“How about the Russian? Do we know for sure he’s fired at us?
“We think so, Buck,” said Rich. “The JT reported something in the water, some faint swishing noise, out ahead of the Russian. We can’t hear it here. It’s too bad they didn’t think of putting the JT controls in the sonar room too.”
“The later boats have them that way, you know. What’s the Russian doing now?”
“He’s just stopped. Hovering, I guess, waiting for us to catch that fish of his.”
“Would you authorize shooting one at him?”
“If he’s really fired at us, I’ll sure think about it!”
“We’ll know if our decoy gets sunk!”
“That’s what I was thinking!”
All three men in the sonar room had to brace themselves against the steep downward inclination of the submarine. Now there was the sound of air blowing, and Buck heaved his head out the doorframe. He stepped out, holding to the frame for support, stretching his hand in front of him to the stacked motor-generator sets across the passageway. He skidded forward, holding to the rail around the periscope stand, reached the diving station. “Tom,” he said, “we may not need to back. Take her on down anyway, and I’ll give you two knots in a couple of minutes. Get us a zero bubble as soon as you can.”
“Thanks, Skipper! With no speed and all this changing of weights, I’ve got all I can handle today!”
“We might be firing a torpedo or two forward, Tom, to make it a little less boring for you. He’s already shot at us!” Buck left Clancy staring at him, started back to the sonar room. The angle already had lessened and the climb took only moments. “How’s it going?” he said.
“Our decoy’s out about a thousand yards ahead now, still sounding like a great little old submarine, and JT reports he thinks that thing the Russian shot, whatever it was, is about to merge in with it.”
“Schultz, what do you think?” Buck had to lay a hand on his shoulder to attract the sonarman’s attention.
“There was something out there all right, coming closer. It was on a steady bearing with us for a while, but then when we slowed down it started to pass ahead. Maybe it had a steady bearing with our decoy.” The chief sonarman had laid back one earphone. “Now it’s mixing in with the decoy, sniffing around it, like.”
“Has it passed it, or is it about to?” Buck asked.
“It should have passed it by now, but it hasn’t. It’s still sniffing.”
The angle was rapidly returning to normal. Abruptly, Williams picked up the phone. “Maneuvering! Make turns for two knots! Control, report that to Mr. Clancy and the helmsman!” He was returning the telephone to its bulkhead cradle when suddenly Schultz ripped off his headset with an exclamation. “Ouch!” he said, massaging his right ear, but neither Buck nor Rich heard him, for the sonar room was filled with the reverberations of a sharp, distant explosion.
The surprise with which Rich and Buck stared at each other was real, even though the explosion had not been entirely unexpected. “How long do we have before he realizes he didn’t tag us after all?” asked Buck rhetorically.
“A couple of minutes, maybe. The longer we stay in Cushing’s sonar shadow, the longer it will take him to figure out what’s happened,” said Rich.
“What about Keith?”
“He’ll realize we’re close aboard, and will guess we fired the decoy.”
“I’d like to shoot one of our Mark Forties at that bastard!”
“Buck, I’m in command of this force. I order you to return the fire. See that my specific order is entered in the log!” Buck Williams stared at his superior. The look on his face, the determined fury in his eyes, were clear, and all too familiar. Richardson was glaring at him unblinkingly. “Put it in the log, Buck,” he said softly. “If you do not carry out my order, I shall relieve you from command!”
Buck was puzzled for a fraction of a second. Then his brow smoothed, and he knew what to do. He knew Richardson meant precisely what he said, and he had thought of the reason why. “Aye, aye, sir!” he said. He picked up the phone. “Tubes forward,” he said, “the commodore has ordered us to return the fire. Load the other decoy in the empty tube. Prepare one Mark Forty for firing! This is a war shot. This is not a drill!”
Backing out of the sonar room, Buck took three steps forward and to the right, where Brown and his fire controlmen were standing at their stations. “Deedee, have you been keeping the setup on your TDC?”
“Affirmative, Captain.”
“Very well.” Buck knew that some of Richardson’s suddenly icy demeanor was infecting him too. “Tubes forward have been ordered to prepare one Mark Forty war shot for firing. Set your inputs accordingly!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Brown was tall, blond, sensitive. His blue eyes were shouting the questions in his mind.
“Quartermaster!”
“Here, sir.”
“Enter in your rough log as follows: ‘The intruding submarine has opened fire upon us, and is identified as an enemy ship of war. The explosion just heard was an attempt to sink the Manta. The squadron commander has put this ship on a war footing and has directed Manta to return the fire.’ You got that?” Buck was speaking slowly and precisely, waiting for the quartermaster to scribble the words as he dictated them.
“Yes, sir!” said the man, his eyes widening.
More rapidly, Buck went on, “We’re already at general quarters. Do not sound the general alarm. Have the word passed by telephone to all compartments!” This, perhaps, was not necessary, for all hands would have the information within seconds anyway. Probably they already knew, for at battle stations all compartments automatically manned all telephones.
He turned back to Brown. “How are you doing, Deedee?” Buck could see the men industriously turning dials, making entries into the complicated instruments arrayed against the curved skin in the ship. Deedee Brown himself was busily transferring figures from a plastic card inserted in a receptacle on the face of the TDC into the input section.
“Ready in a minute! We need a good range and the depth of the target.”
“You’ll have to use three hundred feet for depth; that’s the best I can give you. When you’re ready to shoot, we’ll get you a ping range. As soon as you have that in the fish, we’ll let her go!”
Brown stepped close to Buck, whispered, “What was that explosion we heard just now? Did it have anything to do with our decoy?”
“Yes, it did, Deedee. It destroyed it. If we hadn’t slowed up and sent the decoy along our track in our place, we’d all be dead right now!” Buck felt a sardonic satisfaction in telling Brown. Someday he’d be a submarine skipper, and it might be well for him to remember this day. Suddenly Buck was recalling certain experiences of his own, and then he realized that another such experience had occurred less than a minute before.
Buck turned away, returned to the sonar room. For the moment, sonar was the center of information. He would fire the torpedo from there. Swiftly, he explained his intention to get an accurate range with a single ping just before firing. Schultz nodded his comprehension. The single-ping range was a standard prefiring procedure.
Rich, also nodding, said, “We’ve got to do it, all right. We can’t tell from the sonar what his course or speed is, or if he’s got way on at all. I hate to, though, because it will alert him that much sooner.”
“Me, too,” said Buck, “but there’s no way out of it. Deedee has the best bearing Schultz can give him, but the Mark Forty has to have a range to know where to start its search. We’re pretty close to the Cushing. Maybe he’ll have us both merged in his sonar and will think the Cushing did it.”