Robert Williams - Ice Fortress

“Captain, incoming Tomahawk. Bearing three-one-five degrees. Range two-zero-zero kilometers.”

“Verify and confirm that,” Captain Vasili Ketov snapped at the radar operator.

They’d been surfaced for the past hour trying to raise Novolazarevskaya. The Russian Antarctic base had yet to respond but given the weather conditions and the pitiful annual budget allocated to the base for equipment maintenance, he wasn’t surprised.

“Confirmed sir, it’s an American Tomahawk. It must have been launched from an American submarine. We’ve had no reports of U.S. Navy ships in the area.”

“Damn them! This is retaliation for shooting at their spy sub.” Ketov sighed. It did no good to berate Yuri. The poor radar operator was only the messenger. It was a shame he hadn’t spotted it earlier, though.

“It’s skimming the waves, Captain, coming in low and fast. That’s why it’s only now showing on the screen.” It was as if Yuri had read Ketov’s thoughts.

“Do we have time to launch a Triumf counter strike?” demanded the captain of the launch officer who was already busy plotting a firing solution on his computer.

“Yes sir, if we launch within the next 3 minutes.”

Ketov needed time to think. He didn’t have time. Should he risk exposing their secret to save the lives of his crew and his submarine?

The S-400 Triumf surface-to-air missile system itself wasn’t a secret. NATO had even given it a reporting name — SA-21 “Growler”. The advanced anti-aircraft missile system had been deployed in Syria and was a major arms export for its Russian manufacturer. Even the Chinese were lining up to buy them by the truckload.

The Americans feared the Triumf and for good reason. It was the deadliest air defense weapon ever devised.

What was a secret, however, was the fact that the Russian Yasen class submarines all carried a number of these missiles amidships in vertical launch cells, alongside their strategic arsenal of Sizzler and Strobile cruise missiles.

The Americans already knew too much about the superiority of the S-400 Triumf system and the stealth of the Yasen class submarines. The fact that Russia’s most dangerous submarine could also launch their most deadly anti-aircraft missiles from below the waves needed to remain top secret, according to the Admirals and Generals back in Moscow, safe in their luxurious offices with their cute blonde secretaries.

“Arm a Triumf and plot a solution to intercept the Tomahawk,” ordered the captain without further discussion. He was a long way from his Russian masters and on his submarine, he made the final decisions.

“It should have hit something by now.” Durand hammered his fist on the side of the torpedo tube.

“Dud?” asked Jack.

“Maybe they all are,” Juan chipped in.

“Thanks for blowing that little ray of sunshine up our ass, Juan. Real helpful, captain positive.” Durand glared at him.

“Well, then, we fire them all.” Jack slapped the next torpedo in line with his hand. “And we keep firing until we either hit something or run out of torpedoes. We’re not quitting!”

Jack was right. Durand and Juan leaped into action and within half a minute they had the next torpedo loaded and ready to fire.

“Fingers crossed it runs hot, straight and normal,” Durand ventured as he fired the second torpedo.

“And it actually blows up, this time,” Juan threw in for good measure.

Countdown to impact: 0.10 minutes.

“Fire missile!” Ketov commanded.

The roar of the Triumf launch could be heard throughout the Kazan. To a man, the crew knew it had earned its NATO reporting name. It was indeed a Growler and now their lives were in the hands of one anti-aircraft missile bristling with sensors and guidance systems linked together in one Integrated Air Defense System or IADS.

The Triumf IADS was capable of detecting and painting a target on stealth aircraft that would normally not be visible to conventional radar. It would use its long range scanners to build a picture of the target and its track its flightpath, calculating the most ‘survivable’ route to intercept.

Once it engaged its target, the Russian Triumf was deadly accurate.

It would need to be.

The shockwave slammed the three men into the bulkhead. Hard.

Water jetted from the maze of exposed pipes attached to the torpedo compartment bulkhead and the U-Boat shuddered violently as it smashed into the wet-dock.

Captain Jameson and Dave stumbled through the listing torpedo room hatch, both bleeding profusely from head wounds. Neither man had been prepared for the explosion.

Looking around the compartment, it quickly became obvious that the damage hadn’t been caused by the scuttle charges, which then prompted the question… what did cause the explosion and shock wave?

Jameson wiped the blood from his face and drew a bead on Durand and Coulson.

“What did you do ?”

Jack shuffled away from Durand slightly and showed his palms to the captain. “It wasn’t me,” he declared.

At a combined closing speed of over 1,000 miles per hour, the Tomahawk and the Growler erupted in a fireball that lit up the sky for miles.

The warhead had not yet armed itself and even its titanium casing could protect it from being totally destroyed and vaporized in the mid-air blast.

Jameson’s face darkened. “You sank a two and a half billion dollar nuclear attack submarine with a Nazi torpedo from the Second World War? Have I got that right?”

“It was his idea, sir.” Durand pointed at Coulson.

“Coulson?”

“I like to think of it as a team decision, sir,” answered Jack.

“Oh, yeah, and you’re such a team player aren’t you, Jack.” A familiar voice echoed behind them.