Scorpion in the Sea

SIXTY-FOUR

The Captain stood behind the sonarman, his face intent. Everyone in the control room was listening to the sounds of the approaching ship, a steady beating noise coming from the speaker above the sonar console. The Captain shook his head.

“Single screw; this is not the carrier,” he pronounced, and the control room crew relaxed slightly.

“Depth,” he asked.

“Depth is sixty five meters,” responded the Musaid from his chair behind the planesmen. “On course 090; speed is four knots.”

The Captain tapped the sonarman on one shoulder.

“Evaluation,” he inquired.

“Sir, the contact is east of us, bearing 145, exhibits up doppler, single screw, making high speed. A power screw, which indicates a large ship.”

“Could this be a deception?” asked the operations officer from his position near the attack director. “The Coral Sea on one screw?”

The Captain frowned. It was possible, but unlikely. Why would the carrier be operating in a deception mode? If she had been warned of Al Akrab’s presence, there would be a mob of escorts out here, and very likely no carrier at all. He shook his head slowly, still concentrating on the hydrophone effects coming over the speaker. The big ship was going to come fairly close to them; the bearing had been steady and then had begun to drift right only slightly in the past five minutes. But what was it? Who was it? He decided they had to take a look.

“No. This is something else. What is the CPA?”

“Sir. The closest point of approach will be to starboard, approximately 3000 meters, based on passive bearing analysis.”

“Very well. Secure the speaker, Musaid. Go to periscope depth.”

“As you command, Effendi,” replied the Musaid.

He touched the shoulder of the depth control planesman, who nodded and pulled back on the yoke. The submarine tilted slightly up at the bow, and began to rise silently on electric propulsion. The members of the control room battle stations team made way for the Captain as he took his position at the periscope well. The control room was steamy in the heat of the tropical sea; the ventilators fought a losing battle with all the main compartment hatches latched shut. The Captain watched the depth gauge in front of the planesmen as Al Akrab came up to a keel depth of sixty feet. As the bow levelled off and the deckplates returned to horizontal, the Musaid nodded at the Captain, who turned once more to the sonarman.

“Report,” he ordered.

“Sir. The large ship is almost abeam, bearing 195, and passing down our starboard side; I have no estimate of range, but the bearing drift indicates she is not close aboard. There is something else.”

“Yes?”

A sudden silence in the control room, all eyes on the young man siting the sonar stack, as he listened carefully, his hands clasped over his earphones. The silence became prolonged.

“Sir. I think there is another ship. Very quiet, but something I can hear. Also east Bearing 095. Distant. I could not hear it over the noise of the large ship, who now exhibits down doppler — she is going past us.”

“Classify,” ordered the Captain.

“Sir. I cannot classify, other than one screw. I may be wrong. But I think there is something there. East of us, and very quiet.”

The Captain took a deep breath. They had made their approach into the attack zone from the north, slowly and silently, on the battery, well below the acoustic layer. They had detected a couple of fishermen and small craft on the way, and then, an hour ago, the large ship, a steady drumming sound coming from the southeast, headed in toward the Jacksonville approaches. The intelligence report had said Coral Sea was due that evening, but it was only midday. Had there been a change of plans? A warning? And now the report of something else out there. His hackles rose.

“Depth control is stable at periscope depth,” reminded the Musaid.

“Sonar, what is the sea state above?” asked the Captain.

“From the sound, it is flat calm. I hear no waves,” replied the sonarman.

“Up scope,” ordered the Captain. “Hold at fifty five feet for manual control.”

The periscope came up swiftly, but stopped short of its full height, its bronze tip remaining five feet beneath the surface above. The Captain took a switch cable in his hand, and lowered the periscope control arms, squatting down on the deckplates to meet the eyepiece. He pushed his forehead against the eyepiece headrest, and then closed the trigger switch. The periscope started up again, but very slowly. The Captain took little duckwalking steps around the compass as the scope came up. At first he could see nothing, and then light, a blue haze everywhere, and then a lighter blue as the optics neared the actual surface. He released the button for a moment.

“Make minimum speed,” he ordered. If there were no waves, the periscope would be visible to the naked eye, and even more visible to a surface search radar.

“Minimum speed,” acknowledged the watch officer. “Setting for three knots.”

“Can you hold depth at three knots, Musaid?”

“Yes, Effendi. I must pump two trim tanks, but we can hold depth control.”

“Permission granted to activate trim tank pumps. I’m breaking the surface — now,” he declared, pushing his forehead tightly against the headrest, revolving the scope quickly, and then pulling it back down one meter below the surface.

“Some kind of large merchant ship,” he announced. “Not the Coral Sea.”

There was a collective sigh of relief in the control room from everyone except the weapons officer, who was staring at the Captain, aware of the pained expression on the Captain’s face.

“Sir. How big a merchant ship?” he asked the Captain.

The Captain gave him a slight nod, acknowledging the weapons officer’s acumen in asking the important question.

“Very large, weapons officer,” replied the Captain in a tight voice. “Very large indeed.”

The Deputy, who had been watching this interchange intensely, suddenly figured it out.

“The mines,” he said.

The Captain turned to stare at him, and then trained his cold eyes around the control room.

“Yes,” he sighed. “The mines. Now it is up to us. If that ship is going to Jacksonville, it will eat the mines. Now it is entirely up to us. Prepare yourselves.”

“Sir,” called the sonarman. “I have heard it again. Bearing east, by a half south. Something is there, Captain.”

The Captain rotated the periscope to 120. He waited. Two minutes later the swell made by the passing car carrier began to gently rock the submarine.

“His wake is passing by; I will expose the periscope,” the Captain said.

He squatted again, and pushed the control button at the end of its wire, timing the periscope to come up out of the sea coincident with the passage of the merchant’s wake. To a radar, the sudden return would be taken for the wake. He hoped.

He turned the periscope to high power, and stared as it neared the surface, the image of the turbulence right at the surface causing him to blink. Then daylight, bright sunlight, flashed through the optics. He drew back reflexively, and the control room crew could see the bright ring of sunlight around his eyes for an instant. He pressed his face against the optics again, and stared, rotating the scope right and left ten degrees. Again. Nothing. Right and left twenty degrees. And hold.

There. On the horizon. The unmistakable shape of a warship’s top hampers, the dark, lattice masts and the multiple radar antennas. Hull down. A destroyer. Not moving, keeping quiet. A chill filled his belly.

“Periscope down,” he ordered. “Make your depth sixty meters, course 180, speed five.”

He looked up at the faces of the control room crew as the periscope sank into its well, the deckplates pitching forward and down as the Musaid took her below.

“It seems,” he announced, “that we have company.”