INTERLUDE: The Road to War Less Traveled (continued)
To further enjoy this story, here is a map of Italy.
http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/europe/italy_pol96.jpg
Somewhere off the Aeolian Islands, north of Sicily
In advance of the troop transport ship, Soviet Navy destroyers performed a thorough sweep of the route through the Messina straits (between Italy and Sicily). They noted with their active sonargrams where all the metal hulks lay from previous wars. Off of Salina, it looked like just another one of the sunken boats. Their analysts had matched it with the sunken British submarine GRAMPUS. Historical records said that the Italian patrol boats had torpedoed the poor bastard 10 years ago. May she rest in peace, thought the analyst.
Now, several hours after the Soviet destroyer had made their sweep, the ghost ship suddenly shuddered. Silently, it rose up in the water. An antenna poked up and waited for a few minutes and the ghost slipped back into its resting place.
USSR listening post, Sardinia
Just like clockwork, every eight hours, thought Olga as she listened to the UHF channels. It had started several years ago and apparently emanated from the Egyptian coast. No one had figured out what it was, just short blocks of indecipherable squealing. Some of the geniuses back in Moscow and Stalingrad said it was simply strategic deception and meant nothing. Others thought the Jihadis transmitters were improperly installed. They assured the communications operators it was just some nonsense – the Jihadis showing off. But she was sure they were studying it like mad, regardless.
The spooks had even started a offsetting program featuring a droning female voice, day after day, hour after hour, reciting a stream of random numbers over various short-wave frequencies. I hope its bugging them, Olga thought, the terrorists.
She turned to her officemate.
“It’s a nice night. Things look quiet. I’m going out for a quick espresso. Can you watch my console? Nothing seems to be happening tonight.”
Her desk mate ignored the breach of duties; it happened all the time in these provincial listening posts. Besides, she was busy providing information on the annoying Egyptian air patrol to the ESU.
USSR Transport THE RUSSIAN BAY
200 KM south of Salerno
It was a nice night. The seas were calm and his men were sleeping peacefully for once. The trip up the African coast was horrendous and Gregori abhorred this floating vomitorium they called a ship. He looked at the sliver of the moon as he took deep breaths of the cool air and thought about the next few weeks.
It will be great to get back to civilization after the three years in Africa, he thought. The infantry sergeant looked forward to this new assignment in Athens. He had been hearing so much about the nightlife in this city. He thought about that illicit copy of the American magazine Playboy that he had confiscated from his men. That photo spread on the lovely Greek girls. Mmmmm. He couldn’t wait for his taste.
Earlier in the cruise, Gregori had enthusiastically signed up his squadron to take part in the air watch patrols. One of his boys had been the first to spot the Egyptian air patrol. The little intrepid airplane had dogged them for the past few days and was relieved every eight hours or so by another. He turned to the South with his binoculars.
They had made a sport out of spotting their “seagull” and jeering at the Navy boys when the sailors lost track of the patrol craft. The Navy boys declared it to be a harmless nuisance and noted that the model did not have any anti-ship capabilities. But his squadron had spent many hours trying to guess what the Jihadis were up to. When they were finished jawboning about that and the Greek girls, they would make sport of the Navy again, never failing to point out how the squibs had chosen this cowardly route that hugged the Northern Coast of the Med. They could have been in Athens now drinking beer. Why should the greatest country in the world act like some sort of thief in the night?
He sighed heavily. Yep, there’s my faithful “seagull” – almost directly in front of the path of the ship now as they were heading south down the coast. He estimated about 20-25 miles away. He watched him for a while. The Egyptian was taking a chance flying so close to Sicilian airspace what with the recent ESU warning. But since most of the ESU was buzzing around Greece and Turkey, he suspected they might let this one slip through. Gregori’s squadron specialized in anti-aircraft gunnery and he looked forward to meeting this Egyptian pilot someday, perhaps under different circumstances.
Whoops! I spoke too soon, he thought. He adjusted the binoculars to watch four ESU patrol aircraft were quickly approaching from the east to intercept the plane and he watched wistfully as the Egyptian patrol plane turned southwest towards Tunis. Well, at least someone is out there is thinking of us.
But then again... Air Force, he thought, now there’s a service that needs to be taken down a peg. He chuckled again and walked to the mess deck for a late night coffee.
North of the Aeolian Islands, approximately one hour later
The English-borne Captain showed off a little of his boarding school education to the crew. “Well, my boys. Once more into the breach.” Most of the crew had no idea what he was saying and the Babylonian Executive Officer didn’t bother to translate. He just signaled upward with his hands.
The ghost ship off Salina rose again and this time a periscope poked tentatively out of the water. After a long agonizing period for the crew and not so comfortable period for the veteran Captain, he mumbled, “Hello, what? Our Egyptian friends did not lie.” And then a few more agonizing moments later: “She’s within range, boys.” The captain rattled off some coordinates. The Executive Officer looked over at the torpedo console operator who conversed with the torpedo room and ops and then nodded towards him.
The XO touched the captain on his shoulder.
“Jolly good. Fire away!” After some fumbling and voice commands down to the torpedo room, the new Mark 35 started its first and last journey. The XO whispered to the crew, “Allah is great” and they all did a silent prayer. Even the infidel Captain bowed his head. He was praying that the missile, a notoriously unreliable model, would complete its mission. And he thought about the consequences if it didn’t.
And so the ghost boat slipped back to its “resting place” hoping that it too wasn’t completing its last journey as well. In a few days, it would look around again and then try to float home with the current.
