“Probably a matériel failure if there is one on the bottom,” Lutz said. “I can’t think of any other reason.”
“That ‘Captain’s Eyes Only’ thing makes it sticky,” Lee said. “Harold Hahn and Chief Klinger are probably the two best sonar people in the Fleet but if they don’t know what they’re supposed to be looking for,” his voice trailed off.
“I know,” Captain Lutz said. “We’re going to have to think of something. Lieutenant Hahn is damned sharp. The Chief, too.”
“An aircraft, maybe? Could we say that? Say we’ve been asked to search for an aircraft that’s down on that course line? Aircraft are pretty big.”
“Might work,” Lutz said. “Worth a try anyway. Except for one thing; if we find the submarine we’re going to have to take pictures and the Chief and his people in Sonar and Hahn in Charting and the Bridge crew are all going to know what’s down there.” He shrugged. “ComSubLant wants complete secrecy. Well, we’re at sea so no one can mouth off in a bar ashore. He’s got to know that if we find his submarine the crew is going to know it. After that, it’s his worry.” He reached for the message.
“Write down the latitude and longitude co-ordinates and lay out the course line of the Sharkfin and her last position report. We’ll start the search there. Notify the Port Authority and the SOP that we’ll be getting underway at zero two hundred. Set the sea detail at zero one hundred. It shouldn’t take us very long to get on station.”
The sonar compartment on the Medusa was located deep in the bowels of the ship. The compartment was large and crammed with the sophisticated electronics needed to probe and chart the bottom of the oceans. Set into the Medusa’s hull were dozens of sonar transmitters and receivers to send out directional sonar beams from the ship and receive them when they bounced back off the bottom. The returning sonar signals were fed into audio circuits and video screens so the sonar operators could see and hear them and into computers that analyzed the sonar echoes and printed out the depth and configuration of the sea bottom.
The four walls of the sonar compartment, or bulkheads, as walls are called at sea, were covered with a maze of dials, switches, and controls. Against one bulkhead there was a long desk with swivel chairs bolted to the deck in front of it. In the center of the desk there was a large video screen that was flanked by smaller screens on either side. Along the desk top were sets of controls that enabled the sonar operators to mass all of the sonar transmitters to send out simultaneous sound beams at one time, to use selective banks of transmitters or a single transmitter. The compartment was kept dimly lighted with red lamps for the convenience of the sonarmen on watch who sat in their swivel chairs studying the video screens.
Chief Sonarman John Klinger, a heavy set man with seventeen years of service in the Navy, sat in front of the large master video screen. He sensed rather than heard Captain Lutz walk into the compartment and he half turned in his chair. He pushed one of the big mufflike earphones he wore up on his temple.
“Nothing yet, Captain. I’m using a bank of transmitters up forward in a wide angle scan. If they pick up anything we can go to concentrated scan. I’ve got a scan going amidships, one hundred and sixty degrees to each side from the keel to give us a fan over the bottom.”
“What’s the bottom look like?” Lutz asked
“We’re getting a mushy return, sort of, sir. Lot of sediment down there on top of solid rock. We’re in deep water now, eleven thousand feet and getting deeper.”
“A plane fuselage would show up, you think?”
“Oh, hell yes, Captain. The metal fuselage would give off a bang in the earphones like you hit a dishpan with a hammer. If the pilot was on course when he went down we should find the plane. Provided he didn’t lose a wing when he went into the water and went skewing way off to one side.”
“Very well,” Captain Lutz said. “The minute you get anything inform the Bridge and Charting.” He touched the Chief Petty Officer on the shoulder and left the compartment.
In the middle of the afternoon watch on the second day of the search the telephone on the Bridge rang. “Sonar reports a solid metal return at fourteen hundred twenty hours and seven seconds, sir.” The Quartermaster of the Watch turned to the OOD.
“Notify the Captain,” the OOD said. He made a small X on the course line on the chart. Captain Lutz, breathing hard after running up the steep ladders to the Navigation Bridge, bounced into the Chartroom.
“Right here, sir,” the OOD said. He pointed at the X on the chart.
“Reduce speed to four knots if you can maintain steerageway,” Lutz said. He picked up the telephone and dialed the Sonar Compartment.
“We’re slowing to four knots, Chief. Use the after scan as long as you have contact. We’ll go ahead on this course until we can make a turn and then come back down along the reverse course. I’ll let you know when that is. As soon as you get contact again we’ll drop sonar buoys.” He turned to the OOD.
“Tell the First Lieutenant I want sonar buoys ready to drop when we come about on the reverse course. I want the paravane rigged for a camera and floodlight drop, deep drop, about thirteen thousand feet. Tell Mr. Hahn in Charting that I want a bottom charting and analyses as soon as we come about on the reverse course. Get Mr. Lee up here on the double, we’ve got some tricky navigating and ship handling ahead of us.”
“Has Sonar found the plane, sir?” the OOD asked as he reached for the telephone.
“I don’t know,” Captain Lutz said. “They’ve got something down there and we’ve got to check it out.”
In the Sonar Compartment Chief Klinger was staring at the computer readout, a puzzled expression on his heavy face. “Damned computer says the target on the bottom is over four hundred feet long. We hit it with a wide scan but there’s no indication of any wingspread on the aircraft. Either he lost both wings or else,” he rubbed his chin, “maybe we got the hull of an old freighter down there, something that was sunk in World War II.” The telephone by his elbow rang and he picked it up.
“Aye, aye, sir.” He turned to the men on watch.
“The Old Man’s swinging around to run back down the course. They’re standing by to drop sonar buoys as soon as we give them the word we’ve got the target again. I want all you clowns to sharpen up.” He settled in front of his video screen and pulled the big earphones down over his ears.
The Medusa made a long sweeping turn and came back on the reverse course, steaming slowly as the sonar beams probed the ocean bottom. The forward scanning beams picked up the target to the port side and Chief Klinger snapped crisp instructions to the Bridge to alter course slightly. As the Medusa passed over the target the sonar buoys were dropped to go arrowing down to the bottom and begin their steady beeping. With the sonar buoys in place the target was marked, easy to find for the camera run.
On the After Well Deck a Chief Boatswain’s mate and his crew of seamen had rigged a paravane on a long boom that would be swung over the side of the ship. The paravane would swim out to one side of the ship as it moved through the water. The camera platform, studded with powerful floodlights, would be lowered from the paravane. The Chief checked the maze of rigging cables and spoke into his telephone.
“Ready to make the camera drop, Bridge. Camera and floods have been checked out. Everything four oh. We’ve got enough cable rigged for a thirteen thousand foot drop.”
In the Chartroom on the Bridge Blighty Lee worked with his dividers and parallel rulers, guided by Chief Klinger’s reports on the sonar buoy bearings. The Medusa’s helmsman spun his wheel in response to Lee’s quick orders and the Medusa came about in a turn and steadied on course. Lee turned to Captain Lutz.