Mutiny: The True Events That Inspired The Hunt for Red October

His aircraft is an older model, designated Yak-281, equipped with the Initiativa radar bombing system, and it still has its 30mm cannons, which have been pulled out of some of the newer Yaks. Powered by a pair of Tumansky R-11 afterburning turbojets the aircraft carries conventional bombs large enough to take out the Storozhevoy.

“I have the target,” his weapons officer reports.

“Roger,” Zhernov responds. “Report weapons lock.”

“Roger,” the weaps reports. A moment later he is back. “I have a primary weapons lock. Do I have permission to fire?”

Zhernov makes his decision at the last possible moment. He wants to frighten the stupid fools into surrendering, not kill them all. “Nyet, nyet!” he shouts. “I’m firing with our cannon on the first run. On the deck, forward of the bridge, and then aft along the weather deck.”

His controller above in the Ilyushin is shouting in his headphones, as are at least two others, one of them probably Guliayev, but Zhernov ignores them.

Two of his wingmen drop their bombs, but they have aimed wide of the mark. Purposely? Zhernov wonders.

The Storozhevoy looms large outside his canopy, and he can even imagine that he is picking out individual faces through the bridge windows when he fires his cannon, the shells tearing up the foredeck and then along the hull as he screams past, leaving the ship in his wake.

Off to port Zhernov spots a flash and sudden plume of smoke and he turns his head toward it. One of the bombs dropped by his wing-men has found a target. But the wrong ship!

It’s the fog. It’s the lousy orders.

“Break off! Break off!” he orders his squadron.

59. BELOWDECKS

When the first shots hit the deck forward of the bridge they sound like the distant blows of a jackhammer.

Gindin and the other officers locked in the compartment look up in alarm.

“They’re shooting at us,” Kuzmin says.

Almost immediately cannon shots rake the side of the ship, and this time the noise is deafening. Up close and personal. Deadly. For the first time every man in the room understands that they could die down here in a matter of a few more minutes.

Kuzmin starts pounding on the door again, and Gindin joins him.

60. CHAIN OF COMMAND

Gorshkov has switched the telephone to speaker mode so that Grechko can also hear the communications relayed from Baltic Fleet Headquarters. Both men are having trouble believing what they are listening to.

“Am I correct in understanding that your pilots refuse to drop their bombs?” Gorshkov demands.

“Three have been dropped so far,” Kosov replies. He sounds shaky.

“Has the Storozhevoy been destroyed?”

“No, sir. Two of the bombs missed their target, but the third struck the wrong ship.”

“What ship?” Grechko demands.

“One of ours,” Kosov responds. “Another Krivak class, just like the Storozhevoy.”

“Casualties?” Gorshkov wants to know.

“I have no reports yet. The situation is very confusing at the—”

“But the Storozhevoy has not been stopped. He is still sailing to the west?” Gorshkov asks.

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid so,” Kosov admits. “But not for long.”

Grechko suddenly switches to another line. A moment later it is answered by an aide.

“What is the nearest air force base to the Storozhevoy?” Grechko demands.

“Tukums, in the Pribaltiysk Military Region.”

“Didn’t we just send them a couple squadrons of Sukhoi attack bombers?”

“Yes, sir,” the aide replies.

“Order them into the air immediately!” Grechko shouts. “Tell them to sink that ship!”

“Yes, sir,” the aide replies as calmly as if he had been ordered to bring the minister’s limousine around to the front door.

Grechko breaks the connection. “The navy doesn’t want to shoot at one of its own ships, so now we’ll see what the air force can do,” he says to no one.

61. SU-24 SQUADRON, TUKUMS AIR FORCE BASE

Sukhoi-24 Squadron Leader Captain Ivan Makarov arrives at the pilots’ briefing room shortly after breakfast. The runner who summoned him said that something very big was in the wind, and he was ordered to “move your ass.”

Two dozen crewmen have already assembled, and even before Makarov can take his seat Air Regiment Commander Colonel Nikolai Teplov walks in and charges to the podium at the head of the room.

Everyone jumps to attention, but Teplov, who normally is a stickler for military courtesy and etiquette, waves them down.

“Your aircraft have been fueled, and ordnance is being loaded at this moment. In addition to ammunition for your cannons you will be carrying laser-guided bombs. You are to take off as soon as you can get to your aircraft. Captain Makarov will be in overall command once you’re in the air.” Teplov gives them a hard stare. “Dismissed.”

Makarov jumps to his feet as Teplov steps away from the podium and strides toward the door. “Colonel, where are we going?”

“The Baltic!” Teplov shouts. “Once you’re in the air and assembled you’ll be given the coordinates of your target.”

“Yes, sir. What target?”