The Red Collusion Read online

  The colonel looked at Gregory’s young face. He was still pale.

  “Remind me, soldier. What is your role in the crew?” “I’m the driver, Sir.”

  “Good then, I have an easy task for you, and after you do it, you can go to one of the ship’s crew and ask for pills against seasickness.”

  “And what is the task, Sir?”

  “Lift the blue tarp only on one side, get into the driver’s seat, and start the engine. Then let the engine run for five minutes. I don’t want us to have a problem with the engine, the battery, or the hydraulics system tomorrow.”

  The driver turned quickly back to the gun and rolled up the tarp with the help of two of his crew mates. He then opened the heavy steel driver’s hatch in front of the gun and disappeared into it, with only the top of his head visible. Two minutes later, the din of the self-propelled gun’s engine was heard throughout the ship. Several of the ship’s crew gathered near the tank-like vehicle to watch this strange and terrifying behemoth, which had made itself comfortable right in the middle of the deck of their civilian trawler. Thick gray smoke rose above the rear part of the vehicle, disappearing quickly in the cool air. Several minutes later, the driver shut down the engine and emerged from the vehicle, stretching the tarp over the gun again.

  “Do you know what type of shell you’ll be shooting tomorrow?”

  Colonel Nazarbayev asked the gun crew.

  The older gunner in the crew was eager to reply.

  “Yes, Sir, I saw the container of the shell and all its markings. I have never shot a shell like this, but as far as the firing process, there is no difference between this shell and any other.”

  “Exactly. By the way, I don’t think anyone on this planet has ever fired such a shell. Now, the details. Firing will be executed tomorrow at 1041 hours exactly, unless we receive new data which will force us to change the firing time. That is also the reason why we’ll arrive at the firing location about five hours earlier. You’ll have enough time to get organized, to perform meteorological checks, and to be ready to fire on time. Firing will be to the west, direction 275 degrees, to maximum range. Another important thing: from the moment of firing, you’ll remain down here, constantly facing East. If you have questions, now is the time.”

  The gun crew leader was hesitant. Colonel Nazarbayev encouraged him to speak up.

  “Sir, I apologize for raising this issue, but did anyone check to make sure that when we fire the gun, the recoil will not cut through the deck and we won’t sink into the sea together with the gun? I don’t know exactly how to calculate the recoil, but the force is tremendous, enough to shake the ground when the gun is on land.”

  “I can remind you how to calculate recoil”, replied Colonel Nazarbayev, whose expertise included precisely such calculations. “It is the mass of the shell multiplied by its speed. But you have nothing to fear, Sergeant Major. Our Navy’s engineers made all the calculations and everything is in order. You should know that if the gun sinks into the sea, then we all sink with it and with the boat, and personally, I still have plans for the future. Worry not.”

  Colonel Nazarbayev looked at his watch again, as he had done dozens of times in the past hour. He felt alertness mixed with an almost uncontrollable excitement. The gun crew had already removed the tarp cover, and the Colonel again checked his watch. The hands showed 1002 hours. In ten minutes, he thought, the American submarine will arrive at the reporting point, which is exactly where we have been waiting for the past six hours. We’ll wait 29 minutes, which will probably seem like an eternity, and then fire the gun. The thoughts continued to race through his head, and he needed all his powers of self-control to keep calm and focus on his mission.

  The sleek, super-modern USS 726 Ohio nuclear submarine had, by now, been submerged for the twelfth consecutive day, maintaining a constant diving depth, speed, and direction. This duration of its stay underwater was not exceptional, as Ohio class submarines could even stay underwater for ninety consecutive days. Navigation at depth was routine and uneventful. Once in a few days, in order to break the monotony of the long journeys, the crew would be called to their battle positions without prior notice, not knowing ahead of time whether it was a drill or a state of war.

