Voyage of the Devilfish

WILL NOT BE IN POSITION AT T-HOUR. ETA AT PORTSMOUTH, NEW HAMPSHIRE, HOLD COORDINATE IS 1230 GMT, T-HOUR PLUS 3.5. INTEND TO RENDEZVOUS LATE, ANTICIPATING FINITE POSSIBILITY THAT T-HOUR MAY BE DELAYED DUE TO WEATHER.

So it seemed that the chart was not just a theoretical plan — the Nevsky was on the way to a position off the U.S. coast. And what was’t-hour?” The time of a time-on-target assault? If Nevsky was three-and-a-half hours late at 1230 GMT, that put T-hour at 0900 GMT. But what day? Today? Tomorrow? Vlasenko had glanced at the chronometer, which read 0850 GMT. If it was today, it was in ten minutes! Disabling the radio would stop any transmission of a gocode to launch cruise missiles. But then it would be repaired. Disable the radio after smashing all the spare parts?

The Kaliningrad had too many back-up systems and redundant circuits, and in the computer cabinets functions were in some cases combined. You could think you were smashing the radio modules and end up disabling the ship-control system instead. Even in the best-case scenario the radio could be repaired and the go-code could be transmitted. He could order the Operations Officer to open the smallarms locker for inspection and get an automatic pistol. Except Ivanov, the Operations Officer and Acting First Officer, was on watch in the control compartment as Deck Officer, and only he had the keys to the smallarms safe, which was to be opened only by him. Not even Captain Vlasenko could take the key without violating his own standing orders. It would surely make the admiral suspicious if he ordered Ivanov off the watch or ordered him to turn over the keys. And waiting for the normal rotation so that Ivanov was offwatch was too risky… the watch shifted at noon, over three hours from now. Vlasenko had considered briefing his officers on what Novskoyy was apparently up to, but most were in awe — or fear — of Novskoyy. He was, after all, the Fleet Commander. An order to arrest the man would not exactly be popular in the officers’ mess, and even if he did get the officers together, there was virtually no way he could do it without Novskoyy knowing about it. There was no time for persuasion, for a committee decision. It was too dangerous not to take some action now. He hated the decision, but there was no escaping it. This was his problem. His responsibility.

He took a deep breath, left the stateroom and walked aft to the third compartment and found the tool bench on the starboard side. He pulled open a cabinet and unlatched a heavy wrench from a restraining bracket. He went back forward and climbed the long ladder to the control compartment, the heavy wrench in his right hand. He would have preferred a pistol. He neared the upper rungs of the ladder, trying to keep the wrench from knocking against the rungs, still without a clear idea what he would do with the wrench. He could lean it in an inconspicuous place, and when the time came, when the chronometer neared 0900, he could knock Novskoyy unconscious and lock him up in the stores locker in the third compartment. With Novskoyy out of the picture, he felt reasonably confident there would be no one else to carry out his plan. With Novskoyy’s need for total control of any mission, it was most likely he had issued instructions to his fleet not to fire the cruise missiles unless he sent his implementation message. Otherwise, why were they surfaced here at the polynya? Vlasenko had two steps up to go. He heard the conversations of the control compartment clearly now, the officers at their posts. The wrench was heavy. Vlasenko’s hands were wet with sweat. What if he was seen with the damned wrench? How could he explain it? Vlasenko held the wrench behind his right leg with his right hand and proceeded to pull himself up to the landing with his left— It was too awkward. The wrench slipped out of his hand just as Deck Officer Ivanov announced that the captain was in control. The heavy tool clattered down the ladder and landed at the base six meters below. Novskoyy looked over at Vlasenko.

“So, Vlasenko,” his hand reaching for his hip holster! “what brings you to control… with a wrench? Going to fix the firecontrol computer? Ivanov, call security. Now!” Ivanov looked first at Vlasenko, then Novskoyy, stunned, as his hand reached for the phone. Novskoyy kept his service pistol trained on Vlasenko for the full two minutes it took the Security Warrant Officer to arrive in the control compartment. Vlasenko looked to his officers, saw none was going to challenge the admiral. Who could blame them? He turned to Novskoyy.

“Sir, why are you provoking the Americans? Getting ready to attack them…?” The watch officers stared, astonished, at the two men. “I saw your attack plan. Admiral—”