, a better opponent than anyone Kalik had ever faced. But he had to make a mistake sooner or later.

“Viktor, what was the American’s last course?”

“One eight zero. He made his attack run straight at us and fired two torpedoes.”

“Come here, Viktor.” Kalik walked over to the navigator’s charts and traced his finger along course one eight zero. “This is how he came at us. He fired. . here. If he acted as he usually does he made a hard turn to starboard,” Kalik’s finger traced the route as he spoke. “That would take him right back to two seven zero to follow Phoenix past the keel. Yes, very neat. Even with the breakers putting out all that sound, he wanted to be close in case we found them. Say he held that heading for six minutes or so. Then, when Phoenix is out of danger, he turns back to look for us”—his finger stabbed out—“most likely just past the keels in this area here. Comrade Navigator, plot us an intercept course.”

“What are you planning, Vassily?”

Kalik explained as the navigator bent to the task. “In all this time the only flaw I have seen in this captain’s performance is that signature turn to starboard. He is a genius at thinking into the future, and every time we have come up against him we have failed because he was one step ahead of us. This time we must not allow him time to plan. He mustn’t be able to think his way out of the situation. We have to push him hard long enough to make a mistake, just as he did to us with Phoenix and Red Dawn.”

“You want to force him to react the wrong way?”

“That’s the key word. React. If he does so incorrectly we will hit him with everything we’ve got and finish him once and for all.” Kalik turned forward. “What is our depth?”

“Seven hundred meters, Comrade Captain.”

“Viktor, I think the American went deep, around three hundred and fifty meters, after his last run. But we are already deeper than that and at this low speed we are a hole in the ocean. He can’t hear us. So if he’s turning back on course zero nine zero searching… Comrade Navigator?”

“New heading, Comrade Captain, steer course zero three five. Intercept in three minutes.”

“Good. Viktor, we are going to come up under him at flank speed and deliver our torpedoes right into his belly before he knows what hit him. Helm, hard left rudder, steady course zero three five. All ahead flank. Maneuvering, increase speed slowly to flank. Do not cavitate. Acknowledge that.”

“Increase speed slowly to flank. No cavitation.”

“How do we hear him?” Volkov asked. “We’ll be deaf again at that speed.”

“I don’t need to hear him,” Kalik said grimly. “He’s there, Viktor. I know it.”

The radio officer turned from his console. “Comrade Captain? The Ural reports picking up survivors.”

“They must be from the base camp, Vassily.”

“Good. Tell Ural to render all aid. We are not murderers.” He hit the intercom. “Torpedo Room, status on all tubes.”

“All tubes flooded. We are ready to fire, Comrade Captain.”

“Arm torpedoes.” Kalik held the thought like a prayer. “He’s going to go down deep. Every time he goes deep.”

“He’s clever. Maybe he is just setting us up.”

Kalik ran a hand over his tired face. The American’s patterns. Were they unconscious or a deliberate ruse? If he held to his pattern one more time he would make a hard turn to starboard and dive emergency deep under attack. Kalik knew there were other possibilities, but he had to stop second-guessing himself. He came to a decision. “Set all torpedoes to enable at maximum depth. Open outer doors.”

“Outer doors opening.”

“Answering all ahead flank,” reported the helm.

“Very well.”

Akula was at top speed now, racing up from the depths of the icy sea to where Kalik reasoned Seawolf would be. Even this fast, without propeller cavitation she was still ultra-quiet and her new reactor used natural-flow cooling, even at this speed, for short periods, so her pumps were shut down as well. As silent and deadly as the shark it was named for Akula roared up under the dangling legs of its prey, jaws open and hungry.

“Attack Center, fire all tubes on course track zero three five.”

“Torpedoes away.”

Four torpedoes leaped from the Akula’s tubes and raced for where Kalik prayed Seawolf would be. He tapped his fingers on the scope housing impatiently. “Come on. Come on…” Seawolf would be picking up the incoming torpedoes any second now and would have to maneuver hard. Then they would betray their position. He had bet everything on this shot. Where the hell were they?

