The Hunt for Red October

“Aye.” Overton pressed a button to deploy a sonar transponder that would respond only to a coded American sonar signal. This would guide them back to the missile. They would return later with their heavy-lift rig to put a line on the missile and haul it to the surface.

“That is the property of the Soviet Union,” Kaganovich pointed out. “It is in — under international waters. It belongs to my country.”

“Then you can fuckin’ come and get it!” snapped the American seaman. He must be an officer in disguise, Kaganovich thought. “Beg pardon, Mr. Johnsen.”

“We’ll be back for it,” Johnsen said.

“You’ll never lift it. It is too heavy,” Kaganovich objected.

“I suppose you’re right.” Johnsen smiled.

Kaganovich allowed the Americans their small victory. It could have been worse. Much worse. “Shall we continue to search for more wreckage?”

“No, I think we’ll go back up,” Johnsen decided.

“But your orders—”

“My orders, Captain Kaganovich, were to search for the remains of a Victor-class attack submarine. We found the grave of a boomer. You lied to us, Captain, and our courtesy to you ends at this point. You got what you wanted, I guess. Later we’ll be back for what we want.” Johnsen reached up and pulled the release handle for the iron ballast. The metal slab dropped free. This gave the Sea Cliff a thousand pounds of positive buoyancy. There was no way to stay down now, even if they wanted to.

“Home, Jess.”

“Aye aye, Skipper.”

The ride back to the surface was a silent one.

The USS Austin

An hour later, Kaganovich climbed to the Austin’s bridge and requested permission to send a message to the Kirov. This had been agreed upon beforehand, else the Austin’s commanding officer would have refused. Word on the dead sub’s identity had spread fast. The Soviet officer broadcast a series of code words, accompanied by the serial number from the depth-gauge dial. These were acknowledged at once.

Overton and Johnsen watched the Russian board the helicopter, carrying the depth-gauge dial.

“I didn’t like him much, Mr. Johnsen. Keptin Kaganobitch. The name sounds like a terminal studder. We snookered him, didn’t we?”

“Remind me never to play cards with you, Jess.”

The Red October

Ryan woke up after six hours to music that seemed dreamily familiar. He lay in his bunk for a minute trying to place it, then slipped his feet into his shoes and went forward to the wardroom.

It was E.T. Ryan arrived just in time to see the credits scrolling up the thirteen- inch TV set sitting on the forward end of the wardroom table. Most of the Russian officers and three Americans had been watching it. The Russians were all dabbing their eyes. Jack got a cup of coffee and sat at the end of the table.

“You liked it?”

“It was magnificent!” Borodin proclaimed.

Lieutenant Mannion chuckled. “Second time we ran it.”

One of the Russians started speaking rapidly in his native language. Borodin translated for him. “He asks if all American children act with such — Bugayev, svobodno?”

“Free,” Bugayev translated, incorrectly but close enough.

Ryan laughed. “I never did, but the movie was set in California — people out there are a little crazy. The truth is, no, kids don’t act like that — at least I’ve never seen it, and I have two. At the same time, we do raise our kids to be a lot more independent than Soviet parents do.”

Borodin translated, and then gave the Russian response. “So, all American children are not such hooligans?”

“Some are. America is not perfect, gentlemen. We make lots of mistakes.” Ryan had decided to tell the truth insofar as he could.

Borodin translated again. The reactions around the table were a little dubious.

“I have told them this movie is a child’s story and should not be taken too seriously. This is so?”

“Yes, sir,” Mancuso, who had just come in, said. “It’s a kid’s story, but I’ve seen it five times. Welcome back, Ryan.”

“Thank you, Commander. I take it you have things under control.”

“Yep. I guess we all needed the chance to unwind. I’ll have to write Jonesy another commendation letter. This really was a good idea.” He waved at the television. “We have lots of time to be serious.”

Noyes came in. “How’s Williams?” Ryan asked.

“He’ll make it.” Noyes filled his cup. “I had him open for three and a half hours. The head wound was superficial — bloody as hell, but head wounds are like that. The chest was a close one, though. The bullet missed the pericardium by a whisker. Captain Borodin, who gave that man first aid?”

The starpom pointed to a lieutenant. “He does not speak English.”

“Tell him that Williams owes him his life. Putting that chest tube in was the difference. He would have died without it.”

“You’re sure he’ll make it?” Ryan persisted.

“Of course he’ll make it, Ryan. That’s what I do for a living. He’ll be a sick boy for a while, and I’d feel better if we had him in a real hospital, but everything’s under control.”

“And Captain Ramius?” Borodin asked.

“No problem. He’s still sleeping. I took my time sewing it up. Ask him where he got his first aid training.”

Borodin did. “He said he likes to read medical books.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Tell him if he ever wants to study medicine, I’ll tell him how to get started. If he knows how to do the right thing at the right time, he might just be good enough to do it for a living.”

The young officer was pleased by this comment and asked how much money a doctor could make in America.

“I’m in the service, so I don’t make very much. Forty-eight thousand a year, counting flight pay. I could do a lot better on the outside.”

“In the Soviet Union,” Borodin pointed out, “doctors are paid about the same as factory workers.”

“Maybe that explains why your docs are no good,” Noyes observed.

“When will the captain be able to resume command?” Borodin asked.

“I’m going to keep him down all day,” Noyes said. “I don’t want him to start bleeding again. He can start moving around tomorrow. Carefully. I don’t want him on that leg too much. He’ll be fine, gentlemen. A little weak from the blood loss, but he’ll recover fully.” Noyes made his pronouncements as though he were quoting physical laws.

“We thank you, Doctor,” Borodin said.

Noyes shrugged. “It’s what they pay me for. Now can I ask a question? What the hell is going on here?”

Borodin laughed, translating the question for his comrades. “We will all become American citizens.”

“And you’re bringing a sub along with you, eh? Son of a gun. For a while there I thought this was some sort of — I don’t know, something. This is quite a story. Guess I can’t tell it to anybody, though.”

“Correct, Doctor.” Ryan smiled.

“Too bad,” Noyes muttered as he headed back to sick bay.

Moscow

“So, Comrade Admiral, you report success to us?” Narmonov asked.

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary,” Gorshkov nodded, surveying the conference table in the underground command center. All of the inner circle were here, along with the military chiefs and the head of the KGB. “Admiral