FORTUNES OF WAR

FORTUNES OF WAR opens with one of the action-packed sequences for which Stephen Coonts is famous--the assassination of the Emperor of Japan. A right-wing Japanese government trying to cope with economic depression and foreign competition has opted to solve its problems by helping itself to the vast natural resources contained in the Siberian wilderness. The murder of a reluctant emperor is the first step on that road to conquest.

Stephen Coonts' novel, FORTUNES OF WAR, published by St. Martin's Press, is set in the year 2008. A defenseless Russia which has destroyed its nuclear warheads in return for foreign aid appeals to the United States for help in fending off the Japanese attack.

America responds by sending a squadron of F-22 Raptor fighters, its newest super-planes, to wrest air supremacy from the new Japanese Zeros in the skies over Siberia. Colonel Bob Cassidy commands the squadron, but he is a reluctant warrior with a troubled conscience. Flying one of the Zeros is a graduate of the U. S. Air Force Academy, Jiro Kimura, whom Cassidy treasures as if he were a younger brother. Chips in the stormy seas of national destiny, these men are driven by fate toward a bloody confrontation.

Meanwhile, an obsolete Russian diesel/electric submarine, on an errand to clear a wrecked freighter from a seasonal port when the war begins, manages to avoid destruction at the hands of a Japanese anti-submarine patrol plane crew. Captain Pavel Saratov knows that the boat and the men aboard her are doomed, but he decides to fight, for honor if for nothing else.

FORTUNES OF WAR is a tale of the last warriors, fighting not for glory but because life has dealt them that card. This fast paced, dazzling book is packed with aerial and underwater action and the exquisite character studies that have made millions of readers into Stephen Coonts fans.

FORTUNES OF WAR takes the reader flying in the jet fighters of the future. To write it I had to learn for myself what aerial combat will be like when the generation of fighters currently under development takes to the sky. Fortunately the kind folks at Lockheed Martin let me see and touch the prototype of the new F-22 Raptor fighter at their Marietta, Georgia, facility. At the time I was there, the first production F-22 had yet to fly. It accomplished this feat just months ago.

The engineers also plunked me in the "cockpit concept demonstrator," a fancy name for a non-motion simulator that showcases the F-22's weapons system, which of course is still under development. With only a little coaching I managed to shoot down ten MIGs which were thirsting for my blood.

The fighters of the future will be extraordinary machines in many ways, not the least of which is cost. The mountains of dollars will buy awesome capability. Capable of cruising at Mach 1.3 without afterburner and pulling more than 9 Gs, the F-22 is designed to detect and kill enemy fighters at long range before the enemy even knows it is in the air. If, however, the F-22 must evade a missile or dogfight an enemy fighter, it will use its eye popping maneuverability. Vectored thrust will allow an F-22 pilot to turn square corners, and a full-body G-suit will enable him, or her, to stay conscious to the G-limit of the airplane.

As mind-expanding as the plane's performance envelope is, the most extraordinary advances in aeronautical science are inside, where they cannot be readily seen. The plane will literally be a flying computer, employing a variety of sensors and info data-linked from other aircraft to present an unprecedented overview of the tactical situation to the pilot. In flight the pilot will simply monitor the computers' performance, for they are more capable in every aspect of aerial combat than the human riding along. And they don't bleed.

I came away from my encounter with the F-22 convinced that the days of manned fighter planes are numbered. If the F-22 Raptor is not the last manned fighter, it is the next-to-last. The fighter that replaces it may well be a drone.

FORTUNES OF WAR puts today's reader into the cockpit of tomorrow's manned fighters. Yet it is more than that. The tale of Pavel Saratov and his submarine, Admiral Kolchak, began as a minor subplot yet grew and grew until it became as important to the novel as the fighter pilots.

And still, the book is more than fighter pilots and submariners. The last warriors, reluctant practitioners of an ancient profession in an age that has little room for them, are but pawns in the game of global politics played for blood and money in the capitals of the world by driven men still trying to come to grips with our evolving, intertwined world economy.

FORTUNES OF WAR is all that, and, I pray, fun to read. Give it a look.