“Comrade Captain, contact bearing one eight zero, range seven hundred meters, depth three hundred. Sudden fast turn count. High-speed maneuvers. It’s Seawolf And they’re running!”

Kalik pounded his fist on the scope with unsuppressed excitement. “We’ve got them, Viktor. Helm, right ten degrees rudder. Maintain speed.”

“Conn, Sonar. Contacts, Skipper! Four torpedoes in the water bearing two one five! Coming from port to starboard. Range two thousand yards. Their homing sonar is activated.”

MacKenzie knew instantly that Akula had found him first. He reacted immediately. “Release noisemakers. Hard right rudder. All ahead flank cavitate.”

His adversary must have gone very deep and somehow picked up their course track. Where were Akula’s torpedoes going to enable? The upper stratum was a poor choice because the ice cap itself confused torpedo sonar. Besides, there were vulnerable breakers up there, one of them Russian. He’d probably try to keep the attack lower than two hundred feet. On the other hand, Akula had to be way down deep to sneak up on them like that, well below two thousand feet, an easy depth for the deep-diving sub. That set the upper and lower limits. No captain as competent as this one would risk running into his own torpedoes. MacKenzie figured the fish would be armed to explode between two hundred and, say, sixteen hundred feet. To escape them he either had to go very deep with Akula or very shallow with the breakers. He hesitated. His instinct told him to go shallow, but drawing fire toward the surface ships was too dangerous.

“Mr. Randall. Emergency deep. Twenty degrees down bubble. Call out our depth. All ahead flank. Let’s get ahead of those fish.”

“All ahead flank, aye. Diving hard. One thousand feet. One thousand fifty…

“Conn, Sonar. Two of the torpedoes pursued the noisemakers, Captain. Fading… No contact. We lost ‘em, Skipper. The other two are right on our tail.”

MacKenzie was diving deep to bring Seawolf down below the torpedoes’ enabling depth, but he needed time to get down there. Maybe he could slow them up. “Sonar, go active. Max power.”

“Sonar, aye.” Beams of immense acoustic power burst from Seawolf to confuse the torpedoes’ tracking sonar. “They’re confused, searching… searching… It’s not working, Skipper. They’ve picked us up again.”

“Shift your rudder. Swing her around as fast as she’ll turn.”

“We have cavitation,” Randall reported.

“Sonar, Conn. Are they buying it?”

“Stopping, scanning… damn! No, sir. They ran right through the knuckle turbulence. Still coming at us.”

“Depth twelve hundred feet. Twelve hundred fifty…”

Seawolf’s hull groaned and popped from the pressure. The tension in the conn was so thick it was tangible. MacKenzie felt the men’s fear as they fought to stay in control — no easy task with death homing in on the sub. “Easy, now,” he soothed. “Stay calm. Remember your training. We’ll get through this.”

“Conn, Sonar. Torpedoes converging… thirty seconds to impact.”

“Depth twelve hundred feet, Skipper. Twelve hundred fifty…”

Seawolf was diving with all its power, but the torpedoes were still gaining. MacKenzie wondered if he could have figured this all wrong. Had the Russian captain outguessed him in the end?

“Twenty seconds to impact.”

“Fourteen hundred feet, Skipper.”

A small seawater pipe burst from the pressure, spraying icy salt water around the compartment. Men clambered up, only to fall back from the force of the stream. Tom Lasovic managed to reach the main hull valve and force it shut. “Flooding secured, Skipper.”

Men gripped their instrument consoles with sweating palms and held their breath. MacKenzie knew he had only seconds left.

“Skipper, they’re still coming,” said Lasovic. “Try a hard pivot.”

“Right. We’re going to have to duck and dodge. Helm, on my order, full rise on the bow planes. Pivot her up as fast as she’ll go.” He grabbed the emergency main ballast tank lever, a gray steel T in the overhead. “Maneuvering, prepare for back emergency. Watch the pressure transient.”

