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

A moment later a young senior lieutenant with thick black hair and an impeccable uniform knocks once and enters the conference room. He walks around to Brezhnev, hands the Party General Secretary a thin file folder, then turns and leaves.

Brezhnev has the folder open and he quickly scans the first pages of the document before he looks up. He may be old, he may sometimes become befuddled or even drunk, but he is not stupid.

“Your zampolit claims here that he is no traitor,” Brezhnev says. “Interesting viewpoint, since he has arrested the legally appointed captain and stolen several tens of million rubles of state property.”

Brezhnev flips through several more pages of the decrypted message sent from the Storozhevoy, actually chuckling at one passage or another. But when he looks up at his minister of defense and Admiral of the Fleet he is not smiling.

Brezhnev lays the file on the conference table, seems to consider what he might say next, then slams an open palm on the tabletop, the sound sharp.

“Sir?” Gorshkov prompts.

“Find that ship, Sergei,” Brezhnev says, his voice low, menacing. “No matter what assets you must utilize, find the Storozhevoy.”

“Da. Then what?”

“Sink it. Kill everyone aboard.”

“Their captain is innocent; so are some of the officers.”

“No captain who loses his ship is innocent,” Brezhnev flares. He points a stern finger at Gorshkov. “You find that ship, Comrade! You find that ship and sink it. Now, this morning. The damage must be contained before the situation spins totally out of control.”

Gorshkov realizes all of a sudden that Brezhnev and Grechko are frightened. It gives him pause. Everything depends upon a respect for a chain of command. That respect does not end with him; it ends with the Party leadership. With Brezhnev.

“As you wish, Comrade,” Gorshkov says. He gets to his feet.

Brezhnev looks up at him. “Ultimately this is your responsibility, just as losing the ship is the captain’s.”

Gorshkov has served the Party too long and too faithfully to be cowed by the rantings even of a General Secretary, but he holds his tongue. Brezhnev is frightened, and frightened men are capable of incredible cruelties.

“The Storozhevoy will never reach Sweden,” Gorshkov promises.

45. IL-38 MAY-052

Lieutenant Vasili Barsukhov is flying left stick flat-out at 347 knots, less than one hundred meters above the surface of the river, in pursuit of the Storozhevoy, if such a fantastic story as mutiny can actually be believed. His copilot, Warrant Officer Yevgenni Levin, and flight engineer, Warant Officer Ivan Zavorin, monitor the navigational and engine instruments. Flying this fast and this low is inherently dangerous. All of them are dry mouthed. In this fog the slightest mistake could send them into the cold water of the river or the gulf.

The Ilyushin is an ASW turboprop aircraft, powered by four Ivchenko A1-20M engines, that operates from land bases to search for enemy submarines and either launch a torpedo attack or direct ASW surface ships, such as the Storozhevoy, where to direct their attack.

In addition to the three-man flight crew, the May-052 usually carries a complement of ten or twelve operational crew who man the airplane’s various sensors, including search and attack radars, the Magnetic Anomaly Detector (MAD), and a suite of Electronic Support Measures, some of which are connected to sonobuoys that could be dropped into the water and others capable of detecting and pinpointing any sort of electronic emissions, from either radio transmitters or radar gear.

This early morning only three crewmen have been mustered, because 052 is searching for a surface ship, not a submarine, which is much harder to find. One is manning the Berkut Radar; the other two man the ESM equipment. If the Storozhevoy is actually in the river or even out into the gulf they will find him.

Barsukhov keys his throat mike to speak to his crew. “We’re just crossing over the mouth of the river; anything yet?”

“Infrared, negative.”

“ESM?” Barsukhov prompts.

“Sir, I thought I was receiving nav radar emission about two minutes ago, but it was brief. Soon as I came to it, the transmissions stopped.”

“Did you manage to get a bearing?”

“Yes, sir. I’m estimating a bearing of three-five-five.”

“Are you picking up any other contacts?” Barsukhov asks.

“Numerous contacts in the Irben Channel, plus the gas tanker we passed eight minutes ago, no other military targets emitting in the gulf, but—”

Barsukhov glances at his copilot, then holds the mike a little closer to his throat. “But what, Oleg?”

“This ship we’re looking for must be in some deep shit. Looking aft, I’m seeing emissions from just about every ship at moorings.”

“I’m showing heat blooms from every power plant,” the infrared operator breaks in. “Soon as we find our target I think the whole fleet means to sail downriver for the gulf. Something’s up, Skipper.”