Echo Class (30 page)

Dolinski sat down on the curved side of the pipe while Gromeko and Fedulova laid the wounded Spetsnaz warrior along the bottom of the pipe. A narrow stream of water rose up along the man's shoulders until it flowed around Malenkov's arms, continuing its gravity-fed journey to the exit.

Dolinski's hands rooted in the knapsack until he found the small receiver. He lifted it, unstrung two loose earpieces, and put them on. He turned on his flashlight, the red light illuminating the controls on the receiver as he duckwalked to the edge of the pipe.

Gromeko opened the wounded sailor's dungaree shirt. The bullet had penetrated the upper left part of Malenkov's chest, near the underarm. Bubbles of blood came out every time he took a breath.

“Looks as if it has hit your lung, Malenkov,” Gromeko said. Turning to Fedulova, he ordered, “Give me the first aid kit.”

Fedulova grabbed one from one of the divers' belts lying along the sides of the curved pipe.

“Lieutenant Dolinski and Chief Fedulova, go ahead and get out of those clothes and into your gear.”

“In a moment,” Dolinski said. “One more minute,” he mumbled softly, pressing the right earpiece against his head. He smiled. “The mission is a success. I can hear the telephone calls of the Americans.”

“Then get changed,” Gromeko snapped.

“I am already doing that,” Dolinski replied, wrapping the earpieces around the receiver and jamming it into the knapsack. “I am already doing that,” he repeated.

Fedulova and Dolinski worked as quietly as possible, pulling off the American dungarees and slipping into their underwater gear.

Gromeko worked on Malenkov. It took a couple of minutes to get gauze over the wound, run tape across it, under Malenkov's arm, and around the neck on the other side.

“Feels better already,” Malenkov said softly. He put his hands down and attempted to push himself up. He moaned as he collapsed back onto the bottom of the pipe.

“Don't move,” Gromeko said. He grabbed a nearby diver's belt and worked it around Malenkov's waist. “This will keep you from bobbing to the surface.”

Malenkov chuckled. “To die on enemy soil is to die for our nation. I just never expected to do it this soon.”

“You're not going to die,” Gromeko said. “All you have is a bleeding chest wound.”

“Just a bleeding chest wound?” Malenkov asked with a hint of sarcasm and a smile barely visible in the shadows. “Lieutenant, you can't take me with you.”

“Here, let me talk with Malenkov while you change, Lieutenant,” Fedulova said.

“We can't leave his equipment with him,” Dolinski said.

“We aren't going to leave him.”

“We can't take him with us. He is right. He is dying. Leave him here, if you want him to live.” Dolinski shrugged. “If he does live, then the Americans will take care of him. They take care of everything.”

Gromeko put his face a few inches from Dolinski. “We do not leave our shipmates behind,” he said, accenting each word separately.

“He will endanger all of us.”

“Then we will be endangered together.”

“The lieutenant is right, sir,” Malenkov said. “Leave me, but leave me a weapon. That way you will not have to worry about the Americans capturing me.”

“Quiet, everyone.” No one spoke as Gromeko quickly changed.

Chief Fedulova and Lieutenant Dolinski waited at the mouth of the drainpipe, watching for signs of the Americans. Above them, the noise of vehicles passing back and forth told them the warehouse area was flooded with U.S. marines.

Small beams of light searched the waters where they had fled earlier. With each sweep the lights moved along the road.

Dolinski jerked his thumb at Malenkov. “It will not be long before someone thinks of looking in this pipe. Starshina Malenkov is right. Leave him. Give him a weapon. He will die like a true Spetsnaz.”

“Looks as if the boats we were told about are coming this way, Lieutenant,” Fedulova said.

“Where?” both Lieutenants asked in unison.

“There,” Fedulova answered, pointing past Dolinksi toward the piers where the destroyers were tied up.

“Could be the liberty launches we were told about.”

Fedulova shook his head. “Most likely they are, but most likely they have been requisitioned to search for us.”

Motion to the far left caught their eyes as new running lights appeared around the end of one of the huge logistic ships anchored a hundred meters or so from the piers.

