Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

The doctor, a man of rapid and unpredictable motion, nervously cleared his throat. “He came in on the morning sick call. At first I thought it was just a virus, but no other symptoms normally associated turned up. Swollen glands, roughness of the throat… none was evident. I took a blood test. The results were sobering. His white blood cell count is dramatically up. His gums are swollen and his joints ache. It can be nothing else. I have never seen a case myself, but all of the symptoms…”

The political officer interjected, “There must be a small leak in one of the containers, Comrade Captain.”

The Captain was perturbed that the doctor had gone to the political officer first, instead of notifying him. But who could fault the man? He was just covering his own political backside. As always, his thoughts were with his boat. “And the rest of the bay crew, how are they?”

The doctor’s head bobbed up and down. “I have taken the liberty of subjecting them to a blood test as well. You must keep in mind that Rhee’s bunk was closest to the devices brought on board. He is sick, yes, but I would expect short term recovery within three days, full recovery within the week. It is only a mild case of Radiation sickness, although long-term effects will take some time to manifest themselves. Still, I will have to watch the others closely for symptoms.”

The Captain turned to the political officer. The blame for this lay somewhere else. All he was interested in right now was a solution. “Well, to quote one of your lectures, what is to be done?” The Captain’s gaze narrowed. Too often, political officers were just bloated appendages of the central party. This one was going to find that on a submarine, everybody depended on each other.

The political officer was as oblivious to his plight now as he had been on the open air bridge. “I am afraid, Comrade Captain, that this is beyond my expertise. It will have to be up to you and your patriotic crew to find the proper solution.”

How the Supreme Leader could support their great country with deadwood like this moron before him was beyond the Captain. If it were not for the power putrid individuals such as this and his pole-faced lackey wielded, he would have loaded both of them into torpedo tubes and fired them into the clutches of the sea. “Thank you for your candor and your faith, Comrade Officer.” The rest came through clenched teeth, “You are dismissed.” He turned to one of his junior officers, ignoring the political officer. “Get the Engineering Officer to the bridge immediately, please.”

“At once, Captain.”

Two minutes later, the Chief Engineer arrived from the bowels of the Leader’s twin diesels. So rare was he seen in his uniform that the Captain had finally suggested that he should just transfer his rank and insignia to his coveralls. The man stood on the raised bridge area, wiping at his hands with a soiled cloth. Captain Kil-Yon could not tell if he was transferring grease from his hands to the rag or the reverse.

“You wanted to speak to me Captain?” The Engineer rarely used the standard Comrade before a higher rank, preferring to use it only with men of lower rank than himself. The engine room had received an extremely high efficiency rating during the last set of work-ups and the Captain always gave a certain amount of latitude where important areas of his boat were concerned.

“Yes, Chief, but I will have to speak to you about it in my cabin.” This earned a quizzical look from the Chief, but the Captain’s reasons for any action were always sound.

Once they were inside the small cubicle the Captain called his cabin, and the door was closed, he told the Chief about the problem. “As you know, we transferred some important cargo from a freighter off the South African coast a few days ago.”

The Chief’s answer had hard edges. “Important enough to send her and her crew to the bottom.”

A shadow crossed the Captain’s face and he looked away for a moment. It was then the Chief knew that the order to sink the freighter had not originated with his Captain. All sailors, whether above or below the sea’s surface, have but one enemy away from land’s embrace.

“That does not matter, Chief,” the Captain said.

The Chief took that message to heart. Do not fool with or underestimate the security forces on board.

“What matters is the cargo we transferred on board. There are three nuclear warheads and one of them has a leak.”

“So that’s what is wrong with Rhee.” There were few secrets on a submarine. “Radiation sickness.”

“It looks that way. What I need from you is some way of containing the radiation. Any ideas?”

The Chief stroked his chin and stared at the ceiling of the small cubicle. The Captain let him take his time. Most of the Chief’s technical solutions were unorthodox, but he had never failed any task assigned him. After three minutes of staring into space, with a grunt and a nod, he looked back at his Captain and began to elaborate on his plan to store the three warheads.

Eight hours later, the Captain looked dubiously at the large pile of spare batteries that encased the three warheads, and now dominated the far corner of the torpedo bay. Three seamen were in the process of swabbing down every surface of the bay, just in case some dust had gotten loose from the bomb casings. Only the Captain and the Chief really knew why the batteries were there. He looked over at his Chief, “And you’re sure that will do the job?”

The Chief grunted assent, “Should do. Those batteries are nothing more than a collection of lead plates in acid. Everything I’ve ever read about radioactivity said that lead was the best shield, next to gold of course. Besides,” he flashed his Captain a toothy grin, “with these things out of storage, now I have somewhere to play cards.”

The Captain smiled back. “Good work, Chief.”

The Chief saluted him. “A pleasure to do my duty for our country.”

The Leader slid through the depths, every mile, a bit closer to home and her final destiny.

They had set down to refuel and change flight crews. The plane had been in the air for over ten hours. The limits of their equipment and the team were being pushed to the maximum. Gayle sighed to herself. There was no other way. If they burned up the jet, they burned up the jet. Now was not a time to worry about one aircraft.

Two new blue suiters came through the port-side door. The current flight crew briefed them and left. When the new crew had come aboard, they had been all smiles. When they sat down and started the preflight, their faces were stony and ashen. A Marine Sergeant climbed up the entryway steps. In his right hand was an aluminum-sided briefcase. He looked around the passenger cabin. His eyes flicked over the sleeping members of the team and finally settled on Gayle.

“Captain Ecevit?”

Gayle stretched in her chair. “Yes?”

He held up the briefcase. “Delivery ma’am.” He put the case at her feet and held out a clipboard. “If you could just sign for it.” She signed the release form and the young Sergeant left.

Gayle looked at Sean Addison. He was asleep in the chair across from her. No need to wake him or anyone else, unless the contents of the briefcase were important. Even asleep, Addison looked dangerous. The man was a bomb waiting to go off. Whatever had happened to him in Afghanistan and Syria had wound him pretty tight.

Was that a bad thing or a good thing? As for Harris? The chips still were not in on him. Gayle shook her head. The mission, that’s what was important. Unit integrity was not a lesson she had learned yet.

The dispatches inside the case were grim. The Koreans were at a heightened state of alert. The usual political posturing had gone further than normal this time. Kim Jong Un was solidifying his hold on the military and the government. His public appearances had fallen off dramatically, leading to speculation both wild and uncertain that he was dead or under house arrest.