"Not that your naval records mean a heck of a difference at this point, since most of you – like me – are old geezers in the Navy and about to go to the beach permanently anyway."
That comment brought a few chuckles, a brief respite to the deadly seriousness of the moment.
"In a moment, I will give you an opportunity to step away from this with honor. But before I do that, you deserve to know what you're getting into.
"Just over forty-eight hours ago, a sizable amount of weapons-grade plutonium-239 was stolen by terrorists in the Caucasus Mountains of Russia."
That comment brought murmuring and looks of grave concern in many of the men's faces.
"The Russians, who haven't publicly acknowledged the problem, think the plutonium was captured and has been transported east to Chechnya. They've mobilized their army, and they appear prepared to wipe Chechnya off the face of the earth to try and find the plutonium.
"We, on the other hand, believe the plutonium has been smuggled to the Russian city of Sochi, on the Black Sea, where it has been stored on a rogue Russian freighter with terrorist ties. We believe that freighter may be about to sail, and if she does, the president may call upon us to slip into the Black Sea, through the Bosphorus, submerged, and sink her."
More murmuring.
"It is imperative, for the national security of the United States, that this mission remain top secret. There will be no glory, no triumphant victory parade, no public honor for what you are about to do.
"As you know, United States relations with Russia and most of the Islamic states have soured since two Islamic terrorists posing as U.S. Navy pilots attacked the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. So the Russians have cozied up with the Islamic states in the Persian Gulf. They have not been able, ironically, to deal with radical Islamic elements in their own backyard in Chechnya.
"By sinking this freighter, if we are able to get that far, we will in fact be doing the Russians a favor. Remember, that plutonium could just as well be used in a bomb against a Russian city as an American city, since the Chechens hate the Russians so much. Or, the plutonium could be split up and used in multiple bombs to advance the cause of Islam against both American and Russian citizens.
"Therefore if called on, we must" – Pete chopped his hand in the air. The eyes of each man froze on him – "I repeat we must, find her and sink her before she gets out of the Black Sea. If we fail in our mission, we will have failed America. We will have failed millions who will never know that we are here… millions of innocent men, women, and children… who if not incinerated by a nuclear blast, would be subjected to the indiscriminate path of burns, blindness, boils, and cancer from flash, heat, and radioactive fallout."
The gong of ship's bells filled the silent void.
"Gentlemen, to underscore the gravity of this situation, our intelligence believes that enough weapons-grade plutonium is missing to build a bomb ten times as powerful as the bomb that fell on Hiroshima.
"I said a moment ago that we will be doing the Russians a favor by sinking the freighter. But the Russians, in their ignorance, won't even realize we are doing them a favor. All Russia will know is that we've sunk a freighter flying their flag.
"Ordinarily, an attack on a civilian freighter of one nation by the naval vessel of another nation is an act of war. That's the way the Russians will see it if we are discovered. And that's why the Russians must never know what hit this freighter."
He eyed every man before him.
"Listen to what I have to say, because this is where the rubber meets the road." Pete stopped again. "We cannot risk the capture of the Honolulu." His voice resonated over the chopping wavelets lapping against the hull of the submarine. "We cannot link this freighter's sinking to a U.S. submarine. Gentlemen, once we attack this freighter, if we can find her, the chances of getting back out of the Black Sea through the Bos-phorus undetected are slim. Not impossible, but I want you to understand the danger.
"So after the attack, gentlemen, we are going to make an effort to link back up with the freighter and slip back through the Bosphorus the way we came in. But remember that the Black Sea is not the Pacific Ocean. There are fewer places to hide.
"If we are able to attack this terrorist freighter, we'll have to get out of there fast. Otherwise, we may have to scuttle the Honolulu." The men looked to each side, with looks of bewilderment on their faces. "That's right. We may have to abandon ship, and then send her to the bottom of the Black Sea. That's the potential sacrifice your country is asking you to make. Any questions?"
A senior chief torpedoman's mate raised his hand.
"Senior chief."
"Sir, I know it's not the Pacific, but still, the Black Sea is a big place. Assuming we can pull off this maneuver and get through the Bosphorus without getting spotted by the Turks, just how does Washington expect us to find this freighter once she's underway?" The seasoned senior chief spoke in a drawl that made him sound like he was from Arkansas. "I think we all know that tracking the location of freighters at sea is a problem that is hard even for the U.S. Navy. There are just too many of them, and the oceans and seas of the world are just too big. I mean, no disrespect intended, sir, but ain't this like looking for a needle in a haystack? Sir?"
A number of the prospective crewmembers nodded in agreement at the senior chief's question.
Pete looked the senior chief in the eye, and eyed every crew member standing before him. "Gentlemen, the senior chief asks a great question. Frankly, I should've covered this. But then again, that's why God created chiefs and senior chiefs and master chiefs – to make sure the old man's backside stays out of a sling. Right?"
A wave of laughter followed that comment. Old man was an endearing term used in the Navy to refer to a commanding officer of a ship, submarine, or shore station, and had nothing to do with an officer's chronological age.
"Thank you, Senior, for keeping this old man's rear out of the tar pit, even before we set sail." More laughter.
"No problem, Captain, " the senior chief torpedoman said.
"I want you all to understand that we may never find the Alexander Popovich. This is, in a sense, like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even in this smaller section of the Black Sea, we are still dealing with thousands of square miles of water. We may be trying this dangerous docking maneuver for nothing. We are risking our lives on a lark that our satellites are good enough to track her down, to feed us her coordinates, and let us hunt her down and kill her.
"But here's how we're gonna try to find her. Our intelligence has picked up rumblings that the ship will be sailing from the Russian port of Sochi to Odessa in Ukraine. And from there, probably out of the Black Sea and who knows where.
"So here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna sneak through the Bosphorus under the freighter Volga River, and when we make it into the Black Sea, we will disengage from the Volga River. From there, we will sail to the entrance of the shipping lanes leading to Odessa. We will stay there, submerged, waiting. We will set an underwater steel trap. If Alexander Popovich shows up, we will spring that trap with two MK-48 torpedoes under the midsection of her hull. That should do the trick.
"And as she sinks to the bottom of the sea, we will engage in full power and get the heck out of there." There were multiple instances of head nodding. The answer seemed to have done the trick. "Any other questions?"
There was no response. "Gentlemen, you've given your lives to the Navy, and you've volunteered for this mission. You're the best that this country has to offer. You have a right to ask questions."