State Of The Union

With the high-speed crafts staring him right in the face, Harvath’s decision to get back into the cold water was made a lot easier. He doused all of theRebecca’s lighting and then “lit the candles” as Carlson had put it, on the special “cake” he had baked for the Russians. Blocks of C4 had been placed strategically throughout the vessel, with special attention focused on the engine room and its remaining stores of diesel fuel. As Harvath grabbed the boat’s flare gun and exited the wheelhouse, he activated a waterproof timer strapped to his wrist. It was synched to Carlson’s digital fuse aboard theRebecca, which had already begun its own deadly countdown.

Arriving at the rear of the trawler, Harvath was suddenly illuminated by one of the most powerful spotlights he had ever seen. A voice over a loudspeaker commanded him first in Russian and then English to stop where he was and prepare to be boarded.Fat chance of that, Harvath said to himself as he readied the flare gun. Aiming it over the top of the patrol boats, he pulled the trigger.

The bright red signal flare soared high into the night sky and hopefully carried with it the eyes of the Federal Border Guard agents so intent on capturing him. Placing the regulator in his mouth and flipping over the side, Harvath was far beneath the surface when the crews of the Sokzhois began strafing the water with rounds from their 14.5mm machine guns.

As he was no longer carrying his M4, the bulk of Harvath’s gear was now contained in a medium sized buoyancy bag, which could be partially inflated via a small, attached bottle of air, thus rendering the bag weightless underwater. Harvath inflated it to the proper buoyancy and using carabiners, secured the bag to two eyehook style receivers mounted beneath his DPV. Cutting the cord that connected the Farallon Diver Propulsion Vehicle to theRebecca, he let himself drift downwards for several meters while he got his bearings before firing up the DPV.

His rendezvous point was off another island, just inside the Russian maritime border, about five kilometers away. It was a tiny, insignificant port where fisherman stocked up on fuel and supplies, as well as waited out storms or repairs to their boats before putting back to sea. The vessel Harvath was meeting, complete with the SEAL team that had commandeered it, would fit in perfectly.

As Harvath fixed his location with the DPV’s Global Positioning System, he wasn’t surprised to hear the low grumble of Zevzda high-speed diesels coming from one of the Sokzhoi patrol boats on the surface. It had made a beeline straight for theRebecca the minute he had abandoned ship. It was exactly what he had been counting on.

Depressing the trigger switches of his DPV, Harvath began to move as quickly as he could away from theRebecca and the Russian boarding party that was probably already clambering over her gunwales.

Despite his dry suit and all the other precautions he had taken, the water was still freezing. Not only was the suit not keeping him as warm as he would have liked, but along with the buoyancy bag suspended from the bottom of the DPV, it was also creating a lot of drag. Had he been more streamlined, he might have been able to get away a lot faster from what was about to happen.

Illuminating the timer strapped to his wrist, Harvath counted down the final seconds before theRebecca exploded. When the timer reached zero, he said to himself, “da sveedanya,motherfuckers,” but was unprepared for the incredible concussion wave that followed.

Had it not been for the MkX’s locking forearm cuffs, Harvath would have lost the DPV for sure. His ears were ringing and he was completely disoriented. He fought to hold on to consciousness as the change in pressure slammed his body into a deadly spin. It was like being caught beneath the biggest wave he had ever imagined. Over and over he turned as the force of the blast threatened to squeeze the life out of him. The regulator was knocked from his mouth and he had no idea which way was up.

There was a tightness in his chest and as he struggled against the blackness overtaking his head, he realized he was holding the triggers of the DPV in a viselike death grip and that it was pulling him straight down. Harvath let go and the machine’s propeller came to a halt. Unlocking one of his arms, he located his regulator and placed it back into his mouth. For several seconds, all he did was breathe, but the air tasted funny and was searing his lungs. He looked at the depth gauge strapped to his other wrist and saw that it read forty-three feet. He had transcended the thirty-foot threshold and his oxygen was becoming toxic. He needed to climb.

As the DPV pulled him on a gradual ascent toward the surface, Harvath felt the pressure on his body lessen and his mind began to clear. There was no way the blast he had felt was from theRebecca, he was too far away when it had gone up. It had to have been something else.