Collateral (Tier One #6)

USS Donald Cook (DDG-75)

The 45th Parallel

The Black Sea

October 2

0215 Local Time

“Crossing the forty-fifth parallel south,” the Navigator announced.

An impromptu cheer erupted on the bridge. Instead of squelching it, Dusty smiled and let his crew enjoy the moment. They’d defied Russian intimidation, executed their mission, and successfully escorted the USS Oak Hill out of contested waters with zero casualties and minimal damage to their ship.

He glanced at his Command Master Chief, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they’d transferred the Russian fighter pilot to the base in Romania using the Oak Hill’s helo. The plan had gone off without a hitch . . . at least so far.

The CMC met his gaze and held it.

Somebody’s got something to say, Dusty thought and motioned for the CMC to join him on the starboard bridge wing.

Once they were standing outside, he told the lookout they needed a little space and dismissed him for a quick trip to the head, which the young sailor gratefully accepted. The ship had been at battle stations for hours. Now that they’d crossed back over the forty-fifth, fatigue would set in like a wet blanket. The letdown was human nature, but it would be a mistake to secure general quarters and condition Zebra prematurely. In truth, the Donald Cook wasn’t out of the proverbial woods yet. Three Russian warships still trailed them and God only knew how many Kilos were tracking them from below. Only after he put some distance between his ship and his antagonizers would he relax the readiness condition.

“What’s on your mind, Master Chief?” Dusty asked, looking out at the Oak Hill steaming a hundred yards off their starboard beam on a parallel course.

“I got a bad feeling about this, Captain,” the CMC said, clutching the rail with both hands. “Russian troops are pushing into Mariupol, and US Marines are in Odessa. It don’t take a genius to predict what happens when they meet in the middle.”

“Yeah, it could get ugly.”

“The Admiral Grigorovich backed off after we stood our ground,” the CMC said, “and those F-22s up there certainly made a statement, but if this turns into a hot war, we are the big, easy target. If they decide to sink us, we’re getting sunk, no matter what we do.”

Dusty nodded. “We’re a rubber ducky in a bathtub, surrounded by sharks with no place to go. But if it comes to that, I can assure you of one thing.”

“What’s that, Captain?”

“If we go down, then we’re taking a bunch of them with us. We have seventy-five Tomahawks on this tub—missiles that, unlike her Captain, will not go down with the ship.”

The CMC grinned at him. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, sir.”

Dusty inhaled a lungful of salty ocean air and let his gaze drift to the middle distance.

“When’s the last time you talked to that Russian CO?” the CMC asked.

“Right after the Oak Hill’s helo took off from our stern with the Russian fighter pilot on board.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked what we were doing.”

“What did you say?”

Dusty smiled. “I decided to tell him the truth.”

“After all that, dressing their pilot up in one of our uniforms and sneaking him off, you told him the truth? Why?”

“Because,” Dusty said through a sigh, “he called my bluff.”

“I don’t get it,” the CMC said.

“Well, here’s the thing, Master Chief. The way I see it, my credibility is the most important tactical asset in my arsenal. During that game of chicken with the Admiral Grigorovich, I told him I wouldn’t alter course and I didn’t. We almost lost our ship in the process, but I showed him that I had resolve and was a man of my word. By telling him the truth about the Russian pilot, I reinforced that I’m a straight shooter even when it might be strategically disadvantageous to me.”

“I see where you’re going with this,” the CMC said, nodding. “So next time you make a threat or a promise, you want him to take you at your word and believe you’re going to follow through on whatever that might be.”

“Exactly.”

A wry smile spread across the Master Chief’s face. “Reminds me of my dad growing up.”

“How so?”

“He had this thing he used to say—‘Son, if you test me, then this belt is coming off. And when that happens, I promise you that your ass will regret it.’”

“And did your ass regret it?” Dusty asked, chuckling.

“Oh, hell yeah,” the CMC said, looking out at the water. “If there was one thing I could say about my dad, he was a man of his word. It only took one good thrashing—I fell in line after that.”

Dusty clapped his CMC on the shoulder. “Well, by deploying Marines to Ukraine, it looks to me like President Warner just unbuckled his belt. Hopefully, the Russians learn the same lesson you did and fall in line . . . because if they don’t, God help us all.”