North Cape

He leaned over the coaming once more and shouted down. "Peterson, you and Johnson get back to the boat and be ready to take us off. Orlowski, you and Brone cover that aft hatch, just in case."

He swung around in time to hear the squeal of the hatch being opened, and drew his pistol with his right hand. He waved the others back around the curve of the bridge. The hatch cracked open, held a moment, then pushed farther up. Larkin knelt down, almost in back of the hatch, and waited. From where he knelt, he was out of sight. A head appeared, looked around, and, seeing no one, pushed the hatch back until the lift engaged and it clicked back. Larkin leaned forward and pressed the pistol muzzle into the temple of the emerging sailor.

Larkin had never seen anyone turn white so fast, and in spite of the tension he grinned.

"Strasvechi, tovarish — Americanski." Then in English, "Do you speak English?" Very carefully the head wobbled back and forth in what Larkin took for a negative answer. The sailor, with the .445 Navy Colt pressed against his temple, looked ready to faint.

"Nyet," he managed to force out.

Above his head, Larkin heard two carbines firing.

"What's going on?" he demanded sharply.

"Trying to get out the forward hatch, sir. We fired a couple of bursts across the deck and they changed their minds." "Good, keep 'em scared." Larkin risked a quick look at his watch. Pour minutes to go. "Any sign of the ship?" he yelled.

"No, sir… wait, aye, sir, just rounding the headland now." "Anybody down there speak English?" Larkin called through the hatch.

After a moment, a voice answered, "Yes."

Larkin tapped the sailor on the head with thepistol butt "Down, buddy.… All right, get up here fast."

A minor commotion was created in the narrow hatchway as the reprieved sailor scrambled down past the other climbing up. Another minute was wasted while he did so. Larkin waved his pistol and an officer climbed out to stare around in shock. The Russian was dressed only in shipboard uniform and gasped as he felt the cold. He immediately huddled against the canvas windbreak that had been rigged on the bridge.

"My name is Larkin, commanding officer of the battle cruiser Robert F. Kennedy, United States Navy. You are now a prisoner of war and your ship a prize of war." Larkin knew that this was not true since no state of war had been declared, but he was depending on the shock value of the statement to unbalance the Russian even more. The Russian glanced around and saw the others with leveled carbines, gulped once, and swung back to stare at Larkin, who was casually slinging his carbine over his shoulder.

"I… I… I am Ptior Shafesky Rasnikov, Lieutenant Commander…" He broke down and finished up lamely, "Executive Officer… what are you—"

"Cut it," Larkin grated harshly. "You have just two minutes left to surrender this ship. Look out there."

The Russian officer followed Larkin's pointing finger and saw the RFK running at full speed for the submarine, less than 15oo yards off. His eyes, as they turned back to Larkin, were round with surprise. Larkin waved the flare gun in his left hand. "Two minutes. If I don't fire a flare before then, she'll run you under."

It took a full half minute for Rasnikov to digest what Larkin had just said, and then he swung around and grabbed the bridge microphone and shouted a stream of incomprehensible Russian. The sounds that emerged from the speaker were just as incomprehensible, but seconds later Larkin heard feet scrabbling on the ladder. He jumped to the hatch and pulled it loose, but Rasnikov screamed at him to stop.

"The Captain…" he explained weakly.

A slim figure jumped from the hatch, brushed past Larkin, and leaned across the railing to peer at the approaching RFK.

The RFK had come to within two hundred yards and every detail behind the ports of the lighted bridge was plainly visible. The curling bow wave served to accentuate the sharpness of the prow, aimed directly for The submarine's bridge. The Russian captain stiffened, and turned slowly to face Larkin. As they stood there examining each other, Larkin sensed the shock that he knew must come with the knowledge of a ship lost. He' thought that perhaps he must have come close to this same feeling the day he had run in under the North Vietnamese coastal guns and taken that hit in the fantail.

Slowly the Russian nodded and turned his palms outward. He said something in Russian and the executive officer translated.

"We surrender," he said quietly. Larkin looked sharply at the Russian officer. He was certain that the captain had said I. The we surrender was indicative to Larkin of both discipline and ability. He nodded with approval and raised the VERY pistol and fired the second flare.