Voyage of the Devilfish

As the members filed out Dretzski felt confident — until Admiral Mikhail Barisov materialized in front of him. Barisov, the Supreme Commander of the Pacific Fleet, was young for his job although he did not look it — thin to the point of gauntness, deep lines showing in his face, hair completely gray. Barisov had spent his youth in the submarine force, arriving for duty fresh out of the Marshal Grechko Higher Naval School of Underwater Navigation the same year that Yuri Gagarin had been launched into orbit. After twenty years in the submarine fleet, having commanded the VICTOR III submarine Volgograd, Barisov had cross-decked to the surface fleet and had commanded a destroyer, a cruiser and a helicopter/VTOL aircraft carrier. What followed were several dull years in the Moscow Defense Ministry, mostly spent fighting office politics, until Admiral Gorshkov had promoted him and given him command of the Pacific Fleet. Barisov stared into the eyes of this weaselly KGB officer, wondering why he was covering for Novskoyy.

“Dretzski, what’s the real story on this deployment?” Dretzski tried to look confused. Barisov began asking questions, a prosecutor doing a cross-examination. Dretzski tried to handle them calmly, all the while thinking that something might have to be done about Barisov. An aircraft accident on the way back to Vladivostok…?

ARCTIC OCEAN

POLYNYA SURFACE

F.S. KALININGRAD

Admiral Novskoyy heard a knock at his door, looked up from his decryption of the last incoming message marked PERSONAL FOR FLEET COMMANDER. Quickly he stowed the message and the attack-profile chart, then let Captain Vlasenko into the stateroom. Novskoyy turned his back on the captain and returned to the table. Vlasenko sat in front of it.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Admiral, we have been at the polynya now for two days. Isn’t it time we went forward with the sea-trial agenda?” Novskoyy stared at Vlasenko a moment. “The sea-trial agenda is postponed. Something urgent has come up. Fleet business. We may be here another week.” Vlasenko’s insides turned over. “Then, sir, we should shut down the turbine room. There is no sense in keeping the engines warm if we are going to sit here—”

“No, I want to be able to move quickly, I need flexibility. There is no predicting when the ice around the polynya may shift and threaten to crush us. We need to be able to run if we have to.” Vlasenko hesitated. He could not confront Novskoyy with what he had found out. That would land him in a locked storage compartment. He reached for an alterative course. He could sabotage the radio-transmission gear at the base of the radio multifrequency antenna. Racking out perhaps five drawers and severing connections, perhaps pocketing some key components and destroying the spares. Of course, with Novskoyy on the controlcompartment communications console, the tampering would be detected before he would be able to damage the gear beyond repair. There might be no way he could prevent the admiral from transmitting his message to the fleet. At least, Vlasenko was convinced, the operation was not on automatic. No one would actually launch unless Novskoyy transmitted his go-code. Otherwise, why would they be surfaced here? The ship was being used as a flagship. Which meant the only way to stop the time-on-target strike or threat of a strike… was to sequester Novskoyy. If necessary… kill him. Vlasenko stood, turned and left. Novskoyy returned to his message from Colonel Dretzski in Moscow: