Sea Devil

Chapter Eighteen

Warrant Officer Oleg Zagorsk was monitoring Sea Devil’s hydrophones when a pair of distant, muted explosions sounded from the waters behind them. Even without the benefit of headphones his shipmates could hear these blasts, and it was their CO who attempted to identify them.

“I bet there’s a British underwater demolition team working beneath the waters of the Clyde this morning, Comrades. Most likely they’re removing some sort of obstacle from the channel, or blasting out a foundation for a new pier. Whatever it may be, as long as they stay out of our way, they’re of no concern to Sea Devil” “Shouldn’t we be ascending soon to take a bearing?” asked Tanya Olovski as she wiped the condensation from the glass face of their compass.

“Do I hear just a hint of impatience in your tone, comrade?” observed the Captain.

“Relax, and rest assured that I will get us to our destination without getting Sea Devil lost.”

Quick to check his own watch, Yuri Sosnovo got into the act.

“As I figure it, we should be approaching Gourock shortly.”

“You figure correctly,” said Mikhail firmly.

“And since Holy Loch lies directly across from Gourock, this is where we’ll be making our turn to the west.”

“But what if we were to overshoot it?” asked Tanya.

“Who knows what kind of current we might have picked up when we entered the Firth.”

Mikhail tapped the oilskin-covered charts that lay rolled up on his lap.

“I guarantee you that we won’t pass it by. Comrade Olovski. And to allay your fears, I plan to surface in five more minutes to take a bearing.

Hopefully all this can be accomplished without us having to lose our escort topside. I can tell you one thing for certain… that tug has been a godsend.”

Sean Lafferty stood alone in the wheelhouse, his gaze locked on that portion of the channel visible before them. Since relieving Bernard, Sean had remained at the helm, totally responsible for the tug’s course and speed. The Dundalk native enjoyed this time to himself.

It gave him an opportunity to appreciate the passing scenery and more important, to think.

The past couple of days had seemed to fly by with an incredible swiftness. It seemed that only yesterday he and Patrick Callaghan were on their way to Edinburgh Castle to steal the crown jewels. But a virtual lifetime had passed since then. Patrick was dead, and he was in the midst of an incredible new operation that would soon alter the course of history. To think that it was because of his father that this mission had come into being made it that much more astonishing.

Shaking his head in wonder, Sean briefly looked down at the chart and identified the beacon ahead as Cloch Point. To his right lay Lunderston Bay, while the heavily forested hills that overlooked Dunoon passed on the left.

There was an assortment of surface traffic visible on this part of the Firth. A variety of fishing boats, barges, tugs, and pleasure craft plied these waters. He had also recently passed an oceangoing cargo ship that was headed out to sea. He guessed that this traffic would be getting more congested as they rounded Gourock and turned east toward Gare Loch, the site of the royal christening.

Just thinking about the earth-shattering events their efforts would soon trigger caused a heavy lump to form in Sean’s throat. Until Patrick Callaghan’s tragic passing, he had never really given much thought to death. Even during all the dangerous operations that he’d previously participated in, the idea of his own mortality never really crossed his mind. It was almost as if all the ambushes and bombings had been merely child’s games. And though people did die during these undertakings, Sean felt magically protected.

It was hard to believe that in less than an hour’s time he would disappear off the face of the earth. At the very least, his end would be quick. But did he really have to die? This was the question that had been eating at him ever since Dr. Blackwater had explained his fate.

It had seemed so noble at the time to volunteer his services to the very end. But perhaps he had been too hasty to condemn himself as he had. What was wrong with him being dropped off at a safe distance like his colleagues had offered? At least then he could get involved in the new Celtic Brotherhood that would sweep this land once the Royal Family was gotten rid of.

A blinking channel marker flashed up ahead, and as Sean positioned the tug so that it would pass well to the right of it, he consigned himself to the course destiny had picked for him. He would see this operation to its end, and bravely meet death, as his good friend Patrick Callaghan had.

The intercom rang and Sean fumbled for the handset. It was Dr. Blackwater.

“How’s it going up there, lad?”

“I’m doing just fine, Doc,” returned Sean.

“That’s good. It seems you’re finally putting to use all those boating lessons your father passed on when you were a youngster. Bernard and I are planning to go down into the bilge and get to work on preparing the bomb for detonation. So that means I won’t be able to spell you at the helm for at least another quarter of an hour.”

Sean’s throat was dry as he responded.

