Read Online To Kill the Potemkin by Mark Joseph - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Joseph
Tags: General Fiction
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Sorensen said.
"I'm not going to bug you about what you believe or don't. You do your
job, you keep your ears sharp, you play the fucking game and you're
going to be all right. I think maybe you've got a conscience, and
that's okay."
Fogarty
looked
into Sorensen's eyes and could
almost feel a psychic probe rooting around in his mind. "We can have a
lot
of fun in here," Sorensen was saying, "or it can be a real drag.
You're a straight midwestern kid with smarts. All you really need is a
sense of
humor. We're the cowboys. They're the cossacks. So goddammit, start
acting like
a cowboy. Let me ask you something, Fogarty"—Sorensen's mouth twisted
into
a devilish smile—"how did you feel when you first heard that Russian
sub?
Were you afraid?"
"No,"
Fogarty
admitted.
"Damned
right. I
was watching you. You
were too excited to be scared. You got a big charge out of it. That's
nothing
to be ashamed of. When you see that Russian on the screen and listen to
him
growling like a goddamn nuclear shark, nothing else matters. It's you
and him.
That's where the action is. It's a big rush. Adrenaline maybe, or
something
even deeper. It's the ultimate drug. Underwater, what you believe
doesn't
count, only what you do, how you react. The rest of the world doesn't
exist.
Not your girlfriend, not your mother, not your god if you got one. Just
you and
Ivan."
"Leave
your mind
behind."
"You
got it."
A
shy smile
crossed Fogarty's face. "I
admit it was pretty exciting," he said, "Until my ears got
blasted."
"Think
of what it
did to the fish."
He jumped out of his seat and waved his arms around. "Imagine a school
of
deaf tuna swimming upside down. Along comes a Great Barracuda. Zap,
zap, he
cuts 'em to ribbons, eats about twenty, and swims away upside down."
Fogarty
shook his
head. "Christ,
Sorensen. That was terrible."
They
were both
laughing when Lt. Hoek opened
the door. He was disappointed at having missed the original contact
with the
Russian sub and wanted to listen to the recording of the Viktor's
signature.
Sorensen surrendered the supervisor's console and started the tape.
They
changed the
watch. Sorensen and Fogarty
were in the control room when they heard Lt. Hoek howling in pain.
Springfield
looked around and locked eyes
with his senior sonarman. They both smiled. Hoek had a lot to learn.
----
The
next morning
Springfield prepared to take
his ship into the Bay of Naples. Surfacing near a crowded harbor was
always
undertaken with great caution.
Fogarty
was at
the operator's console as the
ship made a slow 360-degree turn, echo-ranging 360 degrees to make
certain the
surface was clear of shipping before raising the periscope. He picked
up two
freighters, a small tanker and a car ferry, all at a safe distance, but
missed
a flotilla of yachts in a restricted area.
"Up
periscope."
When
Springfield
put his eyes to the
binocular lenses of the periscope he found himself staring into the
startled
face of a man in evening dress at the wheel of his boat fifty feet
away. A
naked woman lay on the deck. Several more people, drinks in hand,
gawked at the
periscope. Springfield could read the registration number painted on
the hull.
He swung the scope around and saw three more wooden and fiberglass
sailboats
within a hundred yards, impossible to detect on sonar.
"Control
to
sonar, you blew it. We've
got sailboats."
Sorensen
clucked.
"Fogarty, you still
can't navigate."
"Leo,"
Springfield said to the XO,
"take a look."
Pisaro
peered
into the eyepiece and whistled.
When
Springfield
gave the order to surface. Barracuda surged out of the sea, a silent monster of the
deep. The people
on the sailboats lined the railings and watched the sub slip past. Her
surface
was a mottled black, like the skin of a whale. The only sound was the
hiss of
water breaking over her bow.