Hello Steve,
I'm in 9th grade at Castle High School in Newburgh, Indiana. I'm doing an English report about you. I think that FORTUNES OF WAR is the best book that I've ever read. I was wondering if you could tell me how you thought to write it. What inspired you to write it? I'm also a bit of an author myself and write often about air combat. Is personal fanticies a good thing to write about?
Kyle Hollman March 8, 2007

Mr. Coonts,
I have read most of your books and have The Traitor as my next to read. As much as I love Jake and Tommy and all of the stories, from Cuba to Liars and Thieves, I was wondering, will you ever write another book along the lines of Fortunes of War? That story has always been one of my favorites, with advanced technology concepts mixed with a future war.
Keith Hopkinson August 5, 2006
 

I just finished reading FORTUNES OF WAR. I enjoyed the entire story; I have read your other books and I knew it would be good. I wish I could write like that. Even though I do not know much about the aircraft, it is easy to gain such an understanding because of the way the story is written. Keep up the good work."
--Mark E. Luoma, August 31, 1999 "I just wanted to say that I truly love your books. From the moment I picked up FLIGHT OF THE INTRUDER, I was hooked. In my opinion you are a step above Tom Clancy. Your writing style leaves the reader wanting more in the end as Clancy's style leaves the reader bored to tears before you get to the climax in the plot. I have watched Jake Grafton grow from a cocky fighter jock to a distinguished admiral and loved every minute of it. I can't wait to see what he gets into in your new book CUBA. --Shane Hovatter, May 8, 1999

"I've been a fan of your novels for quite some time, and especially Jake Grafton. He is genuinely one of the memorable figures of the techno-thriller, and an equal to Jack Ryan (one of my other favorites). After THE INTRUDERS, I was concerned that we may not see Jake again. But your website has dispelled any fears I had. I can't wait to read CUBA! I didn't think you could out do yourself after FORTUNES OF WAR, but I liked what I read so far. August never seemed so far away. Your novels are classics of the genre, and certainly rival anything written by Tom Clancy or Larry Bond." --Matthew Comstock, April 1999

"You are the first author I have written though I read a great deal the work of many writers. I read primarily for entertainment but appreciate information and I believe your work is about the best I find at present. I recently read CANNIBAL QUEEN which was rather unique but very interesting. Fortunately, I have some flying experience from long ago and understood most of the descriptive material relative to flight technique and the air traffic systems and controls but I could see that a non-flyer would be lost. Your personal observations on life and the people of our country were often insightful and worth the read. FORTUNES OF WAR was fun but my personal favorite is FINAL FLIGHT closely followed by INTRUDERS. Thanks for the pleasure your efforts have brought an old man. I sincerely hope you can keep your "touch" since so many action-adventure writers seem to go stale as they achieve real success." -- Jack Meyer, April 1999

"I just finished FORTUNES OF WAR & I gotta tell ya, I was hooked early and finished it the same week I started it. I'm kinda bummed it's over. GOOD STORY TELLING. No more vacations, I WANT MORE..." --Chris Franklin, July 23, 1998

"I just finished reading FORTUNES OF WAR. It's the first book I've read by you and thought it was terrific. I am looking forward to reading you other novels. Thanks." --Jack Jordan, July 20, 1998

"I just finished FORTUNES OF WAR. I and my 21- and 15-year-old love your books. Keep them coming. Thanks for many good hours of reading." --Russell Massey, July 14, 1998

"I must say that his book is wonderful. I enjoyed it from the first page on. The submarine subplot was a nice touch, keep it up." --Dick Jennens, July 12, 1998

"Just finished reading FORTUNES OF WAR... very enjoyable. Thanks." --Anne Sloan, July 9, 1998

"Sir, I did not enjoy this book as much as I have your other books. It was slow getting started but great once the fighting started. I think I prefer Jake, Callie, Toad, and Rita, however." --Shelby Smith, July 7, 1998

"TWO THUMBS AND EIGHT FINGERS UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SUPERB!!!!!!!!!!" --John Collopy, July 7, 1998

"I am currently half-way thru FORTUNES OF WAR and am enjoying it thoroughly. Hope you sent Christiane Amanpour a signed copy with the relevant passages highlighted=)#)" --Jose Herculano, July 3, 1998