“That’s no problem. Doc. As long as you get up here before we reach Gourock and hit all the traffic, I’ll be fine.”

“I thought you would, lad. Keep her steady now. It’s going to be hard enough standing upright in that stinking hold as it is.”

Sean hung up the handset and reached down for the wheel with his good hand to alter their course slightly.

Only when he was satisfied that they were well within the confines of the main channel did he allow his memories to stray to the innocent days of childhood, the blessed warm summers that he would never again experience.

Mac had been standing beside the Scotsman when their torpedoes hit home, and the two traded a relieved grin as the resonant explosion reverberated throughout the Bowfin’s control room. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the gut-wrenching groaning sounds that followed as the India-class attack sub broke apart and sank to the seafloor of the estuary.

With no time to spare to gloat over this victory, Captain Foard redirected their thoughts back to the mission that had brought them into these waters in the first place.

“Helmsman, make your new course zero two-zero.

Hopefully we won’t have any more surprises, and we can finish the job that we came out here to do. Chief Langsford, let me know the second you pick up that tug’s signature on the hydrophones. Lieutenant Higgins, is that specially fitted non-detonating torpedo ready to roll?”

“That it is. Captain,” answered the weapons officer.

“We’ve got it tucked away and ready to fire in tube number one.”

“Then let’s get on with it, gentlemen. All ahead full!”

The deck tilted slightly as the Bowfin turned on its new course. But other than that there was no sensation that would point to the fact that they were presently surging through the depths at a speed of over twenty five knots. This fact impressed Mac, who looked to his right when Colin Stewart addressed him.

“Well, Commander, let’s pray that we can end this business once and for all. Any more thoughts as to what that Red sub was doing out here?”

Though Mac would have loved to share his theory about the tracked mini-sub with the Scotsman, for security sake he didn’t.

“I don’t know. Maybe they are in league with the IRB. But more likely, this could all just be some sort of strange coincidence.”

“I find that a bit hard to swallow,” returned Stewart.

“After all, we had that tug practically in our sights when they attacked us. It looks more and more to me like they were working together.”

Mac could only shrug his shoulders and wonder if the India was indeed on a totally unrelated mission.

And if it was, was their unique cargo still on board when the Bowfm’s torpedo struck, or had it already been deployed? For if this was the case, their search wouldn’t end with the retrieval of the bomb. At that point, it would only just be beginning once again.

“Watch your trim, Comrade Sosnovo,” cautioned Mikhail Borisov as Sea Devil rose from the depths and approached periscope depth.

“To breach now could be disastrous.”

The chief engineer barely paid these words any attention as he confidently went about his job like the true professional that he was. Like a magician, he went about the delicate task of ridding the mini-sub of just enough ballast to accommodate their needs and keep them from breaking the water’s surface.

The only moisture on Yuri Sosnovo’s forehead was from the constantly falling condensation as he initiated a final adjustment and matter-of-factly commented, “Periscope depth. Captain.”

Mikhail immediately hit the lever that sent the scope barreling up from its storage well. Getting down on his knees so that as little of the lens as possible would have to break the water, he hunched over the viewing chamber and peered inside.

He was afforded a spectacular view of the tug’s stern that seemed to be only a hand’s length away. Taking in the bubbling white froth left in the wake of the tug’s propeller, Mikhail swept the lens to the northeast. Fortunately the weather remained good and he could pick out the flashing beacon that was situated on the eastern shoreline. Having seen enough, he sat up and pulled the lever that sent the periscope spiraling back into the Sea Devil’s protective confines.

“Take us back down, Yuri,” ordered the captain.

The sound of onrushing seawater filled the cramped compartment, and Tanya Olovski was quick to her CO’s side with an unfolded chart.

“Well, Captain?” she breathlessly quizzed.

“Were you able to see anything familiar?”

Mikhail took hold of the chart and pointed to a rounded section of coastline on the southwestern outskirts of the town of Gourock.

“If you must know, my inquisitive comrade, this is the location of the beacon that’s passing to our starboard. We will continue traveling up the channel for another two and a half kilometers before turning off for Holy Loch.”

“Then we’ve made it!” she exclaimed joyfully.

Mikhail again pointed to the chart.

“Not quite, comrade.

We still have the channel to cross. And since our friendly tug will most likely be continuing on in the opposite direction toward Port Glasgow at that time, we’ll be doing so all on our own.”

“This is still a remarkable feat,” reflected the electrician.

“To think that we’ve actually penetrated deep into the enemy’s waters and are now approaching one of its most sensitive naval installations. It’s incredible!”

