“That is correct. Can we contact? Over.”
“Negative… ordered to go deep… nothing further until…” His voice became so garbled that Snow could only assume the admiral was indicating there would be no communications beyond the schedule Reed had ordered earlier.
Snow tried three more times to raise Houston. He could hear the static and the other station keying in the background, Reed was trying to respond, but there was no point in continuing. And there was no solution to Helena’s problem. All they could do was wait and listen intensely in an arc where the Soviet forces were anticipated. There would be no doubt in Caesar’s electronic mind if a rocket or torpedo was fired. It would be a momentary indication of where enemy forces lurked, but similar to locating a needle in a haystack. Somewhere beyond Houston, perhaps as many as a hundred miles to the north, a Soviet submarine could be preparing to fire at Helena. A full torpedo run would take minutes, but at that range it would merge with Helena’s signature anyway. If the Russian used a rocket-propelled torpedo, the sound of firing would be brief, and then once again there would be silence on that bearing. Snow knew it was much like trying to catch a bullet.
8
THE CHANGE IN strategy that day was Sergoff’s idea, though the decision was up to the admiral. Abe Danilov took advantage of a few quiet moments to nap while Seratov’s attack team plotted the approach of their noisy target. The weapon, a missile carrying a homing torpedo, was taken through prefiring checks by Captain Lozak. Though Seratov’s captain was not a bloodthirsty individual, he had a major responsibility in developing this weapons system and now possessed an insatiable desire to prove its effectiveness on a real target. In the Soviet Navy, a great deal of emphasis was based on proving a system and this was a moment that could have significant influence on his career. He knew Abe Danilov would always stand behind him, but successfully dispatching an enemy submarine would also mean a great deal.
Captain Sergoff knew enough not to suggest a change in strategy to Lozak. That decision was up to Danilov. Sergoff was almost certain Lozak would make every effort to get Danilov to support his own contentions. But Sergoff felt his first duty was Danilov’s safety. So when the admiral appeared in control yawning and refreshed, Sergoff immediately offered his opinion. “Admiral, it would seem to me that Seratov is as important to us, or at least your presence is, as Imperator’s is to the Americans. That’s why they have a protective screen in front of her.”
Lozak glanced at Danilov, realizing quickly that Sergoff’s desire not to draw attention to the Admiral’s flagship would likely meet with approval.
“What I mean,” Sergoff continued, “is that the minute the water slug ejects the missile from the tube, the Americans will have a solid bearing on this submarine. And they know enough about our weapons to know our range within reason—”
“And,” Danilov concluded for him, “if you were in one of those American submarines, you’d fire instantly in retaliation.” He knew implicitly that American orders were not to fire until fired upon.
Sergoff nodded.
“But this submarine is fast enough to outrun their torpedoes,” Lozak responded. “As soon as we fire. I’ll go deeper and go to full speed on a reciprocal course.”
“Smolensk is the same class and she can do that also.” Sergoff smiled. “Only, she doesn’t have Admiral Danilov aboard.” He turned back to Danilov, adding quite seriously, “We are not yet trying to stop Imperator. We’re attempting to take away her guard dogs. I believe, Admiral, that your seniors would consider it impetuous if you were to endanger yourself even before we have the opportunity to face the real objective. Prudence at this stage is a necessity.”
Lozak recognized opportunity fading quickly. Sergoff made too much sense. Lozak’s desire to make the first kill was counterbalanced by the argument that the most important man in the operation was standing next to him. While Lozak had no doubt that he could outrun any American torpedo yet to be made, a simple engineering casualty — even one that could be quickly repaired — might be the difference between Danilov’s demise and a successful conclusion to the operation.
“Captain Sergoff is right,” Lozak concluded unhappily.
“The Americans are still out of range. I’m sure Smolensk is doing the same as we are right now. I agree that we should give her the opportunity, sir.”
The decision, as rational as it was, bothered Danilov also. He felt briefly like a hunter lowering his gun so that the man next to him could have the first shot. “Permission granted. Send the signal.”
The preplanned signal consisted of coded sonar pings directed on the bearing of the adjacent submarine. Three shorts, two seconds apart, indicated that the senior submarine was giving the target to the junior.
“All stop!”
“All engines are stopped, Captain.”
“Very well.” Helena’s captain nodded to the chief of the watch. “We’ll drift for the time being, Chief. Hold your depth.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” The chief rested his forearms on the back of the helmsman’s chair, eyeing the ship’s trim as speed began to drop.
“Put some extra men on if you need to, Ed,” the captain said, turning to his engineering officer. “Since we’ve become such a hell of a target, we may have to play scared rabbit for some damn Russian torpedo.”
The OOD’s expression displayed his anxiety. “Should I attempt to contact Admiral Reed, sir… let him know we’ve stopped?”
“Not yet, Ben.” The captain was already following the engineering officer aft to the watertight door leading to the reactor area. “Ed’s got fifteen minutes to figure what the glitch is. After that, we’ll either try to make contact or just continue on again, sounding like the Fourth of July, I guess,” he added over his shoulder.
“Range to target?” Smolensk’s captain called out. “Approximately forty-five kilometers, sir.”
“Actual range,” the captain barked.
The fire control officer looked cautiously toward the captain after first checking the dials. “The computer doesn’t have a solution as yet, sir. Another sixty seconds…” he added, his voice trailing off.
“You’ve been tracking the target.” The captain’s voice was rising. “Give me your range!”
“It’s hard to be precise… I’d say forty-four now, sir,” he guessed, feeling most uncomfortable with the captain peering over his shoulder. Then his face blanched. He wheeled, almost bumping the captain, to confirm what had just happened with the sonar operator.
“Lost contact with the target.” The technician frantically rotated the dials in front of him, expanding his search arc a couple of degrees to either side.
“Impossible!” The captain snatched the headphones from his fire control officer, clamping them over his ears with both fists. He listened, his eyes fixed on a spot on the overhead, while those around him waited fearfully for another outburst. The captain’s eyes finally settled on the sonarman, and he shook his head in wonder. The technician shrugged his shoulders to answer, turning back to the sonar console to again widen their listening arc. Removing the headphones, the captain added silently, “There’s nothing out there now.”
“We have a general solution, sir.” The fire control officer turned brightly. “It should be accurate enough to drop the torpedo within range.”