Mutiny: The True Events That Inspired The Hunt for Red October

He lets that thought trail off as he hurries down the fourth-floor corridor to the operations center, where most of the staff has already arrived. The fleet commander is away on holiday, which leaves Kosov the senior officer. He might wonder if it’s by chance or by design that he has been placed in such a delicate, difficult situation.

Chief of Operations Captain Third Rank Viktor Badim looks up from the plotting table as Kosov walks in. “Admiral on deck!” Badim shouts.

The eight staffers on duty stiffen to attention.

“As you were,” Kosov grumbles. He glances at the large table on which is a detailed chart of the Baltic, including all of its islands, inlets, rivers, and bases, as well as those of Sweden and other bordering nations.

Every warship that the Soviet navy is tracking is represented as a tiny wooden model on the table, and talkers, connected by headsets with the electronics sensors section, move the pieces around the table as if they were chessmen in a deadly, real game.

Kosov takes his position at the command console that looks down on the table, and one of the ratings brings him a glass of sweet tea, with one small piece of lemon, just as he likes it.

Badim comes up. “The fleet at Riga is underway,” he reports to the admiral. “But there are a lot of questions.”

“Are they clear on their orders?” Kosov demands. He’s not in a very good mood. But then that’s to be expected. No one can be cheerful when he knows that his career is on the line. God help Potulniy if he survives.

“Yes, sir,” Badim says. “They’re to catch up with the Storozhevoy and stop him by any means possible.”

“The orders have changed, Viktor. We’re to hunt down the Storozhevoy and kill him.”

Badim visibly reacts as if he’s been slapped in the face.

“I spoke with Gorshkov. The order comes from Brezhnev himself. Under no circumstances will the Storozhevoy be allowed to reach Swedish waters.”

“But, sir, according to the encrypted transmission, they aren’t defecting. They mean to lay off Leningrad and make more broadcasts. They’re fools, but they’re not defecting.”

Kosov leans forward. “Is there anything unclear about my orders, Captain? Or should I repeat them?”

Badim backs down. “No, sir.”

“Very well. Order as many units of our air wing as you think necessary to help with the hunt.” Kosov has started to spread his responsibility. The more officers under him he can commit to making decisions on their own, the more he will be insulated from retribution in the end.

Badim undersands this game as well, but there’s no countermove he can make. “Yes, sir,” he says, resigned.

“Make it happen now,” Kosov orders.

Badim goes off to order the air wing into action, as Kosov sits back with his tea and watches as the talkers push the fleet that was at anchor in Riga down the river toward the Baltic. The Storozhevoy has at least a five-hour head start, and it’s not likely that the fleet will catch up with him before the air wing does.

Sablin and his mutineers will never come within sight of Sweden before they are sent to the bottom, probably in the next few hours.

It’s too bad, Kosov thinks. The Storozhevoy was a good-looking ship.

50. TU-16 BADGER FUGHT-01

The flight of ten Badger recon/bomber aircraft from Skirotava Naval Airfield outside of Riga rose up through the fog and burst into the star-studded sky well after 0600. Flight Leader Colonel Gennadi Kabatov keyed his throat mike.

“Ground control, this is Zero-one Flight Leader at flight level five. Our ETA for formation is zero-six-twenty. Do you have an update on Bogey-One’s position, course, and speed?”

“Roger Zero-one Flight Leader. We have a visual. Target bears three-zero-five degrees, range two-one-seven kilometers, and opening at three-zero knots. Targets estimated course is now three-two-zero degrees.”

“Acknowledged,” Kabatov radioed. “Zero-one Flight Leader out.”

The big twin-engine jet bomber was more suited to long-range nuclear bombing missions or, closer to Soviet waters, could be used effectively as a strike platform for anti-aircraft carrier operations or attacks against ships much larger than the Storozhevoy.

When the alert klaxon sounded, bringing Kabatov out of a sound sleep, he’d not had any deep thoughts. He’d been trained to react first and think later. But in the pilots’ briefing room when he’d been told the target and given his flight’s orders he did a lot of wondering. The best he could figure was that someone in Moscow was shitting in his trousers to order such a massive strike force against a lone, unarmed ASW ship.