“And the best is yet to come,” offered Mikhail with a wink.

Suddenly remembering another concern, Mikhail called out to his Warrant Officer.

“Comrade Zagorsk, do you still have the tug on your hydrophones?”

The headphone-wearing Siberian turned from the sonar console.

“Yes, I do, Captain. In fact, we’re almost right beneath them once again. They’ve seemed to cut back on their throttle some.”

Ever thankful for the convenient cover of this vessel, Mikhail spoke up.

“I would love to get the registration number of that tug so that we can send its owner a case of Russian vodka once we return home. What a great service he’s provided!”

“Brother, would I like to see the face of that Scot when he unwraps it,” returned Yuri.

“He’d go to his grave wondering where in the hell it came from!”

The cramped bilge was thick with the stench of rotting fish and diesel oil as the two terrorists intently worked beside the massive cylindrical bomb bolted to the deck here. Trying his best not to gag on the nauseating combination of odors. Dr. Tyronne Blackwater watched as his colleague delicately removed the metallic cover plate that protected the nuclear device’s detonator.

“I certainly hope that physicist wasn’t feeding us a bunch of crap back at Cootehill House,” remarked Bernard Loughlin as he pulled off the plate and viewed the complex grid of circuit boards and snaking wires that lay inside.

“He was too scared to lie,” offered the physician.

“I was just afraid that he was going to keel over from a heart attack before he spilled the beans to us.”

“At least that would have saved us a bullet,” returned the one-eyed terrorist, who used a dental probe to isolate the copper-coated electrode that Dr. John Maguire had pointed out to them.

“Why don’t you just hand me that battery cable and we can blow it now,” added Bernard.

“Patience, lad. Though we’d most likely complete our mission even from this distance, we might as well do it as planned. Besides, we’ve only got another two kilometers to go before we reach the definite kill zone.”

Bernard replaced the cover plate, using only the two top screws to keep it in place.

“You’re right, Doc. I always was the overly anxious one. And it was that very character flaw that kept us from adding to the Brit body count on many a promising ambush. Once I even pushed the detonator of a remote-controlled mine too soon and just missed taking out the commander of the SAS. Now that would have been a real score!”

“You’ll make up for it this time, lad,” said Dr. Blackwater.

Bernard stood and climbed out of the bilge to drop down the battery cable. While he initiated this task, the physician scanned the decaying mass of fish that lay at his feet. He found himself longing for one last lungful of sweet air from the pine forest that surrounded his beloved Cootehill House. Tears clouded his eyes as he realized he would never walk the lush green grounds again; the drastic consequences of this suicidal mission had finally sunk in. And he couldn’t help but wonder if his parents would have approved of his decision to die the death of a martyr for the sake of the ideals that they had instilled in him all so very long ago.

“I’ve got the tug, Captain! It’s dead ahead of us.

But I’m picking up the screws of another surface vessel as well.”

The sonar operator’s words sent William Foard scrambling over to the periscope. As he anxiously peered through its lens, he spotted the rounded transom of the vessel they were hunting down and placed it right in the scope’s cross hairs. Yet before he could give the order to fire, he quickly scanned the surrounding waters in an attempt to locate the other contact that Chief Langsford had mentioned. It didn’t take him long to spot the distinctive lines of this ship, speedily approaching from the east.

“Damn it!” cursed the Bowfin’s CO.

“Of all the frigging times for the Gourock-to-Dunoon passenger ferry to pass by! Keep that fish in number one warm. Lieutenant Higgins. We’ll get to use it yet.”

From the wheelhouse of the tug, Sean Lafferty also watched the approach of the passenger ferry. Only when he was sure that the automobile-laden, flat-hulled ship would pass well behind them did he utilize the binoculars to scan the waters that lay in the opposite direction. The town of Gourock lay to their right, while ahead of them extended the jutting peninsula of land around which snaked Gare Loch. Anchored here was a frigate-sized ship painted dark blue with golden trim. A large Union Jack fluttered from its masthead, and Sean didn’t have to see any more to lower the binoculars and shout into the intercom excitedly.

“We’re here, comrades I I can see the royal yacht, anchored before us only a kilometer or so distant!”

Quick to join him in the wheelhouse was Dr. Blackwater.

The physician put the binoculars to his eyes and remarked, “So it is, Sean. And that Union Jack flying from its masthead means the Royal Family is currently on board, probably still sound asleep beneath their satin sheets. In a couple more minutes we’re going to give them a wake-up call that they’ll remember for all eternity!”