“Maneuvering, aye. Don’t worry, Skipper. She can handle it.”

“Ten seconds to contact. Nine… eight… seven… six…”

MacKenzie yanked down the emergency main ballast tank lever for two seconds. Water shot out of the main ballast tanks as fast as the vent holes allowed. It would stop Seawolf’s mad plunge. “Maneuvering, back emergency. Full rise on the bow planes. Chief, keep her bow up. Vent main ballast tanks.”

“Slowing…” yelled Lasovic.

Seawolf came as close as a 9,000-ton object could to a sudden and complete stop. The whine of tortured main engines could be heard throughout the ship, and the hull’s popping and groaning rose to a steady thunder. ‘All stop!”

“Here it comes. Four… three… two… one. No contact! Captain, the first torpedo shot right by us. It’s trailing off… turning the wrong way… searching.”

“Countermeasures, release noisemakers.”

“Noisemakers away.”

Lasovic looked over to MacKenzie. “Almost to sixteen hundred feet.”

“Keep an eye on that first fish.” MacKenzie ordered. The torpedo could turn around and come right back at them.

“Conn, explosion. First torpedo detonated. Must have hit a keel, Captain. Second torpedo incoming! Ten seconds.”

“Very well.” It wasn’t over yet. “Emergency deep. All ahead flank.”

“Depth fifteen hundred fifty feet,” called Randall.

“Conn, Sonar. Here it comes. Six… five… four…”

“Depth sixteen hundred feet.”

“We should be below their enabling range, Tom. Helm, we will conduct the same maneuver. Everybody get set—” MacKenzie never completed the command. Even as Seawolf dived below what he had figured was its enabling depth the second torpedo struck. Another second or two and it might have missed them like the first, but instead it hit high on the sail, and the explosion rocked the sub as if a tidal wave had shoved it with irresistible force. In the conn, men were thrown out of their chairs and sent reeling into bulkheads. Pipes burst and a steam leak flooded the engineering compartment. Lights dimmed. MacKenzie was knocked off his feet and crashed into an instrument console. His vision darkened. He fought to stay conscious as water poured in from the ruptured sail piping above them.

“Damage control!” MacKenzie yelled. Freezing water rushed over him as he struggled for a handhold and pulled himself to his feet. Seawolf was listing badly. “Get back to your positions. Mr. Randall, what’s our depth? Mr. Randall!”

“Depth… almost there…” Randall was climbing into the helmsman’s chair. The crewman who should have occupied it was lying on the deck up to his chest in the icy water. Jagged white bone protruded through the sleeve of his torn uniform blouse. MacKenzie sloshed through the flood and helped the white-faced crewman to his feet.

“My arm, Captain.” He moaned, teeth chattering from shock and the cold.

“Easy, son. We’ll get you help as soon as we can. Help this man out of here. Mr. Randall, depth! Right now.”

“Eighteen hundred feet. Ten degree down bubble,” Randall said, wiping the water from his face. He was pale and shaking and MacKenzie suddenly saw the reason. Blood stained his torn uniform from a deep gash on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Randall. I didn’t realize…”

Randall followed his gaze. “It’s okay, sir. I have the helm.”

MacKenzie turned quickly. “Chief of the Watch, emergency blow main ballast.” The ship vibrated and responded, indicating most of the main ballast tanks were basically intact. He barked orders. “Secure the blow. All ahead one-third. Vent main ballast tanks to maintain control. Bring us up to three zero zero feet. Chief, do your best to keep her trim. See if you can cure this list.” He sloshed back to his station and punched the intercom. The water was still cascading down from above. “Maneuvering, report status. Jake, what’s going on back there?”

“I think we’re okay, Skipper. Slight steam leak in the auxiliary steam system, but the reactor plant is secure. No damage to main shaft. We’re holding out all right. We’ll have power when you need it.”

