“We’re far enough to the east of the target to make the camera drop, sir. We can hold a steady course at four knots in this sea. Camera drop should take twenty-five minutes.” He pointed to the course line on the chart. “We can have the camera in position when we’re about a half mile from the target. We can start taking pictures then, just in case there’s any debris along the course line that might be important.”
“Very well, Blighty,” Lutz said. “It might be a dummy run. Chief Klinger said the object on the bottom shows a length of over four hundred feet on the computer readout but he saw no evidence of aircraft wings. He thinks we might have an old freighter that was sunk in World War II down there.”
The Officer of the Deck, a young Lieutenant, shook his head. “Awful lot of work for the deck force if it’s only some old wreck down there.” Lutz and Lee looked at each other. Lee picked up the telephone and ordered the Chief Boatswain’s Mate to make the camera drop.
A sonar device on the camera platform beeped steadily as the camera and light platform dropped into the sea. A sonar operator who was ranging on the camera platform studied his video screen and computer readout. The long minutes went by as the cable unreeled and let the camera platform and the floodlights drop ever deeper into the sea. The sonar operator who was watching over the camera platform’s depth turned to Klinger.
“Camera platform is at one one zero feet from the bottom, Chief.”
“Belay lowering the camera platform,” Klinger said into his telephone. “Bridge, camera platform is now one one zero feet from the bottom.”
“Very well,” Lee answered. “We’re making a camera run now. Floodlights are on. Camera is on. I want a full analysis and a bottom charting white-line printout, Sonar and Charting, keep in contact and report anything you see.”
Far below the Medusa’s keel the bright glare of the floodlights illuminated a world that had never before seen light. Small fish with great gaping mouths full of teeth charged at the lights and then turned away. On the sea bottom vast areas of tube worms unfurled in the light, writhing in the slow bottom current. Chief Klinger watched his video screen intently, his whole being concentrated on the pictures the camera was sending back.
“That’s a ship’s screw!” Klinger rasped into his telephone. “That’s got to be a submarine, Bridge! You getting the picture I’m seeing? I’m seeing a submarine with its screw bent off to the port side and I’m damned sure there’s a big hole in her stern! That’s the sail coming up now, Bridge. That’s a submarine!”
“Affirmative, Chief,” Lee’s voice was calm. “We’ll keep taking pictures until we run past the target and then we’ll come about and make a run down the reverse course and take pictures. Then we’ll get into position again and run on this course and take another set of pictures. How much battery time in those sonar buoys, please?”
“Twenty-four hours, sir.” Klinger answered. “Way I saw it, that submarine is on almost an even keel. I think we can get a better picture of the hole I think I saw in her stern if we come back on course a little bit to the starboard of this course run.
“Very well, Chief, will do.” Lee turned to the Officer of the Deck. “It wasn’t a freighter after all. Let’s make the same turn we made before and we’ll come back down on the reverse course. I want to get some good pictures of her number on the sail for identification. Move it, damn it, give the orders. You’re the Officer of the Deck, you’re not here for a pleasure trip.”
In the Sonar Compartment one of the men on watch lit a cigarette. “Fucking aircraft we’re looking for, hey? That was an SSBN, Chief. I saw the fucking missile hatches plain as day.”
“You want to make Chief some day?” Klinger growled. “You, all of you, button your damned mouths when you leave this compartment. There’s something screwy going on and those people in Officer’s Country aren’t giving us the word the way they should. Until I give you the word all of you keep your fucking mouth shut. That’s an order.”
CHAPTER 5
Vice Admiral Mike Brannon sat at his desk contemplating the lunch tray that had been brought in to him. A dish of cottage cheese topped by a half a peach, two squares of dry toast, and coffee. He made a face and began to eat. There were times, he thought, when the Navy intruded itself too much into a man’s personal business. When you passed the age of sixty eating should be a pleasure, not a duty. But the doctors at Bethesda had impressed on Gloria Brannon that the Admiral was carrying too much weight and had to lose twenty-five pounds. Her orders to the Admiral’s staff had been clear; the Admiral was on a diet. The staff obeyed orders.
He pushed the tray away as his office door opened. “Priority message from the Medusa, Admiral. I cleared the office area of personnel before I ran it through the decoding machine, sir.” The Chief Yeoman laid the message on the desk and picked up the tray. “I called Admiral Olsen’s office, sir. He’s on his way here.”
“Thank you, Chief,” Brannon said. He read the message through. He was reading it for the second time when John Olsen walked in and closed the door behind him.
“They’ve found the Sharkfin, John.” Brannon’s face was grim. “She’s on the bottom, right on her course line. Captain Lutz of the Medusa says they’ve got excellent pictures, lots of them.”
Olsen looked at Brannon’s harsh face. “What do the pictures show, does he say, Mike?”
“Her screw’s twisted off to the port side and there’s a big hole in her stern. She’s on an even keel. Lutz says there’s no mistake about the hole. It’s there, in her stern. He made four camera runs. The hole shows up clearly.” He glared at Olsen. “Just what in the hell could have twisted her screw off to one side and holed her in the stern?”
“It couldn’t be anything she hit running submerged,” Olsen said.
“I think she was hit by a weapon,” Brannon grated. “Lutz says in his message that he’s ordered a chopper out of Rota to meet him and pick up the pictures. Medusa has a chopper landing pad. But he hasn’t got any authority to order the pictures sent here by special courier plane. See the Chief and get that order off in my name at once and find out when the plane will be here.
“I want you to meet the plane and pick up the pictures and bring them here. I want to see Captain Steel now, right now.” He picked up the message and read it again as Olsen went into the outer office. He was at his wall chart when Olsen came back into the office, trailed by Captain Steel.
“The Medusa has found the Sharkfin, Captain,” Brannon said. “I need your engineering opinion. We’ll have pictures by tomorrow but Medusa has told us what the pictures show. Sharkfin is on the bottom on an even keel. Her screw is twisted or bent off to the port side. There’s a hole in her stern area.”
“Is he sure it’s the Sharkfin?” Steel asked.
“He’s got pictures of her number. No doubt. What I’d like to know is, would it be possible for the propeller shaft to burst its bearings or something and run wild and tear up the stern, twist the propeller off to one side?”
“No.” Captain Steel said.
“My thought also,” Brannon said. “The only other thing that comes to mind is that Sharkfin was hit by a weapon that destroyed her screw and blew a hole in her stern.”
“You may be right.” Steel’s tone was grudging. “I told you it wasn’t a failure in her nuclear power plant. We need the pictures to make a reasonably accurate analysis. If the pictures bear out your supposition, Admiral, then you’ve got a very serious problem facing you. You’d better solve it quickly. I won’t have my nuclear submarines interfered with by anyone or anything.”