To further enjoy this story, here is a map of Italy.
http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/europe/italy_pol96.jpg
Somewhere off the Aeolian Islands, north of Sicily
In advance of the troop transport ship, Soviet Navy destroyers performed a thorough sweep of the route through the Messina straits (between Italy and Sicily). They noted with their active sonargrams where all the metal hulks lay from previous wars. Off of Salina, it looked like just another one of the sunken boats. Their analysts had matched it with the sunken British submarine GRAMPUS. Historical records said that the Italian patrol boats had torpedoed the poor bastard 10 years ago. May she rest in peace, thought the analyst.
Now, several hours after the Soviet destroyer had made their sweep, the ghost ship suddenly shuddered. Silently, it rose up in the water. An antenna poked up and waited for a few minutes and the ghost slipped back into its resting place.
USSR listening post, Sardinia
Just like clockwork, every eight hours, thought Olga as she listened to the UHF channels. It had started several years ago and apparently emanated from the Egyptian coast. No one had figured out what it was, just short blocks of indecipherable squealing. Some of the geniuses back in Moscow and Stalingrad said it was simply strategic deception and meant nothing. Others thought the Jihadis transmitters were improperly installed. They assured the communications operators it was just some nonsense – the Jihadis showing off. But she was sure they were studying it like mad, regardless.
The spooks had even started a offsetting program featuring a droning female voice, day after day, hour after hour, reciting a stream of random numbers over various short-wave frequencies. I hope its bugging them, Olga thought, the terrorists.
She turned to her officemate.
“It’s a nice night. Things look quiet. I’m going out for a quick espresso. Can you watch my console? Nothing seems to be happening tonight.”
Her desk mate ignored the breach of duties; it happened all the time in these provincial listening posts. Besides, she was busy providing information on the annoying Egyptian air patrol to the ESU.
USSR Transport THE RUSSIAN BAY
200 KM south of Salerno
It was a nice night. The seas were calm and his men were sleeping peacefully for once. The trip up the African coast was horrendous and Gregori abhorred this floating vomitorium they called a ship. He looked at the sliver of the moon as he took deep breaths of the cool air and thought about the next few weeks.
It will be great to get back to civilization after the three years in Africa, he thought. The infantry sergeant looked forward to this new assignment in Athens. He had been hearing so much about the nightlife in this city. He thought about that illicit copy of the American magazine Playboy that he had confiscated from his men. That photo spread on the lovely Greek girls. Mmmmm. He couldn’t wait for his taste.
Earlier in the cruise, Gregori had enthusiastically signed up his squadron to take part in the air watch patrols. One of his boys had been the first to spot the Egyptian air patrol. The little intrepid airplane had dogged them for the past few days and was relieved every eight hours or so by another. He turned to the South with his binoculars.
They had made a sport out of spotting their “seagull” and jeering at the Navy boys when the sailors lost track of the patrol craft. The Navy boys declared it to be a harmless nuisance and noted that the model did not have any anti-ship capabilities. But his squadron had spent many hours trying to guess what the Jihadis were up to. When they were finished jawboning about that and the Greek girls, they would make sport of the Navy again, never failing to point out how the squibs had chosen this cowardly route that hugged the Northern Coast of the Med. They could have been in Athens now drinking beer. Why should the greatest country in the world act like some sort of thief in the night?
He sighed heavily. Yep, there’s my faithful “seagull” – almost directly in front of the path of the ship now as they were heading south down the coast. He estimated about 20-25 miles away. He watched him for a while. The Egyptian was taking a chance flying so close to Sicilian airspace what with the recent ESU warning. But since most of the ESU was buzzing around Greece and Turkey, he suspected they might let this one slip through. Gregori’s squadron specialized in anti-aircraft gunnery and he looked forward to meeting this Egyptian pilot someday, perhaps under different circumstances.
Whoops! I spoke too soon, he thought. He adjusted the binoculars to watch four ESU patrol aircraft were quickly approaching from the east to intercept the plane and he watched wistfully as the Egyptian patrol plane turned southwest towards Tunis. Well, at least someone is out there is thinking of us.
But then again... Air Force, he thought, now there’s a service that needs to be taken down a peg. He chuckled again and walked to the mess deck for a late night coffee.
North of the Aeolian Islands, approximately one hour later
The English-borne Captain showed off a little of his boarding school education to the crew. “Well, my boys. Once more into the breach.” Most of the crew had no idea what he was saying and the Babylonian Executive Officer didn’t bother to translate. He just signaled upward with his hands.
The ghost ship off Salina rose again and this time a periscope poked tentatively out of the water. After a long agonizing period for the crew and not so comfortable period for the veteran Captain, he mumbled, “Hello, what? Our Egyptian friends did not lie.” And then a few more agonizing moments later: “She’s within range, boys.” The captain rattled off some coordinates. The Executive Officer looked over at the torpedo console operator who conversed with the torpedo room and ops and then nodded towards him.
The XO touched the captain on his shoulder.
“Jolly good. Fire away!” After some fumbling and voice commands down to the torpedo room, the new Mark 35 started its first and last journey. The XO whispered to the crew, “Allah is great” and they all did a silent prayer. Even the infidel Captain bowed his head. He was praying that the missile, a notoriously unreliable model, would complete its mission. And he thought about the consequences if it didn’t.
And so the ghost boat slipped back to its “resting place” hoping that it too wasn’t completing its last journey as well. In a few days, it would look around again and then try to float home with the current.
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