“Relax, Mikhail,” the trainer said.
“Was Andrei calmer when you moved him?” Volkov asked.
“Yes, as always. Mikhail’s still so emotional.”
“Such is his nature.”
“Slide him behind Andrei,” the trainer said.
Two sailors pushed the dolphin’s fluke as two others slipped the tarp from under the animal.
“Close the breach,” the trainer said. “Good. Now equalize pressure. Slowly. Now flood the tube and start the clock. No more than four minutes. They can’t hold their breath forever.”
With the tube flooded, Volkov ordered the muzzle door opened.
“And once again my babies go into combat,” the trainer said.
Back in the control room, Volkov stood over his sonar leader’s shoulder.
“Hail them for a response. Minimum transmit power.”
Anatoly called up the screen of recorded dolphin sounds and pressed the icon that invoked the chirps and whistles the cetacean duo would recognize as a request for an immediate response.
“They responded immediately,” Anatoly said. “Range, two hundred and fifty yards, based upon the roundtrip speed of sound.”
“Send them to six o’clock relative to our position.”
“I’ve sent them a command to swim at six o’clock relative to our position of twelve o’clock, and they’ve acknowledged.”
“Let’s see what they see,” Volkov said. “Query them for any submerged contacts.”
“I’m ready to query them for the bearing to a contact.”
“Transmit the query.”
An exchange of chirps and whistles.
“They have nothing,” Anatoly said.
“Understandable. This acoustic environment is noisy for them, and that Israeli submarine is far away.”
“I recommend you turn and follow them, Dmitry. This may take a few hours before they swim within detection range.”
“Right. I’ll mirror their course but lag their speed by two knots to let them move ahead.”
Four hours later, Volkov sipped tea from a porcelain cup to delay his creeping fatigue. The trainer sat beside the sonar guru, his preferred spot in the control room when his dolphins worked.
As he feared the Israeli submarine had retreated to its home waters, the Wraith’s commander heard the control room’s loudspeakers pump out unsolicited cetacean noises.
“What is it?” he asked.
“They say they have a submerged contact at five o’clock,” Anatoly said.
“Excellent,” Volkov said. “Query for the range.”
After an exchange of chirps and whistles, the sonar expert offered an inquisitive look over his shoulder.
“It’s medium range.”
“Medium? That’s unusual.”
“Maybe I can explain,” Anatoly said. “I’ve been modeling dolphin echolocation frequencies. In these waters, the temperatures are high and the background noise is really high. The dolphins will be limited in how far they can detect submarines.”
“So be it. Set the range of the Israeli submarine at five miles from the dolphins and get an update on their position relative to us.”
After three range checks to peg the cetaceans’ location, icons on his screen shifted, and Volkov sensed an advantage forming over his adversary.
“Dare to risk a long-range shot?” Anatoly asked.
“No, the chance of hitting is questionable, and I have a better idea. I’d rather use the dolphins’ explosive charges. It’s a subtler approach and consumes fewer resources.”
“Meaning we have more spare dolphin explosives aboard than torpedoes?”
“Not quite, but we should correct that since the dolphins’ explosives take up much less space than torpedoes and are laughably cheaper. Remind me to have Pierre send us more spares with the Goliath.”
“You can have the dolphins plant their charges on the Israeli submarine now,” Anatoly said. “But I can’t guarantee that you’re close enough for your detonation command to reach.”
Volkov recalled that the detonation signal mimicked crackling shrimp noise, a sound beyond the dolphins’ ability to emanate. After his prior mission, he’d asked the trainer to condition his animals to detonate the explosives themselves, but they’d lacked the time to learn. The Wraith’s sonar system would be required to set off the cetaceans’ warheads.
Beside the sonar expert, the trainer displayed his habitual agitation as his children neared danger. But he surprised Volkov by remaining silent as the icon of the dolphins drifted closer to that of the Israeli vessel.
Then another unsolicited chirp arrived.
“They’re within a mile of the target,” Anatoly said.
“That’s sooner than expected,” Volkov said. “The Israelis are moving aggressively in our direction.”
“They wasted no time turning around after evading our torpedo. I still can’t hear them yet, though.”
“You will soon. Give control of the dolphin communications to the trainer.”
Anatoly acknowledged and tapped images on his screen.
“I’ve passed control of the dolphins to the trainer.”
“I have control of my babies,” the trainer said.
“Prepare the dolphins for explosives deployment.”
Volkov envisioned one dolphin sliding its snout into the strap of the bomb attached forward of the dorsal fin of its partner while a chirp announced the completion of each animal’s arming.
“They’re ready to lay explosives,” the trainer said.
“Very well, deploy the explosives.”
Five minutes later, a chirp came.
“The explosives are applied to the Israeli submarine, and the dolphins have swum to a safe distance for detonation.”
“Detonate.”
The trainer tapped buttons on the console, and prerecorded shrimp-like sounds rang from the Wraith.
“Nothing,” Anatoly said. “I hear no response.”
“We’re too far away for this level of background noise,” Volkov said. “Vasily, increase power to one-half.”
“I’ve increased power to half power.”
“Detonate.”
The two pops reminded Volkov of assassin bullets.
“Detonations are confirmed,” Anatoly said. “I hear flooding. Now acceleration.”
“Any high-pressure emergency air?”
“No, Dmitry. The ship is merely driving upward smartly.”
“That’s a cool bastard of a commander. After two instant geysers springing through the top of my control room, I’m not sure I’d be so calm.”
“Now I hear hull popping as the ship makes for the surface.”
“My babies succeeded again,” the trainer said.
“Indeed, they did,” Volkov said. “Bring them home.”
“Andrei has confirmed the order,” the trainer said. “They’re coming back.”
As he fought to suppress the rising smugness of victory, Volkov watched his sonar expert raise his finger and bow his head.
“What is it, Anatoly?”
As the question lingered unanswered, the Wraith’s commander folded his arms and waited.
“Torpedo in the water,” Anatoly said.
“Did our victim shoot at us?”
“No. It’s from a different bearing. Zero-four-four.”
“Is it drifting?”
“Slightly right.”
Volkov recognized the danger of a surprise weapon and knew to place it on the edge of his submarine’s baffles.
“Left ten-degrees rudder, steer course two-eight-four. Make turns for twelve knots.”
As the deck tilted into the turn, Volkov stood over his sonar expert’s shoulder and watched the noise floor rise on his display as flowing water weakened the ship’s hearing.
“Can you hear the torpedo?” he asked.
“Yes, the seeker is active. It’s another SeaHake.”
“You’re kidding,” Volkov said.