Perhaps the Triton hadn’t been sealed properly, and it was the weight of inrushing seawater that was dragging them down to the bottom. One thing he knew for certain was that a dive at this descent and speed would be fatal in a, matter of minutes.
Then he heard Richard Craig shout “Hard rise on the stern planes!”
Tense seconds passed, when slowly but surely, then-angle of descent lessened.
“Shut all vents!” the XO called out as he made certain that the proper switches were flicked.
Cooksey quickly strode to Craig’s side.
“Jesus, Rich, what the hell happened?”
It proved to be Dirk Lawrence, their diving officer, who offered an explanation.
“It appeared to be the planes men sir. I believe they overcompensated for the dive.”
To verify this, the three officers proceeded to the diving console.
Here they found the two seated seamen visibly shaken. The sweat-stained sailor sitting on the left turned his head and, with voice trembling, sheepishly said, “I’m sorry, sir, but the control stick of the Triggerfish has a completely different feel to it.”
“It’s my fault. Captain,” Dirk Lawrence said.
“As diving officer, I should have been watching them more closely. I’ve taken one of those Permit-class subs down myself and can vouch for the difference in plane pressure.”
Cooksey looked at his exec and then to his watch.
“Well, thank God everything turned out okay. Lieutenant Lawrence, I want you to make certain that all new personnel are monitored closely.
Rich, you’d better bring us up to two hundred feet, and then we’d better get going with that officers meeting. We don’t have much time.”
Confident that this isolated incident would not be repeated, Cooksey excused himself. It had been a long day already, and there was still much more to do.
After a quick visit to his cabin and a change into a fresh pair of khakis, he allowed himself the luxury of a cup of coffee and a ham sandwich. By then his XO had called to notify him that the personnel he had requested were present in the wardroom.
As the officers filed inside the wardroom, a rumble of nervous chatter rose from their ranks. Each was aware that the order calling them out of Pearl Harbor was most unusual. When their orders also demanded that they leave without the captain, they knew something deadly serious was up.
Without fanfare, their captain entered and made his way over to the wall beside the wardroom’s video screen. As he turned to face his men, the room’s only picture could be seen over his right shoulder. It showed a full-length silhouette of the sub plunging into blue depths.
Superimposed on it was a lithe Greek god holding a triton-shell trumpet in one hand, and the trident spear of sea power in the other.
Cooksey cleared his throat and spoke distinctly.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for your prompt attendance.
I’m sure that you’re anxious to know about the nature of our present mission, and I’m not going to keep you in suspense any longer. We have been authorized to hunt down and eliminate a Soviet Delta-class submarine, the Vulkan. This directive comes from the highest sources, which can be traced all the way back to the General Secretary of the Soviet Union himself.
In effect, we have been asked to do what his navy has failed to accomplish, to stem a mutiny aboard one of their most modern missile-carrying vessels. Since it is feared that the Vulkan plans to release its load of sixteen SS-N-18 ballistic missiles once it attains its launch position, we must act with all due haste to cancel this threat. I’ve drawn up the following map segment to show what we are up against.”
As the captain turned to activate the video screen, the wardroom tilled with astounded whispers. The babble hushed as the monitor flashed on and Cooksey again addressed them.
“This, gentlemen, is the southern portion of the Emperor Seamount Chain. In order for the Vulkan’s missiles to be within range of their intended targets, their release point must be somewhere between this sector and Midway Island. I know this includes a large expanse of territory, and that we are still several hours away, but the task has fallen upon our shoulders and I don’t intend to fail.
“Assisting us will be a task force of surface ships currently steaming into these waters from the northeast. This includes the carrier John F. Kennedy, the Aegis guided-missile cruiser Ticonderoga, and the Spruance-class destroyer. Eagle.
“To make the most effective use of this force’s formidable ASW capabilities, we will interface with their sensors whenever possible.
The Ticonderoga has deployed a specially designed low-frequency antenna that will allow them to notify us of any detections.
Our helicopters will probably be the first elements to tag the Vulkan.
As you all know, the Delta-class sub make their own distinctive racket in the water, which should be readily picked up by our dunking hydrophones.
The choppers will also enable our forces to cover an extremely large patch of ocean.
“Since the Triton is specifically designed to carry out just such a mission, we are being counted on to deliver the fatal blow. To insure this, I’m going to need the help of each of you.
“Lieutenant Weaver, we’re going to need every available knot out of our reactor, and then some. For the next couple of hours, I’m counting on maximum speed to bring us within range of our bogey.
“Mr. Callahan, you will have the demanding job of coordinating the sensor interface with the surface fleet. While this is being accomplished, your people will also be responsible for monitoring the Tritons own sensor systems. There is a very good chance that the Vulkan is not out here alone. I’m certain that you remember the bogey we encountered during our last exercise at Point Luck. This same Alfa sub was seen escorting the Vulkan back to its pen in Petropavlovsk.
I doubt if they would send the missile-carrying Delta on patrol without the Alfa along for protection.”
A hand shot up in the back of the room and Cooksey signaled a freckle-faced, redheaded officer to stand.
“Excuse me, Captain, but tagging the Alfa could pose some serious problems. Not only is its hull coated with an anechoic covering that makes our sonar useless, but she can out dive and outrun us as well.
Even if we did manage to pick them up, what could we do about them?”
“Good question, Mr. Callahan. I think Lieutenant Spencer has the answer to that. Lieutenant, are the Triton’s most recent additions ready for action?”
Randal Spencer, the ship’s weapons officer, stood and answered calmly.
“That they are, Captain. If the ASW/SOWS do everything the manual promises, those Ruskies will be fair game. I don’t care how fast they’re running, but if you can bring them within a 300-mile radius of our forward tubes, I’ll do the rest.”
This remark brought a surprised comment or two before the captain continued.
“Earlier, during a routine descent, the Triton was almost involved in a disastrous mishap. A simple mistake on the part of a planes man could have abruptly ended this cruise for all of us. Because we were forced to take on several sailors who are new to our class of sub, I must ask you to keep your eyes peeled for any sign of incompetence.
Hopefully, this was an isolated incident, but continued vigilance is necessary.
“Now, if there are no additional questions, you may be off to your stations. I’ll kindly ask you to keep knowledge of this briefing to yourselves. An announcement will shortly be made to the rest of the crew. Thank you, gentlemen, and good luck for the hunters!”
To a mild roar of chatter, the officers stood and filed from the room.