Steve Abbott: Devil's Gambit

Sounds of truck diesel engines being started rumbled through the corrugated steel walls. All of them watched as the stubby sail of the Great leader broke the surface of the bay. It took only seconds for more and more of the sub to raise itself out of the murk.

Sean sighted his rifle on the sail. “I’ve got movement on the sub’s open air bridge. Three men.” He could tell little else. The sub turned and began to nose its way towards the dock.

“Bold as brass,” Harris breathed beside him.

Sean looked at Harris. “Cheeky sods.”

Hunter checked his watch. “Looks like they’ll be at the dock in about fifteen minutes. Those warheads are going to start coming off that thing in a hurry.”

Hunter called out to his men. “Check your weapons. It’s almost show time people.”

Sean kept his scope trained on the Great Leader’s bridge. Details were getting sharper by the second. He swung the rifle down to take a look at the dock.

“Hello, what’s this?” A government sedan pulled onto the dock and parked. Sean watched as a man in a Colonel’s uniform got out, followed by a thinner man in a light gray overcoat. From the way the two were talking, Sean figured the one in the overcoat was the one in charge. “Guess who just came to the party?”

Hunter took a look at the dock through his binoculars. “Looks like that Sung guy decided to see this through.” He keyed his throat mike. “Sanchez, you have that Colonel all lined up like I told you?”

Sanchez’s voice scrambled and decoded, warbled in Hunter’s ears. “Yes, sir. He’s a Colonel in the engineers in case you needed to know.”

“Good work, son. Send your package on my call.”

“Roger that.”

At the far end of the mezzanine, Chun heard the exchange. Sung was here, as he had hoped. He began to work his way slowly towards the stairs.

The Leader continued to bull nose its way across the bay. The Captain pulled out the small steering helm and had the steering controls transferred to him. Parking a hunter/killer like the Leader was a challenge. It was also one of the Captain’s favorite times of a voyage. A final testament to his skills as a leader and as a sailor.

“Helm ahead one quarter.”

“Helm one quarter, aye,” crackled back into his ears. A smooth, black, unbroken wave rolled over the Leader’s bow. The boat’s single screw, now half out of the water, chopped the wake into gray froth sixty feet behind him. A few curious gulls slid by, checking out this bulbous newcomer.

The wheel turned easy in the Captain’s hands and the Leader turned gently to port. He would put the boat with the dock on the starboard side. The sub tender could draw itself across with a minimum of fuss. The Leader was very thirsty. The final run through the Straits of Tushima had drained much of the diesel fuel needed to sustain operations. The Captain turned to his signalman behind him.

“Flash the tender. I want him to start resupply and refueling us as soon as possible.”

The signal lamp began to clatter away in the seaman’s hands as he relayed the message.

Hunter lowered his field glasses. “He’s going to put in on the west side of the dock. Probably so the tender doesn’t have to screw around too much to get him resupplied.” The dark greyness outside was getting lighter by the second. “Shit.”

Sean knew how Hunter felt. Daylight raids could be suicide.

Gayle moved up beside the two men. “It’s getting light outside. What’s the plan commander?”

“Same as before. Just ’cause there’s a little daylight doesn’t mean we can’t pull this thing off.” Hunter pulled out his sat phone and put the call in to Eisenhower. “Home Plate, launch the Alpha two element. Wait five and launch the Alpha three group.”

“Roger First Base, Alpha element engaged. Alpha one inbound your position in twenty. Squawk secure fifteen for Alpha one.”

“Copy that, secure fifteen.” He folded the phone shut with a snap. Hunter looked at Gayle. “It’s going to get hard and fast out there very quickly Captain. Are you and your Russians up to it?”

It annoyed Gayle that Hunter had not thought to include the two SAS officers in his question. Still it was expected. All of these special warfare types seemed to belong to the same exclusive boys club. She looked at the three Russians, AK74’s in their hands. They looked capable. They looked ready.

“It’s a little late to be asking that,” Gayle shot back. “But if you want my opinion, I think my team are as comfortable with those rifles as they are with tensor calculus.”

Hunter kept his face neutral. “Sorry I asked. Addison and Harris will work out your approach to the dock. They’re two of the best and we need all of the skill we have to pull this off. What you accomplish there, God help us, is up to you and the rest of your team.” The SEAL commander turned back to the other fire teams. “Get to your positions.”

“Open the forward torpedo loading hatch. Brace for the dock.” The Captain cut the screw and coasted the last feet. The Great Leader nudged against the special fenders, which had been lowered by the harbor crews from the side of the dock. The fenders were designed to protect the special anechoic tiles that covered the Leader’s bullet-shaped hull. The Captain frowned as his eyes found plenty of bare patches on the upper deck. The tiles must have been ripped off during the harrowing moments of the cargo transfer off the coast of Madagascar. He would have to get the engineer on that right away. The dock was crowded with military trucks and soldiers. The inner circle had left nothing to chance.

The front of the Leader split open as the forward torpedo hatch dropped down into the torpedo room. The Leader’s sail was just higher than the level of the dock it now sat beside. The Captain looked at the small group of officials standing at the brick levy’s edge. They were less than fifteen feet from him.

“Comrade Sung, I did not expect to see you here.”

The Captain turned around and looked at the political officer’s beaming face. He had forgotten about his toadying dead weights.

Sung was thin, cadaverous looking for one so young. His hand moved out from his side, his palm pale, the nails bitten to the quick. “I would not miss the culmination of so great a plan.” His smile was paper thin and sharp. “Especially one I have worked so hard to bring to fruition.”

There had been enough party fawning in these few seconds to last the Captain a week. He cleared his throat and cut in on the conversation before it got any more nauseating. “Be that as it may, I and my crew have fulfilled my part of this mission. One of my men is deathly ill and my forward section contaminated with radiation.” He leaned against the side of the open air bridge and looked into Sung’s face. “It would please me to no end to have these things off my boat.”

Sung turned to the Colonel behind him, his tone soft but his eyes hard. “I am in agreement. The good Captain has more than fulfilled his share of the mission.” Sung checked his watch. “And the next flyby of an American spy satellite is in one hour. Start the unloading at once. The units must be under cover as quickly as possible.”

The Colonel began to bark out commands to his men. The crane equipped six-by backed toward the edge of the dock in a grinding of gears. As soon as the rear wheels were chocked and the out riggers deployed, the crane swung around and its mottled steel cable snaked down to the waiting opening of the forward torpedo hatch.