“Keep her quiet. Let’s not advertise the fact that we can maneuver just yet. Let her drift.”

MacKenzie looked around the conn. Brave men reacted to the situation with professionalism that bespoke the best training in the world. The chief and his men carried the wounded helmsman and radio officer out. The second-class radio technician, a boy barely twenty-one, scampered into the radio officer’s seat to take over the radio console and began to test it. Randall ripped off his shirt and wadded it over his wound, never releasing his hold on the steering yoke.

“Joe, are you all right?” MacKenzie asked.

Joe Santiago was soaking wet and bleeding from a head wound, but his eyes were clear. “Managing, Skipper.” He gave MacKenzie a tentative thumbs-up and bent back to his charts to reestablish their position.

Seawater was still pouring in from the damaged sail piping overhead. It appeared to be controllable, but the compartment was filling fast. The icy brine was up to their shins now. Electronic systems began to short out, and acrid smoke from burning insulation filled the air. Lasovic was up the sail ladder. MacKenzie yelled to him, “Tom, where’s that water coming from? What have we got left up there?”

Lasovic had to shout over the noise of the water cascading down. “Two of the mast grease lines that penetrated the hull and the antenna fittings are all blown to hell, Mac. That’s where the water’s coming in. The upper hatch got blasted right off its hinges. The lower hatch seems to be holding.”

“Get it sealed up as best you can. We’ll lose the electronics if this flooding continues.”

Lasovic grunted and stuck his head and shoulders back under the waterfall to wrestle the hull valves with a heavy crowbar. The muscles of his back bunched with exertion even as he winced from the shocking cold. MacKenzie couldn’t imagine what it must be like standing under that flood of ice-cold water trying to plug those leaks with only the hundred-pound lower steel hatch cover holding out the briny deep. But Lasovic never stopped working.

“Captain.” It was Randall. “Reporting some difficulty with trim. That blast must have damaged one of the main ballast tanks. We can’t take on enough ballast to fully straighten her out. But we are at three zero zero feet and holding.”

“Do the best you can, Mr. Randall. All stop. Hover at three zero zero feet.”

“Captain, all communications except the underwater telephone are out, sir,” the radio technician reported.

MacKenzie acknowledged that. It came as no surprise. Losing the masts meant losing not only communications but both periscopes as well.

“Attack Center, do we have damage reports? Where’s Mr. Talmadge?”

One of the other technicians replied. “Mr. Talmadge was knocked out by the blast, sir. I can run things, but I’m not qualified for command.”

“Good work, young man. Give me your report.”

“The main tubes appear to be undamaged, but all our computers are out. It’ll have to be a pretty straight pattern, Skipper. We can’t compute anything fancy. But we can shoot if we have to.”

“All right, son. Stay in place till I can relieve you.” MacKenzie wiped the water off his face. Damn good thing it hadn’t been a direct hit on their keel. It would have ripped them in half. Although the damage to the sail was serious, Seawolf wasn’t crippled. He suddenly realized the sound of water had stopped. He looked up to see a drenched and frozen Lasovic climbing down.

“That’s it, Mac. She won’t hold forever, but the hatch is back in place for now.”

“Fine, Tom. Get some coffee and put on some warm clothes. Then get back here. Chief, keep those main drain pumps working overtime.”

“Aye, Skipper.”

MacKenzie took stock. They were down, but they weren’t out. He had maneuvering and he had limited weapons. Now he needed time to repair the rest of his ship. But with Sonar’s next words he knew it was too late for that. Far too late.

“Conn, Sonar. Contact bearing one zero zero. Range one thousand yards. It’s Akula, Skipper. She’s closing fast.”

“Contacts merging… We hit her, Comrade Captain! Explosion. One torpedo. Sounds of air escaping and metal breaking. They are slowing.”

The men in the control room roared their approval. Volkov threw his arms around Kalik’s shoulders and pounded him. “You did it, Vassily! They are down.”

