Storming the Black Ice: 3 (Pacific Rim Series) - Softcover

Brown, Don

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0310330165 ISBN 13: 9780310330165

Publisher: Zondervan, 2014

Synopsis

When British geologists discover the world's largest oil reserves under the desolate, icy tundra of Antarctica, Britain and Chile form a top-secret alliance for control of petroleum resources that will rival the economic power of OPEC.

But when their discovery is uncovered by an Argentinean intelligence officer, a surprise-attack against a secret British outpost in Antarctica triggers a war. Britain and Chile are in a military standoff against Venezuela and Argentina, and when the war escalates, Britain asks America for help.

For two couples separated by the battle, the outcome will be either love reunited or devastating heartbreak.

For a young British boy living with his mother in London, his father’s life is on the line.

And for Pete Miranda, an American sub commander detailed on a special military assignment to his father's homeland of Chile, will his fate be a crushing death under the icy-cold waters of the Antarctic Ocean, or a future of life, light, and a second chance for love?

About this title

About the Author

Don Brown is the author of Thunder in the Morning Calm, The Malacca Conspiracy, The Navy Justice Series, and The Black Sea Affair, a submarine thriller that predicted the 2008 shooting war between Russia and Georgia. Don served five years in the U.S. Navy as an officer in the Judge Advocate General's (JAG) Corps, which gave him an exceptional vantage point into both the Navy and the inner workings "inside-the-beltway" as an action officer assigned to the Pentagon. He left active duty in 1992 to pursue private practice, but remained on inactive status through 1999, rising to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. He and his family live in North Carolina, where he pursues his passion for penning novels about the Navy. www.donbrownbooks.com Facebook: Don-Brown

 

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Storming the Black Ice

By Don Brown

ZONDERVAN

Copyright © 2014 Don Brown
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-310-33016-5

CHAPTER 1

Moanalua RoadHonoluluOahu, Hawaii

The silver Beamer hugged the curve along Moanalua Road, racing underthe bright, warm sunshine and deep blue skies of an early Hawaiianafternoon. The driver slowed when the sea of brake lights flashed upahead in front of the entrance of St. Timothy's Episcopal Church on theright. He cursed under his breath, then checked his watch.

His problem—bad timing.

Pearl Ridge Elementary School over to the left was letting out,attracting a sea of open-top convertibles and snub-nosed vans jammedin a long line at the entrance of the school, backing up traffic for aquarter of a mile. Even without the traffic jam, getting to CommanderPete Miranda's appointment with the admiral would be a tight squeeze.

"Why didn't I take the H1?" He hit the brakes, coming to a stopin bumper-to-bumper traffic. Pete checked the time, then let out anexpletive. "I need some air." He pushed the button on the dash to openthe retractable top of the brand-new BMW 650i. "I fork out all this cashfor this expensive little baby, and all I do is sit in traffic jams. Drive incircles. Island's only forty miles long and thirty miles wide."

As the retractable top opened and glorious Hawaiian sunshinesaturated the driver's side of the Beamer, the answer to his questionappeared in the flesh—a blonde in a spaghetti-strap yellow sundress ina Chrysler Sebring convertible.

The poor damsel in distress!

Stuck in line on the left shoulder of the road, crawling at a snail'space even slower than Pete's lane. Her blond hair danced in the breezeoff her tanned shoulders. And as her left hand clasped the steering wheelat the twelve o'clock position, the noticeable absence of a ring!

"My, my!" Pete let up on the brakes and rolled even with the Sebring.

She glanced in his direction, and their eyes locked in a millisecondof an electrifying instant. She flashed a magnetic smile.

"Now I remember why I bought this car." He shot her a teasingsalute and returned the smile. "Request permission to come aboard?"

"What?" She mouthed the single word in a smiling, bashful fashion,raising her left eyebrow in a curious manner and sporting a look of pleasureabout the coincidence that had brought their convertibles side byside in a traffic jam made in heaven.

"Me Clark! You Christie!" he shouted.

She laughed. "I love that old movie."

"You liked Vacation? Me too!"

She giggled and, with a swift movement of her hand, pushed a lockof blond hair out of her face. "I loved it!"

"Now me like traffic jams!"

"You're bad!" She smiled.

And then ... his iPhone rang.

COMSUBPAC. The admiral's office.

