“He’s going to stay in the centre of the channel Sir.”
“I agree. We’ve one chance; stay close to this Chushka bar and make our way slowly northeast. Hopefully, he’ll stay centre channel and pass us by.” Franks looked at Cortez.
“You know what I don’t like?”
Cortez shook his head.
“He’ll be less than a mile from us. Less than one goddamn mile away. One mile in a shallow channel. In there, every noise will be like a rattle in a sound box. We’d better be quiet, very goddamn quiet. We’ll be like a mouse sneaking by a sleeping cat. If it wakes, we’re in a world of shit.”
The NYC’s gamble was keeping as close to the bar as possible, she’d have to keep the bar close to her right beam, and hope the hell she didn’t run aground.
“Planesman, come starboard, nice and slow, four knots. Nosey listen to the flow out there; feel your way as best you can. Follow a line to fifty degrees, it’s your boat now.” USS NYC inched her way east and north, her pump jet propulsor driving her quietly northeast.
They heard and felt a scrape against the hull.
“Planesman, come port ten degrees,” said Nosey.
He guessed the distance travelled.
“Port ten aye.”
“Shut up Planes, just do it.”
“Aye Nosey.”
“Come to 52 degrees.”
The boat headed as far to the east as Nosey dare.
“SIR. WE HAVE A TRANSIENT to port. Low frequency,” said Sonar. “It sounded like a scrape.”
Captain Orlov of the nuclear hunter killer Leopard frowned.
“A scrape, what do you mean a scrape?”
“That’s what it sounded like sir, I’ve not heard anything like that.”
“Helm, keep southwest. Hold your course, center channel.” Orlov couldn’t waste time on that. There was a damn fight going on in the centre of the Black Sea, NATO must have deployed forces in there, as the rumours had said they would. It’d be the Americans. It had to be.
Somebody, an Admiral, had been recalled to Fleet HQ in St Petersburg, over something sneaking into Sevastopol. Then there was a rumour of an action in the middle of the Black Sea; Leopard had to get in there. Orlov had pulled away from the quayside before his orders had officially come through. He wanted in on the action. You don’t fuck with the Akula class. Two minutes later the Sonar operator called out again.
“Sir, contact on the port beam, another scrape I think. Then an odd noise, I ran it several times through the computer, it’s no idea. Myself, I think that it may be one of those new pump jet drives. The Virginia class has them. The French Barracuda class SSNs are getting them too, but it’s too early for one of those, unless we’ve underestimated them.”
Orlov had heard of them, apparently, they were very quiet.
“Good sonar, you may be right. Can you track it?”
“I don’t know sir, it’s hard to hear it.”
“Sir. We haven’t seen one before,” said the Executive Officer, Senior Lieutenant Radyuhin.
“We have a fantastic opportunity to gather information on one.”
“I agree Radyuhin, but there’s an engagement going on.”
Radyuhin pressed him. “But Sir, we can be the first to evaluate one up close. The Naval command will think highly of our work. If the enemy is pushing north into the Black Sea, then it’ll still be here when we’re done with the enemy’s new toy. We’ll be highly thought of if Leopard is the one that’s the first to track this new drive of his.”
Orlov knew the XO was right. The intelligence would be useful, and to be the first to get it; well, there would be status in that. But the enemy was here, in their sea.
“It’s here, Sir. Now, it’s out there, it’s our chance,” said Radyuhin.
Orlov knew there was status in what he said. It would also be useful to see just how good the new upgraded Mk 540 sonar was.
It was a tough choice.
“Sir, if we can track him, we must.” Orlov relented.
The chance of tracking one was too good to turn down. He nodded to Senior Lieutenant Radyuhin. The Executive Officer smiled.
“Come about, to the northeast. When you’re on track, switch off the drive and coast the boat,” said Orlov. “We’ll see if we can track it.”
If it was a pump jet, what the hell was a Virginia class doing up here? Orlov frowned and gripped the periscope handles. An American boat up here, when the Fleet action was to the south? The boat came about and slowed to a coast. It took him a couple of minutes or so.
“I think I have it. It’s like a hose watering a garden, but very quiet, very difficult to track. I can only hear him here and there sir.”
“Try your best, well done. Ask me for a coast if you want one. Forward three knots.” Nuclear heat powered the steam turbine and the gearbox drove a drive shaft. The multi bladed prop spun up. It more resembled nine or twelve Arab swords than a traditional propeller.
The Akula did what she did best: she hunted.
“KEEP EAST NOSEY, BUT try not to hit the bottom again please, this boat did cost a few dollars.”
“Sir, I’ll try not to, but this place has shifting sandbanks. He listened to the sea, the currents, it was like flying blind. Part information, knowledge of the sea and part guess, part instinct.
“Planes, come port two degrees.”
“Two aye, Nosey.” The boat moved away from the bar slightly.
“One starboard.”
“One, aye Nosey.”
Franks listened to the two men flying blind, he knew it was difficult. But they had to get north away from the Akula into the open sea.
“Sir, I think we have a tail,” said Nosey. “Lost it sir. I may have mistaken it. Come one degree starboard.”
“One starboard aye,” said the Planesman. USS NYC crept quietly forward.
“Request coast sir,” said Nosey.
“All stop,” said Franks.
Nosey listened. “Sir, I have a prop. Slow, slow. He’s in our baffles.”
Franks knew it was a gamble. Keep going and they’d soon be in the open sea. Stay and they were quiet, but the Akula would be on him. If that was what it was. Franks had to assume they were being tracked.
“Weaps, get a firing solution on him.”
“Sir, I have a solution. Tube one Mk 48. Designate target Tango one. Ready to flood tube, sir.”
“Hold for now, I don’t want the noise yet. If he cocks, I lock and load. Forward four knots.”
“Four knots, aye sir.”
Was that an enemy out there? He couldn’t risk flooding a tube. In there it was too noisy.
Shit, we’re half blind, facing a half-blind man, and both of us daren’t cock our weapons.
“One degree to port.”
“One port aye.”
Franks looked to Cortez and pursed his lips. This was blind man’s bluff, but this game was played with something a little more serious than a pistol. It was two of the world’s most lethal torpedoes: the Lockheed Martin Mk 48 CBASS vs the Ostekhbureau Type 53, which possessed a phased array active sonar for terminal guidance. Both were deadly, both quick.
If one struck its target, there was no coming back.
The USS NYC crept forward, every yard taking her closer to the open sea.
“SIR, I’M GETTING A better trace now. I’ve got a better pattern of his harmonics, the deep ones give the best trace. They’re just hard to get.”
“Keep on him, Sonar.” Orlov hadn’t really wanted to follow this Ghost of the Seas, but now he knew he had to.
“Sir, we’ve just picked up a scrape. Not much of one, but it was there.”
Leopard moved forward, her prop near silent. Did the Americans know they were being tracked?
Probably not.
Orlov knew that soon they’d be off the small town of Ll’ich at the head of the bar, after that it would be open sea. Orlov wondered what would he do if he was the American? Without knowing what they were up to, it was hard to know. But soon it would be the open sea. It seemed sensible that the Virginia class would come to port and get out into the Sea of Azov. He knew he could then be involved in a duel with this dangerous opponent.