"Loved it!... sent my father a copy for dads day, however, the group should have taken a top notch air traffic controller with them." --John (The Nellis Tower Guy), July 1, 1998

"I just finished reading FORTUNES OF WAR. I enjoyed it very much, and I believe it to be your best work to date. Thank you." --Norm Smith, June 29, 1998

"Just finished reading FORTUNES OF WAR. While I certainly enjoyed it, I did miss Jake Grafton and wondered why he didn't have any part in this book... Hope Jake will be heard from again in some of your forthcoming books...
"I introduced my husband to your books..." --Carol Lindhuber, June 29, 1998

"Just finished FORTUNES OF WAR and wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it. Great Book! As much as I liked Bob Cassidy, Pavel Saratov was my favorite character. Maybe we can meet him again sometime?"--Alan Bloom, June 27, 1998

"I couldn't put it down. I've been reading your novels for 10-12 years now and your newest book didn't let me down. I hope to be reading your books for another 10-12 years. Please keep up the good work." --Paul T. Nichols, June 20, 1998

"WOW! Your BEST yet! I really CARED about those people and the scenario was believable. Great story telling...
"...when I finished FORTUNES, went back and re-read some of the combat sequences just 'to savor' them. I wanted to write to say, thanks!" --Jay Lerman June 18, 1998

"I'm reading FORTUNES OF WAR and enjoying it." --Dale Brown, June 18, 1998

"Steve; I just finished FORTUNES OF WAR. I just cruised through it. It was as good as your Intruder series. I thoroughly enjoyed it." --Larry McGlynn, June 14, 1998

"Steve: I've read most of your books, and just finished FORTUNES OF WAR. Good job considering the long reach with the plot line. It's tough with the USSR out of business to find a good military confrontation situation. How about India v. Pakistan? Looking forward to your next one." --Bill VanDenburgh, June 14, 1998

"Like many of the emails I am sure you receive I will start mine with the I have been a big fan of yours ever since I read FLIGHT OF THE INTRUDER. I have all the Grafton novels in hardback and have just finished FORTUNES OF WAR." --Hugh Nystrom, June 13, 1998

"Great fun! Only one disappointment. None of these modern AVG flyers busy splashing Zekes thought to gimmick their smart skin to create temporary sharks teeth on the nose to raise the morale of jerks during flyovers of the base." --Jack McHugh June 12, 1998

"I just finished your latest, FORTUNES OF WAR, and thought it, in general, another good one, although a little weak for its ending. May I suggest you do another 'Intruder' book using the same characters as I think that is definitely your forte..." --Robert Niklaus July 26, 1998

"Just finished reading it. Great book!..." --Dick Harris, July 24, 1998

"Just finished the above book and I thoroughly enjoyed each action-packed page--and the story-line--quite amazing. This is the fifth book of yours I have read and enjoyed each one. I look forward to your next books and of course buying them and enjoying each one. What a bizarre twist the plot included as one is drawn to the remembrance of Pearl Harbor... I will continue to read your books and wish you well. They are exciting, and as a former Vietnam vet, I hold a special spot in my heart for aviation and adventure... Keep on writing. Congrats on the new book!" --Dave Helmer August 8, 1998

"I would just like to say that this was an incredible book. Once I began reading I could not put it down. It truly has become one of my favorite books of all time. In the future I will keep an eye out for your new novels." --Oscar H. Jovel, Jr. Aug 1, 1998

"To say that you are one of my favorite authors in an understatement." --Dick G. Jennens, July 12, 1998

"Mr. Coonts, I am stationed in Bosnia and received FORTUNES OF WAR from Amazon.com last week. I just wanted to commend you on another outstanding book. As usual, it was extremely difficult to put the book down. You made another lonely weekend in Bosnia exciting for me. Thank you." --CWO3 Kent Sapp USA, August 31, 1998

"I just finished FORTUNES OF WAR and all I can say is that you just passed Sosa and McGwire! Ah, but the real icing on the cake is your introduction of Alexander Kalugin on page 58. To date, I have yet to read a better description of President Bill Clinton. His name is not worthy of Caps. Just the opinion of a grass roots stick and rudder man. Looking forward to your next HOMERUN !" --Steve Estis, September 25, 1998