Pete swiped his thumb across the iPhone. "Commander Miranda."

"Sir, this is Master Chief Kelly at SUBPAC."

"How can I help you, Master Chief?"

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but the admiral wants you here five minutesearly."

Pete looked down at the digital clock. 1350 hours. Then he glancedover at the Beamer's navigation screen: 3.8 miles to SUBPAC HQ. ETA10 minutes.

So much for trading phone numbers with the red-hot soccer mom.

"Gotta get around this traffic." Pete hit his turn signal, blew a kiss tothe blonde, and turned right on Moanalua Loop, heading south towardPearl Harbor. If he could get lucky with some green lights ...

A few minutes later he sped past the entrance to the USS ArizonaMemorial, over the causeway bridge, and was bearing right onto ArizonaRoad. With the sparkling waters of the harbor in front, Pete stopped atthe main gate of the naval base.

As he fiddled for his military identification card, a US Marine, deckedin an enlisted dress blue "Charlie" uniform, stood waiting for him.

"Afternoon, Commander."

"Afternoon, Corporal." Pete found the card and flashed it at thecorporal.

"Have a nice day, sir." The Marine waved Pete through the gate.

Pete checked the clock on the dash. "Five minutes late!" He bangedhis fist into the dashboard as his phone rang again.

COMSUBPAC.

Pete picked up the phone. "Commander Miranda."

"The admiral wants to know where you are, sir," the force masterchief said.

"In the parking lot, Master Chief."

"Aye, sir. I'll tell the admiral."

Pete turned the Beamer into the first spot for visitors.

Without taking time to raise the top, he popped out of the driver'sside, donned his cover, and jogged up the front walkway leadingto SUBPAC headquarters. Two petty officers in white jumper uniformswere standing under a blue-and-white sign proclaiming:

HEADQUARTERSUNITED STATES SUBMARINE FORCEPACIFIC FLEET

They shot salutes as he raced up the steps to the front door. Petereturned the salutes as a sailor opened the large glass door. Inside theentryway, a model of a Los Angeles–class attack submarine sat on a pedestal,cordoned off by a red-velvet-covered rope.

"Commander Miranda!" Lieutenant Commander Frank Carber, oneof the admiral's flag aides, greeted Pete in the entryway. "Admiral's waitingfor you, sir."

"I'll bet."

"Follow me, please, sir."

"With pleasure, Frank."

Pete fell into line behind the flag aide, making a beeline to theadmiral's suite. The aide turned left and stepped through a door pasttwo Marines who came to attention as Pete passed. The large receptionarea of the admiral's office featured dark blue carpet that gave off thesmell of having been recently cleaned. A half dozen sailors—yeomanclerical types—sat at terminal screens, seemingly oblivious to Pete'sarrival.

"This way, sir." The flag aide pivoted right, then opened the doorleading to the inner sanctum of the admiral's office.

Rear Admiral Chuck D. "Bulldog" Elyea, a pugnacious bulldog ofan officer wearing his short-sleeved khaki uniform with two silver starspinned to each collar, sat back in his chair, his arms folded across hisbelly. His chief of staff, Captain Lee Teague, stood behind him, mimickingthe arms-crossed gesture of his boss. Their silent scowls seemedperfectly synchronized in a symmetry of angry visual lines.

Pete stepped in front of the admiral's desk and came to attention."Commander Miranda reporting as ordered, sir."

The stare, scowl, and crossed arms lingered. Classic Elyea. Thesilent treatment as a psychological weapon.

Ten seconds passed. Then, finally ...

"Pete, I had the master chief call and tell you to report five minutesearly, and"—Elyea examined his wristwatch, fixing his stare on it—"andrather than arriving five minutes early, you're five minutes late fromthe originally scheduled time."

"Sorry, sir. I had a traffic issue."

"What was her name?"

"Didn't have time to find out. Sorry, sir."

"Pete, tell me this. Do you remember Captain Francis S. Low,United States Navy?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

The admiral steepled his fingers together. "Tell me, who was CaptainLow?"

Every sub commander in the Navy knew the name of CaptainFrancis S. Low. Pete knew this and so did the admiral. But obviously,the admiral wanted to drive home some point.

