Though there was always the outside chance that they had tagged one of their own subs, Grodsky felt otherwise. He knew that Bill Payton was thinking the same thing when the pilot sent Wally Simpson back to give him a hand with the arming of their Mk 46 homing torpedoes. The ATO surrendered to the task willingly as they anxiously waited for the analysis to be completed.
Lev Zinyakin couldn’t believe how slowly the minutes were passing. It always seemed that way when he was waiting for his shift to change.
Though the two consecutive duty segments that he was about to complete had been far from dull, he couldn’t ignore the emptiness in his belly and the heaviness of his eyes.
For the last quarter of an hour, the Vulkan had been traveling at a rather shallow depth to take advantage of the warm waters of the thermocline. In this portion of the sea, Zinyakin had to focus the sub’s sensors on a radically different threat source. Since it was unlikely that they could be spotted from below, what they had to fear most was contact from above.
And the American sonar devices were extremely sophisticated.
Carried by both fixed wing planes and helicopters those systems had to be respected.
To insure instant detection of such aircraft, such devices as the Vulkan’s external buoyant hydrophone were deployed. This neutrally buoyant transducer was presently being towed above them, scanning the ocean’s surface for the sound of advancing airplanes.
Since this system was run independently from the Vulkan’s hull-mounted hydrophones, a separate monitoring channel was necessary. Analyzing the input from the surface was Zinyakin’s current responsibilities.
Steadfastly ignoring the rumbles and groans from his stomach, Zinyakin sat back and listened to the various noises being fed into his headphones. Identifying the swooshing slap of agitated water, the sonar officer determined that the seas were fairly heavy topside. At their current depth the surface turmoil was hardly noticeable, except for this noise.
Aware of his fatigue, Zinyakin was proud of the fact that never once had he fallen asleep while on duty.
This was in vast contrast to his shipmates, who generally looked for every opportunity to catch a catnap.
Lulled by the slap of the breaking waves, the sonar officer fought an unsuccessful battle to stay awake.
His eyelids clamped shut and he instantly fell into a dream. In his vision he found himself a lad again, sailing from Palanga on his grandfather’s battered boat. Though the Baltic Sea had been as smooth as glass when they had started out, the morning sky quickly turned black when an icy northern gale descended in all its fury. Thrown to the deck by the first arriving swells. Lev tried in vain to stand, for his legs would not cooperate. Feeling leaden, nauseous and scared, he looked to the interior of the cabin and saw that nobody was at the wildly spinning wheel.
Fearful that his grandfather had been swept overboard, he managed to get to his hands and knees.
Continuously pounded by the crashing waves, he found his progress ponderously slow.
Lev made it to the cabin’s hatchway soaked and bruised, but try as he might he was unable to make it indoors. Only when the first tears of frustration began falling on his cheeks was he aware of a distant voice, crying over the howling gale.
“Listen to the wind, lad!” bellowed his grandfather.
“To the wind!”
Even though his elder was still nowhere to be seen, Lev paid attention to the advice. He closed his stinging eyes and focused his concentration on the boisterous gusts.
It was then that he heard an alien chopping sound approaching. The familiar racket merely added to his puzzlement, for how could a helicopter be flying in the midst of such an angry tempest?
A muted electronic tone was ringing in the background when Zinyakin snapped from his dream. His eyes popped open and he swiftly reoriented himself.
Slouched before the sonar console, he blushed with embarrassment upon realizing his loss of self-control.
Thankfully, only two minutes had passed, and it didn’t appear that anyone else had spotted him.
He sat up straight, readjusted his headphones, and was reminded of the end of his dream by a shocking reality. The sound of a helicopter hovering was clearly audible topside! Rubbing his eyes to make certain that he was not still asleep, Zinyakin took a deep breath and reached forward to turn up the external buoyant hydrophone to maximum volume.
Assured that the incoming signal was real, he turned and called out loudly.
“Senior Lieutenant!”
Seconds later, Vasili Leonov was at his side.
“What is it, Zinyakin?”
“There’s a helicopter hovering directly above us!” the frantic sonar officer explained.
“Would you like to hear for yourself?”
“No, Comrade, I believe you,” Leonov said heavily.
Squeezing in beside the senior lieutenant now was the scrawny figure of the zampolit.
“What is going on here. Comrades?”
“Our hydrophones have discovered a helicopter above us,” Leonov explained.
Novikov seemed relieved.
“Then why the look of gloom, Comrade Leonov? Surely such a vehicle can’t threaten us.”
The senior lieutenant shook his head.
“If only that were the case. Because of our present depth, we are extremely vulnerable to their dunking sonar arrays.
Not only can they call for help, they can attack us with homing torpedoes.” “Then let’s dive for cover,” Novikov suggested reasonably.
“It’s too late for that. If their sensor operator is the least bit awake, they have already spotted us. Besides, we still have that Yankee attack sub to contend with.”
Zinyakin’s mind raced for an answer — and found it.
“Sir, why don’t we utilize one of the new self-initiated anti-aircraft missiles?”
“Of course, the SIAMS!” The senior lieutenant reached out and picked up the intercom.
“Comrade Chuchkin, we need the immediate launch of one of our SIAM rockets… I understand that one must first be loaded into a torpedo tube, Chuchkin. Just get it done and launch it at once!”
As Leonov hung up the handset, the puzzled zampolit asked, “What is this SIAM?”
“In my haste, I almost forgot it existed,” Leonov admitted.
“SIAM is a new defensive system that became operational only a few months ago. If Yuri Chuchkin can get one loaded in time, the topside threat will soon be eliminated.
“Now, Comrade Zinyakin, you must keep on the alert for any air-dropped homing torpedoes. If destiny is still with us, we shall pass this final obstacle and yet strike the enemy a crippling blow!”
Two floors beneath the Vulkan’s control room, Weapons Chief Yuri Chuchkin hurried his crew into action.
“Come on, you shirkers, get the lead out of your pants!”
Moving his portly frame to one side of the cramped torpedo room, he watched the six-man loading team at work. They efficiently pulled a homing torpedo from the number one tube. It was moved back by a hydraulic conveyor and replaced by the encapsulated SIAM presently being drawn up from the magazine.
Except for a single test firing, this would only be Chuchkin’s second launch of a SIAM device. Still hot off the drawing board, the new system gave them an unheard of capability. Sounding more like science fiction than fact, the SIAM was one of the Rodina’s most ingenious inventions. Anxious to see it operate under combat conditions, Chuchkin shifted his pipe to the corner of his mouth and peered down the unmoving conveyor belt. “Where the hell is that anti-aircraft rocket?”
Chuchkin screamed.
“Any more delay and you’ll be signing your own death warrants!”
In response to his invective, the belt began to move.