"Stephen: Your books are so realistic that I need either COMBAT PAY or FLIGHT PAY when I finish. I was a RADIO OPERATOR (MORSE CODE) while in KOREA in the 50s (right after the breakout of the PUSAN PERIMETER).... Keep up the good work. You are probably the best author I have ever read - including CLANCY. One thing I can say about your writing style: You capture attention on the first line of your books -- then hold it!. THANKS FOR LETTING ME BE THERE WITH YOU..." --Gregory Hardesty, October 2, 1998

"Just to let you know that I just finished FORTUNES OF WAR. Very good read, not, for me, great but good and entertaining. I like more in-depth intrigue backgrounds in my fiction but I enjoyed this enough to start reading your earlier novels. Thanks again for the entertainment." --Nate S., October 14, 1998

AN EXCERPT FROM STEPHEN COONTS' FORTUNES OF WAR

The guided-missile destroyer Hatataze was three hundred yards away from a berth at Yokosuka Naval Base pier when the communications officer buzzed the bridge on the squawk box. A flash-priority message from headquarters had just come out of the computer printer: "Russian submarine attacking ships Yokohama. Intercept." Hatakaze's captain was no slouch. He ordered his crew to general quarters, waved away the tug, and steamed out into the bay, working up speed as quickly as the engineering plant would allow.

Hatakaze had been continuously at sea for two weeks. She participated in the destruction of the Russian fleet rusting in Golden Horn Bay and helped shell troops on the Vladivostok neck that were trying to impede advancing Japanese forces. During all that shooting, her forward 127-mm Mk-42 deck gun had overheated, which caused a round to explode prematurely, killing two men and injuring four more. Her aft gun was working just fine. As soon as she could be spared, the force commander sent Hatakaze home for repairs. Due to the shortage of ammunition, most of Hatataze's remaining 127-mm ammo was transferred to other ships, yet she still had a dozen rounds on the trays for the aft gun.

Hatakaze was making twenty knots when the radar operators picked Admiral Kolchak from among the clutter of ships, small boats, and surface return. The Russian submarine was making fifteen knots southwestward toward the refinery. That merely made her a suspicious blip; her beaconing S-band radar made the identification certain.

Although the submarine lacked the excellent radar of the Japanese destroyer, the destroyer was a bigger, easier target. The operator of the sub's radar saw the blip of a possible warship--a fairly small highspeed surface target coming out of the Yokosuka Naval Base area--and reported it to Captain Saratov as such.

Pavel Saratov pointed his binoculars to the south, the direction named by the radar operator below.

The rain had stopped; visibility was up, maybe to ten miles.

There was the destroyer, with its masthead and running lights illuminated. After all, these were Japanese home waters.

Saratov pounded the bridge rail in frustration.

The destroyer would soon open fire with its deck gun. If the sub submerged, the destroyer would pin it easily, kill it with antisubmarine rockets--ASROC.

He had known it would end like this. Entering the bay had been a huge gamble right from the start. A suicidal gamble, real1y.

He looked southwest, at the blazing refinery and the LNG tanker moored at the end of the pier. He had been intending to use the sixth torpedo on that tanker. A maneuverable destroyer, bow-on, would be a difficult target.

Another glance at the destroyer. "What is the range to the destroyer?" he demanded of the watch below.

"Twelve thousand meters, Captain, and closing. He has turned toward us, speed a little over thirty knots."

"And the tanker?"

"Two thousand five hundred meters, sir"

"Give me an attack solution on the destroyer."

"Aye aye, sir."

"And keep me informed of the ranges, goddamnit"

"Yes, captain."

Submerging in this shallow bay would be suicidal. Saratov dismissed that possibility.

He looked longingly at the LNG tanker, a target of a lifetime. She was low in the water, a fact he had noted as he entered the bay and steamed by her. She was full of the stuff.

"We'll run in against the tanker and cut our motors." The Japanese destroyer captain wouldn't be fool enough to risk putting a shell into that thing.

With the tanker at our back, Saratov thought, maybe we have a chance. At least he could get his men off the sub and into the water.

"Aye aye, sir."

"Come thirty degrees right, slow to all ahead two-thirds."

He heard the order being repeated in the control room, felt the bow of the sub swinging.

