Snow moved back into the control room, a renewed look of determination on his face. In retrospect, he wondered why he sometimes began thinking as he had in the past. He was slipping — automatically assuming the limited capabilities of the older submarines. Was he wearing himself out? What he had under his feet now was beyond the imagination of any Soviet captain out there. If he recognized the reasons for his own letdown, then it was time to change the attitude of the others. Their reactions would be a mirror of his own.
He called down to Carol to join him with the other department heads in the wardroom. When they were assembled, they found yet another version of their captain. This time, the nervousness and eruptions of anger of a short time before had been dispelled.
He radiated confidence as he explained that they were going to go active with every piece of equipment that might appeal to the Russians for the next hour. Although he assumed they might be boxed in, it was a large box. They would examine this box at top speed, in an expanding circle until they knew every inch of ice above them. At the same time, their effort to attract attention should draw the Russian submarines closer. They should be able to develop a consistent track and identification on each one as a result. The computer would store a record of every polynya, lead, pressure ridge, and any thin ice that could be used for surfacing.
“Then, we’re going to let Caesar take over for us. There’s no one on board who can outthink five attack subs tightening the noose at the same time. And I apologize to each of you for trying to be the genius I thought I was.” He looked around the table, waiting for a response.
I don t know why it won’t work, Captain,” the weapons officer responded. “That’s what we’re designed for.”
“We’ve been training around Caesar for over a year now.” The operations officer looked at Carol with a grin. “Let’s draw them into the trap.”
Snow smiled. They were reacting to a feeling of uncertainty, partially because they had fallen into the same trap he had — remembering the old submarine, when they faced adversity. “What the hell,” Snow continued. “After Caesar finishes his analysis, we’ll know exactly where we are and the Russians will be coming into an area without the advantage of knowing the ice. They won’t be able to stay close to the surface either… be better targets, too, if they have to come down to our level.”
Within minutes, Imperator had given up any pretense of silence. She moved at full speed in expanding circles, charting the ice above. There was no letup in dropping noisemakers with built-in time delays. They would switch on at various times over the next twelve hours, if they were needed that long.
When he was satisfied. Snow would order absolutely silent running with Imperator changing course and depth under Caesar’s control on a totally erratic basis. The only method the Soviet submarines could then use to locate her would be active sonar. And unless they were on top of Imperator, they would open themselves instantly to Caesar’s attack.
“What the hell…?” Houston’s captain asked as they listened to Imperator’s wild gyrations. “That’s crazy…”
“Every once in a while. Snow comes out of a funk and does something unpredictable,” Andy Reed answered facetiously. “He can be moody as hell, drive everybody crazy, then comes up with some genius idea. But he has to be driven into it sometimes.” He shook his head. “I’d imagine he finally figured out that Danilov was a little bit slyer than he anticipated.”
“But he’ll draw them all in on top of him.”
“I suppose that’s what he’s intending, Ross.” Reed was doodling with a pencil. “Look at this.” He indicated the possible submarines around Imperator. “I’m not saying that’s exactly what he sees… but the way we tracked him in circles meant he was giving everyone a chance to locate him. So perhaps he sees himself surrounded. If you don’t know where everyone is, you’d be crazy to go after them one at a time, because the guy behind would try to get you. So, he’s going to try to draw them all in… which gives us a chance to go after another.”
Ross nodded his understanding. “You figure the one that has to be closest to us is going to get sucked into that mess, too.” It wasn’t really a question. He saw exactly what Reed had meant. It made excellent sense. “But the one near us has got to be on his toes. He knows we’re behind him. He can’t just turn tail—”
“We’ll just have to listen and see what he does. He sees safety in numbers near the pole… or he may figure the best thing to do is let us run up his back.”
“The Americans have an expression for it,” Sergoff remarked. “I think they call it a bull in a china shop… or something to that effect. Whatever the exact words are I think that is a very apt terminology.”
“Crazy. That’s what it is — crazy!” Stevan Lozak had refused to believe his sonar officer and took the headphones for himself. He decided a child could have figured this one out. “Why, he’s a madman… giving away his position… giving away everything we had hoped to hear.”
“Maybe he’s crazy like a fox.” Abe Danilov chuckled. “That’s another expression I like,” he said to Sergoff. Then he turned to Lozak, clapping him on the shoulder. “No one does what he is doing without a purpose. He is inviting all our friends out here to dine with him.”
Captain Lozak saw little to find humor with. Like Danilov, he knew there was a purpose in Imperator’s wild display. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why a submarine commander, who had engaged in stealth for so many days, would now seemingly go on a rampage.
Sergoff enjoyed analyzing the impatient Lozak. The man was wise in the ways of the sea; he knew submarines as well as, or sometimes perhaps better than, any captain afloat. But his patience was limited. In wartime, such men either lost their boats early or became heroes — often dead heroes. Danilov, on the other hand, was a study in contrasts. His impatience stemmed from boredom, the lack of an objective, in this case a live contact to prosecute. Once he found his quarry, he became the picture of moderation. Satisfaction reigned once he was sure his objective was within sight.
“Range to the American?” Lozak called out.
“Approximately sixty kilometers… although he is moving away from us now.” They had been tracking Imperator using computer projections.
“I recommend we follow, Admiral.” Excitement radiated from Lozak’s eyes.
“Admiral, I suggest we establish the position of our other submarines first.” Sergoff employed his diplomatic talents as he added, “There is no need to expose our own location until we have a better idea of the perspective the American gains of our own forces. After all, a little more time won’t hurt us… especially if it’s to our benefit.” Lozak and Sergoff both looked to Danilov — Lozak for concurrence that the aggressive stance was necessary, Sergoff that further analysis of the situation was required.
“Would you be kind enough to provide us with an analysis of all contacts?” Danilov asked Seratov’s sonar officer. “We have the time,” he added pointedly to both officers.
Imperator’s indiscretions had generated exactly what Andy Reed and Abe Danilov anticipated. Seratov’s sonar officer constructed a visual picture of five Soviet submarines cautiously closing, based on their earlier projected positions. The American Los Angeles-class identified as Houston, the one they’d tracked intermittently since the loss of their first submarine, was moving away from Seratov at an angle that would eventually intercept Imperator. A Soviet Alfa was between them. The two submarines Danilov had placed on the opposite side were certainly attracted toward Imperator. The two he had placed at the far end of the box had generally been masked by Imperator’s actions, though sonar occasionally identified their signature. There was little doubt they, too, were drawn toward Imperator.