Returning his attention to the chart, Exeter mentally traced the Razorback’s new course eastward. By extending this route past the two unknown contacts, a journey of a little more than three more miles would take them right back to Point Arguello. Philip couldn’t help but wonder what was presently taking place on the desolate plains a mile inland. Surely, the Condor was in the midst of its final countdown. If Dr. Richard Fuller’s warning was to have some validity, the enemy would have to ascend soon. For not even an electromagnetic railgun could penetrate the ocean’s icy depths. He rubbed his knee, and his weary eyes again went to the wallmounted clock as the seconds continued to tick away to liftoff.
A deck beneath the control room, the Razorback’s Executive Officer found his glance diverted once more to his watch. Barely visible in the dim light of the sonar compartment, he counted the minutes left until 1200 hours. Like the Captain, he too realized that if the enemy were to indeed make a hostile move, it would have to occur within the next couple of minutes.
Sitting in front of him, the two younger sonar technicians were hunched over their consoles. Both were wearing headphones that were connected to the series of microphones encased in the sub’s hull. As a result of his recent briefing, they were each monitoring one of the two contacts that lay approximately a mile off their bow. Their first priority was to listen for any venting ballast that could indicate an ascent.
Secondly, they were to be ever alert for the activation of any unusual deck machinery. If an electromagnetic railgun existed on one of those vessels, its bulky length would most likely be concealed somewhere on the sub’s upper deck. Surely, they would hear it being activated. Only then would they know which target needed to be eliminated.
When he had relayed these final instructions, Seaman Lefty Jackman had asked for a description of just what they were so desperately listening for. Unwilling to reveal its exact nature, Benton had veiled his response. For, if the Nose scientist’s suspicions proved wrong, he preferred that Fuller’s last-minute warning go no further than him and the Captain.
Jackman had soon realized that he was not going to get a precise answer to his question and had merely shrugged his shoulders and immersed himself back in his work. The XO hoped that this was as far as the enlisted man’s curiosity would go, yet such was not to be the case.
Unknown to the XO was the senior seaman’s undying inquisitiveness. Not one to be thrown off the trail so easily. Lefty sat at his station with his thoughts spinning. As his subconscious mind took in the constant muted drone of the diesel-electric sub that slowly cruised the depths some 25,000 yards off their port bow, his conscious thoughts centered themselves on the strange briefing that the XO had just shared with them. The senior officer had instructed them to listen for something, yet he wouldn’t even explain precisely what it might be. Lefty was no stranger to the fickle ways of Command, but this incident really took the cake.
Lefty could only assume that his coworker, Seth Burke, was right, and that this whole thing revolved around the launch of the space shuttle. Perhaps the Soviets were trying to interfere in some way. That could be the reason why the Russian Victor was presently prowling these waters. He even supposed that the diesel-electric boat that they had just chanced upon could be working with the Victor.
What he couldn’t understand was that, if this was indeed what Command feared, why they didn’t blow away both vessels and be done with it. These were their waters. Another foreign nation had absolutely no business there. How much better it was to be safe now than sorry later.
Looking forward to the day when America would quit being the nice guy and start playing hardball along with its hard-nosed adversary. Lefty reached up and readjusted the filter mechanism. After increasing the volume gain another full notch, he did his best to focus his total concentration on the contact’s present sound signature. His heart jumped when the familiar drone of the unknown vessel’s electric engines was abruptly overridden. In its place rose a noisy, liquid surge that was more characteristic of a nuclear reactor than an electric generator. Only after he doublechecked his headphone connection, to make certain that he wasn’t monitoring the contact that lay to their southeast, did he turn to inform the XO.
“Sir, you’re going to have trouble believing this, but that diesel-electric that we’ve been following has just turned nuclear on us!”
“What?” quizzed the XO, who hastily clipped on the auxiliary headphones to hear for himself.
Quick to pick out the hiss of a reactor’s coolant loop, he looked puzzled.
“Are you certain that you’re tuned into the right vessel?”
Lefty’s voice didn’t falter.
“I’m positive, sir. One second she was purring along on her batteries, and the next, this racket overtook her. Unless there’s another nuke right on top of her, it’s got to be coming from that same submarine.”
It was with this observation that an idea dawned in Patrick Benton’s consciousness. What if this reactor had been carried inside the diesel-electric’s hull all this time? Only recently activated, it was to be utilized for a single purpose, to power a weapons system that demanded much more energy than its fossil fueled generators could provide. This supposition was seemingly confirmed when a bubbling whirl of venting ballast emanated from this same vessel.
“She’s ascending!” cried Lefty Jackman excitedly.
Without a second’s hesitation, the XO reached out to grab the comm line.
Philip Exeter was standing at his usual command position at the center of the control room when the call arrived from Benton. Hastily checking the time, he knew that he had to make his final decision quickly. In another seven minutes, it would be too late.
“Mr. Willingham, give me a firing solution on the contact whose heading reads zero-three-zero,” ordered the Captain firmly.
The Weapons Officer fed this request into the firecontrol console, and was quick to respond.
“Final solution entered and looks good. Captain.”
“Prepare tubes one and three for firing!” countered Exeter, who again checked the time.
Before giving the order to release the torpedoes, he hurriedly went over his alternatives. Of the two targets before them, only the vessel off their port bow was ascending. The sudden activation of a nuclear reactor aboard this same boat surely meant that this sub needed a powerful boost of energy for something other than propulsion. Even though the Nose scientist’s prophetic warning seemed to be coming to fruition, it was not every day that a peacetime Naval officer gave the orders to willfully sink another vessel.
What if this submarine had no hostile intentions, and was merely caught up in a web of coincidence? Or perhaps the sub laying off their starboard bow contained the real enemy. Were the two somehow working together?
Exeter knew he could go on second-guessing himself all day long and never be the wiser. Guided by his instincts alone, he summoned the courage to make the difficult decision that only he was responsible for.
Ever conscious of the billion-dollar vehicle that would soon be blasting off into space, and gambling that Dr. Richard Fuller knew what he was talking about, Exeter turned to his right and ordered his Weapons Officer to fire both torpedo tubes.
Seconds later, the Razorback’s hull trembled under the force created by two sizzling explosions of compressed air. To a loud, popping roar, the pair of Mk48 torpedoes shot from their tubes and bit into the surrounding waters. As they plunged forward under their own power, each weapon found its course directed by the stream of information entering its guidance system from an ultra-thin wire that was being constantly played out from its tail. Still connected to the mother ship, the torpedoes headed for their targets with the Razorback’s sensors guiding their ultimate destiny.