To Kill the Potemkin

12

"General quarters. General Quarters. All hands man battle stations, nuclear."

The announcement came over Barracuda's loudspeakers in a whisper. Quietly, feet encased in rubber shoes, the crew rushed through the ship. They were about to "nuke" the Hawk—their main target.

Willie Joe was positive the sub was Swordfish. Even though the thermal layer distorted the sounds made by the other sub, the computer had verified his judgement.

Sorensen and Fogarty relieved Willie Joe, who hurried forward in his asbestos suit to his damage-control station.

Springfield's tactic was quite simple and dated back to the Second World War. As Swordfish passed overhead, he would rise into the blind spot of her sonar, her "baffles," and follow directly behind her prop. Sonars of surface ships would read the two submarines as one. When he reached optimum range he would launch a pair of fish at Kitty Hawk, then attempt to "sink" Swordfish.

Optimum range for Mark Forty-five nuclear torpedoes was sixteen thousand yards, about nine miles. At that range the sonars could track a target and program the fire-control computers, which in turn set the guidance systems aboard the weapons. Nine miles was sufficiently distant from the target to avoid Barracuda s destruction by shock waves from nuclear blasts.

"Range to Kitty Hawk."

"Eighteen thousand yards," replied Hoek, reading from the screen in his attack console.

"Range to Swordfish."

"Two hundred yards."

"Fire control, set for sixteen thousand yards."

"Fire control, set and locked for sixteen thousand yards."

"Set for impact detonation."

"Set and locked for impact detonation."

"Torpedo room, load torpedoes in tubes one and four."

In the torpedo room Lopez and his crew carefully slid Mark Forty-fives into the two uppermost torpedo tubes.

Lopez spoke into his microphone, "Torpedo room to control. Torpedoes loaded in tubes one and four."

"Flood tubes one and four."

"Flood tubes, aye."

The nose of the sub dipped slightly as the torpedo tubes were opened to the sea.

From the moment Sorensen sat down to listen to the approaching sub, he sensed that something was peculiar. He checked Willie Joe's log and punched up the signature program for Swordfish.

Apparently oblivious to Barracuda's presence, the sub was almost on top of them. He discerned the sounds of coolant pumps, reduction gears, secondary pumps and the odd cadence of a faulty bearing on one saltwater pump that had been a chronic problem on Swordfish for years.

He bumped Fogarty with his elbow to get his attention. On a notepad he scribbled SWORDFISH. Fogarty nodded. Sorensen smiled his most wicked smile, drew a line through the word SWORDFISH and sketched a hammer and sickle.

Fogarty paled. "You sure?"

Sorensen nodded. Soviet submarines frequently appeared during NATO exercises, making deep fast runs under NATO formations. This was a new twist, trying to sneak in with an acoustic cover.

"This is a real cute one," said Sorensen, shaking his head.

Fogarty felt a deep twinge. "What's happening?"

"Listen up," said Sorensen. "This is a Russian submarine."

Fogarty listened. It sounded like Swordfish to him. Sorensen played the Swordfish signature program, and then Fogarty heard the difference too.

With every revolution of the Russian prop, Kitty Hawk and the war game faded into insignificance.

"Oh, boy." Sorensen spoke into the intercom. "Lieutenant Hoek."

"Yes, sonar."

"Can you step in here a moment, sir?"

Hoek entered the sonar room.

"Sir," said Sorensen, his face innocent of any expression.

"Yes, Sorensen."

"I know the Swordfish, sir. I know every sound she makes. She's a noisy boat, if you don't mind my saying so, Lieutenant, but not as noisy as she was before her last refit. They fixed the bearings in her saltwater pumps. What we are listening to here is the way Swordfish used to sound, not the way she sounds now."

"What are you trying to say, Sorensen? What does all that mean?"

"I don't know, sir, except I think the submarine we are listening to is not Swordfish."

Hoek chewed his lip. "Well, who is it, then?"

Sorensen lifted his eyebrows. "The Israelis?"