"Sir, in January of 1942, Captain Francis S. Low, the sub commanderon the staff of Admiral Ernest J. King, devised the plan to attackTokyo in retaliation for the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor by usingArmy two-engine medium bombers launched from an aircraft carrier.Lieutenant Colonel James `Jimmy' Doolittle executed the mission. Therest is history, sir."

The admiral scratched his chin. "You saw the movie Pearl Harbor,didn't you?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"You remember that scene when FDR called Admiral King andCaptain Low into the Oval Office while looking for a plan to retaliateagainst Japan?"

"Yes, sir, Admiral, I seem to remember that scene."

"Remember what FDR said in that scene?"

"Well, sir," Pete said, "I vaguely remember FDR telling Captain Lowthat he liked sub commanders."

"And what else do you remember?"

"That the president was pleased that Captain Low devised the strategicbombing plan against Tokyo."

"No!" Elyea slammed his desk. "What did FDR say after he toldCaptain Low that he liked sub commanders?"

Pete shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. It's been awhile since I saw themovie."

Elyea swigged his coffee, then set the mug down on his desk."Roosevelt looked at Captain Low and said something like, `I like subcommanders. They don't have time for bull. And neither do I.' Do youremember that, Commander?"

"I remember something like that."

"Good," Elyea said. "Let me put it this way. I like sub commanderstoo. But I don't like sub commanders who are late."

"My apologies, sir."

"It's like FDR said in that movie, I don't have time for bull. Haveyou got that, Commander?"

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

"Very well. At ease, Pete."

"Thank you, sir."

"Lucky for you you're the best LA-class sub commander I've got.But don't think you can get prima donna treatment."

"Of course not, sir. But thank you, sir."

"Forget it. Listen, Pete. I know you're considering retirement. Butyour country needs you. And I'm not trying to sound like a detailer witha juicy assignment, but I do have an offer you can't refuse."

Pete chuckled.

"Did I say something funny, Commander?"

"My apologies, sir. But the last time I got an offer I couldn't refuse, Iwound up commanding a sub in the Black Sea and nearly started a warbetween the US and Russia."

The admiral leaned back in his chair. "Have a seat, Pete."

"Thank you, sir." Pete sat in a wingback chair in front of the admiral'sdesk.

"You acquitted yourself splendidly in the Black Sea and deservedthe Presidential Commendation that you received."

"I am humbled, sir."

"But"—Elyea lifted his index finger in the air—"but in fairness,Pete, you volunteered for the Black Sea mission. Every crew member,from the skipper down, and that includes you, was warned of thedangers."

Pete nodded. "True, Admiral. We knew we might not return. And wewouldn't have, but for the grace of God."

"Well, with what I'm about to tell you, you'll think God is about toreward you for your near-death experience in the Black Sea."

"You have piqued my curiosity, sir. It's hard to figure out whatmight be a more lush assignment than Hawaii."

"Suppose I told you we were going to give you a chance to go home."

"Go home? To Dallas, sir? With respect, I didn't know we had anysub bases in Dallas."

"You're correct, Pete." A look of satisfaction crossed the admiral'sface. "But they sure can get a sub into port in Valparaiso."

"Valparaiso?" Pete thought about that for a second. "As in Chile?"

"You didn't think I was talking about Indiana, did you?"

"No, sir. Unless for some reason the president wants an LA-classboat on the Great Lakes."

"Well, I don't think the president is interested in the Great Lakes.But he is interested in selling a Los Angeles–class boat to the ChileanNavy."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Our relations with Chile have been superb over the years.But Chile's relationships with both Venezuela and Argentina are rocky.Chile needs to modernize her sub fleet. So when we announced thatwe were mothballing the USS Corpus Christi, we got a call from theChilean Navy about purchasing her."

"Hmm. I'm starting to get the picture."

"Good. The Chileans need someone to teach them how to operatethis baby. And not only are you my best sub commander but you happento be the only sub commander in the Navy with a father born andraised in Santiago."

Pete's father, Marvin Miranda, born to a prominent Chilean family,had come as a freshman to Cal-Berkeley all those years ago and met agorgeous daughter of Connecticut aristocracy, the talented and magneticJudith Kriete.

Judy would steal Marvin's heart, and his love for the redheadensured that America would become his new home. His became theclassic American success story—an immigrant-turned-American makinghis name and grasping hold of the American dream.