"Destroyer at eleven thousand meters, sir."

Saratov looked back at the oncoming destroyer. Why doesn't he shoot?

The refinery was blazing merrily. At the base of the fire, he could just make out the silhouettes of fire trucks. The Spetsnaz divers certainly had done an excellent job.

Saratov swung the glasses to the tanker pier. Several fire trucks with their flashing emergency lights were visible there. He wondered why they were on the pier; then his mind turned to other things. He checked the destroyer again. Why didn't he shoot? They most certainly were in range.

"Twelve hundred meters to the tanker, Captain."

* * *
The captain of the Hatakaze could see the burning refinery with his binoculars. He could not see the black sail of the Russian submarine that his radar people assured him was there, but he could see the blip on the radar repeater scope just in front of his chair on the bridge. And he could see the return of the tanker pier and the tankers moored to it. The range to the sub was about nine thousand meters.

ASROC was out of the question, even though the target was well within range. The rocket would carry the Mk-46 torpedo out several kilometers and put it in the water, but the torpedo might home on one of the tankers.

Captain Kama elected to engage the submarine with the stern 127mm gun. Not that he had a lot of choice. He was already within gun range, but he would have to turn Hatakaze about seventy degrees away from the submarine to uncover the gun. Of course, if the gun overshot, one of the shells might hit a tanker. If the LNG tanker went up, the results would be catastrophic.

He decided to wait. Wait a few moments, and pray the submarine didn't shoot a torpedo.

"Prepare to fire the torpedo decoys," he ordered. "And watch for small boats. Tell Sonar to listen carefully." Listen for torpedoes, he meant.

What a place to fight a war!

* * *
The refinery fire was as bad as it looked. The conflagration lit up the clouds and illuminated the tanker pier with a ghastly flickering glow. Numerous small explosions sent fireballs puffing into the night sky. These explosions were caused when fire reached free pools or clouds of petroleum products that had leaked from ruptured tanks or pipes.

The firefighters had no chance. There was too much damage in too many places.

As the fires grew hotter and larger, the glow cast even more light on the sea.

The submarine approached the LNG tanker, which was limned by the fire behind it. Saratov could see people moving about on the decks, probably trying desperately to get under way. He imagined the tanker skipper was beside himself.

"All stop," he told the control room.

The submarine glided toward the tanker, losing way. Two hundred meters separated the two ships.

"Left full rudder."

The nose began to swing.

"Looks like another destroyer, sir. Coming out of Yokosuka. Bearing one nine five, range thirty-two thousand meters."

"Keep the boat moving, Chief, at about two knots."

"Aye aye, sir. Two knots."

The deck of the submarine was barely out of the water. He had never ordered the tanks completely blown. "Secure the diesels. Switch to battery power."

"Battery power, aye."

Saratov kept his binoculars focused on the Japanese destroyer, which was closing the range at about a kilometer per minute.

The throb of the diesels died away. He could hear the rush of air and the crackling of the refinery fire. Somewhere, over the refinery probably, was a helicopter. He could hear the distinctive whopping of the rotors in the exhaust.

"We have the first destroyer on sonar," the XO reported.

"Be ready to fire tube six at the destroyer at any time."

"Aye, Captain. We're doing that now. Destroyer at seven thousand meters."

"How long until the first reload is ready?"

"Another twenty minutes, Captain."

Terrific! We have exactly one shot. If we miss...

He must have seen us! "You ready to shoot?"

"Yes, sir."

Saratov waited, his eyes on the destroyer. He wasn't shooting, which Saratov thought was because the tanker lay just behind. He could hear voices, shouts, in a foreign language that Saratov thought might be English. It certainly didn't sound like Japanese, and it sure as hell wasn't Russian.

"Six thousand meters, and he's slowing."

Saratov had been waiting for that. The Japanese skipper wouldn't hear much on his sonar at thirty-two knots, yet the high speed was an edge in outmaneuvering the torpedo.

"Tube Six, fire!"

The boat jerked as the torpedo went out, expelled by compressed air.

* * *
Aboard Hatakaze, the captain was watching the tiny radar blip that was the submarine's sail. If only he would submerge, clear away from that tanker!