Barracuda steamed into the Bay of Naples and tied up outside the breakwater next
to the
sub tender Tallahatchie County. Nearby, Kitty Hawk, flagship of
the Sixth Fleet, was
"I'm not going to bug you about what you believe or don't. You do your
job, you keep your ears sharp, you play the fucking game and you're
going to be all right. I think maybe you've got a conscience, and
that's okay."
Fogarty
looked
into Sorensen's eyes and could
almost feel a psychic probe rooting around in his mind. "We can have a
lot
of fun in here," Sorensen was saying, "or it can be a real drag.
You're a straight midwestern kid with smarts. All you really need is a
sense of
humor. We're the cowboys. They're the cossacks. So goddammit, start
acting like
a cowboy. Let me ask you something, Fogarty"—Sorensen's mouth twisted
into
a devilish smile—"how did you feel when you first heard that Russian
sub?
Were you afraid?"
"No,"
Fogarty
admitted.
"Damned
right. I
was watching you. You
were too excited to be scared. You got a big charge out of it. That's
nothing
to be ashamed of. When you see that Russian on the screen and listen to
him
growling like a goddamn nuclear shark, nothing else matters. It's you
and him.
That's where the action is. It's a big rush. Adrenaline maybe, or
something
even deeper. It's the ultimate drug. Underwater, what you believe
doesn't
count, only what you do, how you react. The rest of the world doesn't
exist.
Not your girlfriend, not your mother, not your god if you got one. Just
you and
Ivan."
"Leave
your mind
behind."
"You
got it."
A
shy smile
crossed Fogarty's face. "I
admit it was pretty exciting," he said, "Until my ears got
blasted."
"Think
of what it
did to the fish."
He jumped out of his seat and waved his arms around. "Imagine a school
of
deaf tuna swimming upside down. Along comes a Great Barracuda. Zap,
zap, he
cuts 'em to ribbons, eats about twenty, and swims away upside down."
Fogarty
shook his
head. "Christ,
Sorensen. That was terrible."
They
were both
laughing when Lt. Hoek opened
the door. He was disappointed at having missed the original contact
with the
Russian sub and wanted to listen to the recording of the Viktor's
signature.
Sorensen surrendered the supervisor's console and started the tape.
They
changed the
watch. Sorensen and Fogarty
were in the control room when they heard Lt. Hoek howling in pain.
Springfield
looked around and locked eyes
with his senior sonarman. They both smiled. Hoek had a lot to learn.
----
The
next morning
Springfield prepared to take
his ship into the Bay of Naples. Surfacing near a crowded harbor was
always
undertaken with great caution.
Fogarty
was at
the operator's console as the
ship made a slow 360-degree turn, echo-ranging 360 degrees to make
certain the
surface was clear of shipping before raising the periscope. He picked
up two
freighters, a small tanker and a car ferry, all at a safe distance, but
missed
a flotilla of yachts in a restricted area.
"Up
periscope."
When
Springfield
put his eyes to the
binocular lenses of the periscope he found himself staring into the
startled
face of a man in evening dress at the wheel of his boat fifty feet
away. A
naked woman lay on the deck. Several more people, drinks in hand,
gawked at the
periscope. Springfield could read the registration number painted on
the hull.
He swung the scope around and saw three more wooden and fiberglass
sailboats
within a hundred yards, impossible to detect on sonar.
"Control
to
sonar, you blew it. We've
got sailboats."
Sorensen
clucked.
"Fogarty, you still
can't navigate."
"Leo,"
Springfield said to the XO,
"take a look."
Pisaro
peered
into the eyepiece and whistled.
When
Springfield
gave the order to surface. Barracuda surged out of the sea, a silent monster of the
deep. The people
on the sailboats lined the railings and watched the sub slip past. Her
surface
was a mottled black, like the skin of a whale. The only sound was the
hiss of
water breaking over her bow.
Barracuda steamed into the Bay of Naples and tied up outside the breakwater next
to the
sub tender Tallahatchie County. Nearby, Kitty Hawk, flagship of
the Sixth Fleet, was
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