“That should be close enough for us to have a proper look,” observed the Bowfm’s Captain.
“Quartermaster, have the XO escort Mr. Lafferty up here on the double.”
“Yes, sir,” shot back the seaman responsible for all inter deck communications aboard the sub.
“Shall we see if Dame Fortune is smiling on us this time, gentlemen?” offered the captain as he beckoned them to join him at the periscope well.
“Helmsman, make our depth sixty feet. Up scope,” ordered William Foard.
In response to this, the periscope hissed upward, with the Captain quick to hunch over it and locate the vessel responsible for their sonar contact.
“It’s a tug all right. And from its draft lines, I’d say that she was carrying a substantial amount of weight.”
As he increased the magnification of the lens, Foard added, “Get a load of this character on the transom.
He certainly looks the part.”
Mac replaced him at the scope and nodded.
“With that eyepatch and ponytail of his, he looks like a regular pirate. Do you think this is one of your men, Major?”
Before Colin Stewart could look for himself, the sound of Liam Lafferty’s voice rose throughout the control room, his thick accent unmistakable.
“And here I was just lying down for a wee nap. You fellows keep me busier than my wife.”
“This shouldn’t take long, Mr. Lafferty,” remarked the captain.
Liam ambled over to the scope and nonchalantly gazed through the lens.
“It’s him!” cried the fisherman.
“I could never forget a puss like that.”
“All right!” shouted Mac, who watched as Colin Stewart took a look through the scope.
“I hate to ask you this, Mr. Lafferty, but are you positive that this is the tug you saw being loaded back in Dundalk?” quizzed the Scotsman.
“One hundred percent positive,” said Liam.
“There’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever. And if you just be patient, my own son will show up on that fancy-looking device of yours shortly.”
Captain Foard briefly met the stares of Mac and Colin before turning his attention back to the Irishman.
“Thank you, Mr. Lafferty. You can go back to your nap now.”
“But don’t you want me to point out Scan?” asked Liam.
“That’s not necessary, sir,” replied the Captain.
“We believe you when you say this is the tug. So your job is over now. I’ll have Ensign Pollard escort you back to your quarters.”
“You’ll be getting no further argument from me,” said Liam, as he slipped his pipe in his mouth and followed his escort back below deck.
Colin Stewart took another look through the scope.
“Now that we’ve found them, what do we do with them?”
“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” returned Mac.
“We can’t just ascend to the surface and place them in custody. One look at this sub and they’ll go and blow that device for sure. Yet if we hit them with a torpedo, the resulting explosion could rip that bomb apart and cause the very same ecological disaster that we’re trying to prevent.”
“Not if that torpedo wasn’t carrying a warhead and was being utilized just to punch a hole through their hull,” offered the grinning captain.
“Is such a thing possible?” asked the Scotsman.
The captain answered, “Mister, this is a United States Naval vessel, and the word impossible isn’t in our vocabulary. Shall I inform the torpedo room to ready such a fish?”
“I say go for it,” said Mac.
“Though while your men are readying that torpedo, I’d like to notify the Lynch and have them chopper in a ROV for the subsequent recovery. I don’t think it would be a bad idea to call in the DSRV Mystic as well.”
“If you really think you could sink them without spewing plutonium all through the Clyde, I’m with you also, Captain,” remarked Colin Stewart.
William Foard looked the Scotsman right in the eye.
“I can’t guarantee anything but death and taxes, but I believe I can punch a nice neat hole in their bow just below the waterline. That means that the initial impact will be well away from the stern bilge. And since that’s where a weapon the size of an A-bomb would have to be stored, the shot should be a clean one.”
“Then you’ve got my vote,” returned the Highlander.
“Just make certain that first shot’s a good one. Captain.
Because I seriously doubt if we’ll have the time to attempt a second one.”
The Bowfin’s CO nodded.
“I’ll try my best, Major.
Now if that’s settled, let’s go and get Uncle Sam’s property back to its rightful owner.”
“Are you absolutely certain they’ve taken up a position right in Sea Devil’s baffles?” questioned Dmitri Zinyagin.
“I am, sir,” answered the Ladoga’s senior sonar operator.
“My last scan showed Sea Devil located immediately below the tug, which puts the Sturgeon in the waters directly behind them.”
Zinyagin thoughtfully stroked his jaw.
“I don’t like this, comrade … I don’t like it at all. Most likely they were spotted while penetrating that line of frigates.
And now this sub has been sent in to do the dirty work. Thank the fates that I decided to follow them up the Firth. Otherwise, Sea Devil would never stand a chance.
“Comrade Zitomir, feed the acoustic signature of the Sturgeon into the fire control computer. Are tubes one, two, and three still showing a green light?”
“Yes they are, sir,” answered the sonar chief.
“I still show a red on number four, though.”
The captain grunted.
“It’s that damned compression leak again. Most likely it will be out for the rest of our cruise. But that makes no difference. Three wire guided acoustic homing torpedoes should be more than adequate to rid the seas of the imperialist threat.”
Dmitri Zinyagin watched as the senior technician efficiently addressed his digital console. Only when he was certain that the three torpedoes were armed and ready to fire did he allow his thoughts to wander.
The zampolit had had the nerve to question Dmitri’s authority to run the Ladoga as he wished. As commanding officer, that was his prerogative. Over four decades of selfless duty had given him the instinct to know when to take the initiative. And now his daring gamble was about to pay off in a way he never really expected.
How the men would flock to support him when they learned that because of Dmitri’s dauntless gambit, the Sea Devil had been spared certain destruction. They would emulate him just as they had Captain Mikhail Borisov, the infamous lion of the Spetsnaz! Already looking forward to their adoration, Zinyagin was abruptly called back to the present by the agitated voice of his chief sonar operator.
“Our target has just opened its torpedo doors, Captain!”
Without a second’s hesitation, Dmitri Zinyagin forcefully commanded, “Fire one! Fire two! Fire three!”
Mac was in the process of studying a detailed bathymetric chart of this portion of the Firth of Clyde in an effort to determine the difficulty of the salvage effort that would soon be facing them when the control room filled with the frantic cries of the Bowfin’s sonar operator.
“Incoming torpedo salvo! I count three separate torpedoes, bearing one-five-five, range two miles and rapidly closing!”
With the hope that all of this was some kind of horribly realistic drill, Mac watched as the sub’s captain stepped forward to orchestrate a response to this surprise threat.
“Chief Langsford, I didn’t authorize any practice drills today.”
“This is no drill, sir!” returned the sonar technician.
“We’ve got three torpedoes continuing to close in on us.”
This was all the captain had to hear to snap into action.