Red Phoenix

and a low hum.

He hung up the phone and called to his chief of staff. “Jim. Effective immediately, extend surface and air surveillance out to three hundred miles.

Turning to the Constellation’s air group commander, he asked, “CAG, do you still have Tomcats bird-dogging the Russian AWACS plane?”

The CAG looked puzzled. “Of course, Admiral.”

“Shoot him out of the sky.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The CAG picked up a phone and started issuing orders to the fighters now lazily orbiting with the Russian radar plane.

He paused, listening to the murmurs sweeping through the Flag Plot. “Admiral Simons has put the Pacific Fleet on war alert. Let me be very clear about this, gentlemen. One more incident like this last one, and we’ll begin unrestricted offensive operations against the Red Navy and Air Force. We’ll start hitting the Soviets where they live.”

The Second Korean War had just escalated.

CHAPTER 41 Thunderbolt

JANUARY 15 — OFF THE SOVIET NORTH PACIFIC COAST

The port of Petropavlovsk sat on the eastern coast of the Kamchatka Peninsula. Over thirty-six hundred miles from Moscow, it was so remote that all communication with the area was by air or sea. The region was unpopulated and barren and was located in the same arctic latitude as the Aleutian Islands. On the Siberian coast, good harbors were hard to find.

Petropavlovsk was also the Soviet Pacific Fleet’s main submarine base. Almost all of its ballistic missile submarines, many of its nuclear attack submarines, their support vessels, and numerous other naval units were based there.

One of the few Soviet ports that opened directly onto a major ocean, it allowed ships to sortie without having to go through a landlocked passage or hostile strait. And that gave the Soviets a good reason for putting up with the remote location, high cost, and terrible weather.

ABOARD USS DRUM — OFF PETROPAVLOVSK

Captain Donald Manriquez tried to remember how important the base was as he fought the weather to maneuver his Sturgeon-class nuclear submarine, USS Drum, into a new surveillance position. His orders were explicit and simple. He and Drum were to monitor traffic in and out of this major Soviet naval base. If it exceeded normal levels, he was to notify Commander Submarines Pacific, COMSUBPAC, immediately.

So far, they had been loitering off Petropavlovsk for almost a week, and they’d met with a fair amount of success. In this case, success was a combination of not being seen, being in the right spot to count passing traffic, and hopefully, not seeing the massive surge of Soviet ships and subs that might signal World War Three.

“In position, Captain.” His executive officer, “Boomer” Adams, was navigating while they looked for a spot where the currents would not be quite so unpredictable.

“Very well, slow to three knots.” By maintaining just enough speed to control its course, the Drum minimized its noise signature, and that reduced the chance of its being detected.

The storm overhead was both a help and a hindrance. Its ten-foot waves and twenty-knot winds generated noise — noise that would interfere with any Soviet passive sonars listening for the submarine. Looking for the Drum that way would be sort of like trying to hear a cat burglar in a boiler factory.

The problem was that Drum’s own passive sonars were also degraded. Luckily most of the Russian stuff was noisier than they were. Even so, the bad acoustical conditions meant that Manriquez and his crew had to get in close to hear anything. They were outside the twelve-mile limit, but just barely.

Manriquez could feel the sweat building on his forehead as they crept close to the Soviet coastline.

It was clear from the most recent condensed news broadcasts sent by the Pacific Fleet that things weren’t going well in Korea. And that was bad news for Drum. Her “gatekeeper” role was clear, and he was sure that sooner or later the U.S. and Russia were going to go at it hammer and tongs. Well, when they did, he would sound the warning, then get first crack at the units pouring out. The American sub captain was a realist. If a general war broke out, his chances of survival weren’t too good, but at least he’d do some damage.

SOVIET FAR EASTERN HEADQUARTERS, KHABAROVSK, R.S.F.S.R.

Commander in Chief Anatoli Sergiev heard the alert bell ring and looked at the clock. Just after fourteen hundred hours. No test was scheduled.

The intercom in his office came to life. “Comrade Commander, this is Major Grozny in communications. The submarine Konstantin Dribinov reports that it has been attacked by the American Navy in the Yellow Sea. They are abandoning ship.”

“Have the heads of all departments meet me in the command center!” Sergiev was already grabbing his hat and on his way out the door.

The situation map held no obvious surprises. Dribinov’s last reported position was well west of any American units. What were the imperialists up to?

His staff came running in from behind him and from other entrances. Sergiev spotted Admiral Yakubovich, his naval liaison, and motioned him over as Grozny ran up with several copies of the message. After the boyish-looking major handed one to General Sergiev, the rest were snatched from his hands.

Sergiev read the entire message, but it contained nothing more than the hasty summary Grozny had already given him over the phone. Specifically, there was no information on why Dribinov had been attacked. The most logical explanation was a case of mistaken identity, that the Americans had thought it was a North Korean boat. But Dribinov, like all over Soviet naval forces in the Pacific, had been ordered to keep well clear of the Americans. And that meant the U.S. Navy had gone to a lot of effort to deliberately hunt it down. Just what the hell was going on?

“Does anybody have any suggestions on possible motives for this attack?” He looked at his staff, but the muttered negatives showed their puzzlement matched his own.

Sergiev frowned. “I see. Well, then, I want answers and I want them fast. Contact Military Intelligence, the North Koreans, anybody who might shed some light on this. We need more information before we can act.

“Grozny.” He looked over at the short officer. “Have there been any other transmissions from Dribinov?”

“No, sir, and they haven’t answered…”

The alert bell rang again. The speaker in the command center announced, “The Il-76 radar plane over the Yellow Sea has reported that aircraft are closing on it at high speed.”

There was a pause. “We have lost communication with the aircraft and its escorts.”

“That’s it! The Americans have lost their fucking minds! They’re deliberately attacking us,” Sergiev declared. He looked at General Yasov, his operations officer. “General, order all Far East forces to full alert, then notify Moscow. Order the ballistic missile submarines to sea, and I want all air defense forces on a wartime footing.”

Yasov looked uncertain. “Comrade Commander, can we take such strong action? Shouldn’t we get more information before we react?”

Sergiev opened his mouth to shout at him, but he wanted to keep the atmosphere calm. He took a deep breath and looked at Yasov. “Nikolai, we cannot afford to wait. One attack might be a mistake. Two cannot, and this may only be the beginning. All the measures we are taking are defensive in nature. And I will always choose to err on the side of caution.”

Raising his voice slightly, he said, “Now let’s get busy. We have much to do, and we may be at war in minutes.”

ABOARD USS DRUM