The physician affectionately patted Sean on his back and reached for the intercom.

“Bernard, it’s the royal yacht all right, and the Queen’s presently aboard. I’ll get over to the transom and connect the cables to the battery. I’ll knock three times on the deck when I’m finished. And then you’re free to make room for us in the history books. For the glory of the Brotherhood, and at long last a united Ireland, comrade!”

Tyronne Blackwater hung up the handset and briefly caught Sean’s concerned glance.

“Have no fear, lad. It will be over with so quickly that you’ll never know what hit you. And besides, waiting for us at those pearly gates will be Bobby Sands and the thousands of other martyrs who willingly gave up their lives for the same cause. So be brave to the end, lad, and know that your sacrifice is a worthy one.”

There were tears of pride in the physician’s eyes as he hugged Sean, and then turned to get on with his duty.

Meanwhile, below deck in the bilges, Bernard Loughlin fought to keep his hands steady as he attempted to remove the two screws from the bomb’s cover-plate. Until this moment he had always prided himself on his nerves of steel. He could lead a charge into an army barricade with rifle bullets whining overhead and not even break a sweat. But the simple act of removing the two screws caused his whole body to be soaked in perspiration. There was an alien tightness deep in his gut, and his right hand was shaking so badly that he had to support it with his left just to guide the head of the screwdriver into the proper slots.

Sweat dripped off his eyepatch and plopped down on the smooth steel surface of the bomb as he gratefully pulled out the last of the screws. Taking a second to wipe the moisture off his soaked brow with the rough palm of his hand, he peered inside the trigger mechanism and located the copper-coated electrode that he had isolated earlier. Just then, three loud knocks sounded from the deck above.

Bernard took a deep breath and reached out for the dual battery cables that hung from the hatchway. He grounded the black cable clip on the edge of the bomb. Now he had only to connect the red clip to the electrode, to trigger the detonator and cause the fission process to begin. Yet try as he could to make this connection, his hand was shaking so badly that this simple task was all but impossible.

“Come on, Bernard!” he urged to himself as he momentarily backed away to regain his composure.

Again he took in a deep lungful of the rank air that was getting increasingly foul with each passing second.

Fighting back the urge to retch, he once more gripped the battery cable and leaned forward to complete his duty.

From the waters immediately below the tug Mikhail Borisov prepared to give the orders that would alter Sea Devil’s course. The only thing that kept him from directing his chief engineer to leave the protective shadow of the tug and turn for Holy Loch was the passing of another vessel topside. Fearing that this ship was a frigate, or another type of ASW platform, Mikhail decided to play it safe and remain beneath the tug for a bit longer. And then there would be plenty of time to turn back to the west and get on with the completion of their mission.

Mac impatiently watched the Bowfin’s CO peer through the lens of the periscope. It seemed to be taking forever for the ferry to pass. And he knew that the closer the tug got to Gare Loch, the more likely its deadly cargo would be detonated. Beside him, Major Colin Stewart seemed to share Mac’s anxieties. The Scotsman’s brow was damp with perspiration and his nervous gaze was constantly going to the bulkhead clock.

Suddenly the Captain’s forceful voice filled the hushed control room.

“You’ve got a clear firing angle, Lieutenant Higgins. Fire one!”

The weapons officer addressed his console, and seconds later a powerful jolt of compressed air shot the unarmed, wire-guided torpedo out of its tube.

Still hunched over the periscope, the captain added, “Now let’s just pray that when our fish hits home, that bomb doesn’t go off and send all of us on a voyage that we’ll never return from!”

Dr. Tyronne Blackwater was perched beside the tug’s transom in the process of watching the ferry steam off toward the town of Dunoon when he spotted the alien wake in the waters immediately behind them. He was puzzled by this sighting at first, and even wondered if it could be attributed to a fish of some sort, when a sudden shocking thought registered in his consciousness.

“Sweet Jesus, it’s a blooming torpedo!” he cried as he ran off for the ladder that led to the bilges.

“Bernard, what the hell’s keeping you? We’ve got a damn torpedo on our tail!”

The stench of rotting fish was overpowering as he dropped down into the cramped compartment and turned toward the bomb. Kneeling beside it, his face ashen white and limbs trembling, was Bernard. Though he still held one of the battery cables in one hand, the physician could see from the terrified look on his face that he would be of no further use to them.

