Paths of Courage (7 page)

When K449 slipped her moorings and sailed out of Rybachiy under cover of darkness into the northwestern Pacific, Captain Vladimir Sergeyevich Grosky had felt a little uneasy; something about the whole thing did not quite feel right. On board was North Korean Admiral Park Hyok, Iranian submarine Captain Asad Kamani, and Kamani's executive officer, Lieutenant Hamid Zaha. It was an unusual situation that did not sit well with the Russian submarine captain. Grosky, a brusque, no-nonsense submariner of the old school, was grateful to be back at the helm of the vessel he'd spent so much time in. He was in his early fifties, but was still fit and wiry, and yearning for action. The captain had all but given up hope of ever going to sea again when the Delta III was mothballed then, much to his delight, Eastern Command had ordered him to take K449 back into the Pacific to undertake sea trials for the new owners. His operational orders would be given to him by the Korean admiral once at sea. The order from command was again highly unusual, he had to admit; but K449 had been maintained in very good condition in case of emergencies and both he and the remaining crew needed the operational pay. They also needed the stimulation and excitement of entering international waters once more.

On leaving Rybachiy, Captain Grosky had opened the sealed envelope containing his orders and was shocked to read that he was required to take K449 to a remote island deep in the southern Indian Ocean, maintain radio silence all the way and once there leave the vessel with his crew. He was to rendezvous with a surface vessel, then hand over the command of the submarine to the Korean admiral. He began to suspect this was less to do with sea trials and more to do with a clandestine operation. The double provisioning had also added to his suspicions. Since the collapse of the Soviet empire, Russian submarines never stayed out on patrols for months on end, due to the greatly reduced budgets that halved normal provisioning and forced them to keep mainly to the Bering Sea and northern regions of the Pacific. This mission was indeed unusual.

The course he'd been instructed to follow would take them west across the Bering Sea, through the Aleutian Island string at Unimak Pass and then deep down into the southern Pacific roughly on the 135
^th
line of longitude west until reaching the Antarctic Circle. Once there, they would head due west along the line of latitude 53 degrees south until reaching an island deep in the Indian Ocean. This very oblique course would at least avoid the Aleutian Trench to a large extent, heavily wired with the U.S. Navy's sensitive deep-water long-range Sound Surveillance System (SOSUS) and patrolled regularly by U.S. submarines. He knew they had to be extremely careful anywhere in the northern Pacific. The Americans could get very trigger-happy at unidentified submarines moving around in what they regarded as their own backyard. He definitely did not want his career to come to an abrupt halt at the bottom of this vast ocean and was therefore not unhappy with the designated course.

Just after K449 had entered the Bering Sea via the remote stretch of water between the Russian Komandorskiye group of islands and the Alaskan Near group of islands situated at the extreme western end of the Aleutian Archipelago, they encountered their first spot of trouble. Keeping as close to the Komandorskiyes as they possibly could to stay clear of the U.S. listening station on Attu, the main island of the Nears some 600 miles to the southeast of their position, they were ‘pinged' by active sonar, maybe from another submarine or perhaps a surface vessel. However, it was brief, suggesting the emitter may well not have detected them; nevertheless, they took evasive action by diving deeper and changing course. This meant that American or British warships were in the area and they would need to proceed with extreme caution.

For 1,000 miles through the southern Barents, they stayed deep, quiet and slow. Their gateway into the most northern part of the Pacific lay through the Unimak Pass, that narrow stretch of seaway bisecting the Aleutian Archipelago between Unimak and Akun Islands. Here they would have to negotiate the shallow waters of the Pass under the ever-watchful eyes of the U.S. listening station on Unimak Island overlooking the twenty-mile stretch of seaway at Cape Sarichef. To achieve this, Captain Grosky would do what he and many other Russian commanders had done in the past: go through in the wake of a large surface ship.

On arrival at the entrance to the Pass, twelve miles off the northern headland of Akutan Island, they waited at periscope depth, in a slow circular pattern for a suitable ship to follow. They dared not raise the periscope for fear of discovery until the very last moment to ensure the vessel was of sufficient size to cover and enable them to line up with the stern after it had passed over. They remained in this holding pattern for several hours and at 0830 sonar reported a large surface contact bearing down on them from the northwest at ten knots. The captain waited until it was less than a 1,000 yards away before ordering the periscope up for a brief scan. The weather was bad; heavy rain squalls and mist, visibility down to little more than a mile in rough seas, but he was able to confirm a large container ship thrusting its way into the Pass. For the next few minutes, using sonar, they manoeuvred into position and then, with one last peek to line up the stern, they slipped into the turbulent wake of the vessel, praying for a safe passage out into the Pacific beyond.

The Unimak Pass was negotiated without incident and once through they parted company with the commercial vessel. Slowly, at a depth of 600 feet, K449 crossed the eastern end of the two-mile deep Aleutian Trench and on into the Gulf of Alaska, gingerly making its way at no more than dead-slow speed to avoid SOSUS tripwires and any U.S. submarines that might be lurking in this part of the Pacific. They reached the 135
^th
line of longitude and turned south. Once in the lower regions they would no longer have to worry about U.S. underwater surveillance or the U.S. ROI satellite system; there was hardly any in the northeast Pacific Basin and none at all in the southern oceans, including complete absence of warships from any nation.