Marvin and Judy had two boys. Their second son, Peter, had earnedan NROTC scholarship at the University of Texas, where he first developedan interest in submarines.

If Pete's life were a painting, that painting would be a satisfyingtapestry of blur and motion. Still, that tapestry lacked one meaningfulscene. Pete had missed out on his father's Chilean heritage. Yes, theyhad visited Santiago when the children were young, but as his memoriesfaded, his longing to reconnect—to family, to cousins, to the otherhalf of his heritage—had grown stronger.

"Pete. Still with me?"

"Sorry, sir. Just thinking."

"Well? How does this proposition strike you?"

"I'm interested, sir. How would this work? Would I be on loan to theChilean Navy?"

"Yes. We would fly you to Santiago, along with a skeleton crew ofUS Navy LA-class submariners. You would meet the crew of the CorpusChristi in Valparaiso. The Chileans are renaming the Corpus Christi theCS Miro, by the way. The Corpus Christi's crew would disembark andyou would then train the new Chilean crew on the nuances of submarinewarfare, American style."

The notion of an all-expenses-paid trip to Chile, doing what he loved,with a chance to explore a side of his family separated from him by timeand distance, sounded intriguing. The Navy had already rewarded himwith a final shore tour in Hawaii as payback for his heroism in the BlackSea affair. After Hawaii, he had planned on putting in his retirementpapers and returning to Dallas, where he had already bought a swankyretirement condo.

But maybe the call of Dallas and his dream of taking over the familysign business—a multimillion-dollar enterprise started by his brother,John, in a garage—and then running for Congress ... maybe all thatcould wait for a while.

"Out of curiosity, Admiral, how long would this assignment last?"

"Six months to a year, Pete. After that, if you want to retire and returnto Texas, fine. But if you stay in, you'd be up for captain in the middle ofyour tour, and I'll personally make a call to the head of the review boardand do everything in my power to see that you're picked up."

"Captain Miranda." Pete felt himself grin. "That has a nice ring,doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," the admiral said. "Which is why you should delay thissign-business idea of yours for another few years. Pete, you'd look goodwith a silver eagle pinned on that collar of yours. And if you could learnto leave the women alone and make it to meetings on time, maybe evena star one day." The admiral chuckled.

"Okay." Pete laughed. "You've persuaded me, sir. A short-termextension sounds good."

"Great! There's a C-5 leaving out of Hickam tomorrow at 1300,headed to Santiago. We've already booked that C-5 for you, Pete."

"Aye, sir."

CHAPTER 2

Cerro Castillopresident's summer palaceViña del Marsixty miles northwest of Santiago, Chile

The black Rolls-Royce slowed, approaching the swooping circulardriveway fronting the stucco-and-tile mansion overlooking thePacific. At ten-foot intervals along the broad curve, soldiers of theRepublic of Chile stood guard, resplendent in dress uniforms, chestmedals glistening in the late-afternoon sun, popping to attention andsaluting as the limousine rolled to a stop.

A few dignitaries and military officers were gathered at the front ofthe mansion, waiting in a light Pacific breeze.

A Chilean naval officer stepped forward and opened the back door,and an announcement boomed over a loudspeaker, first in English, thenin Spanish. The announcement echoed across the palace grounds: "Theforeign secretary of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and NorthernIreland, the Right Honourable John Gosling."

Foreign Secretary Gosling stepped from the motorcar with asmile and wave and received enthusiastic applause. As the applausecontinued, he extended his hand to the gray-haired gentleman whoapproached him.

"Welcome to Cerro Castillo, Mister Secretary," the smiling Chileansaid, his perfect English spiced with a slight Spanish accent.

"A pleasure to be here, Chancellor Rivera," Gosling responded inSpanish. "What a picturesque setting. This palace is lovelier than thephotographs can show."

The Chilean grinned. "I see that your Spanish is better than myEnglish, Mister Secretary."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Gosling put his hand on Rivera's back."I'm glad that our nations share a mutual respect for the other's history,culture, and language."

"And we shall forge an even stronger and more powerful future,"Rivera said, again in English.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Storming the Black Ice by Don Brown. Copyright © 2014 Don Brown. Excerpted by permission of ZONDERVAN.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Zondervan
• Publication date: 2014
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0310330165
• ISBN 13: 9780310330165
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 368