Kalik felt fierce exhilaration spread through him. “I told you we wouldn’t go home empty-handed. The day is finally ours, Viktor.”

“My God, what will Command say when we tell them we sank the newest and best American submarine? This engagement will be talked about for years.”

Kalik laughed. “Let’s hope so. Then maybe they will want us around and not shoot us for losing Red Dawn. Sonar, what is Seawolf‘s position now?”

“They are drifting, no propulsion. Slowly rising from three hundred meters. Range twelve hundred meters. We hear sound from their drain pumps only.”

“They are probably listing badly,” Volkov observed. “Sitting ducks.”

Kalik felt no glee in what he was about to do. The American was an adversary to be respected, not torn apart with a second salvo of torpedoes. He had never before faced the challenges the American captain had given him. It had been close to the end, the outcome always in doubt. This captain was a warrior. Kalik felt sure they would have liked each other under other circumstances. What a pity to destroy such a brilliant adversary. But Red Dawn had sealed both their fates. He either brought back the American’s head or sacrificed his own.

“Helm, bring us up to three five zero meters. Weapons Center, match your bearings with Sonar and prepare to fire a second salvo. Full pattern.” Kalik steeled himself. There was no other choice. They might be brothers, but only one of them could leave the ice cap alive.

“Prepare to fire.”

“Conn, Sonar. They’re coming, Skipper. Akula is running fast on course two seven zero, range fifteen hundred yards, depth one thousand feet, speed twenty knots.”

MacKenzie was thinking hard, picturing the area of engagement in his mind. It was just possible he could pull this out. But there was no room for error and it was now or never. “Navigation, how close are we to that big ice keel we used to hide Phoenix?”

Santiago had a cloth pressed to his head to stanch the flow of blood. “Close, Skipper. About five hundred yards behind us. Our drift is taking us back toward it.”

“How deep does it go?”

“More than seven hundred feet.”

Lasovic had returned in fresh clothing. “What do you have in mind, Mac?”

“When we played Russian roulette before, he surprised me. I never figured he’d go up into the shallow zone. And he did it twice. Maybe we can make him do it again.”

“Why?”

“Sorry, Tom. There’s no time. You’re just going to have to back me.”

“Whatever you say, Mac.”

“Take charge of Fire Control. Manually flood tubes two and three. Stand by for a simple straight shot.”

“Aye, Skipper.”

“Conn, Sonar. Range one thousand yards and closing. He’s flooding his tubes.”

“Keep tracking, Sonar.” MacKenzie moved behind Randall. “Now listen to me. We’re going to start up, but slowly, like we’re barely managing. Nothing sudden. Blow some bubbles, then hold, then go up again. Make it jerky. But keep that ice keel behind us as we rise. Got it?”

“Okay, Skipper. Coming up slow.”

“Keep me apprised of our depth.”

“Yes, sir. Depth is now two nine zero feet.

“Torpedo Room. Status of tubes two and three.”

“Tubes loaded and ready to fire MK-forty-eight torpedoes.”

“Open outer doors on tubes two and three. Tom, compute a basic, simple, straight-running shot. Firing point procedures.”

“Fire Control, aye.”

“Conn, Sonar. Range five hundred yards.”

MacKenzie felt himself swept up. Akula was approaching fast, thinking Seawolf was a sitting duck. The trouble was, if his trick didn’t work, Seawolf would be. But he needed to keep looking helpless. Any defensive move at all right now would alert Akula’s captain and make him break off his attack — and that was the one thing MacKenzie needed him not to do.

“Keep coming,” he whispered. “Keep coming.”

“Captain, ship ready, solution ready, torpedo room ready.”

Akula drew closer, coming straight at them.

“Depth, Mr. Randall.”

“Two hundred feet, Captain.”

“Conn, Sonar. Range four hundred yards. Akula’s opening outer doors. He’s getting ready to fire, Skipper. Not much more room.”