  The ship’s commander was Captain Frank Butcher, who was considered a meteor in the United States Navy. Captain Butcher made regular radio contact with his sister submarine USS 729 Georgia, which was ahead of them by exactly twenty-four hours, on exactly the same navigation course.

  The phone in the Captain’s position rang, and a red light on the phone was flashing.

  “Captain Butcher”, he answered.

  “Sir, sonar station reporting what looks like a medium-size trawler three and a half miles ahead on our course. The vessel is stationary and we will pass directly underneath it.”

  “Got it”, the Captain confirmed, and placed the telephone handset back in its cradle.

  “Sir”, this time it was the duty seaman sitting next to the Captain’s chair.

  Captain Butcher turned to him.

  “Speak”, he ordered.

  “I have just been told by Communications that a top-secret urgent message has arrived from supreme headquarters in Annapolis and they are deciphering it now. They say the message should be ready in two to three minutes.”

  “Tell them to bring it here as soon as they’re done.” “Yes, Sir!”

  The submarine’s Chief Communications Officer appeared soon afterward and handed his commander an envelope. Captain Butcher opened the envelope and read the deciphered telegram, then folded the piece of paper and shoved it in his shirt pocket.

  “Dismissed”, he told the Communications officer.

  The Cptain walked quickly to the wall where the chart with the full navigation course was posted. He examined the map for several seconds before returning to his chair. He then picked up the microphone, and his voice now echoed from the dozens of loudspeakers throughout the submarine.

  “This is Captain Butcher speaking. Effective immediately, turn to direction 175. I repeat, immediately turn to direction 175. Rise to depth 150 meters, 150 meters. Full steam, maximum speed. Attention, crew of Ohio 726. The Navy has just raised the state of alert to Grade 2. I repeat, Grade 2. This is only one grade below all-out war. Our navigation drills are discontinued indefinitely from this moment, and we shall now assume our battle positions. Pay attention to anything out of the ordinary.”

  The submarine’s Deputy Commander burst into the Captain’s station. “What’s going on, Captain?”

  “It isn’t very clear, but there seems to be some serious problem in Europe, probably with the Reds.”

  Colonel Nazarbayev was now in the trawler’s radio room, next to the Naval Intelligence radio operator. He continued to glance frequently at his watch, and now he turned to the operator for the third time in the past two minutes.

  “Are you sure you’ve heard no report from the submarine? It passed its reporting point 19 minutes ago. You heard nothing? Maybe we have a problem with the receiver or the antenna?”

  “Sir, everything is working and everything is in order. I ‘ve been hearing quite a few radio communications, even more than usual. This submarine 726 hasn’t reported anything yet.”

  Colonel Nazarbayev ran out of the communications room and arrived breathlessly at the self-propelled gun, which was now uncovered, its engine running with a deafening noise. The Colonel stopped near the gun and checked his watch again. Three more minutes, he said under his breath, three more minutes. The gun crew leader gazed at him expectantly, but because of the great noise from the gun’s engine, the Colonel could only wave his hand at the gunner from a distance, holding up three fingers. The gunner raised his thumb in confirmation.

  The Colonel looked at his watch yet again. His heart was beating with such force that the Colonel felt that it would burst.

  Captain
yashin, the k-219 nuclear submarine commander, looked through his periscope again. From a great distance, he detected the trawler, which he had been following for almost two days and nights now. He folded the periscope handles and returned to his seat. The Colonel pulled a sealed brown envelope out of his shirt pocket. He tore it open and extracted a note with several typewritten lines. Having read through the message, he put the letter back into his shirt pocket, sank into his chair, and exclaimed in disbelief.

  “B’liad!* B’liad!! Bunch of B’liad!!!”6

  * * *

  6B’liad: A whore, in Russian

  Chapter 12

  In Moscow, Svetlana showed the United States Ambassador into the office of the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Unlike his past visits, this time the Ambassador did not utter a word. He wore a severe expression and was obviously very upset. General Secretary Vladimir Petrovich Yermolov motioned him to sit across from his desk with no greeting. He then looked at his watch and turned to Svetlana.

