“The communications antenna?” Orlov questioned.
Bocharkov’s eyebrows furrowed. “Was my voice unclear?”
“No, sir — I mean, sir…”
“Just raise the antenna.” Bocharkov turned to Lieutenant Tverdokhleb. “Uri, you speak good English, don’t you?”
Tverdokhleb dropped his unlit cigarette on the chart and looked up from his seat. “I have studied it at the university. I understand it better than I speak it.”
“Get over to the harbor common radio and tell me what the Americans are saying.”
Internationally, channel sixteen was the harbor common frequency used by ships whenever they encountered another ship at sea, entered or departed port, or needed to communicate with a ship that did not have a known frequency.
“Communications antenna raised,” Orlov reported.
“Turn on the radio.”
A moment later English filled the control room.
Tverdokhleb stood and meandered over to the radio. He stared at the speaker for a bit, then turned. “It seems, Captain, that they are searching for someone or something in water.”
“Do they say what?”
“No, but they are launching boats to search the waters of Subic Bay along the shore. Apparently they have had a confrontation ashore.”
“Could it be our men?”
Tverdokhleb shrugged and then turned back to the speaker.
Bocharkov put his eyes to the lens of the periscope and swept the area around him. To his north lay the piers and the main part of the American naval base. South was Cubi Point Naval Air Station. Escape lay west. Behind the K-122, east, were the warehouses and the telephone switchboards where his Spetsnaz team was…
Bocharkov leaned back and looked at the clock. It showed twenty minutes to three. “Ten minutes until they return. They would be in the waters now,” he mumbled under his breath. Then he looked over at Lieutenant Commander Orlov. “Officer of the Deck, tell Engineering we move in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes, aye,” Orlov repeated, jerking the microphone off its cradle to relay the information to the chief engineer.
The clong-clong-clong of general quarters shook the sleeping awake and startled those already awake. Sailors scrambled from their bunks, jumping on one leg as they jammed the other through their dungarees, bumping into one another as they rushed to dress. Most had open shirts or no shirts as they raced up and down ladders toward their assigned battle stations. Most figured the Dale had a major fire for GQ to be sounded. No one but the few around Sonar knew the truth.
Through the rear hatch to Combat rushed an influx of sailors and officers racing to their consoles and flipping switches, the hum of electronics filling the room along with several voices shouting instructions. As he stepped into Combat, Lieutenant Kelly saw the captain, hurried over, and saluted. “What’s going on, sir? Fire?” He continued buttoning his khaki shirt as MacDonald turned.
“We may have a Soviet submarine inside Subic Bay,” MacDonald replied, sounding calmer than he felt.
“Bullshit! Oops, sorry, sir? A Soviet submarine inside Subic Bay?” Kelly glanced into the sonar compartment and saw Oliver there. His shoulders visibly fell. “Did Oliver pick him up?”
“Seems so.”
“Sir, do you want Combat brought all the way up to fighting status?”
“Would not have sounded general quarters if I hadn’t, Lieutenant.” He knew Kelly was thinking the same thing he had when he came to Combat: Maybe Oliver wanted more than his moment of glory tracking the Echo. MacDonald grunted. If so, the crew would be punishment enough for the young sonar technician.
Stalzer lowered the telephone. “Coghlan has their sonar up, sir. I’ve passed them the frequency on which we have our contact.”
And, MacDonald thought, I will be the laughing stock of the pier.
Admiral Green stepped through the rear hatch. “What’s going on, Danny?”
“Attention on deck!” Burnham shouted, snapping to attention.
“Carry on,” Green replied, returning MacDonald’s salute. “Bring me up-to-date.”
“My apologies, Admiral, I didn’t hear them bong you aboard.”
“You didn’t because I told them not to do it. You had GQ going at the time.”
Kelly hurried off toward the center of Combat, his voice shouting, “Report,” as he tucked in his shirt. Around Combat, voices began to report the status of their consoles as they warmed up.
For the next several minutes MacDonald told Green of Oliver’s detection, of how the sailor was performing PMS at midnight and detected the signal, and how Chief Stalzer had confirmed the noise as a Soviet submarine. Green seemed unconvinced, preferring to believe the signal was just an ocean phenomenon of sound. No Soviet submarine would dare penetrate an American-controlled harbor.
Stalzer’s face turned red as he realized the humiliation he was going to feel and receive from the other chiefs if this was just a sound anomaly. He could hear the jokes in the goat locker. His throat felt dry. Then a voice on the other end of the telephone drew him away from the admiral and the skipper.
“Let’s say you’re right, Danny,” Green said. “What are your intentions if he is out there in Subic Bay? It’s really Philippine waters, not ours.”
“I would cast off and engage it, sir.”
Green nodded, his lips pursed. “Be kind of hard to drop depth charges inside Subic Bay. Right now Security has about twenty or thirty small boats out there looking for some sailors who shot up the marines.” Green’s voice trailed off. “If they were sailors,” he mumbled, his hand rubbing his chin.
At that moment, MacDonald knew the admiral had switched from a nonbeliever to considering that the idea of a Soviet submarine might be true.
“Sir, the Coghlan reports a bearing of one-six-zero.”
Burnham leaned over a chart of the bay, drawing a line from the pier where Coghlan was tied up. “Our bearing?”
“I hold the contact bearing one-seven-two, sir!” Oliver replied.
Burnham realigned the wooden ruler and ran a line from where the Dale was parked along the bearing. Then he grabbed up a metal compass, spread the legs, and measured from Dale to where the two lines intersected. Both MacDonald and Green looked over Burnham’s shoulder.
Burnham leaned away from the table. “Four hundred yards, sir.”
“Impossible.”
MacDonald stuck his finger on the warehouses at the far eastern end of the naval base. “Within swimming distance, sir.”
“How long until you can cast off?” Green demanded.
“We have one engine room on line. Enough power to shift colors, sir.”
Green stuck his hand out. “Chief, give me that telephone.”
Stalzer let go of the telephone as if it were on fire.
“Coghlan, this is Admiral Green. Put your skipper on the telephone.”
For a minute Green asked Ron Kennedy the same question. Coghlan had both engine rooms stoked and ready to cast off. The admiral ordered the other destroyer to report to the Dale, and he wanted both ships under way ASAP! Then Green called the Subic Operations Center and ordered them to have every ship in port go to general quarters and remain there until otherwise ordered. He tossed the telephone back to Stalzer.
Stalzer caught it and quickly dialed the Coghlan sonar room. Within moments, the sonar technician from the Coghlan was on the other end. They were going to lose this landline when the two destroyers cast off.