"Don't be smart, Sorensen. The Israelis don't have nuke boats."

"Are you sure, Lieutenant? They have everything else."

Fogarty fought to keep a straight face.

"Maybe it's the French, sir?" Sorensen suggested.

"Why would the French want to make us think they were one of our subs?"

"I haven't the foggiest, sir. but somebody is trying to pull a fast one. Somebody wants us to think that is one of our subs out there, but it isn't. It's a dirty trick."

Hoek's eyes lit up as the dawn broke. In the core of his finely honed, Annapolis-trained mind he at last came to the correct conclusion. "It's the goddamned Russians."

"You really think so, sir?"

Hoek could hardly contain himself. He rushed back to the control room to inform the captain of his discovery. Seconds later the captain made a rare appearance in the sonar room. "What do you think, Sorensen?"

"It's gotta be a Russkie, sir, probably that same Viktor we ran into on the way out here. It sure as hell isn't the old Swordfish. They fixed that pump for sure. I spotted it right off the bat and we checked it against the tape. That boat has some kind of gadget rigged to make it sound like Swordfish. She fooled those destroyers."

"Play the tape."

Springfield listened. The distinction was obvious.

"All right, carry on. Good work, Sorensen."

As the Russian sub passed directly overhead, the sound was an exact imitation of Swordfish before her pumps were repaired. Everyone aboard Barracuda heard the Doppler effect.

"Attention, all hands. This is the captain. Prepare for sleep angles. Take us up, Leo. We have to assume she knows we're here, and that she's testing her cover on us. For the moment we will let her think it works. Put us in her blind spot. In any case, she may hear us blow our tanks."

Pisaro pushed a sequence of buttons on his diving panel. Compressed air expelled the seawater from two trim tanks, and Barracuda rose six hundred feet directly behind Potemkin. She matched the Russian's speed and began to follow a scant two hundred yards behind.

In the sonar room Fogarty tracked the carrier while Sorensen monitored the sub, which suddenly began to turn.

"Sonar to control," Sorensen said. "Contact is turning left twelve degrees."

"Helm, left twelve degrees. Keep right on her."

The helmsman pushed his joystick over to the left and Barracuda banked like an airplane.

As far as Springfield was concerned the war game was suspended. They would stay on the tail of the Russian sub until they either obtained a positive identification or lost it.

Billings, the war game observer aboard Barracuda, was not convinced of anything. In his opinion a Russian sub that intruded on the war game would run under the fleet at high speed, then disappear. It wouldn't linger. The repair on the faulty pump on Swordfish was probably shoddy, and the pump had reverted to its noisy state. The sub was indeed Swordfish. The war game was not over, it was reaching its climax. Seething, feeling the full weight of his vested interest in a successful conclusion of the exercise, he interrupted, "Captain, we're only seventeen thousand yards from Kitty Hawk. You can fire your torpedoes now and then chase the sub."

"Commander Billings, I'm following that sub now."

"What if she's not a Russian? What if your man is wrong?"

"If Sorensen is wrong, I'll keelhaul him. Will that make you happy, Mr. Billings? I'll serve him to Netts for breakfast."

"You can still fire your torpedoes."

"I don't think I want to do that this close to a Soviet submarine. She might get the wrong idea. She will also get a dandy tape recording of our system. I'm sorry. Commander, but you know my standing orders as well as I do. Your boss. Admiral Netts, wrote them."

"Speed of target increasing to twenty-one knots."

"Make our speed twenty-one knots, Mr. Pisaro. Stay with her. Torpedo room, unload torpedoes."

"Torpedo room, say again."

"Unload torpedoes, Chief. Get those fish out of the tubes."

"Aye aye, sir. Understand unload tubes one and four."

"Mr. Billings, you had better find something to hold on to. We're not playing games any more. Engineering, prepare for high power. Give me seventy percent."

"Engineering, understand seventy percent steam."

"Keep right after her, Mr. Pisaro, keep right on her butt."