In the small cramped bunk area he shared with his XO, Captain Asad Kamani reflected on the last few months. Once the submarine deal had been successfully completed, al-Qaeda's all powerful connections within the Iranian governing regime had arranged for his release and that of Lieutenant Zaha's from naval duties. Both men had been preparing for this moment for a very long time and when the order finally came, the two eagerly flew from Tehran to Pyongyang. From there they took a flight up to Nikolayevsk at the top of Sakhalin Island, then over the Sea of Okhotsk to Petropavlovsk at the southern end of the Kamchatka Peninsula. After spending more than a week crawling all over K449 in the sub pen at Rybachiy and inspecting as much of the vessel's systems as they could under dock conditions, the Delta III finally set out on her mission.

Captain Kamani had reached the zenith of his career. At fifty-two, he was small in stature, slim and possessed handsome Arabic features with thick, dark hair. He was supremely ready for the task ahead. From a young age he had wanted to be a submariner after an almost continuous diet of American Cold War submarine movies. He was bright and ambitious, and, coupled with his Islamic fervour, had little trouble in entering the Iranian Navy where he quickly demonstrated his ability to master the complexities of the Russian Kilo-class diesel/electric submarines purchased by the Iranians. It was not long until he succeeded as captain to one of the five hunter-killer submarines operating out of the naval base at Bandar Abbas. For Kamani, the future was nuclear power and he managed, through exchange and marketing programmes, to serve time as an auxiliary officer in France's Triomphant-class and China's Xia-class nuclear submarines. Both classes were similar in many respects to the Russian Delta III he was now in and soon to command once the exchange was completed. To his superiors he was the most appropriate man to lead this mission for Islamic supremacy, due to his experience and to his strong, fundamental Islamic beliefs coupled with an undying hatred of everything Western. He was humbled at the opportunity to punish America and her allies, whom he believed were undermining the sacred values of Sharia. To him, Western culture and all it stood for exposed the vulnerable youth of the Muslim world to corruption and greed. Single and with hardly any family commitments, Kamani wanted to play a part in destroying this creeping malevolence. He thus offered his services to al-Qaeda and was eventually absorbed into its worldwide network to await the call, which, after many years of waiting, had finally come.

Lieutenant Hamid Zaha was several years younger than Kamani, also single and without family ties. He was taller, stockier, and had much less hair, but he had deep-set, penetrating brown eyes that called for respect. Born in Tehran to middle-class parents, he had joined the Iranian Navy straight from university and was attracted to the submarine life. He was fascinated by the power, the technology and the stealth of these underwater warships. Like his commanding officer, Zaha had served in French nuclear submarines. If he had only had a little more experience, the current position may well have been reversed and he would now be in command of the Delta. However, he had great respect for Kamani and considered it a privilege to serve as his XO on this momentous mission for the glory of Islam and
Allah
. His beliefs and hatreds followed those of Kamani's. He dearly wanted to see the destruction of the infidel and a Fundamentalist Islamic Federation in total control of all Middle Eastern regions. The call had been taken up and he could not wait to fulfil what he thought to be his rightful destiny.

After week four, the submarine had crept slowly south through what seemed an endless ocean, at speeds between five to seven knots and at depths of 500 to 600 feet. Yet they were almost to the Antarctic Circle. They had not surfaced once or raised the periscope; navigation had been purely by the vessel's inertial navigation system (SINS), providing the submarine with a continuous and accurate picture of its position as it passed well east of the Hawaiian Islands and French Polynesia and then on down into the vastness of the empty southern Pacific, west of South America.

During the long, slow journey down the Pacific, Asad Kamani and Hamid Zaha had made good use of their time, quietly observing the myriad of technical activities on board K449, absorbing everything they could under the guidance of Captain Grosky. They carefully studied the operational systems and the day-to-day running of the vessel until they knew almost all there was to know about the individual idiosyncrasies common to every submarine.

Sitting together on their bunks, Zaha voiced concerns. “The Russian crew are very efficient; I worry when we take control the new crew won't be as good. If we are to succeed, we all need to be at our best.”

“Probably not at first,” Kamani replied. “They will not have spent time together in this class of boat. But do not worry, Hamid, all are handpicked and highly experienced, having operated in French, Chinese and in some cases, American nuclear subs. We will use the time we have during our journey to make them efficient. They will cope well. Remember, it is our first command of a nuclear boat. Our superiors have confidence in us; therefore, we should also have confidence in our crew.”

“This Delta is old. I fear if we are hunted, it will be by state-of-the-art enemy boats.”

