Billings,
the war
game observer aboard
Barracuda,
was not convinced of anything. In his opinion a
Russian sub that
intruded on the war game would run under the fleet at high speed, then
disappear. It wouldn't linger. The repair on the faulty pump on
Swordfish
was
probably shoddy, and the pump had reverted to its noisy state. The sub
was
indeed
Swordfish
.
The
war game was not over, it was reaching its climax. Seething, feeling
the full
weight of his vested interest in a successful conclusion of the
exercise, he
interrupted, "Captain, we're only seventeen thousand yards from
Kitty
Hawk.
You can fire your torpedoes now and then chase the sub."
"Commander
Billings, I'm following that
sub now."
"What
if she's
not a Russian? What if
your man is wrong?"
"If
Sorensen is
wrong, I'll keelhaul
him. Will that make you happy, Mr. Billings? I'll serve him to Netts
for
breakfast."
"You
can still
fire your
torpedoes."
"I
don't think I
want to do that this
close to a Soviet submarine. She might get the wrong idea. She will
also get a
dandy tape recording of our system. I'm sorry. Commander, but you know
my
standing orders as well as I do. Your boss. Admiral Netts, wrote them."
"Speed
of target
increasing to
twenty-one knots."
"Make
our speed
twenty-one knots, Mr. Pisaro. Stay
with her. Torpedo room, unload torpedoes."
"Torpedo
room,
say again."
"Unload
torpedoes, Chief. Get those fish
out of the tubes."
"Aye
aye, sir.
Understand unload tubes
one and four."
"Mr.
Billings,
you had better find
something to hold on to. We're not playing games any more. Engineering,
prepare
for high power. Give me seventy percent."
"Engineering,
understand seventy percent
steam."
"Keep
right after
her, Mr. Pisaro, keep
right on her butt."
"Sit
down, Popov, and get hold of yourself."
Federov's
voice was harsh. Every man aboard
Potemkin
was an
officer, but some, he
decided, didn't know how to act the part.
"Identify
him, if you please, Mr. Popov."
"It's
a Skipjack class, Captain. It must be
Barracuda
."
With
seven
American subs taking part in the war game, Federov had expected an
encounter
before this. When the American rose up and began to follow, he deduced
that he
had come upon the sub that was playing the role of attacker. One of the
defenders would either try to contact him or simulate
a torpedo attack. It was quite a situation—he was
pretending to
be an American and he was being followed by an American pretending to
be a
Soviet, but there was no one in the control room with whom he could
share the
irony of it.
He
had to
determine if the American commander was going to continue his attack on
the
carrier or follow
Potemkin
.
He ordered the helmsman to turn left twelve degrees and the engine room
to
increase speed to twenty-one knots. The American followed him through
the turn
and increased his speed to match.
"First
Officer Kurnachov, I think we have
successfully completed our test of Acoustical Reproduction Device
Number
Seven. I am not certain the American submarine following us has been
fooled by
our tricks. We have proved we can penetrate their defenses with the
device. Now
I think we shall use all our resources to withdraw."
"I
disagree.
Comrade Captain,"
Kurnachov said. "I believe we have fooled the American submarine. He
follows because he believes we are
Swordfish
. In any
case your course is taking
him toward the carrier that
is his target."
"Then
we shall
have to take him
somewhere else, Comrade First Officer Captain Second Rank Kurnachov."
Federov loved to give him his full ridiculous due. "Right full rudder.
Increase speed to thirty knots. Bearing one seven seven. Depth three
hundred
meters. Ten degrees down."
Kurnachov
was
shocked. "Captain,
Acoustical Reproduction Device Number Seven has never been tested at
over
twenty-four knots."
"Then
consider
this a test."
Potemkin
abruptly tilted
downward and accelerated into the depths. In the engine room the chief
engineer
watched awestruck as the silicon packing on the turbine slowly turned
into a
pool of glassy liquid. The quiet hum of the whirring blades transformed
into a
deep roar.
"Captain,"
the
engineer said into
his microphone, "we have to stop the turbine. The packing melted!"
One
hundred fifty
feet away the noise burst
into the quiet of the control room.
The
captain
glared across the control room at
the first officer. "All stop. Quiet in the boat."
The
noise ceased.
Potemkin
continued
to plunge on momentum silently downward at a steep angle, banking
steeply on
her diving planes. Throughout the ship, black-uniformed
sailors
struggled for equilibrium. Air conditioners were switched to low power
and all
nonessential systems shut down. In the engine room the turbine came to
a halt;
reactor operation was reduced to a minimum. Gradually, the ship leveled
off.
Kurnachov
jumped up from his seat and went across the control room toward the
engine
room.
"First
Officer Kurnachov, return to your diving panel. Where do you think you
are?
Right full rudder. Zero angle on the diving planes."
With
her
prop no longer turning,
Potemkin
's momentum still
carried her more than
two kilometers. The ship glided to the right on her diving planes and
slowly
came to a stop.
"Engine
room, damage report."
"The
packing melted, Captain, but the turbine is all right."
"Popov,
do you hear the American sub?"
"No,
sir. I hear the aircraft carrier. Range eight thousand two hundred
meters and
closing."
Federov
turned on Kurnachov. "Remove every American tape from Acoustical
Reproduction Device Number Seven and put in the Viktor tape, Mr.
Kurnachov, and
do it now. That's an order. And if you ever move from your station
again, I'll
have you before a court-martial and you'll spend the rest of your life
in an
old sailors' home.
If
you're lucky."
The
captain hurried back to the engine room to ascertain for himself the
status of
the turbine. Unlike American submarines in which every component of the
drive
train was duplicated,
Potemkin
had only one turbine.
What she sacrificed
in safety, she gained in speed by reducing weight.
"Comrade
Chief Engineer, how bad is it?"
