"Could
be,
Fogarty. Could be. But this
ain't chess. It's boys playing with boats. I don't know what's worse,
Davic or
these maniacs."
They
heard
Valiant
start her turbines
and take off in pursuit.
Springfield
sent
up a radio buoy and made his
report. Thirty seconds after it was received in Rota, the alarm sounded
in the
helicopter hangar on the Spanish carrier,
Dédalo
. An
instant later the message was
relayed to Gibraltar, and
British ASW helicopters were in the air.
The
helicopters
quickly outdistanced the
Russian subs. At one hundred fifty miles per hour, six British choppers
raced
over the sea and dropped a cordon of sonar buoys in their path. The
hydrophones, dangling two hundred feet below the buoys, easily picked
up the
loud sound of the three subs.
Arkangel
plowed right
through. The
helicopters leapfrogged ahead, dropped a second cordon, located
Odessa
, and dropped
two-dozen sonic depth
charges. Within the hour the antisubmarine forces of the Sixth Fleet,
still in
Naples and still smarting from the humiliation by
Barracuda
,
were brought to bear on the noisy
Russian subs.
Barracuda
remained on station west of the Strait.
"I'm
no Davic,"
Fogarty said,
"but I don't see why we don't track them instead of just sitting here
and
letting the blood pressure build."
"If
this is a
sacrifice, as you
say," Sorensen said, "there's no reason to make it. These old Russian
subs are so noisy they won't be able to hide. The Brits will take care
of
tracking them, seeing they behave. We don't give a shit about
Arkangel
or these other boats. We want the Alpha, and we're going to sit here
until she
comes through."
The
interior of
Potemkin
smelled like Lubyanka prison.
Running slow and
quiet since the collision, the freshwater still had been shut down so
no one
could shave or bathe. Despite snorkeling twice and flushing out the
carbon
dioxide, the problem with the scrubbers had resulted in an epidemic of
headaches.
Potemkin
now had been at sea eighty-four days, the longest submerged
cruise in Soviet naval history. The men looked like shaggy, grimy
albinos.
Twelve days of running slow and deep, breathing poisoned air, had
rubbed them
raw. In the engineering compartment the reactor operators were
decimated by
virulent colds. Federov knew that their resistance to infection was
crumbling
because they were suffering from the first symptoms of radiation
sickness. Only
Federov's outward calm kept them under control.
Weeks
before, when
Potemkin
had passed eastbound through
the Strait, Federov
had taken advantage of tide and current conditions, plus the fortuitous
passing
of a huge tanker, and drifted in silence over the bottom-mounted sonars
and
past the British picket sub.
No
such combination of circumstances would aid
Potemkin
's
escape into the Atlantic. The
predominant currents were against her, and she would have to use her
engines in
the Strait. Any bottom sonars were certain to pick up her passage.
Operators on
shore would alert the ASW forces, and picket subs at either end of the
Strait
would tail her into the Atlantic.
Before
Potemkin
sailed from Murmansk,
Admiral Gorshkov had foreseen the difficulty of
Potemkin
's exit
from the
Mediterranean and had ordered the three subs,
Murmansk
,
Odessa
and
Arkangel
, to pass
through the Strait at a
prearranged time as a diversion to draw off the pickets. But who knew
if it
would work?
From
time to time
the ship's surgeon changed
Kurnachov's bandage and emptied his chamber pot. Federov brought him
meals, but
no one spoke to him. Even in his own mind Kurnachov had become a
nonperson.
When he looked in the mirror, he saw a dead man.
The
ship moved
slowly, making wide turns and
stopping frequently. Twice it seemed to rise almost to the surface,
remain
there for half an hour, then slide back down to a great depth. Each
time the
air improved, at least for a while. Noise was kept to a minimum.
Kurnachov
assumed that they were on course for Gibraltar and home.
After
ten or
eleven days—Kurnachov wasn't
sure of the exact number—the ship halted and remained stationary for
several
hours.
When
Federov
brought him a meal he asked,
"Where are we?"