“Steady,” MacKenzie ordered. “Everyone. Not yet. Not just yet… “ Seawolf rose slowly. MacKenzie could almost feel the presence of the ice keel looming behind them.

“Conn, Sonar. Three hundred yards. Akula’s come up to a depth of six hundred feet. She’s slowing to fire, Captain.”

This was it. As good as it was going to get. “Okay, Tom. For all the marbles. Match sonar bearings and shoot tubes two and three.”

“Set. Stand by. Fire! Tube-two unit away. Set. Stand by. Fire! Tube-three unit away.”

“Go,” MacKenzie said fiercely, willing the torpedoes in. “Go!”

“Comrade Captain, torpedoes in the water! Range two hundred yards. They are not yet active.”

Kalik stopped dead in his tracks. He heard but did not believe. “So the American was playing dead. Is there no end to his tricks? Quickly, up and over them. At this range the torpedoes won’t even be armed yet.” He strode to the helm. “Emergency. Blow all ballast. Take us up, Viktor. Twenty-degree up angle. Engine Room, all ahead flank speed.”

Akula shot forward in a burst of speed, rising steadily upward. “Sonar, report!”

“We are rising over the torpedoes, Comrade Captain.”

“Depth!”

“We are at five hundred feet, Comrade Captain.”

“Sonar, where are those torpedoes?” Kalik demanded. “They are passing under us… Torpedoes are still passing… passing… gone. Right by us, Comrade… Comrade Captain! Dead ahead. An ice keel is dead ahead! We are going to hit it!”

For a split second Kalik froze. He had forgotten all about the devilishly deep ice keel that Phoenix had vanished under. “Hard rudder to port. Engines full astern. Viktor, turn as fast as—” It was too late. With a sickening crunch Akula drove bow first into the ice keel as she tried to turn aside. Kalik was thrown to the deck. Crewmen were knocked from their chairs by the force of the collision. Consoles were ripped from their fittings and swung in deadly arcs across the control room. Electric fires burst out. Volkov was driven into the steering yoke, crushing his chest. He slid to the deck blinded by pain and unable to move.

Akula’s outer hull crumpled like tinfoil. The torpedo tubes, all located forward, were virtually welded to the collapsed metal of the superstructure, rendering the entire attack system inoperable. The forward ballast tanks burst like balloons under the pressure. The bow planes sheared off and tumbled into the abyss below. Bent and broken, Akula slid off the keel and hung dead in the water.

Emergency lighting went on in the control room. Kalik picked himself up and helped his men who could not stand alone. He looked around for Volkov, saw him, and rushed over. A bloody froth was on his lips. Tears filled Kalik’s eyes, blinding him. “My old friend. I am so sorry.”

“Nothing…” Volkov hissed. Bloody bubbles burst as he spoke. “Nothing to be… ashamed of. He was just… better…” Then Volkov was gone.

Kalik lowered the limp head. He could barely manage to stand and pick up the intercom. “Compartments report damage,” he said weakly.

He listened. They were badly damaged but not in danger of sinking. He took stoically the report that the torpedo tubes were all inoperable. No one could shoot through five feet of crumpled metal. The weapons would sit in their tubes, still fixed upon his adversary, never to be fired.

“Comrade Captain. We have some sonar capability. It is my duty to report that the Americans are making a final attack run. Thirty seconds.”

“Yes, thank you. I understand.” Kalik looked over to the helm. “Good-bye, Viktor,” he said softly. He picked up the mike and flicked the intercom to the all-ship channel. The rest of the men in the control room were looking at him. His voice caught on the first attempt to speak. He fought for control and found it.

“This is the captain speaking. We do not have much time left. I want to commend you all on your valor and courage. Our enemy is a valorous and courageous man. I am sorry to report that it seems the day is his…” Kalik stopped. Valor and courage. That was the key.

Suddenly he knew what he had to do.

“They’re not moving, Skipper. Another trick?”

