“Absolutely not! They’re going to have to hold on a bit longer.”
As the XO conveyed his response, the diving officer called out, “Eleven hundred feet, sir.”
Cooksey nervously shifted his weight. Around him the bulkhead seemed to moan in protest and the intercom sounded again. Once more the exec answered it.
“Skipper, it’s Chief Bartkowski. We’re taking in water from the galley. Seems that the garbage disposal is backing up on us.”
“Well, have the Chief patch it up the best he can!
Damn it. Rich, we’re at war here.”
“Twelve hundred feet,” called the diving officer.
Cooksey’s shirt was matted with sweat as his eyes went back to the depth counter. For the first time in days, a throbbing ache began rising in his forehead. He massaged his temples the best he could.
Damage control reported five more leaks as they passed the eighteen-hundred-foot mark. The strain on their welded hull was just as great as the tension inside as the Triton’s exec made his way to the captain’s side.
“Skipper, we’ve just about hit our depth threshold.
Surely you’re not thinking of out-diving the Alfa.
With that titanium hull of theirs, they’ve got at least a thousand feet on us.”
Cooksey ignored his exec’s pleas; his eyes remained riveted on the depth counter. At a depth of eighteen hundred and fifty feet, he said, “Okay Rich, we’ll have it your way. Remove the diving angle! Full rise on both planes. Back emergency. Blow the forward group. Vent forward tanks when you get an up angle!”
In response, both planes men pulled back hard on their control sticks.
As the sub’s angle slowly changed, the Triton groaned in protest. Only when the rest of Cooksey’s orders were carried out did the 6,900-ton vessel stop its descent. After checking the depth counter, Cooksey ordered, “All stop! Rig for ultra quiet A series of muted electronic chimes sounded through the sub. This was followed by a distant whirring rumble as the ship’s single propeller shaft spun to a halt. Except for the occasional creak of their hull, all was silent as Cooksey moved over to the sonar console. Joining him behind its redheaded operator was the XO. Richard Craig’s face was etched with relief as he followed his captain’s example and clipped on a pair of auxiliary headphones.
“We’ve lost them. Captain!” Vadim Nikulin said incredulously.
“There’s absolutely nothing out there!”
“Open your ears. Comrade!” Dzerzhinsky shouted from the other side of the attack center.
“A vessel of that size doesn’t just disappear.”
Since the Cheka was still in the midst of a full diving angle, it took some effort for the captain to reach his senior lieutenant. By the time he reached his side and put on a pair of headphones, another figure had joined them.
“What has happened. Comrade?” asked a concerned Boris Karpovich.
Completely ignoring the zampolit, Dzerzhinsky reached up and turned the volume of their hydrophones to maximum intensity. For a full minute he continued listening, then yanked off the headset and addressed the helmsman.
“What is our present depth?”
“Five hundred and ninety meters, sir,” the helmsman responded without hesitation.
“Secure from the dive,” the captain ordered.
The Cheka shuddered as its bow planes bit into the icy water. Slowly but surely their diving angle decreased.
“Stop all engines! Rig for silent running!”
Dzerzhinsky added as he remounted the headphones.
Before he could clip them securely over his ears, the zampolit’s voice rang out loudly.
“But, Captain — why just sit here, still in the water, while the Americans continue to make good their escape? Certainly, you’re allowing them to get away.”
Again Karpovich’s pleas were ignored. He could only watch in frustration as the captain refocused his attention on the hydrophones.
Valuable minutes passed, and still Dzerzhinsky didn’t move. Desperate for his attention, Boris Karpovich reached out and turned the hydrophone volume meter to zero. Flinging the headphones off, the captain screamed, “What has gotten into you, Karpovich?
Have you gone crazy?”
Hit with the full force of the captain’s anger, Karpovich took a step back.
“I’m sorry for that, Captain, but you must give me a second of your time. The minutes continue to tick away and the Vulkan continues on to its launch position. Unless the enemy sub can be eliminated, the entire operation will be doomed to failure. Our futures will be doomed! We must stop them now!”
“What do you think I’m doing. Comrade, twiddling my fingers? Believe it or not, we share the same goals. Now, just stand back and leave the operation of this ship to me!”
A look of resignation crossed the political officer’s puffy face and the captain instinctively softened.
“I know that you mean well. Comrade, but on this bridge I’m not used to being challenged.”
“I only wanted to know what’s going on out there.
Have we lost them for good?”
“No, Comrade Karpovich, they haven’t disappeared.
Their clever captain has merely pulled them out of their dive as they were approaching then depth limit. This was followed by a quick scram of their reactor. Like ourselves, they are floating silently — somewhere nearby. Certainly, they’re in no position to threaten the Vulkan.”
“But what about the approaching ships of the Yankee surface fleet?” the zampolit whined.
“Then helicopters were already dropping sonobuoys when we arrived here.
We’ve got to continue our role as an escort, or we risk losing everything.”
Dzerzhinsky considered this for a moment.
“Though I would prefer to have the Yankees make the first move, there is a tactic I know of that can rout them. Of course, it does entail a certain amount of risk.”
“Risk is something that each of us has learned to live with on a daily basis. Captain. Our lives mean nothing anyway if the Vulkan fails to reach its launch site.”
Dzerzhinsky signaled his senior lieutenant to remove his headphones.
“Vadim, the Zampolit considers it imperative that we eliminate the American submarine threat at once. I concur with him in this instance.
To insure that our wire-guided homing torpedoes have a solid target, I propose that we hit them with our active sonar. When the pulse is returned, we will launch our weapons. Before the Americans can react they will be blown to the bottom.”
Impressed with the captain’s bold plan, Karpovich managed to smile.
“The First Deputy himself will know of your unselfish bravery. Comrade Dzerzhinsky.”
The political officer’s enthusiastic commendation went unnoticed by the captain, who was already deep into the mental calculations that would guarantee their attack’s success.
“I can’t understand it. Captain. They were there one second, and now there’s absolutely nothing.”
Callahan’s words prompted Cooksey to fit on the auxiliary sensor headphones. After a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan, he removed them and said, “They’re out there sure enough, Callahan. Most likely they’ve pulled the plug on their reactor, just like we have. Keep listening. They’ll break silence soon enough.”
Cooksey checked his watch and solemnly shook his head. Instead of lying there motionless, locked in combat with the Alfa, he knew that he should be continuing to close in on the Vulkan. If only he hadn’t hesitated earlier, after first tagging them. Yet, with the SOW device down, their conventional torpedoes would have been at or past the extreme limit of their range.
To continue the hunt, the Triton would have to somehow shake the Soviet attack sub. The course of action offering the least risk would be to wait them out. The American vessel’s superior acoustic capabilities would eventually be the deciding factor. Of course, they could always take a chance and make a run for it. As the minutes continued to tick away, this tactic would appear more attractive. Yet how could Cooksey forget the incident that took place beneath Point Luck? At that time, this same Alfa had easily outdistanced them. The more he thought about it, the more a frantic run appeared to be suicidal.