The situation developed soon after Olympia approached the surface for her normal midnight messages. The strategy was as clear to her captain as it was to Hal Snow or Andy Reed. Olympia was alone, guarding Imperator’s approach to the Aleutian Island passage near Dutch Harbor. One of the Soviet submarines was closing her station. The coded, one-time message for the skipper’s eyes only: “DESTROY SOVIET VESSEL.”
Olympia’s skipper imagined how simple it must all have seemed for those men in Washington to come to such a decision — sink a submarine and kill all the men aboard. The only alternative was for himself, and all of his men, to be killed by the Soviet. There was little doubt in his own mind and, he now realized, none in the minds of the men in Washington, that those were the very same orders the Russian was sailing under — destroy the opposition.
So, considering what would occur shortly, the realization about his feet provided a brief moment of amusement. Not a soul aboard Olympia was wearing shoes. It wasn’t really that he was exercising an old trick passed down through generations of submariners. Rather, the captain had decided it was a way of uniting the crew in immediate understanding of how serious the mission actually had become. This was not a war game. None of them had ever fired a weapon in anger before. There had been many exercises, hours and days of hunting and being hunted, but the end result was always a critique back ashore. The simple act of each man removing his shoes, of seeing his counterparts, his officers, traipsing about Olympia in stocking feet, was a way of saying that the exercises are over. Though there was no declared war, there was only one option — the alternative was unacceptable.
Olympia hadn’t moved since her captain settled in his preferred location, and in a case like this, the best offense was a good defense. Let the other guy come looking for you. It wasn’t a matter of hiding. Olympia simply maintained her position, using minimal headway or as little as a nuclear submarine needed to hold her depth.
The Russian was still far enough away that there was no imminent danger. It was the Soviet’s responsibility in this game to make the approach, otherwise he would not be in position to intercept Imperator. For the time being, this gave Olympia the advantage. To wait and listen, quietly, was much to be desired.
There was no pinging, no active sonar involved. A smart submarine, no matter on what side, either waited or crept toward its objective… and listened. That was the only way to find your target — wait until it made some noise. So Olympia’s skipper joined his sonarmen in listening. There were other sounds — shrimp clicking away nearby, the mournful sound of not-too-distant whales, the churning propellers of faraway surface ships. The passive ability of a submarine, the ability to listen to and identify ocean noises, was all part of this very serious encounter.
The first sound to come through Olympia’s listening device that might be identified as another submarine was instantly isolated by the computer. More time than any of them really wanted passed before the sonarmen concurred that the new sound was a Soviet attack submarine. Finally they had a firm series of bearings. Now target motion analysis had to be conducted before any weapons could be fired. And that meant reversing Olympia’s course to obtain a second series of bearings to plot the Russian’s course and speed.
Olympia’s skipper considered all his advantages — his boat was quieter, his torpedoes had a greater range, and he maintained a special confidence in his shoeless crew. The Russian had the advantage of greater depth and perhaps higher speed. With the anechoic coating on the Soviet’s double hull, it would be harder for a torpedo to home and the hit would have to be in a critical area. There was no room for near misses.
Though his torpedoes had a greater range, the American captain knew that firing too soon would be a mistake. Once the Russian knew his location, they might have an equal chance of sinking each other. Though he’d allow the other to come within range, Olympia’s CO felt comfortable. The first shot would be his.
But he had to avoid overconfidence. Quietly, he called the officers in charge of each space. He wanted to be able to make that initial shot the only one necessary. He wanted noisemakers ready to divert anything that might be fired at him, even in desperation. And he wanted to be able to take off like a scared jackrabbit. None of that was too much to ask of a well-trained crew, but there was no harm in a reminder as their quarry drew closer.
The musky smell of tension permeated the air. It was obvious to Olympia’s crew that the Russian might not know their exact location, but his guess wouldn’t be too far off. It became clearer when the other gradually began to increase her depth. That would make the torpedo’s search that much harder.
As the seconds ticked cautiously by, another element, one that promised that time was indeed short, became obvious. Imperator was closing from the south. She was traveling near maximum speed, making no effort to mask her position!
Olympia’s captain ordered warm-up for the torpedo. They now had a firing solution. The range was almost perfect, depth less certain. Tubes one and two had been flooded earlier to avoid detection.
“Make the weapon in tube one ready in all respects.” The pressure in the tube equalized with the outside. It caused noise, but there was no alteration in the Russian’s track.
“Open muzzle door.” More noise… too much after so much silence… too obvious.
“Muzzle door open.” The torpedo was peering into the murk.
The weapons control coordinator reported the presets — speed, gyro angle, enabling run. An optimum depth was inserted. The torpedo had been programmed.
“Recommend course two eight one,” came from the weapons control coordinator. “Speed eight.” That would be their optimum speed and course to fire at the target.
The OOD brought them to the ordered direction. “The ship is ready, sir.”
“The weapon is ready, sir.”
“Very well.”
They were just about there… a matter of seconds.
“The solution is ready, sir.” They could fire.
Olympia’s skipper was close to giving his firing orders — he was opening his mouth — when a terrifying shout rang out: “I have high-speed screws on the Soviet bearing… torpedo in the water bearing two seven six!”
The captain felt the chill surge down his spine and for just an instant he was sure that chill had reached his feet.
Then he reeled off his emergency orders automatically, firing the torpedo, commencing evasive action… releasing noisemakers, all of it instantaneous, instinctive.
Andy Reed contemplated the drama unfolding to the north. Sleep had been difficult. Aspirins dulled his headache, but nothing would soothe the rasp in his throat. It was the rapidly developing confrontation that left his symptoms in the background.