Red Tide, стр. 9
Then it was time for phase two, which required him to don a Speedo, and make his way out onto to the deck where a section of railing had been removed for his convenience. The sun was just starting to rise and an easterly breeze chilled his skin.
The swim was a tradition by that time, and one that roughly twenty crew members were waiting to witness. They cheered for their admiral as Belkin stepped up to the edge of the deck, brought his hands together, and dived head-first into the Black Sea.
He went deep. The water was relatively warm at that time of year. So, there was none of the icy shock Belkin felt upon entering the North Pacific. As he’d done in the past.
Belkin surfaced, waved to his audience, and swam back to the ship where a rope ladder equipped with wooden rungs was waiting. He scrambled up to the main deck where he paused to take a bow. That was part of the act, part of the mystique, and one of the reasons why Belkin’s sailors loved him. Who else could, or would, do such a thing? Certainly not the mostly rotund admirals in charge of the other fleets.
Belkin accepted a towel, wrapped it around his midriff, and addressed the crowd. “Go have breakfast. Tell your shipmates. The enemy will come today and we will defeat him!”
And that was almost certainly true. In order to enter the Black Sea, the Allies would have to send mine sweepers to neutralize the five hundred so called “influence mines” that would block their way.
Influence mines were equipped with fuses that could detect pressure, not to mention magnetic, electronic, and acoustic activity. That made them equally deadly against submarines and surface ships alike. And once the Allied minesweepers went to work, Russian fighter jets would harvest them like wheat. A cheery thought indeed.
Would the Allies manage to break through? That seemed doubtful. But, if by some miracle they did, five 100-foot-tall defense towers were waiting to greet them. Each armed with remotely operated radars, guns and missiles. And that was to say nothing of the fast patrol boats waiting to pounce.
Finally, there was the Omsk herself. Though not as agile as the patrol boats, the cruiser was more than 600 feet long, and was armed with 16 Vulkan anti-ship missiles. That was on top of surface-to-air missiles, guns, and antisubmarine mortars.
After a shower, followed by a shave, Belkin got dressed. A hearty breakfast was waiting when he entered the day room located next to his cabin.
Members of Belkin’s senior staff arrived moments later. They included Captain 1st Rank Shubin, who was the Omsk’s CO, and second in command of the Black Sea Fleet. Also present were Captain 3rd Rank Garin, who was in charge of the fleet’s air arm, and Lieutenant Volkov, Belkin’s Intel Officer.
“So,” Belkin said from behind his desk. “Have the inostrannyye svin’i (foreign pigs) entered the slaughterhouse yet?”
Both of the more senior officers turned their eyes to Volkov. She had short hair, a plain face, and thin lips. “Yes,” she said. “And no.”
Belkin washed a mouthful of kasha (porridge) down with hot tea. “What the fuck does that mean? Are they in the minefield or not?”
“Our mines are detonating,” Volkov said. “But we don’t know why. In the meantime, the Allied boats are in the Bosporus waiting to enter.”
Belkin put his spoon down. “What about submarines? Maybe submarines triggered the mines.”
“That’s possible,” Volkov agreed. “But it’s unlikely. Rather than localized explosions, which we would see if a sub set the mines off, they’re exploding in waves. That suggests some sort of electronic or electromechanical clearing process.”
That was unexpected. And Belkin didn’t like unexpected things. But, mines or no mines, the outcome would be the same. The Black Sea was his, and it was going to remain that way.
***
The entrance to the Bosporus Strait
The “Mother Ship,” as the USV operators generally called the 262-foot-long steel barge, was heavily armored and propelled by two diesel engines. It was remotely operated by a civilian located in Maryland.
The space forward of the engine room was filled with racks of so-called “Otters.” That was the name bestowed on the semi-autonomous mine killers being fired through underwater launching slots into the Black Sea.
By that time the first two waves of machines had destroyed more than one hundred Russian mines by spoofing the signals “influence” mines were waiting for. In most cases, but not all, the Otters were destroyed by the explosions they triggered. Those that survived continued on their way.
Now the Mother Ship was coming under attack by Russian planes, as the third wave of Otters slipped into the Black Sea. But, as the Russian planes swooped in to attack, Allied fighter jets were waiting to pounce on them from 30,000 feet.
Thousands of eyes watched as contrails twisted and turned to create what looked like scribbling in the sky. Meanwhile the Allied ships and boats stood ready to fire on the enemy aircraft with SAMs, and shoulder launched missiles, when Russians came into range.
Ryson felt impatient despite his attempts to look calm, cool, and collected. The vessels under his command were Pegasus II Class PHMs (Patrol, Hydrofoil, Missile boats). Often referred to as “Peg Twos.”
The Pegasus Class I boats had seen service from 1977 to 1993. And, when the program came to an end, it seemed as though hydrofoils were gone for good. But that was before Admiral Hartwell came along.
Hartwell, and some equally visionary Congress people, succeeded in securing seed money for a Class II prototype in 2018. And when that proved to be successful, they managed to fund a full-on PHM program.
The program’s formal objective was: “To operate offensively against hostile surface combatants and other surface craft—and conduct surveillance, screening and special operations.” And the Peg Twos were everything a “small navy” sailor could possibly want. They were fast, steady when foilborne, and armed to the teeth.
The PHMs were, as one reporter put it, “The 21st century