MacKenzie scratched his chin. “I don’t think so. They hit hard enough to be disabled. I don’t see where we have a choice though. Continue the attack run. We have to sink her.”

“Uh, sir?” It was the radio technician who had taken over when his officer was hurt.

“Yes, Mr…?”

“Cavelli, sir. Edward Cavelli, radio technician second class.”

“What is it, Mr. Cavelli?”

“I’m picking up something funny on the underwater phone. I… I think it’s Akula, sir.”

“What’s he up to now?” Lasovic wondered from his position in the attack center.

“Put it on the speaker and get a translator in here, Mr. Cavelli. ASAP.”

“I can translate, sir.”

“All right, Mr. Cavelli. Go ahead.”

The speaker crackled into life with a blast of sound. MacKenzie had heard enough Russian to identify it but no more. “What’s he saying, Mr. Cavelli?”

“If I got it all, sir, I’m pretty sure he’s saying his torpedo tubes are all inoperable and he wishes to surrender. He wants you to break off the attack. He… he says he gives his word, sir.”

“That and a buck fifteen will get you on the subway, Mac,” said Lasovic caustically. “He’d have sunk us without remorse. He tried to twice.”

MacKenzie ran a hand through his hair tiredly. “I don’t know, Tom. You could hear the crunch of their bow all the way to Cleveland. All his tubes are forward. He could be telling the truth.”

Lasovic’s face was cold. “We have sustained wounded, Captain.”

“Conn, Sonar. Attack position in ten seconds.”

Lasovic turned back to the console. “Ship ready, solution ready, torpedo room ready. Mac?”

MacKenzie said nothing.

“Conn, Sonar. Target bearing two nine zero. He’s dead in the water, Skipper. Making no move to get out of our way.”

Seawolf shot ahead. MacKenzie could have fired the torpedoes with a word — and sent Akula to a watery grave. What was stopping him?

“Captain, ship ready, solution ready, torpedo room ready. Do I have the order to fire?” Lasovic asked.

MacKenzie felt Seawolf’s power as they raced toward the seemingly defenseless ship. Once before he had made a mistake and killed men almost needlessly. The weight of that tore at him. But he had his ship to protect, and Akula had fired upon them. Was this a trick? Or did his adversary, pleading for the lives of his men, deserve a more basic human value — trust?

“Mac? We are ready to fire. Closing on target.”

And what about the young men under his own command in Seawolf? What would he tell them? Could he really explain that he was risking his ship to gamble on the very oldest of a captain’s perogatives — his own intuition? Could he risk it all on that?

“Captain, he’s just repeating the message over and over. He’s asking for permission to surface.”

“The breakers have made a minor lake up there, Skipper,” Santiago reported. “There’s room for both ships if you want it.”

MacKenzie looked at Tom Lasovic. Prudent. Wise. He would protect his ship at all costs. Every bit of MacKenzie’s training told him to do the same. Lasovic’s hand was poised over the torpedo release. MacKenzie took a deep breath. Maybe compassion was the most important lesson of all.

“Cancel the attack. Secure from battle stations. Tom, keep your weapons pointed but do not fire.” He took a deep breath. “Mr. Cavelli, tell our friend if he so much as turns his bow to us we will blast him into rubble… and tell him he has permission to surface. Mr. Randall, prepare to surface.”

Boslik’s body lay on the deck between Ligichev and Galinin. The crewmen held back. Galinin was still holding the gun. Shifting the weapon, one arm around Ivanna, he reached for the keypad a second time and punched in the combination that Ligichev himself had entrusted to him so many days ago.

A lifetime ago. But it would all end soon.

“Again I ask you to relent,” said Ligichev. “You can’t stop all of us.”

Galinin punched in the last numbers. The LED on the keypad changed from red to green. “I can do what I have to. Stand back.” Galinin hit the Open button. .

“Ivanna, drop!” commanded Ligichev.