  “It is now ten minutes past ten, and where is the Minister of Defense? I requested his presence at this meeting with the Ambassador. Try to find him again.”

  “Yes, Mister Secretary.” Svetlana replied, and hurried out of the room.

  The Secretary continued to read a document that he held in his hand, and spoke to his guest without lifting his eyes from the paper.

  “Mister Ambassador, you have exactly ten minutes. Now, please tell me what is so urgent and why you threatened that if we do not meet, there would be ‘grave consequences’ et cetera.”

  The Secretary put the document back on his desk and looked straight at the American ambassador. Only then did he notice that the Ambassador was extremely agitated.

  “Mister General Secretary, I understand that you have decided to start a war against us and our European allies. I have come to notify you on behalf of the President of the United States that all our forces, including our strategic air and sea forces, are already on high alert, and only if …”

  The furious General Secretary interrupted the Ambassador mid- sentence, hitting his desk forcefully with his fist. His face was red with indignation.

  “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t need your approval to handle an insurrection in the German Democratic Republic!”

  The American Ambassador now spoke very undiplomatically, raising his voice.

  “Does Mister Secretary need to mobilize over 20,000 tanks, thousands of armored personnel carriers and thousands of guns to pacify a few thousand civilians and demonstrators? Are the dozens of squadrons of jet fighters, surface-to-air missile batteries, and helicopters that have advanced to forward bases in the last twenty-four hours – is all this force also intended to suppress striking workers in the German Democratic Republic? We have intelligence, solid confirmed knowledge, that even this is not the end of your mobilization and that you are intending to push more and more divisions to the front. The Pentagon is convinced that this insane order of battle has only one purpose, and that is the occupation of West Germany, or even Western Europe!”

  The General Secretary was too shocked to reply. He couldn’t believe his ears and his fury was boundless. He summoned all his might to contain his rage, trying to hide it from the American Ambassador.

  Suddenly, and to the Ambassador’s astonishment, the General Secretary rose from behind his desk, walked around the table and approached the Ambassador, who scrambled to his feet. The General Secretary placed his hand on the Ambassador’s shoulder and spoke very slowly to his face.

  “Look me in the eye, Mister Ambassador, and tell your President that you have heard me, with your own ears, stating that we have no intention of attacking you or your allies in Europe. We have no intention of attacking you. Now, did you understand me or should I say it again? We have no intention of attacking you!”

  The door suddenly opened. Svetlana stood at the entrance.

  “Gospodin Vladimir Petrovich Yermolov, the Minister of Defense

  Marshal Budarenko is here. Shall I let him in?”

  “Not now”, the Secretary shot back in anger. “Let him wait outside.”

  Several minutes later, as the American Ambassador was leaving the General Secretary’s room, he walked past Marshal Budarenko, who bowed his head very slightly in disdain.

  The Minister of Defense entered the General Secretary’s room. His face was sullen. He leaned forward against the Secretary’s desk with his fists resting on it.

  “You humiliate me, and what’s worse, in the presence of the United States Ambassador? Why did you leave me cooling my heels outside? Why did you do this to me?”

  The Secretary sprang like a tiger from his seat and walked towards the Minister of Defense. He pointed to the chair and thundered, “Sit down! From this moment on, only I will speak and you will not say a word.”

  The Minister quickly sat in the chair. The Secretary was pacing back and forth behind the back of the Minister, who couldn’t make out his superior’s behavior. The Secretary continued pacing the room like a lion in its cage.

  “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing, Marshal? I give you my approval to enter the German Democratic Republic, and you go behind my back and mobilize enough masses to flood Western Europe? Where do you want to stop? On the coast of the Atlantic Ocean? Have you lost your mind? The Americans, with all their 10,000 nuclear warheads, are already on high alert because of you, only because of you. You leave me no choice. I will have to fire you. Yes, fire you.”