“Those are moving fast,” Fedulova observed.

Gromeko stumbled away toward his gear. The curved pipe was not made for walking. He sat down on the rippled curved body of the pipe and put on his flippers. “I am ready.” He looked at Malenkov. “This is going to be painful, but you can do it, Starshina Malenkov.”

“It is about time we go,” Dolinski said. “If the K-122 hears the commotion, the captain may have to choose between the four of us and the one hundred thirty officers and men on board.”

Fedulova nodded, his lower lip pressing his upper lip upward. “I could see where the captain would have a very hard decision to make.”

“Let's go,” Dolinski said.

“First, we clean up our mess. Open your knapsack.” Gromeko looked at Fedulova. “Get me some rocks, heavy ones.”

“What for?” Dolinski asked.

“If we have to drop these knapsacks, then we want them on the bottom of the harbor, not floating on the surface.”

Fedulova eased over the side of the drain into the water, his head disappearing beneath the waves.

Dolinski opened his knapsack. “What for?” he asked.

Gromeko crammed their American uniforms into it. “We can leave these uniforms behind.”

Dolinski held up his knapsack. “We cannot leave this behind.”

“I know, but the uniforms we can.”

Fedulova surfaced, placing several rocks on the edge of the pipe. “Is that enough?” He picked up a couple more rocks near the edge of the pipe. “These are bigger”

“Let me put some rocks in your knapsack, Uri,” Gromeko said to Dolinski.

“My knapsack is not going to be dropped,” Dolinski said.

“We may not have a choice. If the Americans capture . . . or kill us, then we do not want the knapsacks bobbing to the surface with our bodies.”

Dolinski looked as if he were going to argue, but instead he opened his knapsack.

Gromeko nodded. He tossed a belt to Fedulova. “Put this on Zosimoff. Then he grabbed the knapsack and started cramming Malenkov's and Zosimoff's wet suits into it. He reached over and pulled the American uniforms from Dolinski's knapsack. “Put these together in the event we have to ditch them.”

“I thought the rocks were for that.”

Gromeko nodded. He picked up several of the rocks and tossed them into both knapsacks. “That should take them to the bottom, if we have to let them go.” He leaned over to Malenkov. “You still with us?”

“I have not gone anywhere, sir.”

“Lieutenant Dolinski, help me put his flippers on.”

With the flippers on, Gromeko leaned over the man. “I have to lift you to put your tank on.”

Malenkov nodded, but neither expected the cry of pain that escaped. For several seconds they waited for the Americans to appear over the edge of the pipe. When nothing happened, Dolinski and Gromeko helped Malenkov through his painful slide to the edge of the pipe. Fedulova, already treading the water at the end of the pipe, reached up and helped Malenkov into the water.

Fedulova took the face mask off, dipped it in the water, and then slid it over Malenkov's face. Malenkov raised his right hand in a weak sign of “okay.”

“Chief, you stay with him. Lieutenant Dolinski, you carry the knapsacks. I will tow Zosimoff's body with me.”

“One question, Lieutenant?” Fedulova asked.

Gromeko nodded.

“How do we get his body into the K-122 once we're there? The tube is only big enough for one person as a time.”

“It'll work. The person in the tube has nothing to do but shut the top hatch. We can do that from the outside.”

A minute later the heads of the four Spetsnaz warriors dipped beneath the waters and disappeared from sight. Blood trailed from the bandaged wound on Malenkov and the dead body of Zosimoff. Gromeko glanced at his diver's watch. The fluorescent hands showed fifteen minutes after two.

In the drainpipe behind them, starlight revealed a coil of wire that had fallen out of Dolinski's knapsack.

“WHAT
are your recommendations?”

“We could go active on sonar,” Chief Stalzer said.

Joe Tucker shook his head. “Against regulations to do that in port. You don't know what damage you're going to do.”

“Don't know if someone is in the water,” Burnham added.

“Fry their ass.”

“Not really,” Burkeet said. “Could destroy their eardrums if they're near the sonar.”