The destroyer's speed caused too much turbulence and noise for the bow-mounted sonar, so he had ordered the ship slowed. Way was falling off now.

"Torpedo in the water!"

The call from the sonar operator galvanized everyone. "Right Full rudder, all ahead flank," Captain Kama ordered. "Come to a new heading zero nine zero. Deploy the torpedo decoys. Have the after turret open fire when their gun bears."

The deck tilted steeply as the destroyer answered the helm.

* * *
"He's turning eastward, Captain," the attack team told Saratov, who was still on the bridge, his binoculars glued to his eyes.

"I see that, goddamnit. What's his speed?"

"Fourteen knots. His engines are really thrashing. I think he is accelerating."

The destroyer was almost beam-on now. Flashes from the gun on the afterdeck! Even with that tanker directly behind the submarine, he is shooting!

"Dive, dive, dive. Let's go down."

Saratov unplugged his headset. Hanecki was already going through the hatch. The deck was tilting. Saratov clamored through the hatch and pulled it down after him just as the first of the five-inch shells hit the water... right beside the sail.

"Periscope depth!"

"Periscope depth, aye."

They could hear the shells splashing into the water. Damn, the shooting was accurate.

"Running time on the first fish?"

"Thirty more seconds, sir."

"Give me a ninety-degree right turn. Tell the torpedo officer to get a tube loaded with all possible speed."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Thank you, XO."

They were just flat running out of options. He wasn't ready to tell them yet, but if the last torpedo missed, he was going to surface the boat alongside the tanker and abandon her. He wasn't going to let his men die in this sardine can when they had nothing left to fight with.

He was thinking about this, watching the heading change as the boat turned, waiting for the boat to sink the last five feet to periscope depth, when he heard the explosion. The torpedo! It hit something. But what?

The men cheered. A roar of exultation.

"Quiet!"

"Keep the turn in, Chief make it a full three hundred and sixty degrees. All ahead one-third. Raise the big scope."

He glued his eye to the large scope when it came out of the well. The small attack scope was nearly useless at night.

The destroyer was still moving. At least the front half was. The stern ... Jesus! The torpedo had blown it off.

"The torpedo blew the ass off the destroyer," Saratov said to the control room crew. "Pass the word. It is on fire and sinking."

When the whispers and buzzing died away, Saratov asked, "Sonar, what do you hear?"

"Not much, Captain. The LNG tanker has started its engines. It will be getting under way soon, I think."

"Let's get out of here, Captain, while we are still alive."

The second officer said that. He looked pale as a ghost.

Saratov looked from face to face. Several men averted their gaze; one chewed on his lip. Most met his gaze, however. The second officer couldn't stop swallowing--he was probably going to puke.

Saratov took the microphone for the boat's PA system off its hook, flipped the switch on, adjusted the volume.

"This is the captain. You men have done well. We have hit the enemy hard. We have destroyed a huge refinery, sunk three ships at least and damaged two more. We have just killed a destroyer that was trying to kill us. I am proud of each and every one of you. It is an honor to be your captain."

He paused, took a deep breath, thought about what he wanted to say. "We are going to surface in a few moments, see if we can set this LNG tanker on fire; then we are going to get out of this bay, run for the open sea.

The second officer lost it, vomiting into his hat.

"Do your job. Do what you were trained to do. That is our best chance."

He put the microphone back into its bracket.

"There's another destroyer up there, Captain."

"I am aware of that." Saratov looked at the XO, towered his voice. "Let's leave the radar off. Without the radar beaconing, we are just another tiny blip."

"As long as we keep our speed down," Askold muttered.

"Sonar, what's the position on that second destroyer?"

"I estimate twenty thousand meters, Captain. It's hard to tell for sure, with all the noise in the water."

"Keep listening."

"Do you want to finish reloading one of the bow tubes before we surface, Captain?" Askold asked.

"The Japanese will put the time to better use than we can. Every gray boat they have will be strung across the bay's entrance if we give them time enough."

He raised his voice. "Sonar, leave the radar secured. No emissions."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Have the forward torpedo room break out the rockets. We will surface, blow the bow tanks. Pop the hatch and put a man on deck with an RPG-9. We might as well try them."