Federov
told him,
"Thirty kilometers
east of Gibraltar."
"Are
we waiting
for
Arkangel
and
the others?"
"Yes."
Federov
reached
for the door.
"Please,"
Kurnachov said.
"Don't go. Give me a moment. The silence is torture."
Federov
set down
the tray and turned cold
eyes on his prisoner. Listless, Kurnachov sat on his bunk and looked
away.
Federov took a chair.
"All
right, what
do you want to
know?"
"After
the
collision, what happened to
the American submarine?"
"You
failed to
sink it, Kurnachov. You
only succeeded in making them angry."
"How
did we
escape? Are the Americans
searching for us?"
"We
fired a
decoy, Acoustical
Reproduction Device Number Five, which confused them. At first, they
were
convinced we sank. However, I don't believe their conviction will
remain firm.
They're searching for a wreck that isn't there."
There
was a
lingering silence. Finally
Kurnachov said, "Must I remain here alone?"
"Several
men were
injured during the
collision and Zadecki died. If I let you out, the crew will attack you."
"That
might be
preferable to what's
waiting for me..."
After
Federov
left, Kurnachov prolonged his
meal as if it were his last. Lifelong devotion to the party could not
help him
now. There would be a trial; then he would be shot. No military firing
squad,
no ceremony. In a cellar under Lubyanka, one bullet would be fired into
the
back of his head.
Kurnachov
understood. He was not navy; he was
Party.
On
Popov's screen
three streaks radiated from
the west.
"Captain,
I have
a contact. They're
right on schedule.
Murmansk
,
Odessa
and
Arkangel
."
The
trio of
Soviet submarines roared past,
followed at close quarters by
Valiant
.
"One
more and
we're home free,"
said Alexis, the engineer who was now first officer.
For
an hour they
waited for the second NATO
picket to come through, but the submarine west of the Strait remained
on
station. When it never arrived, Federov knew the gambit to draw off the
subs
guarding the Strait had failed.
"Take
us up,"
ordered Federov,
"we have to go through. We'll die here. Depth two hundred meters, all
ahead slow."
"All
ahead slow,"
Alexis repeated
the order. "Depth two hundred meters."
For
the first
time since the collision,
Potemkin
's great
engines
rumbled to life. Without Acoustical Reproduction Device Number Seven,
the Alpha
became the noisiest submarine in the sea.
The
bottom sonars
in the Strait immediately
recorded her presence. British operators on Gibraltar heard the sub,
but all
their ASW forces were deployed to the east, chasing the three Russian
decoys.
Halfway
through
the Strait Popov heard the
first ping of active sonar. Others followed in rapid succession and
seemed to
come from all directions at once.
"They've
locked
onto us, Captain."
"Make
revolutions
for thirty
knots," ordered Federov. "There's no point in being coy."
In
the engine
room the crewmen put cotton
balls into their ears. The steam pumps began to hammer and the turbine
wailed
like a jet engine.
In
the turbulent
waters of the Strait,
Potemkin
pitched and bounced like a surface ship. When she
reached thirty
knots, Federov shouted above the racket, "Increase speed. Thirty-five
knots."
Through
the
Strait, opposite the Bay of
Tangiers, Federov ordered, "Make revolutions for full speed. Fifty
knots.
Let him chase us all the way to the Azores."
To
Sorensen four miles away,
Potemkin
sounded like a tank division smashing through a
forest. Alone, it
was almost as noisy as the three subs that had passed through in the
other
direction.
"Listen
up, Fogarty. Tell me
what you hear."
"An
earthquake? World War Two
and a half?"
"You're
such a clever boy...
Is this
Arkangel
coming back?"
Fogarty
took off his headset and
turned on the overhead speakers.
"No
more games, Sorensen. It's
the Alpha."
"
Right.
Sonar to control, contact bearing zero niner two degrees,
range seven five zero zero yards, course two seven zero, speed four
four
knots."
"Control
to sonar, say speed
again."
