Kilo Class

“Same basic program as before. We’ll track ’em, up around the GIUK. And you’ll get rid of them at the earliest opportunity.”

But he paused, and then said, “Gentlemen, this operation, as you are each aware, could scarcely be more unlike K-4 and K-5. Because right here we have one major difference. The Kilos will not only be on their guard, they will be looking for you, as you will be looking for them. And if they find you first — one heavily armed US nuclear boat too close for comfort — they will not hesitate to open fire on you, on the basis that they’re already five to zero down in this particular contest.”

All four of the men were silent for a few moments.

Then Admiral Mulligan added, “It’s quite a long time since any American CNO sent any warship into such clear and obvious danger…and I do so with great reluctance. But for the enormous importance of this project to this nation, and indeed to the world’s freedom of sea trade, I would not — could not — be persuaded to ask any single commander to take on such an onerous task.

“Boomer, I know what the United States Navy means to you, and I believe that if you felt this could not be done, you would tell us so, and we would certainly return to the drawing board. But you have never said anything to that effect, so I presume I am correct in assuming you believe the mission is possible?”

“Yessir. I do believe that…I would also like to say that since I was about ten years old, my main ambition in this life was to become a United States Navy Captain. It’s an ambition I still have and hope one day to attain. Getting killed at the hands of some half-assed Chinaman does not figure in my immediate itinerary.”

All three Admirals laughed. But it was Joe Mulligan, the former Trident Captain, who stood up and walked over to the commanding officer of USS Columbia and without a word shook him by the hand.

“It’s a pain in the ass,” said Arnold Morgan. “But you cannot let those sneaky pricks get the first shot in. Then we’ll be in the same spot they’ve already been in. Loss of a serious warship, her crew and commanding officer…and unable to admit anything to anyone.”

“I understand that fully, sir,” replied Boomer. “But they’re not gonna get the first shot in. We are, for one simple reason — we’ll know where they are, and where they’re going. And we’ll be lying in wait. They may think we’re out there somewhere…but they won’t know where. And as long as I’m in command, that’s something they’ll never know — not till it’s too late.”

“That’s exactly the way to look at it, Boomer,” said Admiral Mulligan. “You have a superior ship, a superior crew, superior weapons, superior reconnaissance, and superior speed. You also have our complete confidence. Anything you need, just shout.”

“Yessir.”

“But for Christ’s sake don’t hit a Russian warship, especially if it’s on the surface. Because that would start World War III. And we cannot do that. We just have to take out the two Kilos. Is that too much to ask?” He smiled.

“I very much hope not, sir,” said Boomer, who was beginning to appreciate how difficult his task would be under such stringent injunctions from these highly placed people.

At this point the CNO and Admiral Morgan took their leave, heading out to the helicopters that would return them to Washington. Boomer and Admiral Dixon remained in conference for the rest of the afternoon, poring over the details of the plan that would rid the USA of the menace of the Russian Kilos. They dined together that evening, and the following morning Boomer and the entire Black Ops team went over the communications system one more time. Right after lunch, he took off for New London.

Boomer arrived in the late afternoon, went to his office, and called Jo at the Cape. He told her that everything was fine, that his mission was very routine, and that she should not worry. He expected to be back in four or five weeks, and would be taking leave right through Christmas, which would give them the best Christmas together they had ever had, up at the Cotuit house.

Before the call was over, Jo sensed the tension in his voice and impulsively blurted out, “Boomer, you have to tell me, is this dangerous, what you’re doing?”

“I don’t want you to worry about me, Jo. You know I’ll take care of myself, and that I’ll hurry back to you and the girls as soon as I can,” he said evasively.

“Please promise me you’ll be careful,” she pleaded before he rang off.

“That’s the one thing you really don’t have to worry about,” he said. “I’m gonna be damned careful…make sure I get back on time.”

But he didn’t fool Jo. She might not have been that good at it herself, but she knew an actor when she heard one. Especially a bad one. And she had never heard her husband quite so taut and uptight. When she put down the telephone, her hand was shaking, and as she walked back to the big waterfront kitchen, she found herself saying, over and over, “Oh my God…oh my God…please let him come home.”

One hundred and twenty miles to the southwest, Lieutenant Commander Mike Krause was making every possible effort to ensure her prayers were not in vain. Columbia was ready. Her electronic combat systems had been checked and rechecked. On board she would carry her full complement of 14 Gould Mk 48 wire-guided torpedoes, ADCAPs (Advanced Capability). The Russians always claimed the Kilo could take a hit and survive, but not from one of these. Hopefully Columbia would bring twelve of them home with her. Plus her eight Tomahawk missiles, the 1,400-mile killers, and the four Harpoon missiles with their active radar-homing warheads. One way and another, the 362-foot-long Columbia was not an ideal candidate with which to pick a fight.

Her defensive line was also formidable. She carried an arsenal of decoys, specifically designed to coax any incoming weapon away from the submarine. On station Columbia would use a low- frequency passive towed-array designed to pick up the very heartbeat of an oncoming enemy. Commander Dunning’s boat was one of the first of the Los Angeles Class to be fitted with the new WLY-1 acoustic intercept and counter-measures system. State-of-the-art EHF communications were already in place. Special acoustic tile cladding, designed to reduce her active-sonar target signature, made her one of the stealthiest submarines ever built.

She could run underwater comfortably at more than thirty knots, and she could operate at depths of almost 1,500 feet below the surface. She was twice as fast as a Kilo, twice as big, and twice as lethal. The Russian outpointed her on only one count — the Kilo was silent under five knots on her electric motors. Columbia, the sleek hunter-killer, running indefinitely on her GE PWR S6G reactor, was quiet enough, but never totally silent. She had one other major asset the Russians didn’t — her superbly trained crew.

Her final asset was perhaps the most priceless. Columbia had Boomer Dunning. And he was, by all known standards, the best of the breed, a scrupulously careful daredevil, if such a combination is possible. There was no part of that ship Boomer could not operate or repair. He was an expert in hydrology, engineering, electronics, weaponry, navigation, sonar, radar, communications, and nuclear physics. It was often said that if Columbia’s sail ever fell off, the best man to send out to weld the plates back on would be the Commanding Officer himself. The mere presence of the big ocean-racing yachtsman from Cape Cod in the control center of Columbia gave everyone confidence.

“’Morning, Mike,” he said as he came aboard. “We got this beast ready to go?”

Lieutenant Commander Krause, a fellow New Englander from Vermont, was pleased the commanding officer was back. “Hello, sir,” he said. “Everything cool at SUBLANT?”

“Not too bad,” said Boomer. “I’m back a little before I expected…didn’t want to miss out on our trials tomorrow. We got a real big job ahead. I think we should have dinner together tonight, with Jerry Curran and Dave Wingate.”

“On board, sir?”

“I think so. As Black Operations go, this one’s on the dark side.”

The Lieutenant Commander laughed, but he could see that the boss was concerned about their mission. Later that evening he would find out just how concerned as Boomer steered the senior officers through the stormy seas that lay ahead of them — they were not going out in search of a couple of armed, but still sitting, Peking ducks. This time they were going after a couple of well-trained, highly dangerous dragons who not only expected them, but would be searching for them night and day. And which would not hesitate to open fire on them at the first opportunity. “At five to zero down, you kinda got it all to play for,” murmured Jerry Curran.