Robert Thomas - The Bear - Red Star Rising

“I’m sure they’ll tell us soon.” Dawson studied the workings of the conn. Everyone was doing their job; they were focused. It was training. That’s why they were a top-notch boat. “I’ve never been to the Baltic Sea before. Maybe it’s just for a Sunday visit.”

“Eighty feet.”

“Keep her steady. We’ve got room below. How close are we to the tanker?”

“Three-hundred fifty feet,” Tull replied after he took his finger off the scope’s range finder.

“That’s too far. Bring us back to two hundred. We can’t get too far away in this channel.” Dawson leaned over the chart, placing his hands on the table. “Sure don’t want to hit something we don’t know is there.” His remark echoed silently through the boat. No one answered, but they all had the same thought. For all they knew, a hundred Viking longboats waited beneath the waves to extract their revenge against those still living. and plowing the waters of their homeland.

“New surface contact dead ahead.”

“Shit!” Dawson rotated the scope, pointing it forward of the bow. “Damn. Big bastard. Probably another tanker. Bow lights say it’s coming this way.” The captain looked up at the waterfall display, the chart showing where they were as another seaman marked the new contact. “Depth?”

“Depth still eighty feet, sir.”

“Distance to new contact?”

“Fifteen hundred yards, sir.”

“That’s not very far. How’d we not see them?”

“Might have come out from behind the island,” Tull replied. “How close to each other will they pass?”

“In a channel this narrow, they’ll give each other as wide a berth as possible,” Dawson answered, “at least without worrying about running into a shoal. They’ve probably got better maps of what’s here than we do.” The captain scanned the control room before making his decision. “We’re going to be squeezing between two large ships. I need everyone on their toes, boys. Move us to within one-hundred fifty feet of our escort.” Dawson moved over to the station and placed a hand on the seaman’s shoulder. “Be ready to come to a dead stop. If things go bad, we might need to bottom out quickly.”

“Aye sir.” The seaman squirmed in his seat and focused on his controls. “One-hundred fifty feet, sir. I used to throw a football a lot farther than that, captain.”

“Where was that? College?”

“No sir. Jackson High School in Montana, sir.”

“What happened?”

“Fell into a crevasse on a hike in the mountains. Caught my foot on something beneath the snow, tumbled down into an opening and ripped damned near every muscle in my shoulder.”

“Still got it in you?”

“No sir. I couldn’t throw a Nerf ball across the control room. Nothing left.”

“How far?” Dawson could almost feel the tension in the young seaman. He gave him a pat on the shoulder before stepping away.

“Bow contact is about on top of us,” Tull answered. “They’ve moved off starboard. It’ll be close.”

“How close?”

“Two hundred yards,” Tull replied. “Maybe.”

“Depth?”

“Seventy-five feet.”

“Damn,” Dawson said under his breath. “Keep her steady, conn.”

“Conn aye. Steady as she goes.”

The tension that coursed through the sub seemed thick enough to reach out and grab. The captain began to feel the slight shudder of the 688 boat as the wake from their escort began to mix with the bow wake from the second tanker as it was pushed along by the outflow from the Baltic Sea. The currents buffeted the six thousand ton boat as she held course.

“Starboard rudder, conn,” Dawson said as the wake of the second tanker flattened out just as they came to the last leg of the Great Belt. “Move us away from our friend.”

“Starboard rudder, aye,” came the reply.

“Well done, son. Well done. Give our friend some space and let him get ahead of us.”

“Depth one hundred feet and falling off, sir.”

“We’re coming out of the channel and into the Baltic proper.” Dawson looked up at his XO. “Make new heading zero nine zero degrees. Make your way to the designated co-ordinates.”

“Aye skipper,” Tull replied. “Conn, set new heading, zero nine zero degrees. All ahead slow.”

“New heading, zero nine zero degrees. All ahead slow, aye.”

“So, what do you think?”

“I think I haven’t flown anything like this, in a long, long time.” Captain Will ‘Danil’ Jenner grabbed the yoke with both hands and felt the grain of the worn leather against his fingers. It was raw, cold in the dead of a Russian winter.

“How does a Cessna come to be in Russia?”

“Simple really,” Donald replied. “All sorts of things flooded into the country when the Soviet Union fell. It was a rush toward everything anyone could ever have dreamed of. And as money slowly began to get into people’s hands, things like this started to become more common.” Donald shifted in the co-pilot’s seat, turning toward Danil. “Since this is a bit of an older plane, it doesn’t draw attention. It’s the perfect plane of need, if something were to happen. And now, it seems it is in need.”

“I could almost fly this with my eyes closed.” Danil looked over the controls, familiarizing himself with everything. He started with the most crucial first; thrust levers, the array of gauges in front of him and finally rudder and aileron controls. Donald watched as Danil closed his eyes and let his hands drift over the controls. It was like watching him fly blindfolded. He went through a series of steps in his mind. He seemed to be readying for takeoff, then, gently pulling the wheel back as he lifted the plane into the air with his mind. As he turned the wheel left, his hand began to tremble, and he pulled it away to his lap as he opened his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Danil’s reply was low-key.

“Look, if there’s something you’re not telling me…”

“I just piloted an F-16 from Alaska to DC,” Danil replied, “I think I can handle a twin engine Cessna.”

“There could be a lot riding on your ability to handle a plane, Danil.” Donald lowered his voice, his tone firm. “I don’t have the authority to cancel this mission, but I sure as hell won’t let things go bad if I think any one of you people can’t handle the job you’re here to do.”

“You have no idea how big this is.” Danil sighed as the words left his lips. “I’ll be fine.”

“You better be, Danil. You better be.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, Donald. You’ve risked your own position, one I’m sure you’ve worked hard to keep secret over the years. But, this is more than just a solitary mission. I’ve been on many of those. No, this has consequences far beyond anything I’ve ever been involved in.”

“Welcome to the club, Danil.” Donald flipped open the door and slid off the cracked leather seat to the ground, his boots landing in the muddied snow. “It’s been my life’s work.” He turned, holding open the door as the wind whipped into the cabin. “You’re just seeing things from my point of view for the first time.” Donald lowered his head as if he were talking to the seat. “Every day here is a mission to maintain the balance of power. The Soviet Union never really fell, Danil. It just changed its name.” Donald straightened as he took a step back. “If you want to take her up, go ahead. You don’t really need a flight plan in these parts.”

The door flopped shut, leaving Danil alone in the cold light. He placed his right hand on the levers resting in the center of the cockpit. He felt the cold metal against his dry skin as he scanned the array of gauges whose glass had clouded from forty years of service. This was his moment. This was why he was here.