"Speed,
four four knots, sir,
and increasing. Four seven, four niner, five zero knots. Holding steady
at
five
zero knots
."
"Jesus,"
said Pisaro.
"I should have joined the Air Force. We need afterburners to catch that
thing."
"Control
to sonar. Sorensen, do
you have identification?"
"Yes,
sir. It's our boy."
Pisaro
said, "Well, what are we
waiting for?"
"Quartermaster,
run sonar through the intercom."
"Aye
aye, sir."
A
moment
later every sailor on
Barracuda
could hear the roar
of
Potemkin
.
"Attention
all hands, this is the captain. Gentlemen, you all hear the sound of a
submarine operating in close proximity to us. Listen good. That's the
same
submarine that collided with us. As you know, our orders are to track
her,
record every sound she makes and, if possible, surprise her on the
surface and
take her pretty picture. We're going to be up against subs like this
one for
the next twenty years, we need to know everything about her. She's
fast, but we
will have assistance from the SOSUS deep-submergence detection system
which we
tested during our transit from Norfolk to Gibraltar. That is all."
Springfield
saw Hoek, looking like some fat bird of prey, poised over his weapons
console,
trying without success to track the fast-moving target. "Skipper," he
said, "she's moving so fast the only way we could stop her would be to
lay
down a pattern of nukes in her path—"
"Secure
intercom," ordered the captain. "Relax, Lieutenant. We're not going
to nuke anyone, especially not in the Strait."
As
Potemkin
swept across
Barracuda
's bow,
heading due west into the
Atlantic, the roar.of her
machinery was audible directly through the hull without benefit of
hydrophones.
"Control
to engineering."
"Engineering,
aye."
"Chief,
give me one hundred percent. Let her rip. All ahead flank, course two
seven
zero. Right full rudder."
Barracuda
nosed into
Potemkin
's
wake and accelerated after the
speeding Russian. By the time
Barracuda
reached
her flank speed
of forty-seven knots, the distance between the subs had increased to
nine
miles.
At
flank speed, every system in the
ship was strained to the limit. In the engineering spaces the heat from
the
steam lines caused the temperature to rise to ninety degrees, but the
sweating
nucs hardly noticed until perspiration dripped onto their instruments.
Stripped
to the waist, Chief Wong methodically inspected every inch of every
pipe,
tested every gauge, checked every calculation to coax every ounce of
power from
the turbines.
Potemkin
still continued to pull away.
Hour
after hour, the Alpha struck
farther into the Atlantic, deepening the frustration of her pursuers.
Sorensen
stood in front of his console, arms folded, nodding as if in a trance.
On the
screen the Russian remained a solid blip in the west, a sun that
refused to
set. Finally he said, as much to himself as to Fogarty, "I used to have
bad dreams about this
sub. I used to wake up
with the sound of her engines clanging in my ears. The mystery sub.
Well, it
ain't a mystery anymore. This nightmare is reality."
"You
scared, Ace?"
"You're
damned right. This
Alpha is fast and goes deep, but maybe worst of all is if the Russians
believe
in it so much they'll think they can get over on us, and that it's
worth
anything to keep its secrets from us. That makes them doubly dangerous—"
"Control
to sonar."
Fogarty
answered, "Sonar,
aye."
"You're
going to have some
visitors in there, boys."
One
by one, the officers and chiefs
found excuses to step inside the sonar room to listen. Chief Wong came
up from
engineering and sat for ten minutes with his chin in his hands,
frowning.
Finally he took off his earphones and said, "I don't hear reduction
gears."
"That's
right, Chief," Sorensen said,
nodding. "I think
she's got a direct electric drive. Very noisy
turbogenerators and an unusual reactor. I don't hear ordinary
high-pressure
water pumps. I bet it's metal-cooled."
"That's
a strange
boat, Sorensen."
"She
sure is. All
power, no finesse but
a bundle of acoustic tricks. I've got a question for you, Wong. How
long can we
run at flank speed before we shake something loose?"