If the rockets failed--and they probably wouldn't even fire: He'd had them for six, no, seven years--he would just call it a day and run for it. The torpedomen would get a tube reloaded soon, and boy, it would be nice to have a loaded fish when he went down the bay.

"Up scope."

He walked it around while the XO talked to the forward torpedo room on the squawk box. Hatakaze's bow was on fire, dead in the water. The stern seemed to have sunk. The LNG tanker was still against the pier, the fire in the refinery visible behind it. The second destroyer was not in sight. If that skipper had any sense, he would station himself in the entrance of the bay and wait for the submarine to come to him.

He gave the chief a new heading, to the northeast, so the LNG tanker would be off the port side. Hatakaze was three or four kilometers southeast, so that wreck wouldn't be a factor.

In an hour, the sky would be light with the coming dawn, and there would probably be four destroyers waiting.

Pavel Saratov lowered the periscope and gave the order to surface.

* * *
Saratov opened the hatch and went up the ladder to the tiny cockpit on top of the sail. The second officer followed, taking up his usual station looking aft and to both sides. The tanker was on the port bow, about eight hundred meters away.

If anything, the refinery fire was more intense, brighter, than it had been fifteen or twenty minutes ago. Several areas that had not been burning before were ablaze now. He could hear the roar of the flames here, almost a kilometer away. The firestorm sounded like rain and wind on a wild night at sea.

Even the clouds seemed to be on fire. They were shot through with sulfurous reds, oranges, and yellows, lighting the surface of the black water with a hellish glare.

The submarine lay inert on the oily sea. Belowdecks, the crew was blowing water from the forward tanks to lift the deck so that it was no longer awash. Saratov and the second officer scanned the surface of the bay for the destroyer they knew was about, somewhere. The bottom of the burning clouds was about a thousand feet above the water and visibility was good, maybe ten miles.

"Who is the shooter?" Saratov asked on the sound-powered headset.

"Senka. He knows all about it."

"Get him on deck. We haven't got all damned night."

He shouldn't have said that. Shouldn't have let the men know the tension was getting to him.

Where in hell is that destroyer?

When he put the binoculars down there was a man on deck, reaching down into the hatch. When the man straightened he was holding an ungainly tube in his hands. He put it on his right shoulder.

The batteries in those grenade launchers were probably as dead as Lenin.

Senka didn't waste much time. He braced himself, aimed for the tanker, and fired.

The batteries worked. The rocket-propelled grenade raced away in a gout of fire that split the night open. Straight as a bullet it flew across the water, straight for the giant steel ball that contained liquid natural gas.

A flash. That was it. Two kilos of warhead in a flash, then nothing.

"Try another one. Give him another one."

At least the rocket reached the target, which Saratov had feared was a bit out of range. The shaped charge must have hit a girder or something, Saratov thought, examining the tanker through his glasses. He could just see the feathery lines of the gridwork of girders that supported the pressure vessel. If the grenade didn't actually reach the pressure vessel, the warhead would never damage it.

Senka didn't waste time. Apparently he knew what he was about. He put the launcher on his shoulder; then he was examining it, then he threw it into the water. He reached down into the hatch for the third one.

Senka fired again. The missile ignited and raced across the black water toward the tanker. Another flash on impact. Then nothing.

"Try the last one; then we are out of here."

"Five more minutes on the torpedo, Captain."

Saratov acknowledged.

Where is that second destroyer?

A flash from the right.

Saratov looked. He saw a destroyer, bow-on, headed this way. Another flash from the bow gun.

A shell hit the water just beyond the sub.

Saratov was about to yell "Dive," but he saw Senka face the LNG tanker and raise the launcher to his shoulder.

Saratov opened his mouth just as a shell hit the aft top corner of the sail and exploded. A piece of shrapnel caught the captain in the side of the head and knocked him unconscious. The shrapnel disemboweled the second officer, killing him instantly.

The XO reached up through the hatch and grabbed Saratov by the ankles. He had a firm grip on the skipper and was pulling him into the hatch when Senka, on deck, fired the last RPG-9.

This time the rocket went through the gridwork that supported the pressure vessel and vented its shaped explosive charge into the vessel itself, puncturing it.

