Robert Thomas - The Bear - Red Star Rising

“Who the hell can we call about this one, sir?”

“We might have to try this on our own.” Dawson leaned against the metal rail, folding his arms across his chest. “We need a big one.”

“Two would be better,” Flip commented. “One on either side of us.”

“It’s kind of hard to just find two big ships running down the middle of the channel at night, just when we need them.”

“Why do we have to go through here? Why not this smaller channel?” Tull asked.

“It is even shallower. The Great Belt is wider, and although it has heavier traffic, it’s probably our best shot. It’s too easy to be seen from the coasts if we attempt the Øresund channel.” Dawson leaned in, tilting his head down toward the table. “The currents would likely be trickier since they’re funneled into the smaller space. Hard to drive a boat in that.”

“So this Great Belt seems to be our best bet?”

“I’d say so.” The captain ran his fingers through his hair as he straightened. “We’ve got a couple hours till it’s fully dark outside, and probably another one or two till shipping comes to a stop for the night.”

“You seem to know a great deal about this area, sir.”

“Not a great deal, Mr. Tull. Most shipping lanes work that way. These channels are part of the Kattegat. The waters of the Baltic drain through the channels before moving out to the larger ocean.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know much about this area.”

“Basic seamanship, Mr. Tull. Basic seamanship.” Captain Dawson turned and began making his way out of the control room. Call me in two hours. I’ll take the conn when we begin passage.”

“Aye sir.” The XO turned as the captain left the conn, “basic seamanship my ass.”

“Captain to the conn.” Tull placed the mic on the hook just as his commander walked back into the station. “About that time, sir.”

“Any traffic about?”

“You were right about traffic slowing down. There’s almost nothing running.”

“Well, let’s get underway.” Dawson turned, giving the order. “Bring us up to scope depth, all ahead slow.”

“Slow sir?”

“We need to see what’s up there first, and we don’t want wake, even a small trail from that could become luminescent. You churn the waters at night, you disturb its life forms. It’s mostly carriers that people know about, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“All ahead slow, aye.”

The constant hum of machinery faded into the background, the sub deathly quiet as the USS Columbus began her passage into the Great Belt. The black hull slipped easily through the dark waters as the overcast sky painted a bleak picture upon the northern world. The rush of current from the Baltic pushed past, doing everything it could to keep the intruder away from her shoals. The shallow bottom of the Belt was not the featureless abyss that was the cruising plain of the open ocean. Here, the ancient geology of the Kattegat islands and narrow passages, and sunken vessels from times long forgotten all conspired to swirl the brackish waters along the hull like thunder in the face of the intruder.

“It’s okay to talk, people.”

The collective exhale eased the tension, slightly. The boat rocked ever so slightly as she fought her way against the turmoil. Dawson looked down at the screens that displayed from the scope. He saw nothing but blackness.

“Surface contact dead astern.” The sonarman pushed the phones against his ears and closed his eyes. “It’s a big one, sir.”

“Maybe we just got lucky.” The XO directed the scope astern, searching for the contact. “Starboard green. She’s coming this way.”

“Range?”

“Hard to pinpoint sir. Two miles maybe.”

“Dead slow, conn.”

“Dead slow aye.”

“Let’s let them catch up to us. Maintain forward momentum against the current and glide right along beside them.”

“Glide, sir?”

“It’ll be a bit bumpy,” Dawson replied. “Riding along side a ship it going to make it interesting. Any idea what it is yet?”

“No sir, but it’s what you wanted, something really big.” The seaman keyed several commands into his station before offering an opinion. “My guess is it’s a tanker.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch, but the signature just seems to fit the data.”

“If you say so.”

“It’s what you pay me for, sir.”

“It is at that, son. It is at that.”

The Columbus was nearly drifting within the pulsing currents as the captain let the surface contact catch up to them. Though she was nearly completely submerged, having a screen would help them pass unnoticed. The currents buffeted the boat as they slipped in beside the tanker, the flat hull of the massive ship made for shallow channels chunked through the dark water making travel beside it tricky. Dawson used the scope to make certain they stayed close to the tanker, but not so close that they could collide. It was a tricky maneuver in the shallow channel of the Great Belt, but one the captain knew his team could handle.

“Half way through, sir,” Tull announced. “The bridge is just ahead. I hope no one is looking down from it.”

“I hope not,” Dawson replied.

The buffeting currents against the hull caused those standing in the control room to waver.

“Keep her steady, conn.” The tension in the compartment was mounting. “Sounding?”

“One hundred feet below the keel.”

“What’s the distance to the tanker?”

“Three hundred feet, sir.”

“Move us to within two hundred feet forward amidships.”

“That’s cutting it close if they want to turn sir,” Tull commented.

“I’m aware of that. It’s not much of a margin, but it’ll make a smoother ride. The outer waves from the tanker will pass over the bow and not hit the side of the boat. Most of the chop will be behind us.” Dawson folded his arms and leaned against the rail that surrounded the scope. He needed to appear calm. He was the captain. He was the veteran. “If he has an idea of turning, I don’t know where he’d be going.”

Dawson watched the display as his boat inched slowly toward the dark tanker. Its hull took up the entire screen giving him no visual reference to distance on a dark night. He reached down and pushed a single button to update the range. The laser measured the distance at two-hundred fifty feet.

“Get us a little closer.”

Tull wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He was sweating. He could feel the drops rolling down his temples. He’d never been this close to a ship submerged in a live scenario. The XO looked around the conn trying to gauge the reaction of his men. He could feel the moisture on his tee shirt beneath his uniform. Surely he wasn’t the only one feeling like this. His captain looked as calm as a nun at Sunday Mass. Except for the dull hum of machinery that resonated through the boat, the conn was utterly silent.

“He’s turning sir.”

“Starboard rudder. All ahead slow.”

“Starboard rudder. All ahead slow, aye.”

“Depth?”

“Depth is one-thirty feet below the keel, sir.”

“Ease away from her. We’re coming up on Lolland. That’s where the channel turns. It’ll get narrower from here on out.”

“Keep her at scope depth, no matter what son, unless we’re ready to hit the bottom.”

“Aye sir.” The young seaman swallowed hard as he poured his attention on the screens in front of him. He had his orders.

“I hope this channel isn’t too narrow,” Tull remarked.

“Nothing we can do about it now,” Dawson replied.

“Depth now ninety feet, sir.”

“That was fast,” Tull announced. “I sure wish we knew what the hell we’re doing here.”