Hunt the "Red October"

Author: (USA) Clancy
Translator: Zhang Zhaozhong, Fang Baoding
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-07-01
Features: A Soviet strategic ballistic missile submarine, the "Red October," equipped with a new silent propulsion system, suddenly defects to the United States under the command of Captain Ramis during an exercise. To prevent this multi-billion-dollar advanced nuclear submarine from falling into American hands, the Soviet Union deploys nearly 100 ships to search and intercept it in the Atlantic, ready to sink it upon discovery. This intelligence is obtained by American spies. Consequently, the United States mobilizes all its forces and requests assistance from the Royal Navy to search for the "Red October." The CIA, the Navy, and the White House jointly devise a deception: to make the Soviets believe that the submarine has been sunk in a nuclear accident, while in reality, the United States has sunk one of its own old submarines. To achieve their respective goals, both sides risk direct confrontation and engage in a struggle in the Atlantic. For a moment, tensions in the North Atlantic reach a critical point.
The maiden voyage of the "Red October" begins at the Polyarnye Base of the Northern Fleet in the Soviet Navy. Colonel Marco Ramis, clad in a five-layer waterproof and insulated suit, boards the submarine's bridge. A dirty harbor tug is steering the submarine northward, towing it toward the downstream channel. The large dry dock where the "Red October" had been docked for two months now remains nothing but a concrete shell filled with seawater. The dry dock was specifically built to protect strategic missile submarines. A large group of sailors and shipyard workers stand on the dock walls, watching the "Red October" depart. They bid farewell in the stoic Russian manner, with no one waving or cheering. "Double shift, Kamalov," Ramis commands. The tug moves off course, and he glances at its stern, watching the two identical bronze propellers churn the waves as they propel the vessel. The tug captain waves frequently, and Ramis returns the gesture. As the submarine departs the dock, the tug's agile movements and skilled handling are commendable, even though it has done little. Thus, the "Red October," a Typhoon-class nuclear submarine, leaves Polyarnye Base and heads toward the Kola Bay.
"Look, Captain, the 'Berg' icebreaker," Gregory Kamalov shouts, pointing to the escort ship that is accompanying them out to sea. Ramis nods. Crossing the will take about two and a half hours, testing not the captain's skill but his patience. The biting north wind howls, a characteristic Arctic wind. This late autumn is unexpectedly mild, with no heavy snowfall yet; however, a fierce winter storm had struck the Murmansk coast a week earlier, cracking the ice on the Arctic Sea. It seems that using an icebreaker as an escort is not merely a formality. The "Berg" is responsible for breaking the night-frozen ice, clearing a path for the "Red October." For this new Soviet missile submarine, it is absolutely forbidden to be damaged by floating ice.
In the, the sea wind churns up towering waves. A wave, like a small mountain, crashes down, instantly engulfing the "Red October's" spherical bow. Seawater surges onto the missile deck in front of the tall black bridge and then flows back into the ocean. Countless vessels travel back and forth in the, their bilge water stained black. Due to the extreme cold, the stains cannot be removed and instead drift with the waves, leaving black rings on the cliffs of the. Without careful observation, one might mistake it for a lazy giant bathing in the sea.
This Soviet monster behaves so boldly, daubing the "face of the Earth" with such filth, Ramis thinks to himself, muttering aloud. He grew up on a fishing boat and knows how to live in harmony with nature.
"Speed thirteen knots," he orders to accelerate. Kamalov repeats the command over the bridge phone. The "Red October" follows the "Berg" in a single file. Kamalov, the chief navigator, served as a harbor pilot before joining the navy, specializing in guiding large combat ships in and out of the. At this moment, the two officers focus intently on the icebreaker three hundred meters away.
Several crew members on the rear deck of the "Berg" are stamping their feet, shivering from the cold. One of them wears a white apron like a cook. They came out to watch the "Red October's" maiden voyage and to pass the time, escaping the monotony of their work. Normally, Ramis would have grown impatient if the submarine had to pass through this wide and deep under the escort of other vessels. But today, he seems different. While floating ice is a concern, there are more important matters on Ramis's mind.
"Captain, we're setting sail again to defend our homeland," Colonel Ivan Yurievich Putin announces, sticking his head out of the hatch without prior permission, as usual, like a novice sailor, awkwardly climbing the ladder. The cramped bridge becomes even more crowded. In addition to the captain and the chief navigator, a silent observer stands there. Putin is the political deputy captain of the submarine, and everything he does is for the sake of his homeland. "Homeland" holds a sacred meaning for every Russian, just as the name of V.I. Lenin, the soul of the Communist Party.
"You're right, Ivan," Ramis replies with forced cheerfulness. "Leaving the dry dock and spending half a month at sea is truly enjoyable. Sailors belong to the sea, after all, and it's time to leave those pretentious officials and workers in dirty boots. Plus, we won't freeze anymore."
"Are you cold?" Putin asks, confused. Ramis has told himself countless times that Colonel Putin is indeed an exceptional political officer. His voice is always too loud, pretentious, and devoid of humor. He never allows anyone to forget their status. This rare political officer is intimidating.
"Comrade, I've spent a long time on submarines and am already accustomed to stuffy conditions and a steady deck," Putin says, unconcerned about the potential dangers of submarine life. After joining the navy, he served on a destroyer but was later transferred to a submarine due to chronic seasickness. Of course, there were other reasons for the transfer: others couldn't tolerate the cramped quarters, but Putin never complained.
"Oh, Colonel Alexander, today's weather is lovely. In Gorky, it would already be blooming!" Putin exclaims.
"What flowers are you talking about, Comrade Deputy Captain?" Ramis picks up a telescope and scans the. At noon, the sun has just risen from the southeastern horizon, casting golden, powdery light and dappled purplish-red shadows on the cliffs of the.
"Oh, I meant snow, of course!" Putin laughs. "In this weather, women and children's cheeks turn rosy; your exhaled breath trails like a white cloud, and there's even the scent of vodka! I tell you, this kind of weather is always found in Gorky!"
This fellow should work for the national tourism agency, Ramis thinks, though Gorky is a bit too close to foreign countries. He has visited Gorky twice before and remembers it as a typical Russian city: full of crooked houses, dirty, cluttered streets, and ragged citizens. Like most Russian cities, winter is the most beautiful season in Gorky, when snow covers all the imperfections. Ramis is half Lithuanian, and his childhood was spent in a picturesque fishing village. His ancestors left him several rows of excellent houses.