Indeed, that had been the beginning of the bad luck that, somehow, had dogged him ever since. The second submarine had undoubtedly come in response to the call for help, but had been stupid enough to advertise her presence by sending a long message herself, from not many miles away. By great good fortune, Grigory Ilyich had actually been in Shumikin’s office when the radio messenger arrived to report interception of the transmission, and he had immediately ordered him to investigate. The Americans were really astonishing. Grigory had returned with the extraordinary report that somehow the second submarine, a smaller, older model, had actually managed to rig a towline to the first one and was even then in the process of extracting her from under his very nose! There had been no time to radio for instructions. He had had to make the decision on his own, and it had been a most difficult one, but it was the only one possible. It would not have been necessary to order the second submarine destroyed, had it not interfered by taking the first one in tow. He regretted the necessity of rewarding such ingenuity with death, but there had been no alternative.
Grigory Ilyich had departed immediately, but he had not yet returned. That was four days ago. It was inconceivable that anything could have gone seriously wrong! Grigory himself had assured him that the towing sub was helpless to defend itself, and furthermore could not have that recent triumph of Soviet technology, the new force-field antitorpedo system which made all Soviet submarines practically immune to attack. Perhaps they had gotten farther away than Grigory had expected, or perhaps some other difficulty was holding him up. Submarines were delayed more frequently than other ships because of some unexpected problem. One had to be respectful of the implacable power of the sea, especially if one operated beneath its surface. All the same, it had begun to be worrisome.
Three days ago the second of the two recent American messages had been brought to his office in the hangar, and this had caused Shumikin extreme concern. The direction-finding people had said it had been sent from farther away than the previous one. Perhaps the Americans had gotten much farther — had towed faster — than Grigory Ilyich had predicted they could. Perhaps they had actually given him the slip. But Grigory was persistent. He would continue the pursuit. He would find them eventually, even if he had to track them out past Greenland! But, then, how had the American submarine managed to break through the ice to send a message if it was still attached to a towline? And what was Grigory doing? Why had he not reported back? By this time he must have found them. He must be returning soon. The underwater beeper had been going continuously. He would have no difficulty homing on it. Where in the devil was he?
For three days there had been a close watch kept on the lagoon. Shumikin would be informed the instant Grigory’s periscope was observed, or his sonar heard. It would be only a few steps from anywhere in his base to the silo-pier, and he could be there before the Novosibirsky Komsomol completed surfacing. Then he could set his mind at ease. Probably the delay was nothing important.
He was still in this frame of mind when, late on the fourth day since Zmentsov’s departure, the expected messenger came. But the initial delight at seeing him instantly gave way to dismay. The man was excited. “There is a submarine! But it is acting strangely!” Shumikin had to force himself to walk to the observation post. He would have covered the short distance at a run, but it would not do to let his men see that he was anxious. On the way he learned that echo-ranging had been heard, but the vessel had seemed to become more distant instead of coming closer. Perhaps Grigory Ilyich for some reason could not hear the beeper and therefore was searching the area by sonar. This had happened once before, when the beeper had broken down, but that was not the case today. Now, the periscope had been sighted in the lagoon, but instead of rising high out of the water, as was Zmentsov’s custom, it remained very low and could be seen turning in all directions as though it were inspecting the place. At this point, the puzzled watch officer had sent for his superior.
In the observation post, fortunately built for just this contingency, Shumikin was able to inspect the waters of the polynya through binoculars without himself being observed, and what he saw increased his apprehension. The periscope was indeed acting most strangely! It was going up and down at short intervals, turning in all directions and never exposing itself more than an inch or two above the water. When it was lowered beneath the clear surface he could see the tapered end, only a few feet under, poised, waiting, and then in a moment it would rise again to repeat the process. Nikolai Konstantinov Shumikin was no submariner, but the entire performance was disquieting. Grigory Ilyich would not behave like this unless something were seriously wrong! And then the full implication struck him with sledgehammer impact. Savagely, he turned on his officer of the watch.
“Why was I not informed of this sooner?” he demanded in a fury. “Why was this submarine permitted to echo-range without my knowing of it?”
The man was unable to answer. He had been expecting the Novosibirsky Komsomol, knew nothing about the possibility of another submarine being in the vicinity, had not been overly disturbed by the slightly different pattern of the echo-ranging, had not, in fact, become concerned at all until he had seen the periscope. Shumikin stamped his foot in rage, continued with the same furious anger. “Sound the alarm, you dolt! This is an enemy! Release the ready depth charges!”
Twenty depth charges, in camouflaged racks at the far side of the polynya, could be released electrically. They had been carefully set deep enough so that their explosions would not damage the silos, nor the ice above them, hence they could not harm an interloper at shallow depth. A far more potent weapon lay in the torpedo room, built in the base of the mooring pier. There were two torpedo tubes, and a supply of the latest target-seeking torpedoes, similar to those carried by the Novosibirsky Komsomol.
With the sounding of the alarm, furious activity struck the missile base. There had been planning, and drills. Now the base commander was thankful for his insistence on them. Other depth charges would soon be ready to be rolled into the lagoon, and the cranes could swing still others almost into its center. Numerous small guns and two large 100-millimeter anti-aircraft rifles would also be manned, although they would be useless unless the strange submarine surfaced. Most important of all, the torpedoes could be brought into action in three minutes from a standing start.
At least a minute had elapsed since the first depth charge. They had all been set deep, but nevertheless the surface of the polynya was roiled with disturbed water, and the periscope had disappeared. Shumikin grabbed the observation post telephone. “Sonar!” he barked, “Where is that submarine?”
“It’s going away, Commander! Right after the depth bombs we heard it speeding up!”
“Well, keep the contact! It was your negligence that let it come up on us without warning! You should have reported at once on the battle intercom! Don’t repeat your error or it will go very hard with you!”
“We guarantee it, Commander! The error is regretted, but we did not know—” Shumikin banged the telephone down with irritation. He was in no mood to listen to excuses, especially when his subconscious told him there might be a certain amount of justification to them.