Federov
and the engineer had sailed together for many
years. For one to address the other with the formal party salutation
was a
secret code between them that meant yes, once again, they miraculously
had
survived an attempt by the masters of Moscow to sink them.
"Comrade
Captain
First Rank, Acoustical
Reproduction Device Number Seven is now a useless piece of shit, but
Potemkin
is still an Alpha."
"You
mean. Chief
Engineer, we should get
up a full head of steam and show the Americans a thing or two, such as
how fast
our marvelous
Potemkin
can go?"
"Nikolai
Petrovich, you read my mind. I
am astounded at your insight."
"Alexis,
my old
shipmate, we may try to
do just that."
In
the control
room the first officer
sullenly removed the
Swordfish
tape from the Sony.
When Federov
returned, he ordered the first officer to accompany him to his cabin.
Federov
locked
the door. Kurnachov smiled,
malevolence in his heart. "Comrade Captain First Rank, I believe you
deliberately increased the speed of this ship to sabotage Acoustical
Reproduction Device Number Seven."
"You
can believe
whatever you want to
believe, or whatever the Party wants for that matter. That's your
privilege."
"Your
orders were
to test the
device."
"My
orders
were to test this
ship. The device be damned. I am growing impatient with you, Kurnachov.
You
seem to forget that we are at sea. My responsibility is to carry out my
mission
and return my ship and crew safely home. This is a new class of ship,
and all
these wonderful technological devices are equally new. One of them has
been put
to the test, and it has failed. So be it. My duty is very clear. The
Americans
know nothing about the Alpha. At worst they think we are a Viktor. They
have
never experienced a submarine with a titanium hull. We must disappear
before
they collect too much information."
"This
does not
alter the fact that we
have been detected."
"The
Americans
have detected something
but they don't know what. Have you forgotten that our orders were to
allow
ourselves to be detected? That was the whole point of the damned
device. Be
detected and deceive. Well, we didn't fool them. But they still don't
know what
we are. If you want to accuse me of sabotage, do it now. If you do, you
shall
have to relieve me and take command of
Potemkin
. You
have the entire American Sixth
Fleet above you and an
American submarine on your tail. You have a jittery crew that has been
at sea
far too long, and half of them know more about the Party line than
about
operating this ship. First Officer Kurnachov, this would be an
excellent moment
to demonstrate your seamanship."
The
captain
unlocked the door and returned to
the control room. Kurnachov began formulating his report on the
captain's
remarks about the Party and Soviet technology. Then he reconsidered. He
would
act.
On
the sonar
screen the American fleet could
be seen converging on their position. Popov could hear the screws of
Kitty
Hawk
only three miles away. The short burst of speed by both
subs had
produced a great deal of noise.
The
captain
plugged in a headphone and
listened.
"Where
is the
American submarine?"
he asked Popov.
The
terrified
operator just shook his head.
Barracuda
was not on the screen.
Sorensen
was
astounded at the Russian sub's
rate of acceleration.
Barracuda
was the fastest
submarine in the U.S.
Navy, but the Russian ship took off like a corvette.
"Contact
increasing speed and
descending," he said over the intercom. "Range increasing to four
zero zero yards, four five zero yards."
The
Russian
plunged into the depths. "We
got us a real Cossack sub driver," Sorensen muttered, then spoke into
his
mike. "Captain, she's running much faster than anything we've ever seen
before. Speed, estimated thirty-five knots."
"Stay
on him,
sonar. We're going right
down with him."
Springfield
ordered a steep dive and
increased speed.
Barracuda
angled over and rocketed
down.
Thirty
seconds
into the dive the Russian sub
erupted with a sudden burst of noise that caused Sorensen to jump out
of his
seat. It was, at last, the sub of his dreams—the mystery sub.
Then,
abruptly,
there was no noise at all.
The Russian's prop stopped turning and all machinery noises ceased.
Soviet subs
were notoriously unreliable. With no duplication of vital machinery, a
breakdown of any component of the drive train frequently incapacitated
the
ship. If that were the case, the Russian captain would have to surface,
a
development most embarrassing for him.
Sorensen
sat back
down, ignoring Fogarty's
questioning look, and took a deep breath.
Springfield
ordered, "All stop."
Drifting on momentum,
Barracuda
descended through a
thermal layer and
unwittingly passed under
Potemkin
. At thirteen
hundred feet, very close
to her test depth, she came to a halt.
The
Russian was
not on the screens. She was
in a blind spot, above
Barracuda
, obscured by the
thermal. Fear of
collision swept through the control room.
Since
Springfield
did not know the Russian's
location, he intended to let her know where
Barracuda
was.
"All
ahead, dead
slow," Springfield
ordered.
"All
ahead dead
slow, aye."
"Control
to
sonar. Echo-range."
The
broad beam
swept all around, but there
was no contact.
Sorensen
hammered
on his console.
"C'mon, you son of a bitch, make some noise."
Springfield
sent
for Davic, the only one
aboard who could speak Russian. He was going to try to talk to the
Soviet ship
on the gertrude.
"Captain
First
Rank Nikolai Petrovitch
Federov, by the authority invested in me, I relieve you of command of
Potemkin
. Return to
your
cabin at once."
Face
flushed,
sweating, black eyes too bright
in the control room, Kurnachov held a pistol. Still standing over the
sonar
console, Federov's first impulse was to laugh. The laughter died in his
larynx
when Kurnachov cocked the hammer.
"Put
the gun
away, Kurnachov, before you
blow a hole in the ship and kill us all."
"Return
to your
cabin,
at once
."
Popov
started to
stand up. "Captain,
no."
Federov
pushed
him back into his seat. Everyone
else in the control room remained at his station. With dignity Federov
assumed
his military bearing and left the control room without another word.