“My lord, Bernard… just look what a state you’re in. Give me that cable you’re holding and let me take over. This is our last chance, lad.”

The founder of the Irish Republican Brotherhood looked up and spoke out a whimpering tone.

“Forgive me, comrade… Because it appears that I just don’t have the guts to do it.”

Tyronne Blackwater never had a chance to respond.

The bilge filled with an ear-shattering, buckling crack as the hull was ripped open. The deck wildly shook and rolled hard on its right side, finally tipping forward as the onrushing seawater poured into its shattered bow. Ripped free from its mount at this point, the 5,000-pound bomb went hurtling over the bodies of Bernard Loughlin and Dr. Tyronne Blackwater, killing them instantly. As it crashed into the forward bulkhead, it splintered the wooden planking, penetrated the crushed hull, and plunged into the awaiting depths below.

Mikhail Borisov was in the process of instructing his chief engineer to break from the cover of the tug and bring them around to their new course when the frantic voice of Oleg Zagorsk interrupted him.

“Excuse me. Captain. But I’m picking up something strange on our hydrophones. It almost sounds like it’s a torpedo!”

Sea Devil’s CO proceeded at once to the sonar console to determine this fact for himself. No sooner did he put on the auxiliary headphones than a deafening crackling sound emanated from the waters immediately above them.

“I don’t understand,” reflected Mikhail.

“Was that tug just hit by a non-detonating torpedo?”

The Spetsnaz commando never got a chance to learn the answer to this question, for the tug’s deadly cargo smashed into Sea Devil with such a force that the mini-sub was knocked off its” tracks and capsized.

Mikhail Borisov crashed painfully into the mini sub ceiling, and the last thought he had before lapsing off into unconsciousness was that his well-ordered world had been abruptly overturned by the fickle hand of destiny.

It wasn’t until the Bow/in surfaced and a single survivor was pulled from the water that Captain Foard, Mac, and Colin Stewart learned that their suspicions had been correct after all. Sean Lafferty was quick to confess the exact nature of their intended mission, and was shocked to find his own father among the sub’s complement. They met with a warm hug, and Liam tearfully mentioned that this was the first time since childhood that his son had allowed him to take him in his arms.

While the two Irishmen continued their emotional reunion down in the wardroom, under the watchful eyes of the sergeant at arms, Mac and his Scottish col league remained topside.

“Well, Major, it seems that we all owe you our undying gratitude. Not only does it appear that we’ll get our bomb back, but we were also able to halt a tragedy of unprecedented scope.”

Colin Stewart responded while watching a Sea King helicopter approach from the south.

“Don’t forget that without your support, this whole thing wouldn’t have been possible. You’re part of this just as much as I am. Now if that bomb casing only remains intact, and its plutonium is kept from scattering on the seafloor, we will all finally be able to rest easier.”

Also gazing up at the blue Sea King was Mac.

“We’ll all know the answer to that as soon as that chopper arrives with CURV. Captain Foard’s setting it up so that I can operate the ROV from the Bowfin’s sonar console. Its camera will show us if the bomb’s still intact. Meanwhile, we’ve also got that salvage tug and those divers on their way from Holy Loch, with the DSRV Mystic coming in for good measure.”

“I imagine that your ROV will come in handy checking out the remains of that submarine that we were forced to take out back in the channel,” observed Colin Stewart.

“It certainly will,” said Mac.

“Though for the life of me, I still can’t figure out what it was up to when it took those potshots at us. Sean Lafferty certainly didn’t seem to know anything about it, and that would appear to rule out any Soviet-IRB connection.”

“That remains to be seen,” remarked the Highlander, who scanned the wooded shoreline of the Firth. His gaze finally halted on the distinctive blue hull of a frigate-sized ship anchored off the entrance to nearby Gare Loch. It had a Union Jack fluttering from its masthead.

“I wonder when they’ll inform Her Majesty of these goings on,” said Stewart.

“If she remains on schedule, she should be leaving the royal yacht any minute now to get on with the christening.”

“I’d sure like to see her face when they do,” returned Mac.

“Though I doubt she’ll believe it when they do tell her how close she came to the end of her reign.”

Major Colin Stewart nodded thoughtfully. With his gaze still locked on the fluttering red, blue, and white Union Jack, he wondered if he’d ever be able to share this incredible story with his colleagues back at Edinburgh castle. Though even they would think that he was merely telling a tall tale as he described the events leading up to the tug’s destruction. And in a way, he couldn’t blame them, for he had trouble believing its validity himself.