The intense pressure on the liquefied natural gas inside the vessel caused it to vent out the hole in a supersonic stream that made a highpitched, earsplitting whistle. Several people on the tanker heard it. That was the last thing they would ever hear. In less than a second, a large cloud of natural gas had formed outside the hole, which was still molten hot from the explosive. The gas ignited.

The fireball from this explosion grew and grew; then the pressure vessel split. A thousandth of a second later, six thousand tons of liquefied natural gas detonated.

The explosion was the worst in Japan since the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, and almost as violent. The LNG tanker was vaporized in the fireball, as was much of the tanker pier. One of the tankers still moored there had been taking on gasoline, and it too detonated, adding to the force of the explosion. The other tanker, off-loading crude oil, was split open by the blast like a watermelon dropped on concrete. Its cargo spontaneously ignited.

The concussion and thermal pulse of the initial blast leveled the remaining structures at the refinery. The petroleum products that had not yet been consumed merely enhanced the force of the expanding fireball. Of course, the people on the tankers and pier and fighting the fires in the refinery were instantly cremated.

When the concussion reached the submarine eight hundred meters away, Michman Senka, who had fired the final PRG-9, was swept overboard. It didn't matter to Senka because he was already dead, fried by the thermal pulse of the explosion. The pulse instantly heated the black steel hull of the boat and sent the water droplets and rivulets that had been on the deck wafting away as steam. A tenth of a second later the concussion arrived, denting the submarine's sail, smashing loose dozens of the anechoic tiles that covered the boat's skin and pushing it so hard that the sub went momentarily over on her beam.

Pavel Saratov knew nothing of all this, because he was unconscious. Somehow as the boat went over, the XO managed to pull him through the hatch. A ton or so of water came in before the boat righted itself. Water also poured through the hatch in the forward torpedo room and would have flooded the boat had the sub stayed on its side any longer.

Miraculously, the submarine righted itself, and the men in the forward torpedo room managed to get the hatch closed and secured. In the sail, the men there wrestled with the hatch and dogged it down just as the second concussion and the bay surge from the explosion pushed the boat over on her beam a second time.

When the captain of the destroyer Shimakaze, charging for the Russian submarine, saw the fireball growing and expanding, his first thought was that one of the shells from his deck gun had hit the tanker, just exactly the calamity he had warned the gunners against in the event they got a chance to shoot.

The thermal pulse ignited the destroyer's paint. The concussion smashed out the bridge windows and dented the sheet metal as if had been pounded by Thor's hammer. Since the destroyer was almost bow-on to the blast, it rode through the first concussion with only heavy damage to its superstructure, its radar and antennas and stack. The helmsman was killed by flying glass. He went down with a death grip on the helm. Still making over twenty knots, the destroyer went into a turn. When the second concussion arrived, the ship heeled hard, then righted herself. The bay surge that followed, however, put her over on her beam. Unlike the submarine, she did not come up again.

The fireball from the LNG tank expanded and grew hotter and hotter, brighter and brighter. The temperature inside the submarine rose dramatically--until the men were being parbroiled inside a 150-degree oven. Then the temperature fell, though not as fast as it had risen.

Minutes later the temperature in the boat almost back to normal, the XO climbed to the bridge to assess the damage. Angry black water roiled over the place where the tanker and pier had been. All the small boats that had dotted the waters of the bay were gone. In three or four places the water appeared to be on fire, but it was gasoline and raw crude burning.

The shore...the city was aflame for five miles in both directions. The thermal pulses and concussions had done their work. The surges of air into and away from the fireball had done the rest.

The main periscope was bent, the glass smashed. Whether from the five-inch shell of the destroyer or the blast, Askold couldn't tell. There was no trace of the second officer, whose corpse, like Senka's, had gone to a sailor's grave.

The XO called down a heading change, and more speed. With the main periscope out of action, he kept the boat on the surface.

With her diesels driving her at twenty knots, Admiral Kolchak went southward down the bay, charging the batteries as she went. When the first light of dawn appeared in the eastern sky she was rolling in the Pacific swells.

Askold took her under. She was a tiny little boat, swimming through a great vast ocean, so when she disappeared beneath the surface it was as if she had never been.

Copyright 1998 by Stephen Coonts