"Then what?"
"Then maybe we have sub wars. Who knows?"
Hoek came in, took one look at the mess and left without a word. Sorensen began to run checks on all the equipment. Several of the hydrophones arrayed along the starboard side of the hull were not functioning, and he had to log a damage report. Fogarty got down on hands and knees and began sorting through the spilled diodes and transistors.
The ship rolled on the surface but nobody minded. Being a little seasick was better than being dead.
Ten minutes later Davic and Willie Joe came in to relieve Sorensen and Fogarty. Davic's dream had come true. Barracuda had sunk a Russian sub.
"My God, Sorensen, what happened?"
"If you were thinking about reading the log, Davic, forget it. It's sealed. Captain's orders. It's coded red into the computer. Even I can't get it out."
"I don't need to know the details. Just tell me, it is true? It was the Viktor? Did it sink?"
"You know how it is. The silent service."
Davic could see in Sorensen's eyes that it was true, and that was good enough. On the profile sheet of Soviet subs he scrawled an X over the drawing of the Viktor. He beamed at Fogarty, who looked away in disgust.
Willie Joe shook Sorensen's hand. "Congratulations."
"For what?"
"Didn't you listen to the skipper? They're going to give you a medal. You're a hero."
"Well, ain't that just dandy. You hear that, Fogarty? I'm a hero."
"Yeah," Fogarty said, "the first hero of World War Three."
"Go on," said Willie Joe. "You're outta here."
Sorensen had heard the ultimate sound effect. The collision and the implosion of the Russian sub were engraved in his brain, a far more accurate recording device than anything made by Sony. Just to make sure, however, he had recorded the entire sequence of events on his own machine, even though he knew possession of that tape was a felony.
In the seclusion of Sorensen's Beach he played the tape over and over, backward and forward, fast and slow. Several questions about the sinking began to nag at him. Why did the Russians fire a torpedo? Were they trying to sink Barracuda or Kitty Hawk? The sub imploded below three thousand feet, an incredible depth. The Thresher had imploded at a depth of just over two thousand feet. How could the Russians go so deep? Was the collision an accident, or did the Russians ram them intentionally? No sane captain would do that, but no sane captain would fire a torpedo either.
It was a puzzle that was missing an undetermined number of pieces. The torpedo bothered him the most. Had the Russian torpedomen actually fired a shot without orders? Could they do that? Why would they? The torpedo had been wire-guided; he had seen the wire on his screen. When the sub imploded, the wire was severed and the torpedo's motor apparently had stopped. It did not explode. During the massive acoustical barrage of the implosions it had disappeared. Presumably it sank. What kind of warhead did it carry? Just the notion that it might have been a nuke was terrible to contemplate.
He tried to imagine the wreck of the Russian sub. Eight thousand feet down, he knew, there was no light, no perceptible movement in the water, nothing but pressure beyond imagination. In the cold black desert of the ocean bottom pieces of the shattered sub had by now settled over a debris field many miles square. The reactor and heat exchangers, weapons, electronics, enciphering machines and ninety men, smashed to bits, reduced to junk. It chilled his heart.
Davic and Willie Joe had to clean up the sonar room. As members of the damage-control team they had been too busy immediately after the collision to be scared. In asbestos suits, breathing bottled air, they had charged into the torpedo room, fire extinguishers at the ready. Now that it was over and they had a moment to reflect on what had happened, and what almost had happened, they began to react.
Davic, who rarely spoke to Willie Joe, began to babble about his future in the CIA. Willie Joe wasn't paying attention. As he sorted through a pile of diodes, those bits of plastic with tiny wires sticking out of them, he developed a case of the jitters. His hands shook. Ignoring Davic, he said, "My wife, she sure loves that Navy Exchange they got there in Norfolk… She's been looking at this color TV they got there and I figure if I make first class at the end of this cruise, well, hells bells, I'll watch the World Series in color, oh shit.."
He had dropped a handful of tiny electronic parts onto the cork floor. They bounced. The collision alarm was still screaming in his head. "Maybe I should just retire. I'm just glad it didn't happen on my watch." He got down on his hands and knees and began picking up the parts.
"Nothing ever happens on my watch," Davic said. He pounded his fist into his palm. "I can't stand this not knowing what happened. Do you think Fogarty will tell us?"
"No."
"We can ask."
"I'm not that curious, Davic. Why don't you come down here and help me pick up these things?"
Davic sat down on the deck and picked up a transistor.
"It's not fair that Fogarty knows and I don't. It's just not fair."
Fogarty lay in his bunk staring into space, listening to the elevator music that filtered into the forward crew quarters. His tattered copy of Catch-22 lay across his chest.
"Yo, Fogarty."
He opened the curtain. Davic and Willie Joe stood in the passageway next to his bunk.
"Yes?"
Davic said, "Tell us what happened down there. Please."
"I can't do that, Davic. Tell him, Willie Joe."
"I did."
Davic grabbed Fogarty's arm. "We sank those bastards, didn't we. Sent them cocksuckers to visit to David Jones."
Fogarty had to smile at Davic's convoluted English, and Davic read the smile as confirmation.
"We are the first ship in the U.S. Navy to put in the bag a Russian. That'll teach them bastards to fuck with us."
"Davic, whatever happened, it was an accident." He brushed Davic's hands away from his arm.
"Whatever they got, they asked for it," Davic said.
"That's crazy."
A dozen sailors leaned out of their bunks. Frustrated and angry, Davic was on his toes, thrusting his face into Fogarty's bunk.
"What's the matter with you, Fogarty? Do you feel sorry for the Russians?"
Fogarty refused to be provoked. "Sure. They were men and this was an accident. We're not at war with them—"
"Well, shit, Fogarty, what are we here for? Why don't we just get rid of the fuckers once and for all? Just nuke them all at once."
"Just like that?" Fogarty snapped his fingers.
"Just like that. If we don't do it to them they'll do it to us."
Fogarty propped himself up on one elbow and faced Davic directly. "When the Russians learn they've lost a sub they aren't going to like it. They're going to blame us, even if it wasn't our fault—"
"So what? What can they do to us?"
"Didn't Admiral Netts just use Barracuda to prove what they can do to us? Where've you been the last four days? Get out of here, Davic. You're a vampire. Go fly around in the dark with the other bats."
Davic flushed. Fists clenched, his urge to punch Fogarty struggled with his training and discipline. He knew a fight could land him in the brig.
"Fogarty, you have no guts. You don't belong on this ship—"
"Fuck off."
Davic lunged. Off-balance, Fogarty barely had time to twist around and catch Davic's leading hand in mid-air and snap back the wrist. Davic screamed and sank to the floor. Fogarty let go.
"Touch me again and I'll break your arm."
Fogarty's tone left no doubt that he could do it. He looked down the passageway. The entire compartment was staring at him.