And the intruder-protection device implanted in the bulkhead shot out a spray of bright yellow powder right into Galinin’s face, covering him like flour. It blinded him and settled into his lungs. Ivanna dropped from his hold as the resulting coughing fit doubled him over.

The gun fell from his hands as he swiped at his eyes and nose to rid them of the offending powder. Ivanna kicked it to her father. He picked it up and turned it on the hapless Galinin, who was panting and wheezing, trying to breathe through the irritating dust. Rostov and the others rushed in and pinned his arms tightly.

“Confine the captain in his cabin,” Ligichev ordered. “Ivanna, are you all right?”

“Fine, Father. But your arm…”

“Eminently fixable.” He hugged her tightly. “You’re a brave girl. Like your mother.”

“And you’re a tricky old fox. How did you know that first day not to trust him with the lock’s secret?”

Ligichev smiled. “Prudence, daughter, in all things.”

Galinin sagged in the crew’s hands. The light had gone out of his eyes, but he summoned a last vestige of interest in his own downfall. He looked to Ligichev before the crew led him away. “I know I remembered the correct combination. When did you change it to trigger the alarm?”

“I didn’t.”

“But the powder?”

“I told you the correct combination the first day in the engine room. What I didn’t tell you is that the lock was also equipped with an intruder alarm and that the Open and Close buttons are reversed. Anyone trying to gain unauthorized entry, even if he stole the combination, wouldn’t know he had to press the Close button to open the door and vice versa. The powder is quite irritating but perfectly harmless. It’s only there to mark anyone trying to get in. Even if no one saw him, the yellow stain would reveal the attempt.”

“What will you do with me?”

“Do with you? Why, nothing.” Ligichev’s face was drawn and tired, but compassion showed through. “I suppose you were acting heroically in your own way. But you’re the navy’s problem now. We all just want to go home.”

It was a sight to match all the others over the past three days. Akula surfaced first on the temporary lake created by the breakers’ path, her once-sleek prow breaking through the icy waters and revealing its damage before settling back onto the surface. Then Seawolf broke through the surface, its powerful shape and damaged sail coming up less than fifty yards away. Soviet and Canadian seamen from both breakers crowded on deck to gaze at the two disabled men-of-war.

MacKenzie and Tom Lasovic climbed out the forward hatch onto Seawolf’s deck and looked at the damaged sail. “We were lucky, Tom. A few feet lower and we wouldn’t be here.”

MacKenzie looked around. It had stopped snowing, and the clear, cold air felt good in his lungs even at these temperatures. It was a heady feeling to have survived it all. To have won.

“Mac, look.”

Across the choppy gray water Akula’s captain was standing on his sail bridge. It was a rare moment, two adversaries face to face for the first time. There were no words, not even a common language, but as they looked at each other, each one knew what the other had been through. Across the gulf they could see it in each other’s eyes. For a brief moment they shared a respect between enemies, an admiration for skill and tenacity and, perhaps most important, the memory of a desperate appeal to higher, values that in the end had saved lives instead of taking them.

Across the water Akula’s captain saluted. MacKenzie returned it crisply.

“ ‘Our conflict is not likely to end as soon as every good man would wish,’ ” Mackenzie quoted softly, watching the other man disappear back down into his ship. Already the Soviet breaker was moving in to provide escort.

“Mac, he’s back up and pointing? What does he want?”

MacKenzie looked back to Akula. The captain had come up for a brief moment and pointed to the Ural. Was he smiling? MacKenzie couldn’t see for sure before he vanished a second time. It didn’t matter. When he looked back in the direction the captain had pointed he saw a sight that almost overcame him. A Russian launch was coming around the Ural’s stern carrying passengers, one of whom he could have identified at twice the distance.

“Tom… look. It’s Justine!” For a second he had to turn away.

“I told you she was a pro,” Lasovic said, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t wait to hear this story.” He stooped to shout down into the ship, “Get some men up here, Chief, and call the doctor. We have passengers to pick up. On the double.”

On the deck, MacKenzie waited for his wife to come home.