  General Secretary Yermolov continued pacing behind his Minister of Defense and accusing him. He repeated the information that he had just heard from the American Ambassador to the ears of his Minister of Defense.

  Colonel Yevgeni and his four team members had just entered the underground command headquarters in the secret base outside of Moscow. It was Gregory, the team’s coordinator, who summoned them to the war room. The bunker buzzed with activity like a beehive. Many soldiers sat before large communication instruments, strange sounds were heard, and green and red indicator lights were flashing with increasing frequency.

  Judging by the awe, perhaps even the fear, displayed by the soldiers in the bunker towards Gregory, the team members realized that this unassuming man held a very senior position on the base in which they had already spent quite a few days.

  Gregory and his teammates sat in a side room surrounded by glass walls, known as The Aquarium. The unbearable tension felt by Yevgeni and his teammates made them reticent and solemn, each lost in thought. Every few seconds, they glanced at the clock on the wall and at their wristwatches.

  The glass door opened and a soldier burst in to hand Gregory a sheet of paper that the teleprinter had just spat out. Gregory hardly glanced at it before he suddenly shot out of his chair, shouting.

  “Now! Now, get me the Minister of Defense. Right now!”

  “What happened?” It was Brigadier General Dimitri who wanted to know what had gone wrong, but Gregory ignored him and shouted again.

  “I said, at once. Get me Marshal Budarenko now!”

  To everyone’s astonishment, Dimitri got up and literally pulled the sheet of paper out of Gregory’s hands. Gregory remained in his seat, not responding, his eyes on the soldiers walking back and forth outside the aquarium. Dimitri started reading the paper quickly, and Yevgeni came closer, trying to read it as well.

  A soldier was heard behind the door.

  “Sir, the Minister is with the General Secretary. I am speaking with the

  General Secretary’s private secretary. She can’t disturb them now.”

  Before the soldier had finished his words, Gregory jumped out of his seat and ran frantically to him, grabbing the telephone from his hand.

  “Miss Svetlana. I must speak with the Minister now, this minute. I understand that he is with the General Secretary, but this is an e
mergency. The Minister will never forgive you if you do not get him to come out now and speak to me. This is a matter of life and death.”

  “Very well. I will try”, Svetlana replied across the line.

  Gregory watched the clock in desperation. The clock showed forty minutes past ten. Within one minute, the firing of the nuclear shell would take place. Why the hell wasn’t the Minister coming out? He hit the table in frustration. Suddenly, he reached to the soldier sitting next to him, shaking his shoulder violently.

  “Get the trawler immediately”, he shouted. “Now!”

  The Minister of Defense’s familiar voice was heard on the other side of the line. The Minister sounded indignant.

  “Gregory, you’d better have a good reason for this dumb thing you’re doing. Have you gone insane? What the hell happened?” The Minister’s voice went up when asking the question.

  “Mister Minister, we received a message from our people in Washington that just a few minutes ago, all training activity in the United States Navy was discontinued and all navy servicemen were ordered to man their battle positions.”

  “So?” the Minister yelled.

  “It means, Sir, that at these very seconds, we are firing a shell into nowhere, without a purpose, because their submarine is not there anymore.”

  There was a chilling silence on the other side of the phone line, which lasted several seconds, after which the Minister barked again.

  “Then stop them, you idiot”, and the telephone line went dead. The Minister had hung up on his man on the front lines.

  “What about the trawler?” Gregory shouted at the soldier near him, while his eyes followed the dials of the large clock on the wall.

  “I can’t make contact with the trawler, Sir”, the soldier replied meekly.

  “It’s strange. I’m trying and trying and they don’t hear me.”

  “Then try again and again and again and again until they hear you.” Gregory’s last sentence was uttered in a much more subdued voice, as if he was beginning to realize, deep inside, that he was too late. He crumpled like a deflated balloon. He fell heavily into the nearest chair and looked as pale as a man staring death in the face.