“XO, we can always request permission from Subic Operations Center. They can authorize it,” Burnham said.

MacDonald raised his hand. “I have to tell Admiral Green. Meanwhile,” he pointed at the XO, “Joe Tucker, the
Coghlan
is parked farthest from us. Out near the end of the pier. I need to talk with their skipper and get them involved in this.”

Joe Tucker's eyebrows furrowed. “
Coghlan
?”

MacDonald nodded. “The admiral would have to get us permission to use sonar. It would take some time for that to happen, but if we can get another ship to activate its sonar, maybe we can get a passive noise triangulation on this possible submarine.”

“Why don't we take the motor whaleboat and take off along the line of bearing?” Oliver asked.

“How's that?” Burkeet asked.

“If we drag a line or wire behind it, it only has to be periscope depth, about fifty feet. If the submarine is in the harbor, we'll snag it.”

“Sounds simple,” MacDonald added.

“Too simple,” Joe Tucker said.

“Better than sitting here,” Stalzer said. When everyone looked at him, he added, “Sorry. I was thinking out loud.”

“Chiefs have been known to do that,” Joe Tucker said with a smile. “Chief's right, Captain. Let's do both. Let's send the motor whaleboat out along the line of bearing to see what they can see, and I'll wake up the sonar team on another ship.”

“Sounds like a plan, but let's do the triangulation before we start putting boats in the water. Meanwhile, I will contact Admiral Green,” MacDonald said. He reached over and patted Oliver on the shoulder. “Good job, sailor. I guess the other question I have is, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“The chief wanted me to do the PMS today,” Oliver replied. “I didn't finish it yesterday and it needed to be finished by quarters tomorrow morning.”

MacDonald looked at the chief. “Well done, Chief Stalzer.”

“Thank you, sir. I try to keep our team to a schedule.”

Stalzer failed to see Burnham roll his eyes.

Boatswain Mate Manny Lowe appeared back of the group standing in the doorway to Sonar. “Captain, XO!” he said.

Everyone turned.

“What is it, Boats?” MacDonald asked.

“There's been an incident ashore, sir. Subic Base Operations is warning everyone to be alert. They've had some sort of shooting near the warehouses.”

“What kind of shooting?” Burnham asked.

“Don't know, sir. They just said for all ships to increase their security until they have apprehended whoever was shooting at the marines.”

“Anyone hurt?” Joe Tucker asked.

“Don't know, sir. They just said to increase our security.”

 

 

GROMEKO
tugged the dead weight of Zosimoff with him. The weights in the diver's belt made it harder. He looked up through the clear water and could make out the shadowy outlines of the other three, above and ahead of him. They would reach the K-122 minutes before him.

The weight of the dead man was forcing him to swim deeper than the others. He wondered for a moment if he was going to be able to make it. Then he shook his head. Spetsnaz warriors never had thoughts such as this!

Fedulova and Malenkov were traveling in tandem. Gromeko glanced upward. He could make out Malenkov's weak kicking. Good! The man was still alive. Dolinski would reach the submarine first. He hoped the GRU Spetsnaz officer would let Malenkov go first.

His eyes dropped as he kicked a little harder. Zosimoff's head bounced off Gromeko's stomach as he swam, and when he kicked his flippers for forward motion, his calves and feet hit the body. It was the only way he could move, dragging Zosimoff slightly behind him.

A dark shadow blocked the starlight for a moment. Gromeko looked up, thinking a boat had passed over them, but there was nothing there. Must have been a cloud or a piece of harbor flotsam. He would have heard the engine of a small boat. But boats were heading this way.

The shadow passed again, but Gromeko ignored it. He concentrated on keeping Zosimoff's body alongside him. The K-122 could not be too far ahead of them.

 

 

“UP
periscope,” Bocharkov ordered, flipping the handles out, and riding the lens up through the water. He turned the periscope, starting his three-hundred-sixty-degree reconnaissance visual. As he hurried around the compass heading, he passed a series of running lights, causing him to bring the periscope back, focusing on the scene to his right.