“Only if they are aware of us and our mission. Stealth is paramount, swiftly striking the target close in, then disappearing quickly back into the depths. You surprise me, Hamid. I find no fault in any of the systems; the sonar is excellent and in my opinion the refit has made her all but new and capable of holding her own in any situation. You had better believe that, Hamid. We are on a mission for Allah and cannot fail.”

“Russian nuclear sub propulsion systems have a history of breaking down with disastrous consequences, as you well know, and we have a long way to go.”

“You worry too much,” shot Kamani, seemingly irritated by his number two. “I've been keeping a close watch on the daily reports from the engineer. Everything is in order.”

Zaha nodded and dropped the subject. “Then all we can hope for is that this boat and the freighter carrying the warhead reach the RV safely and we go on to successfully complete our mission –
Allahu Akbar!
”

Both men lapsed into silence, returning to their technical manuals.

Now almost at the Antarctic Circle, relatively safe deep in the southern Pacific and ready to turn due east, they were over what Captain Grosky perceived to be the most dangerous part of the journey. He was glad they had not encountered hostile submarines, but would keep the 12 USET-80 torpedoes stored and ready to be fired in the four 21-inch forward tubes. He looked up from the map table and around the control room, taking in the many computer screens and consuls and felt reassured listening to the almost inaudible hum of the 52,000-hp nuclear propulsion system. The two VM-4 Pressurized Water Reactors (PWR) gave unending power for all the Delta's systems and drove the 10,600 ton sleek hull silently through the depths at a maximum speed of twenty-five knots. It was virtually undetectable under ten knots. From the sonar centre alongside the control, he listened to the subdued voices of the operators as they monitored the updated active/passive sonar suite. Sonar was their eyes and ears, and to him one of the most important parts of the boat. He thought about the SS-N-18
‘Stingray'
, liquid-propelled ballistic missiles (SLBM) sitting snugly in four of the sixteen tubes towards the stern and wondered when the Korean admiral would order the test firing. With these thoughts, he turned to the helmsman. “Come left 90 degrees, steer course two-seven-zero. Make your depth 400. Make your speed ten…”

Light drizzle fell as Frank Ryder led the team in single-file through the dense forest heading northwest. Several hours had passed since leaving Sinhung. Travelling through the night with only brief stops, dawn broke and it was time for a full rest. He would have preferred to continue, but worried that Grace might falter in keeping up with the gruelling pace. They had moved relatively swiftly through the darkness, covering some fifteen klicks. Fortunately, the valleys they followed pointed roughly in the direction they were headed, avoiding the necessity of climbing the often steep slopes to either side. This area of mountains was remote and seemingly uninhabited; he hoped it would stay that way. If they were being pursued, searchers would have to cover a very wide, rugged area and he counted upon it being more directly to the north or better still, to the south.

Eventually they reached a rocky outcrop that housed a cave big enough for all to rest under cover until the late afternoon. Then it would be time to move out again. After checking that all was clear inside, they made camp, thankful to be out of the rain. Bom took watch and the rest settled in. Soon they had a small fire burning and they tucked into rations, boiling a pot full of water from a nearby stream.

Grace could not eat. She was totally exhausted after the forced march. She looked all done in. Ryder could almost feel her pain, but knew there was no turning back now.

He moved to her side. “I know this is tough, but a lot of people are depending on us. Without you, this whole thing will fail.”

She nodded, running her hand through matted hair.

He encouraged her to eat a little rice and meat, which she reluctantly did.

“Get some sleep, you'll feel better later,” he said when she'd finished.

Without another word she curled up by the wall closest to the fire and fell into a fitful sleep.

“What's our position, boss?” Chol asked, finishing a strip of dried goat meat.

“About five klicks southeast of a place called Hagaru-ri. A small town by a lake,” Ryder replied. A town of low-rise, mainly concrete buildings, bitterly remembered by the Americans for the fierce fighting that took place around it during the Korean War.

“How far is that from where we're heading?”

Ryder reached for the map and spread it. “Sixty klicks. A little luck and we should make it in three days or less.”

“Do we go through this Hagaru-ri?” asked Chol.

“I'd prefer to avoid it, but it'd be a big detour if we don't.”

“Can we?” shot Song.

“Maybe, if we take the lake instead,” replied Frank, thinking again about Grace. A boat ride would at least give her some respite from the relentless pace he had set. “It's about twelve klicks long. I suggest we hijack a boat and go as far north as we can. Doing this will reduce travel time by at least a day.”

“And if we can't find a boat?” Chol questioned.

“Then we've no choice but to go through.”

“The Koreans must use the lake for trade; there has to be boats,” said Chol.

Ryder glanced at each of the others. “Okay, it looks like a boat, but we'll assess the situation when we get there. Change out of those uniforms; they might raise suspicion if we encounter anyone in this wilderness. Our peasant gear is better anyway. Keep them, though; they'll be useful if we find a base.”

They agreed to the watch. Ryder then reminded the men to shave as best they could; he did not want the team drawing attention unnecessarily. Most males encountered so far were clean-shaven.

The men changed back into peasant gear and packed the uniforms into the sacks before finally turning in.