The Hunt for Red October - Tom Clancy [179]
"We don't let him off the hook unless he earns it," the president said coldly.
Moore smiled. "Oh, he'll earn it. We own Mr. Henderson."
THE FIFTEENTH DAY
FRIDAY 17, DECEMBER
Ocracoke Inlet
There was no moon. The three-ship procession entered the inlet at five knots, just after midnight to take advantage of the extra-high spring tide. The Pogy led the formation since she had the shallowest draft, and the Dallas trailed the Red October. The coast guard stations on either side of the inlet were occupied by naval officers who had relieved the "coasties."
Ryan had been allowed atop the sail, a humanitarian gesture from Ramius that he much appreciated. After eighteen hours inside the Red October Jack had felt confined, and it was good to see the world—even if it was nothing but dark empty space. The Pogy showed only a dim red light that disappeared if it was looked at for more than a few seconds. He could see the water's feathery wisps of foam and the stars playing hide-and-seek through the clouds. The west wind was a harsh twenty knots coming off the water.
Borodin was giving terse, monosyllabic orders as he conned the submarine up a channel that had to be dredged every few months despite the enormous jetty which had been built to the north. The ride was an easy one, the two or three feet of chop not mattering a whit to the missile sub's 30,000-ton bulk. Ryan was thankful for this. The black water calmed, and when they entered sheltered waters a Zodiac-type rubber boat zoomed towards them.
"Ahoy Red October!" a voice called in the darkness. Ryan could barely make out the gray lozenge shape of the Zodiac. It was ahead of a tiny patch of foam formed by the sputtering outboard motor.
"May I answer, Captain Borodin?" Ryan asked, getting a nod. "This is Ryan. We have two casualties aboard. One's in bad shape. We need a doctor and a surgical team right away! Do you understand?"
"Two casualties, and you need a doc, right." Ryan thought he saw a man holding something to his face, and thought he heard the faint crackle of a radio. It was hard to tell in the wind. "Okay. We'll have a doc flown down right away, October. Dallas and Pogy both have medical corpsmen aboard. You want 'em?"
"Damn straight!" Ryan replied at once.
"Okay. Follow Pogy two more miles and stand by." The Zodiac sped forward, reversed course, and disappeared in the darkness.
"Thank God for that," Ryan breathed.
"You are be—believer?" Borodin asked.
"Yeah, sure." Ryan should not have been surprised by the question. "Hell, you gotta believe in something."
"And why is that, Commander Ryan?" Borodin was examining the Pogy through oversized night glasses.
Ryan wondered how to answer. "Well, because if you don't, what's the point of life? That would mean Sartre and Camus and all those characters were right—all is chaos, life has no meaning. I refuse to believe that. If you want a better answer, I know a couple priests who'd be glad to talk to you."
Borodin did not respond. He spoke an order into the bridge microphone, and they altered course a few degrees to starboard.
The Dallas
A half mile aft, Mancuso was holding a light-amplifying night scope to his eyes. Mannion was at his shoulder, struggling to see.
"Jesus Christ," Mancuso whispered.
"You got that one right, Skipper," Mannion said, shivering in his jacket. "I'm not sure I believe it either. Here comes the Zodiac." Mannion handed his commander the portable radio used for docking.
"Do you read?"
"This is Mancuso."
"When our friend stops, I want you to transfer ten men to her, including your corpsman. They report two casualties who need medical attention. Pick good men, Commander, they'll need help running the boat—just make damned sure they're men who don't talk."
"Acknowledged.